[Editor’s Note: We apologize for the lack of content for the past year. Expect a return to regularly scheduled programming at the beginning of February. We have some great stuff coming down the pipe. Until then, here’s a piece that isn’t what we typically publish on this site, but we hope you enjoy it anyway.]
My bike and I had been through a lot together. Sure, I had only had her for about eight months but we were tight. We went together like avocado and expensive toast. Rice and beans. Coffee and alpine starts. She was good to me, and I was good to her. Every time I rode her, regardless of the conditions, we just clicked. I smiled a lot. She fit me like those old pair of 511s. The ones I don’t want to get rid of even though I should. They feel too good. They fit right.
I hung that first century on her. On dirt and gravel no less. Around the Tetons. At altitude. On my first bikepacking trip. No flat tires, no slipped chain. Not even a squeak. Smooth, supple and perfect. That’s how I would describe her to my friends. And fun. Oh so very fun. Since I got her, I hardly went a day without riding her. My more expensive bike never saw the light of day. There was never an excuse not to ride her. No reason was good enough. It didn’t exist. I couldn’t talk myself into getting on anything else. I was in love and having fun.
I am a simple man. A minimalist if you will. I will inevitably error on the side of less. 20 mile run in the heat? A single 20oz handheld and no calories should be perfectly sufficient. Running up Half Dome in July from the valley floor? I’ll just toss a Lifestraw around my neck and hope for the best. Maybe tuck an avocado in my back pocket. Definitely never need a shirt. For any reason. Read a little beta online and free solo Grand Teton in an afternoon. Pass 50 people on their second day of a three day trip wearing helmets, harnesses and hundreds of feet of rope. I like to keep shit simple.
Point being, I’m the type of guy who buys a single speed gravel bike. I’m extremely minimal in my athletic pursuits and like to try hard. The perfect combo, I like to think. Be the guy in the puffy jacket and the overstuffed backpack while I jog by you shirtless in my zero drop shoes. What do you have in there? I’m in awe of your overpacking and overdressing. It’s confounding. I do more than you and I do it with less. A lot less. I take pride in this type of stuff.
I took great pride when I rode my single speed past the dudes wearing full kits on $10,000, 21-speed bikes. Some would even balk at my solo gear and try to keep up for a second. Until the realized what it took. They aren’t willing to go there. Shift again. Pop, pop, pop. Still nothing.
She made me feel safe, protected. We had a relationship built on mutual trust and understanding. She knew I was gonna take care of her. Ride her everyday. Push the downhills a little too fast and find the rhythm on the climbs, flowing. Smoothing it out. 12% feels like four and a half. And I knew that she had my back. My bike. She got me there. She could push a mellow 20mph on the flats and still climb with geared-up, kitted-out lawyers with too much money to spend on their bikes. It just worked. I was Thor and she was my hammer.
She rode on the bike rack all summer. Came with me wherever I went. Bryce, Sedona, The Wasatch, Jackson, Grand Teton and Yellowstone NP. Yosemite. The High Sierra Music Festival for god’s sake. I didn’t leave home without her. She was my escape. My trusty steed. Made everything better. My ace in the hole. My get out of jail free card. Can I live?
Then, just as quickly as she entered and changed my life, she was taken from me. In an instant. Stolen from a busy Santa Monica park. In broad daylight. With dozens of people in the immediate vicinity. First bike rack from the door. In plain view of, and six feet from, the completely full parking lot. My baby was taken from me. I walked outside and glanced toward where my bike was supposed to be and my heart stopped. It couldn’t be true. There must be some mistake. Not my girl.
It’s pretty easy to assign blame here. It was Phil Gaimon’s fault. He made me believe that otto-lock was actually a good company that could be trusted when they said their lock couldn’t be cut easily (I have since discovered that it can be sniped with a pair of garden shears easier than unlocking it). I would never have even known about otto-lock if it wasn’t for Phil Gaimon. I hope he dies. I hope he dies an unbearably slow and incredibly embarrassing death.
But this article isn’t about that asshole or assigning blame to anybody. No. And this article isn’t even about me, despite an abundance of evidence to the contrary. This article is about my All-City Nature Boy Single Speed Cyclocross bike. The love of my life. She was taken from me on a balmy afternoon in November. A mere eight months after she swept me off my feet, she was gone. Never to be heard from again. No sightings on Craigslist or OfferUp. No cameo at the local bike thieves’ tent encampments. Just gone. Vapor. Blowin’ in the wind.
