Back from RTP Iceland

Beat and I just returned to Reykjavik after a week of fun and scenic running across the highlands and along the southern coast of Iceland during the 2013 Racing the Planet Iceland event. With the exception of extremely crowded tents and resulting sleep deprivation, I loved every part of it and had a great experience. I plan to hammer out a race report with photos for my blog, but I thought I'd drop in a few gear and event notes before we return to California.

• The course was about 154 miles overall according to my measurements. Day one was 29 miles, day two 28, day three 27, day four 25, day five 39, and day six 0 (rest day) and day seven was 6 miles.

• My pace was surprisingly consistent, averaging right around 4 miles per hour every day. Running with the pack was tough and I felt I was wasting a lot of energy at anything higher than a 12-minute-mile, but I could walk efficiently and comfortably at 3.5 miles per hour. I tended to vary my movement between this and a 4.5-mile-per-hour shuffle. Speed was usually determined by the technicality of the terrain. There were relatively few long climbs and these always felt like rest breaks, because I walked them. Even downhill running was strenuous and challenging, which made it fun.

• Final results aren't in yet, but of the 270 starters, about 228 finished all six stages. About 80 women started the race and about 64 finished. After stage five I was in 75th position overall and 13th woman. It's better than I expected to end up in this field, actually. It was a highly runnable course with plenty of fast runners. The "hikers" had no advantages, except for perhaps our consistent speed over long distances. I don't know my positions in each stage but I'm fairly certain my best showing was during the "Long March" 39-mile stage.

• The weather was almost exactly what I expected, but the race officials kept commenting about how unseasonably bad it was. We had one day of sunshine and six days of clouds, four of those with varying levels of precipitation. Every day was windy, some with gusts I would estimate to be over 50 miles per hour. I was knocked off my feet once and pushed out of balance countless times. Temperatures ranged from 21 degrees overnight to daytime highs in the mid-50s. Windchills usually kept the air feeling quite brisk, and I'd say the "feels like" temperature was rarely above 40.

• My favorite piece of gear was my DriDucks "astronaut suit," named as such by a fellow competitor from Cleveland because it was billowing and light gray with U.S.A. flag patches on the shoulders. The FroggToggs brand is cheap and ugly and amazingly effective at keeping wind and rain from driving in that bone-chilling cold that I remember all too well from my Juneau days. The material never feels wet, and its lack of breathability holds in a nice warm microclimate of body heat. The one drawback is that this clothing is not durable. My jacket and pants are pretty tattered from the wind and lava rocks, and I don't think they'll be leaving Iceland. But I would certainly buy another set in the future.

• My daily meals were bland and monotonous. Breakfast was always two packets of coffee, one serving of peanut butter, and one granola bar. Mid-day calories were two candy bars, one granola bar, and one five-ounce package of gummy candy. Post-run was a single serving of Pringles and a bullion cube dissolved in hot water, and dinner was one freeze-dried meal and one hot chocolate. I thought it was going to be awful to eat this way but it wasn't that bad. I was always grateful for whatever I put in my mouth when my "ration" time came around, and I didn't crave fresh fruits and vegetables as much as I thought I would.

• I consumed 2,700 calories per day. This was slightly supplemented so it was probably a bit higher. Foods I picked up from fellow competitors during the race included one freeze-dried meal, one Honey Stinger waffle, two pieces of bread, two pieces of flat bread, and a chocolate bar. I gave away two servings of peanut butter, two granola bars, and finished the race with two candy bars and two granola bars.

• This food intake was surprisingly adequate to stay warm, energetic, and happy for 6.5 days. Ever since my four-day-long bonk during the 2008 Iditarod Trail Invitational, I have been terrified of the prospect of being underfed in cold-weather endurance efforts. There was no way I was going into this event with its 2,000-calorie-per-day minimum. I thought 2,700 would be a sacrifice, but in this carb-loaded, quick-energy format with a hot meal to end the day, it remained effective and satisfying over the course of the race, even while running for seven-plus hours each day. This makes me think I eat too much in my day-to-day life.

• Before the race started, my pack weighed in at 12 kilograms (26.5 pounds) without my RidgeRest sleeping pad and without any water (but with the clothes I wore on my body at the start of the race.) Still, ouch. But after asking around I found out this number was fairly comparable to others with much smaller packs.

