5 at 50 Part III: Can't Fence Me In

At my high school newspaper, “The Nugget” (so-named because gold prospecting launched my hometown), I learned to not bury the lede. So here it is: I crushed the first race of my 50s.

“Please close gate when leaving.” As seen on the Mount Helena Ridge Trail

Don’t Fence Me In (DFMI) traverses the mountains and gulches of Helena, Montana—the gold rush town of my youth and the place which, after a few decades away, my wife Lisa and I have decided to make our forever-home.

In Helena, one communes with the spirits of gritty prospectors, frontier place makers, and the indigenous Crow, Blackfeet, and Salish of twelve thousand years before. Just minutes from town, the only trace of people is the trail itself. Everything else is pure, inner experience.

It’s special here, but please don’t tell anyone.

Two historic Mount Helena views. Left: Early 1900s. Right: 1870s.

A few times a week, I run the trails around Helena, and have come to know every bend, rise, dip, rock, and root.

But the race—thirty kilometers with four thousand feet of climbing—has confounded me. In two outings prior to this year, I’ve never had a “good day.”

The final downhill two miles, especially, have left me frustrated, broken, and hobbling into the city park that marks the run’s end. “I can think of about a dozen nicer ways down the mountain,” I complained in 2022.

This year, everything changed. I sent it for a huge, ten minute personal best.

Untangling the Web

In the complex latticework of variables that makes up a race performance, we look for simple strands of truth. Just after finishing, I told Lisa matter-of-factly, “It was probably because I didn’t stop.”

That’s part of the story. On long days in the mountains, I keep the title of Bryon Powell’s book, Relentless Forward Progress, in mind because it’s a fact; a person can save serious time in distance running just by keeping their feet spinning.

So yes, in nineteen miles, I never stopped moving. That might have cut—let’s see, two aid stations at a minute each, plus one or two shoe ties—three to four minutes off my previous best. But what about the rest of the time? How did I find seven minutes?

I believe it came down to highly specific training, a solid (but flexible) strategy, and mindful execution on race day. Here are a few takeaways…

Training: Practice How You Play

A former boss of mine liked to say, “Train how you fight.” It irked me. There’s no room for rest. A person can’t always go at fight effort.

Still, I get the intent: How we prepare—particularly under the specific conditions we expect to encounter on race day—impacts how we perform.

As a two-time vet of the deceptively difficult DFMI, I identified three things that hurt my past performances: “Three Horsemen of the Bonk”—pacing, nutrition, and my weak-ass quads. Then I spent two months training them.

Prior to that two months, I’d built a solid base of volume. Getting miles in Montana winters can be tough, but dating back to the fall of 2023, I managed forty a week, hitting fifty and sixty a bunch and a peak of seventy. Most was at an easy effort, which allowed fast recovery and several run streaks of ten or more days.

Also new to me in this time period was a training approach put forward by Steve Magness and others called “base speed,” which is just what it sounds like: A foundation of fast running in the base phase (but nothing too long or intense).

From last November all the way to race day, I ran a lot of strides and hill repeats, rarely longer than a hundred meters, and always near the end of a run.

Back to the Three Horsemen:

1. Pacing: Two years in a row, I started DFMI too fast, then crashed with 10k to go. A more patient approach was needed. I began breaking long training runs into thirds, running them with a progressive intensity: Easy, Steady, Go. More on this when we talk race strategy.

2. Nutrition: I’ve been studying “best practices” around calories, carbs, electrolytes, and water intake on the run and realized, boy-oh-boy have I been under-fueling the past fifteen years. This training block, I brought gels and water on anything over an hour and diligently practiced eating and drinking.

3. My weak-ass quads: The pounding of DFMI downhills shredded my legs in 2022 and 2023. This year, I prepared by incorporating mountain finishes on many training runs. Specifically, downhill mountain finishes. More specifically, downhill mountain finishes on the final two mile segment of DFMI. That’s pretty specific.

Strategy: Fonzie Scheme

How would Arthur Fonzarelli race 30k in the mountains? Exactamundo… He’d be cool. To give myself a shot at a happy day in the hills, I came up with a strategy that was steady and adaptable, rather than aggressive and rigid.