I’ve accept this fact. Resigned myself to it. As Boyz II Men so aptly put it: It’s the end of the road. But my one and only hope is that she found a good home. I hope the dickheads who stole my bike kept it together and sold it to someone who shreds it. Someone who can push it harder than me for longer than me. Someone who rips gravel roads up and down mountain passes every morning before breakfast and rides it into the next state on weekends.
For the love of god, please don’t let her be sitting in a garage somewhere or all chopped up. Let her be rolling downhill at 40 mph over rocks and ruts. Let her be bathed in moonlight as she navigates some Southern Utah slickrock along the edge of a mesa. Or in Hawaii, bombing down the side of a volcano staying mere seconds ahead of an ever-quickening cascade of molten lava. Whatever the case may be, let her be free. Let her be alive. She needs to live. She needs to ride ridges and bask in the fresh air.
Even though there’s no way to be sure, I can lie to myself and pretend that it’s true. It has to be true. It’s what she deserves and where she belongs. Never rest, my love. Ride, ride, ride. I’m grateful to have ridden you while I had the chance. It must have been love… but it’s over now.
Bobby Geronimo: One my favorite articles that you have written is on Runner’s World called “Anton Krupicka: On Being Real”. In it, you discuss your desire to live a life that you feel is authentic, a life where you are being truly genuine in both your actions and the way that you portray yourself to the world. This article was written in March of 2011 (over six years ago). Have your general feelings about this changed at all since then? How has your increased public presence on social media over the past five years affected your feeling about this? Do you ever post things/say something in a interview because you feel like you have to?
Tony Krupicka: Like everyone else, I’m just trying to figure shit out, dude. I don’t have the answers. I’m a completely different person than I was six years ago; much more compromised physically it seems, but hopefully a little more evolved—empathetic, compassionate, generous—as a human than I was back then. Of course I still strive to live an authentic life and to authentically portray myself to the public (what does any of that even mean?! I feel like “authentic” has become such a buzz word.). But I’d also like to move in a direction where maybe I’m not quite as inner-directed, not as self-involved. I’ve spent most of the last five years putting all of my energy and focus into myself—I’d like to try and balance myself a bit more going forward by putting some energy into things greater than myself. Things that align with principles that I’d like to live up to. Valuing human relationships and social justice and this fucking planet itself.
Do I ever post things/say things in an interview because I feel like I have to? I guess so? But not much. However, I am a human in society, and I am an ambassador in the marketing departments of various outdoor gear manufacturers. I only work with companies that I feel like haven’t lost sight of the basic human element, but, at the end of the day, I AM in marketing to a certain degree, and social media is always going to be curated to a certain degree.
BG: The sentiment has been expressed that ultrarunning is different than other sports because it’s a smaller community, you can “interact” with the elites on twitter and maybe “run with them” for a while in a race. I have people telling me that I need to apologize to Sage Canaday for my article (like he read it and got upset). I could have written an article about any other sport and been WAY more negative and people aren’t going to tell me I should apologize. Do you believe that because the sport is small, by default, nothing negative or divisive should be said about anybody? If you are putting yourself out there on social media to be seen ALL THE TIME, do you believe you have the right to be scrutinized?
Tony Krupicka: Of course, if you’re presenting yourself as a public figure, you have to be able to take a certain amount of scrutiny and criticism. Saying negative, divisive, personal things about ANYone is generally pretty petty and pointless, though, and tends to be more telling about the person spouting the hate than the subject of said hate. I don’t think life is all sunshine and rainbows—I’m as petty and judgmental and cynical as anyone—but what’s the point of embodying those things publicly? Any time I’ve felt negatively about someone it’s almost always because I’ve been feeling angsty or unhappy or insecure about myself for some reason and have just been lashing out. Negativity rarely has any value.
BG: Aliens land on Earth. They propose a mountain running relay for the fate of the planet. It’s five laps around Mount Blanc on the UTMB course, run relay-style with a team of five runners. You get voted as the captain for the Earth team when you declare via Instagram that you plan to ignore all lingering ITB issues for the sake of mankind. It’s your job to pick the four other runners you want with you on the team (and the order you will run in). What do you do?