• Our 50-liter GoLite Jam backpacks were among the largest in the field. The large majority of the group had 30-liter packs and the fast runners usually cram minimal stuff into 20-liter packs. I'm not swayed by minimalism for the sake of minimalism, and I was actually really happy with my pack. I watched my tentmates struggle to cram their stuff into their packs each morning while Beat and I could pack up in under five minutes flat. I had one spot of chaffing on my lower back after the single "warm" day, and only slight collar bone soreness. Except for suddenly gaining 30 pounds, it was as comfortable as wearing a small hydration pack. And it was fairly effective at holding off the elements, including rain, graupel, and sharp volcanic sand.

• Iceland is so cool. I am a northerner at heart at felt at home in this stark, gloomy landscape. I'd love to return for a more intimate exploratory backpacking trip, with the solitude I feel this landscape merits. Someday.

Okay, this is going long. Race report soon. 

Jill loves the Northlands

We arrived in Reykjavik on Friday afternoon, and are in the midst of a whirlwind of last-minute preparations before we leave for our weeklong trek on Saturday afternoon. I sadly don't even have a new photo yet to add to this post, but I wanted to post a quick update of my whereabouts, mostly for my mom, who I may or may not have time to call tomorrow. 

This week we'll be participating in Racing the Planet Iceland, which can be tracked over the week with photos and news updates at this link. The course is 250 kilometers over six stages, mostly self supported (the race organization provides water and group tents.) The course (as yet unrevealed. We don't find out the route until the pre-race meeting on Saturday) seems to follow relatively flat terrain (I think the highest we'll be is about 3,500 feet, and this is the elevation we start at.) Still, I expect a fair amount of highly technical terrain, over tundra and boulder fields of volcanic rocks, so the whole "running" thing is going to be iffy, especially with a 27-pound pack. 

Gear is always a huge focus for folks in these events, and there's definite bragging rights for managing the lightest pack with all the mandatory gear. I care far more about avoiding hypothermia than I do about a few extra pounds, so my pack is equipped with the question, "If I were backpacking self-supported for a week in Juneau in September, what would I bring?" The forecast for the highlands, where we're starting the race on Sunday, is 6 degrees C for a high, 0 for a low. Add any sort of precip, and I'm mentally preparing for hours of low-level hypothermia even with all the gear I brought. 

 The only concession I made in my big pack is probably not enough calories, which is actually often not a psychological disadvantage for me personally during an endurance event. I have enough fuel to get through the day, although at a deficit, but I feel hopeful that it's enough to get by without feeling emotional distress about hunger. I ended up not changing much about my food rations; it's ~2,700 calories per day with one freeze-dried meal, and probably 70 or even 75 percent carbs. My body has never been efficient at burning fat as an energy fuel; I'm convinced that body fat works almost as well as dietary fat, for me at least. But I need carbs in order to not feel too bonky/hangry. I hope. For the record, 2,700 calories is probably fewer than I eat on a normal day without running 30 miles through near-freezing cold and wind and rain. But I do want to experiment with fuel efficiency and this kind of event is a good, safe environment in which to try. 

As for my conditioning, I feel undertrained. The rough early-summer races and knee injury seemed to prevent me from ever getting my endurance training off the ground. This will be another case of "let's see what I can do with what I have." Of course, Iceland is just a warm-up for PTL. If it goes badly, I will likely have to reassess my chances with a more realistic outlook. As it is, I have serious doubts about PTL, so in my imagination I am doing everything in my power to make sure Iceland goes well.

But beyond all that silly race stuff, I am so happy to be here. As I write at 10:27 Reykjavik time (12:27 a.m. in Zurich, 3:27 p.m. in California), the sun hasn't yet set. It's 11 degrees Celsius on a warm summer evening and the low-angle sun is casting a thick, rich light over the city. Behind these buildings seems to be nothing but stark mountains and boulder-strewn green valleys, and ahead, the coastal cliffs and north Pacific. Iceland feels close to home, and I'm really looking forward to a week of trekking in the Interior highlands and along the rugged coast. 