Less push, more flow.

• Pacing: To PR, I’d need to average 9:45 pace. I wrote the number down and stuck it on the fridge. That said, it’s not realistic to hold one pace in the mountains. Better to run by effort, which I’d track via a schmancy heart rate monitor. With that “Easy, Steady, Go” progression in mind, I targeted corresponding heart rates: Easy (<140 bpm), Steady (140-150), Go (bpm be damned).

  Pro-tip (from an obvious amateur): Tuning in to body signals can help gauge effort. I designated the first two-thirds of DFMI a “grimace-free zone.” If I felt a strain or scowl on my face, I’d ease up, or at least flash a grin. As ultrarunner Andrew Glaze says, “Smile or you’re doing it wrong.”

• Nutrition: In road marathons, I’ve only been able to get down three or four gels before “throw up on my shoes” vibes set in. Having steadily increased caloric intake in training, I believed I could handle more at DFMI—something on the order of six or seven gels. I also knew I didn’t want to stop at aid stations and would need to carry about 24 ounces of water. I’d swallow electrolytes based on perceived sweat rate. All these “plans” were tempered with an understanding that I’d accept what my body could handle.

  Pro-tip (from an obvious amateur): Make it easy on yourself. Tuck salt tabs into the folds of your gels and secure with low-tack tape. This is all about reducing “cognitive load,” because having to fumble around or think, especially late in a long race, can break your resolve.

• Mindset: I love the solitude and self-reliance of running. But in races, I often get pulled into other peoples’ plans. I’d stay conscious of this at DFMI and, as the cliché goes, “run my own race.” In training, practices like meditation and journaling seemed to have been translating to greater self-awareness on the run. I would be mindful of these signals on race day—not to search for them (cognitive load), but simply to notice.

  Namast-ayyyy.

Execution: A One-Horse Race

I’ll keep this short, because the 2024 Don’t Fence Me In 30k was a beautiful culmination of the training and strategy you’ve already read about. It all came together in three weightless hours on the trails I love.

Can you run hard and still feel light? Because that’s what it was.

My heart rate ran higher than expected, but I adjusted the zones and focused on sensation. I noticed the confident grip of my favorite shoes and my feet falling naturally into the spaces between rocks, even as I pushed the pace.

As to that 9:45, I don’t recall ever looking at my watch to check. I knew I was moving with ease and efficiency, because my awareness was pinging in the background at all times like a softly-glowing status light: All good, all good, all good.

Occasionally, I’d notice something off-kilter and adjust. “That flailing thing you’re doing with your arms right now? Maybe bring those wings in. Stay compact.”

I don’t mean to sound saccharine. There were tough moments, a few grimaces. But all in all, it was “one of those days,” in all the best ways. I got a smooch from my love, ran to plan, and calmly reeled people in over the final third.

Oh, and that tough downhill to the finish? Five minutes faster than two years ago.

The Finish Line

There’s no way to pack six months of training, mental preparation, and the hundreds of little things that comprise a successful race into a single journal. I’m old and can’t remember all the details anyway.

The point of these words, and the reason I share small slices of a deeply personal experience, is to shine a light on possibility.

Fifteen years into my journey, running still reveals new wonders. It somehow—inexplicably, as if to defy definition—gets better every day, revealing one footfall at a time who I’m becoming.

With curiosity, patience, self-compassion, and some old-fashioned relentless forward progress, it can do this for you, too.

Don’t Fence Me In
May 11, 2024
30k with 4,000’ climbing
Previous PR, 2022: 3:02:46 (9:48 pace)
New PR, 2024: 2:52:38 (9:16 pace)

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What’s next?

DFMI was the 5 at 50 “Bonus Race.” The PR quest begins in earnest at the end of June with the Missoula Half Marathon. Is it possible to peak for all these distances in one year? Can an aging (but enthusiastic!) runner keep getting faster? Watch this space.

Left: Slight grimace at the start. Center: Final downhill is for real. Right: Comin’ in for a smooch. Apparently the guy behind me said, “Is that just for him?”

Read more from the series: 5 at 50

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Run lightly,
-mike