Tony Krupicka: I guess a question like this is supposed to provoke me to select and explain who I think the best 100mi mountain racers are? If the goal is to win (and save the fate of the world?), that’s pretty easy. The four picks are Francois, Kilian, Tim Tollefson, and Xavier Thevenard. Duh. Incidentally, I don’t deserve to be captaining that team. But that’s pretty uninteresting. If the question is, who do I want on my team? Then I pick Joe Grant, Dakota Jones, Clare Gallagher, and Jenn Shelton. I mean, three of us can barely run (come on Clare and Joe! carry us!), but fuck it, at least there will be some feminine charm and sensibility (traits that I can’t believe I’m actually bestowing upon Clare and Jenn) in the mix to balance out all the whiskers and square edges and we’ll enjoy ourselves and each other’s company. (This is not to imply that any of those other four wouldn’t be good company, too.) [Editor’s Note: We here at Trailflow would pay a significant portion of our monthly income to watch a reality show with those five runners in it. They could be doing anything too. They don’t even necessarily have to be running.]
BG: In another one of your Runner’s World posts (I realize these are old but fuck are they GOOD! And still so relevant. No one is writing like that (and that well) about mountain ultrarunning currently) you‘re discussing why you (used to) run barefoot. You write: “Minimal footwear enforces a heightened sense of the position of my body in space and its position relative to the technically challenging terrain. This sort of awareness is at the basis of any skilled movement we do as athletes, and the athleticism that running quickly over variable terrain requires is probably the essential difference between a trail/mountain runner and the traditional road/track athlete who operates primarily in a straight-ahead plane of movement.” Obviously, your opinion about footwear has changed since you wrote this. Do you no longer agree with that statement? It seems so no-bullshit, common sense.
Tony Krupicka: It depends on exactly how you define “minimal” I suppose. And the application varies…that’s the most important thing. For long trail runs and races, I think a shoe with some cushion underfoot is going to serve you better. You’ll sacrifice a small amount of nimbleness, but that will more than be made up for by the fact that your feet won’t be killing you by the end of the day. I can think of more than one 100 mile race where the main complaint I had in the final quarter of the race was foot pain. And not injury pain, just pure battered dogs. Specifically, one that sticks out in my mind (maybe because it was the last ultra I ran) was the Transgrancanaria 128K in 2015. I ran that in a pair of NB MT110s. After about 90k I remember wishing I had on a cushier pair of shoes—I was running more slowly simply because my feet hurt. When Antoine Guillon came bounding by me in a pair of Hokas late in the race, I distinctly remember feeling envious. Those two shoes are close to being at either end of the spectrum, so, obviously, a middle ground makes more sense.
For me, now, a pair of La Sportiva Mutants or Akashas strikes that middle ground nicely. I don’t think the 10mm drop on the Mutants is ideal, but it honestly doesn’t bother me that much, either. If I think about it, that kind of late-race foot pain was just something I took for granted in every 100k+ race I ran after, say, 2010. Before Rocky Raccoon 2011, I honestly just don’t have a good enough memory to recall if late race foot pain was a factor or not. For 100K and below, a “minimal” shoe like the MT100 series (all those shoes still had stiff TPU rock plates, don’t forget) worked great. Now, for off-trail travel—which is most of what I do anymore—the footing is often much more variable and challenging than on a trail, and I still agree with the quote you pulled above.
BG: I was lucky enough to take a class from David Foster Wallace (the year before he took his own life) in college. He always talked about how much of a perfectionist he was and how it became this completely debilitating thing for him because he could never do anything that was perfect enough so he just ended up not doing anything at all, even when his far-less-than-perfect work was still genius by any standards, and I think that theme comes through a lot in his writing. After he died, a ton of his unfinished work was published (most notably the novel Pale King). Having read a lot of DFW, how do you think he would react to knowing that an unfinished manuscript had been published? Devastated? Somehow liberated? Thoughts on how it might relate to your running career?
Tony Krupicka: I’ve read darn near everything there is to read by DFW and I think most of what was written about him, too. All the major stuff at least. And I think his neurotic perfectionism would leave him devastated at the thought of an unfinished manuscript being published. I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with how this might relate to my running career…sorry, I just don’t see it. I’m not (and never have been) a perfectionist, if that’s what you’re getting at? Losing a leg (or some such other properly career-ending calamity) wouldn’t leave me feeling liberated, I’d be fucking devastated. If you’re lucky, life goes on longer than one’s 20s, 30s, and 40s when races and epic adventures are most doable. But there’s a lot more to life than those kinds of pinnacle experiences.