Zurich

 We're packing up to leave for Iceland early Friday morning, so I'm making a vacationy photo-dump blog post for the sake of continuity (which is something I value highly in my nearly-eight-year-old journal/blog.) Our visit to Zurich was pretty awesome. I could see myself living here, even if the Swiss do adhere to a lot of rules that my unrefined American manners occasionally stumble over, and even if you can't find an iced drink to save your life, and even if they seem a bit stingy with the coffee ... Switzerland is a beautiful and remarkably clean region, and these incredible mountains are right at their fingertips.

 For workouts, Beat and I went for a couple of runs from our hotel to the Uetliberg, a small 2,850-foot peak with a panoramic viewing tower at the top. On Monday it was cool and rainy, and I'd been so busy traipsing around the city that I neglected to eat lunch or even snack before our 5 p.m. run. I was thinking it would be this short, after-work thing, but it was still 8 miles with 2,000 feet of climbing on some steep terrain. I bonked early and hard, to the point where I was weaving a bit on the switchbacks, and wavering more dramatically on the slippery staircase up the wind-blasted tower. It was a tough run for me, and of course Beat was full of energy and laughing at me the whole way up. Deserved.

 We went back to the Uetliberg on Wednesday evening, and it was another hot, sweaty day. Just before our run, I met with a friend, Gabi, for afternoon drinks (more ApfelSchorle for me. No ice, sigh.) Gabi is a mountain runner that I met through Beat at the Tor des Geants. She's also the only person I know in Zurich, and I just happened to see her on the street when I was walking to the train station on Tuesday morning. During our visit, I started to tell Gabi the story of how Beat and I met at the Swan Crest 100 in Montana when I realized it was July 31, and this was the day Beat and I acknowledge as our anniversary. Later, and Beat and I were running up the steep side of the Uetliberg, the realization popped into my head again. "Hey, Love, guess what? It's our third anniversary!"

 So, after the run, we celebrated with a visit to the Thermalbad in our hotel building, which is apparently a famous spa in Zurich. The lower level is built into centuries-old stone vaults with hypnotic lighting effects and various saunas and jet pools. Then there's a roof pool with panoramic views of the city. We visited this pool right at sunset, with clear air, rich light, and alpenglow on the snowy peaks in the distance after the sun went down. Unfortunately I did not bring my camera. This picture is from the following afternoon, when went back for a lunchtime soak on our 24-hour access pass.

 August 1 is a national holiday in Switzerland. It's just like the Fourth of July in the United States; our morning pastries were adorned with little Swiss flags on toothpicks. Because it's a holiday, the Google office was empty and Beat finished up his work and took the afternoon to meet his uncle for a hike in Baden. It was yet another extremely hot day, in the mid-90s, and my body temperature was already jacked up from the mid-day spa visit. Beat's uncle guided us up this extremely narrow ridge that had some decent exposure to sheer drops. I felt severely overheated, to a level where I was concerned about heat stroke. But I poured the rest of Beat's sparkling water over my neck and this seemed to take my temperature down a few degrees — at least until we ran out of water about two hours into the hike. Beat's uncle walks even faster than Beat does, something I didn't think was possible, and we just kept marching along this breezeless, hot ridge. I was pretty grumpy. It's funny, because of all of the runs I did this week, the only one that didn't put me deep into the pain cave was the big mountain I time-trialed in Lungern. All the easy runs were hard; the hard run was easy. I guess life works out that way sometimes.

 There were good views along the three-hour ridge walk, which of course ended in a restaurant where Beat and his uncle ordered cider and I begged for water. My experiences in Europe have largely shown me that restaurants are pretty stingy with fluid in general, but this worker was very nice and filled up my bladder for me.

Our walk ended in Dielsdorf, adorned with yet another castle tower that has been standing since the 13th century. "The only buildings this old in the United States are Anasazi ruins," I said to Beat, but of course old stuff here is just not a big deal. We took the train back to Zurich and caught the fireworks over the lake in the evening. Fun holiday. The Zurich leg of this trip was really just supposed to be a business-related stop for Beat. I of course am pretty happy with how it worked out.

I'm going to keep all of these memories close to the surface when I'm cold and hungry in Iceland next week. The hot hot heat and the lap of luxury ... these things are good to experience sometimes, too. 

Dot on the map

Between his family reunion and our trip to Iceland, Beat needed to put in a heavy week of work at the Google office in Zurich. I had a few deadlines to keep myself, but beyond that I had some free time to spend exploring. On Monday it rained heavily for most of the day. I had to complete a few chores such as taking the rental car back to the airport, buying a phone card, and figuring out the train network — somewhat time-consuming tasks in a foreign city. I've never been great with public transportation; I prefer to be independently mobile, even if it means walking for an hour or riding a bike dozens of miles. But Switzerland has an extensive train network, and it seemed worth utilizing while I'm here.

Still, any trip that looked to be less than three kilometers merited walking. I got myself hopelessly lost several times, wandering around wet streets with an orange umbrella pressed against my chin and clutching a waterlogged map in both hands. I went to a museum that was closed on Mondays and a lakeside path that was still closed after Ironman Switzerland. Shut down on several accounts with sore feet from padding the pavement, I considered taking a trip out of the city on Tuesday.

Trouble is, I had no idea where to go or how to get there. A hotel employee recommended Luzern, but Beat warned me that the town was large and touristy, and he wasn't sure how much hiking I'd find in walking distance from the train station. I opened Google maps and traced the train line south as it worked its way through a series of towns next to lakes. At Lungern, the highway veered into a tunnel, which indicated the town was pressed against a steep mountain with no room for a larger road. Knowing little more than that, I walked to the main Zurich train station on Tuesday morning to purchase a ticket.

The train moved for an hour and stopped in Luzern, announcing the end of the line. My ticket was entirely in German and I didn't realize I needed to catch a connection, so I darted out of the train and wove through thick crowds until I saw a sign for Interlaken, which was in the same general direction I needed to go. I stepped on the train, which lurched forward before I even sat down. My layover must have been shorter than five minutes. Eek, I hope I'm on the right train.

I didn't know for sure until an employee checked my ticket and didn't say anything, so I figured I was not in the wrong. At nearly every stop I stepped up to the door, just in case the platform said Lungern. A few stops looked particularly nice and I almost considered getting off early, but decided to wait. The train rounded a narrow valley and began wrapping around impossibly blue lake; it was a color I'd never seen before, a kind of electric cerulean. It was so enthralling that I decided this would be my stop regardless, but when we arrived at the train station, it turned out to be Lungern.

I stepped off the train and looked toward the mountainside, an abrupt slope that climbed into vertical walls. It didn't even look walkable from the valley, but I've learned enough about hiking in Europe to know I'd probably find a trail up this mountain. Sure enough, on the other side of the train platform were those tell-tale yellow signs with destinations listed in hours instead of distances. I've learned enough about hiking in Europe to know that when fresh and determined, I can usually halve the estimated climbing times. My downhill times usually come out pretty close to estimates, unless I make an effort to run the sections that I'm capable of running. I had about four hours before I needed to catch the train back, and "Huttstett," listed at 3 hours and 45 minutes one-way, seemed like a good goal.

 The storm had cleared out and it was another warm day. Climbing was strenuous, gaining at a rate of about 1,200 feet per mile, mainly on open grassy slopes exposed to the hot sun. But the views were consistently nice, at least when took a break to catch my breath and turned around.

Huttstett was a narrow col at 5,450 feet elevation, just over 3,000 feet above the valley floor. It had only taken me an hour and a half to get there, so I had at least another half hour to climb. The main route seemed to drop back into the valley, but if I hopped over a cattle fence, there was an option to keep tracing the contour of the ridge.

I remember doing this countless times back when I used to hike solo in Juneau, marching toward a mountain peak with a tight timeline looming behind me, and somehow justifying, "Just a little bit farther. Just a little bit farther."

There was a distinct high point in the distance and I just wanted to see what was on the other side. The grade was less steep on the ridge and I made an attempt to run until the sideslope steepened to the point where falling would have been considerably costly. There were rocky cliff bands on both sides and only a narrow trail to hold my clumsy self to the mountain.

 Eek, don't look down.

 I marched up to the peak, called "Gibel" at 2,035 meters (6,676 feet.) A gravel road came up from the other side of the valley, and there were a dozen sightseers milling about. This is hiking in the Swiss Alps — you can rip your lungs apart marching up a steep and rocky trail, skitter over a narrow ridge with heart-stopping drops on both sides, crawl over a peak drenched in sweat, and arrive at a vehicle-accessible vista crowded with people. I dropped down the backside of the peak and found a bench overlooking an incredible vista of sharp, high mountains and glaciers. Wispy clouds streamed over the ridge and sometimes obscured the view altogether, so I sidled up to a bench to await an opening in the fog. An older couple was sitting there, quietly enjoying the vast views. The woman motioned at me and pointed to the sky, which I noticed for the first time was filled with para-gliders.

Now I had 2:32 on my watch. Eek, I really only had 90 minutes to make it back to Lungern before 4 p.m., in order to catch the 4:10 train. It wasn't the end of the world if I missed the train, but I did promise Beat I'd be back by 6:30. It was only five miles but more than 4,000 feet vertical descent away. When it comes to steep and rocky slopes, I find descending fast to be more difficult than climbing. I can't really call any of this "running," but it's at least if not more strenuous than any running I do, even for 40-minute miles. Still, descending is something I do need to practice, within reason. I think I startled a couple of families with children as I clomped down the trail, catapulting rocks with my trekking poles.

In a rare display of relative grace, I arrived at the bottom unscathed with 3:47 on my watch, meaning I managed to descend five miles and 4,300 vertical feet in an hour and fifteen minutes. Where did that come from? Relative to my usual descending abilities, that was a massive leap of faith, sometimes literally. Now if I can just manage all of this over and over, twenty times in a row, I'll be set for PTL next month. But, at least for this day, I made my train schedule with enough time left over buy an Apfelschorle and crackers from a vending machine. The perfect way to wrap up a serendipitously wonderful visit to the Swiss village of Lungern. 

Switzerland

Beat and I flew to Zurich on Friday to attend a large family gathering for his brother's and sister-in-law's 25th wedding anniversary. The past 36 hours have been fun but exhausting, a whirlwind combination of jet lag, meeting uncles and cousins and Beat's father for the first time, excessive heat that we could not escape, and language barriers. People asked me how my German was and I'd reply, in English, "I can count." I can also sing a few songs and recite a personal introduction that I learned in eighth grade. Beat's sister-in-law actually held me to counting and we made it to funf (5) together before she accidentally skipped over to sieben (7), which is just as well, because I can never remember the German word for 11.

The heat here has extended beyond family meetings and being on the hot seat for my sad lack of language diversity. When we arrived in Zurich on Friday afternoon the temperature was 38 C — 100 degrees, with much higher humidity than I'm accustomed to. I get the sense that most buildings in Switzerland do not have air conditioning, and this included our third-floor hotel room in Langenthal. After marinating for a few hours we decided it's better to sweat on the move and went out for a 90-minute run through the woods and farm fields near our hotel. I thought I was heat acclimated, but it's impressive how strenuous a run can feel in humid triple digits. The draining effect of the run on top of sleep deprivation (I never sleep on planes) and jet lag left me feeling almost drunk with fatigue by the time the party began in the late afternoon. I guess I'm lucky there was a language barrier because intelligent conversations became challenging. The party was a beautiful and elaborate affair, with an organ concert in a cathedral and a delicious four-course Swiss meal in a ballroom. It remained so hot that I had to stand with my knees together to prevent visible droplets of sweat from running down my legs. But it was an enjoyable gathering, even if social events in stagnant heat leave me feeling more drained than long runs.

We woke up "early" (still feels like 10 p.m. California time) on Sunday to join Beat's uncle for a hike in the Jura Mountains, a sub-Alpine range that divides the Rhine and Rhone river valleys. As we approached his uncle's flat near the Aar River, we passed an enormous castle perched on the cliffs above the village. No one mentioned this castle to me before; I supposed in Switzerland these things are no big deal, but it's really not every day you pass a 300-year-old castle on your way to your Sunday morning stroll (I did not take a picture of the castle, unfortunately.)

We climbed a narrow gravel road that had been hammered into the rocky slopes by the Swiss military in 1915 to fortify a barrier against German invasion from the north. Each unit that worked on the road carved their coat of arms into the rock. Although the Alpine regions lack in wilderness, the depth of history is fascinating and the extensive infrastructure is useful. A network of trails across these ranges make it possible to hike from Spain to Germany on an established mountain route, with regular stops at trailside cafes if you so desire.

After brunch, a large thunderstorm with heavy rain and hail moved in, and we decided to run our same dirt route in Langenthal in the afternoon. The effort was markedly easier in the warm drenching shower than it had been in the hot drenching heat. We ran fast (for me), cranking out 10 kilometers with 703 feet of climbing (like how I mash up imperial and metric measurements?) in 55 minutes. Although we did an extra 2K spur during the run yesterday, it really did take nearly a half hour longer. Interesting how oppressive heat can be. I'm going to remind myself of this experience next week in Iceland, when it's 5C and raining and I can't stop shivering. 

Anticipation

Beat and I spent several hours on Sunday finally putting all of our Iceland stuff together: Locating our flag-adorned T-shirts, rain gear and five *required* pairs of socks; compiling med kits and a surprising abundance of required odds and ends (including but not limited to an emergency bivy, two Ace bandages and a mirror);  and packaging little daily "lunch" baggies to discourage overeating of supplies in the early stages of RTP Iceland. The final verdict for my pack with all gear, seven days worth of food, and 1.5 liters of water: 27.3 pounds. Beat's pack was similar in weight. We'll probably have two of the largest packs out there, but I bet most of the participants — save for the most competitive runners —will have starting weights ranging from 23-30 pounds. Given we packed similar stuff for every day, I can already envision what each day will be like:

Sunrise: Wake up. Spend ten minutes mulling how I can avoid climbing out of my toasty sleeping bag. Inch my way out and pull on my down coat (so glad I brought that!) Put on a fresh pair of socks and underwear (figured if I was required to bring five pairs of socks, I might as well have an equal number of underwear.) Ah. Put on same clammy shirt and tights I wore all day yesterday. Ugh.

Breakfast: Two cups of Trader Joe's coffee (100 calories), one granola bar (190 calories) and one serving peanut butter (250 calories.) Wish I could mow through all of my Snickers Bars instead of trying to subsist on this meager breakfast.

Stage begins: Looking at another 25-plus-mile day. Hopefully it's not that 42-mile day. If it is, I probably have a pit in the bottom of my (growling) stomach.

Follow the course markings into the vast open expanses of Iceland. Hopefully the weather will be gorgeous and we'll be able to see for dozens of miles in all directions. Odds are the weather is cloudy and drizzly, with the potential for low-lying clouds and heavy rain. Either way, I anticipate much soaking in of ethereal beauty as we shiver in our cheap rain gear and puffy insulation layers (so, so glad I brought that!)

As the miles grind on, we'll find ourselves among familiar faces who share our general pace. We'll chat with our new friends from Hong Kong and Singapore and Scotland. One of the coolest benefits of an organized event like Racing the Planet is meeting like-minded people from all over the world. As fatigue sets in, I'll retreat into my introspective zone. And I'll probably have Sigur Ros playing on my iPod shuffle (so glad I brought three of those!)

Lunch: Actually just a small assortment of junk food eaten on the go: Two candy bars (500 calories), one granola bar (190 calories) and one bag of happiness courtesy of Haribo (500 calories.) Really, 1,200 calories of carbs? That seemed like so much on my spreadsheet. I'm hungry. But at least I feel awesome. Yay sugar!

Stage wraps up. My knees are getting pretty achy and my feet — I don't like to think about my feet. Pretending they don't exist is really the best course of action. But at least the pack gets lighter every day. I crack into my treat — a can of Pringles — that I hoped would last the week, but by day three it's already gone. (200 calories.)

Pre-dinner: Hang wet shirts, socks and tights inside the tent with all of our tent mates' gear. It smells fantastic in there. Put on our camp slippers (so glad we brought those!) Give ourselves sponge baths with tablet towels and attempt to treat our increasingly mangled feet. If it's still raining, I'll put on my Tyvek suit and go for a walk because the tent makes me claustrophobic. If it's not raining, we'll hang around the camp fire with folks telling adventure stories.

Dinner: One Mountain House Meal (600 to 800 calories) and one hot chocolate (150 calories.) If I had a good day, I'll probably rip apart the packaging of my meal and lick it clean. If I'm deathly ill like I was in Nepal, I'll try to pawn it off on a local boy who will take a sniff, crinkle his nose, and hand it back to me. (Actually, in Iceland, we're not likely to see many people not associated with the race. So make that a sheep. I'll try to give my food to a sheep.)

Sleepy time: Spooning with eight of my closest friends.

Beat and I took our properly loaded packs on a trip up Black Mountain with our friend Martina this afternoon — ten miles round trip with 3,000 feet of climbing. I forget what a burden thirty extra pounds can be — temps were in the high 70s and we were drenched in sweat. I couldn't muster much of a run on the climb, but we put in a hard effort on the descent and ran nearly all of the five miles back. I could feel each footfall heavily in my knees — more so in my right knee, which has been my good knee for the past few weeks and is more fatigued from bearing the brunt of my efforts. But the good news is, my left knee feels strong. If it can handle a 3,000-foot descent with a 27-pound pack, well, it must be reasonably solid.

Racing the Planet Nepal doesn't begin until Aug. 4, but it feels like we are in our final days of "training." I can't really say I'm going into a taper now, since I effectively started tapering when I bashed my knee four weeks ago. But there's much to do before we leave for Switzerland later this week (for Beat's brother's anniversary party and work obligations at the Google office in Zurich.) So I suppose the taper has begun. With luck, I'll be able to escape on a train into the Swiss Alps for one final "shakedown." 

Optimism

The knee issue was puzzling. When it comes to injury therapy, I can be skeptic. I don't believe in miracle cures. But there was no denying that I'd been struggling with limited mobility for three weeks; then I took an accidental and painful fall, and suddenly everything felt a whole lot better. I wasn't sure what to think; I called my doctor to possibly schedule an appointment, but he is out of the office until July 20. Because of lingering concern about stability, I went for a run on Monday to test things out. The joint felt markedly more stable than pervious weeks. There was no pain when I tried the higher kicks that are typical of a full run (rather than the ultra shuffle that I admittedly prefer.) With this new boost of confidence, I even increased my pace on the descent. Nothing. No pain, no wobbliness.

Today I went to see a massage therapist in Los Altos that Beat and I really like, Angelo, who works with a system of orthopedic therapy called the Hendrickson method. As much as I don't believe in miracle cures, he's helped me work out some nagging pains I've had in the past. Angelo worked around my joint and said he could detect thickened tissue that would indicate scarring on the side of the knee cap. I explained the fall I took on Twin Peak — my right foot slid out but my left foot remained anchored against a rock, resulting in considerable pressure on my left knee as it was forced into a hard bend. Angelo explained that similar motions are common therapy for breaking up scar tissue — a physical therapist applies torque to manually range the knee. He speculated that my limited range of motion was likely a result of scar tissue, which tightens up as it develops. Feelings of instability can be a symptom of a medial collateral ligament tear — which can result from a direct blow to the knee.

I am still considering consulting my doctor, but I can't say I even have any complaints to relay to him. Angelo said he couldn't detect any inflammation, and I don't have any points of pain. Even the superficial soreness has diminished. Although I resolved to take it easy for a few more days, I couldn't resist an urge to go for another run on Tuesday, just to relish in this new freedom of motion. Eight miles went flawlessly — it felt like my best run of the summer.

I could still have issues with this knee. If there is scar tissue as Angelo speculated, that means there was some initial tearing, which can be easy to re-injure, especially if I take another jarring fall. I plan to get re-acquainted with a more aggressively supportive (even if chafing and ouchy) knee brace for my long hauls.

But for now, I am embracing an optimistic outlook. Which means I can finally start looking to my two big summer events as though they're not going to be complete disasters. Finally, the scale between stress and excitement is tipping in the right direction.

In early August, we leave for Reykjavik to participate in Racing the Planet Iceland. This is a semi-supported stage race on foot, traveling 250 kilometers over six stages in seven days. The race organization supplies water drops, hot water at camp, and group tents. We're required to carry everything else we want over those seven days, including food. I like to look at it as a fun group backpacking trek in a beautiful northern region that I have wanted to visit for most of my life — with the added bonus of big miles. I love big miles. There are two 25-mile stages, two 28-mile stages, one 42-mile stage, and a final six-mile easy day. If I'm feeling good and my knee is strong, I want to put a good effort into this race — meaning I do plan to run within reason. But it is possible to be deathly ill and hike it out and still finish. That's effectively what I did during the 2011 Racing the Planet event in Nepal, when I came down with the worst stomach bug I've ever had during the night before stage one. I couldn't keep any calories down for the first two days, ate minimally for the remaining five, and still eked out a mid-pack finish. I suspect it will take a lot for me to feel worse in Iceland than I did in Nepal.

The weather in Iceland is likely to be ... Juneau-like. It could be beautiful, or it could rain non-stop for the entire week. Temperatures in the daytime will probably range from 45 to 65 degrees, with nighttime temperatures near freezing. Snow is possible. Sleet, likely. Rain — seven straight days without rain in that region is almost unfathomable. We are preparing to be cold and wet. I used to be really good at these conditions, but I am woefully out of practice.

Beat and I are both using Go-Lite Jam 50-liter packs. The capacity will sound enormous to most stage-race enthusiasts, but what can I say? We wanted our packs to be fully versatile for non-racing backpacking, and we also don't like to tightly condense our stuff. Our packs look big but they're not *that* heavy. Part of the required gear is a 35-liter drybag for clothing and sleeping gear.

Without going into too boring of a gear list, some of the notable things I'm packing are a RAB Quantum Endurance 25-degree down bag, RidgeRest, synthetic puffy pull-over, fuzzy fleece hat and mittens, mitten shells, extra shirt and tights (dry layer for camp), extra Drymax socks, warm wool socks, and Frogg Toggs rain jacket and pants. Why Frogg Toggs? They're cheap (given the nature of this race — running with large packs in wet and muddy conditions — our outer layers are likely to be semi-destroyed by the end). They're light. And they provide excellent rain and wind protection even if they don't breathe. (When it comes to rain gear, hard efforts, and long hours in heavy precipitation, I do not believe in waterproof breathable. I think it's better to bolster wind protection and accept that sweat will happen. There are several manifestoes about this in my blog archives from my days in Juneau.) I will have a spare down coat for camp.

I plan to wear a long-sleeve synthetic shirt, wind-proof tights, Drymax socks, hiking gaiters, a buff, and my beloved Hoka Mafate shoes. Actually my "new" pair is about as worn out as the pair I replaced in January, so it will be a challenge to squeeze 155 more miles out of them. But I plan to do so because I have a feeling this race is going to a shoe destroyer, and I don't want to take a brand new pair (which I'll need for bigger and badder terrain at the end of August.) To save my "race" Hokas, I've actually been training with my old shoes (which I made fun of back in January) since mid-June.

And I can't forget the Black Diamond Ultra-Distance Z-Poles. Effectively my favorite piece of long-distance trekking gear. I would probably give up Hokas before I gave up these poles. I've gotten pretty good at running at a good clip while using them. They help me manage my balance and footing on technical downhills, and help me "pull" on the climbs. Call them crutches, I need them. As a runner I secretly wish I was a four-legged animal, and these are as close as I'll ever get.

Food we're keeping fairly simple. Each night is a bland but filling Mountain House dehydrated meal and a hot chocolate, with packets of Lipton soup as appetizers. After Nepal, I wasn't even able to look at any form of dehydrated meals for about a year, but I've come around on about three or four varieties — the more bland the better. I like Chicken and Noodles, Chicken and Rice, Mac and Cheese, and if I'm feeling zesty, the Veggie Lasagna. Breakfast is coffee with creamer, a granola bar, and peanut butter. Daytime is a variety of granola bars, energy bars, trail mix, and gummy candy. After Nepal, I learned that trail food really is the most versatile form of calories to have during endurance events — bars or candy are the one thing I can usually force down even if I'm feeling considerably crappy. One week is not enough time to become woefully malnourished from lack of fresh foods. The calories will probably amount to about 2,600 a day. (The spreadsheet adds up to 18,500 calories. But we will not need many for the final day, so it's actually more along the lines of 2,850 a day.) It seems minimal for the effort we'll be expending, but I've learned that I'm unlikely to eat more. I do expect the cold weather to demand additional energy. We'll have to see how it goes. We'll be hungry. It will kind of suck, but I really don't want to overpack food. Again, I carried at least 5 pounds of food that I never ate in Nepal. I probably managed an average of about 1,200 calories a day. My digestive system was so angry, but beyond that, I was fine. My performance did suffer. ;-)

The packs with two liters of water will probably be in the range of 25 pounds. I might pack it up this weekend and actually weigh it, and I'll post if I do.