Eventually, just having the ability to stay active will be hugely fulfilling. The only way that good fiction relates to my running or anything I do in the mountains is that both are hugely satisfying because they tap into a feeling of connection. In fiction, it’s usually a feeling of connection to the greater human experience. In the mountains, it is that as well (through shared experiences with humans both past and present) but also a deeper connection to some other kind of grand substrate of power and magic and meaning that is conveyed through moments of clarity and grace…realizing I’m simultaneously more powerful and capable than I ever otherwise thought but also just such a fragile, infinitesimal blip of a speck in the grand scheme. That’s all I got.
I was bombing down a trail, descending the last couple miles into Will Rogers State Park in Southern California last week when I rounded a bend and was (somewhat) surprised to see a full on film crew conducting an interview on the side of the trail. I was running fast, around 6 minute pace and noticed that a couple of the people were standing right in the middle of the singletrack, including the guy holding a 15-foot boom mic. Annoyed, I kept my pace up and intended on flying right by.
Then, some guy who was looked like he was in charge, started frantically waving at me to get by them. He had both arms extended and was in a half crouch, silently (but madly) flailing his arms in the direction I was already running, and running pretty fast.
Since I was already doing what he seemed to be signaling me to do, I could only assume that I had misinterpreted his signals. So naturally, I slammed on the brakes, stopped right in front of the guy (and this huge production) and started asking him– very loudly– what his arm motions meant.
“Just keep running!” He said in a hushed shout, eyes wide with bewilderment.
“But, I was already running fast, so your signal had to have meant something else, right?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You wouldn’t have been so adamantly suggesting that I simply continue what I’m doing, right? I would have done that on my own.”
One of the three guys behind the massive camera setup said “Cut!”.
“Can’t you see we’re shooting here?!” The guy asked.
I looked around a bit and said, “Oh no. I didn’t notice the multiple handcarts full of boxes, the complete lighting studio and the 20 people standing around on the side of the trail.”
These guys were incredibly upset I had ruined their shot. It was pretty hilarious.
“Maybe next time you see someone running down the trail, simply trying to enjoy themselves, don’t start telling them what to do– especially if they are already doing what you want– it’s confusing. Maybe just realize where you are and let me do my thing.” I added before starting to jog back down the trail.
You may assume that things like this only happen on trails in the Santa Monica Mountains, but as has been pointed out ad nauseam since the deluge of gopro/drone/iphone/gimble/boom hordes descended on Squaw Valley a couple weekends ago, this shit has gotten out of hand.
At this point, the old rules for trail etiquette are obsolete. They leave out scenarios that are becoming all too common in the trail and mountain running world and they need to be updated.
The person operating the least amount of electronic devices has the right-of-way
Forget the uphill/downhill argument. If you’re taking selfies with your gopro on the big climb, the guy running downhill with free hands has the right of way. If you’re holding a gopro on the end of a selfie stick and you’re approaching a guy simply holding his phone in his hand, you relinquish your right of way. If you’re holding a DLSR attached to a gimble with a microphone, you gotta move to the side for the guy with selfie stick. It only makes sense.
Pro Tip: Be ready at any moment to drop into a squat in order duck a selfie stick. You never know when the operator might like to change angles or get a panoramic shot.
Do NOT, under any circumstances, talk to someone on the trail.
How many times have you been out for a trail run and thought that the person you were passing was saying hello, so you said hello as well. Then you find out that they were just talking into their phone and they are fucking furious with you for ruining their live facebook feed or snapchat. I know, it happens to me almost everyday.
If you hear someone talking on the trail, it is safe to assume they are only speaking to their device, not you. Keep your head down and keep moving.
Drone operators must be at least three feet off the side of the trail.
There’s nothing worse than coming around a corner and seeing someone standing directly in the middle of the trail, staring up in the air with a controller in their hands. They never see you coming. They are too concerned about crashing their plastic quadcopter with their $500 camera on it.
Eric Schranz recently advocated for shooting them out of the sky. I love this line of thinking, but I don’t have a gun. In the particularly egregious offenses, I like to take control of the drone– either forcibly or by telling them that I am an experienced drone operator and can show them some awesome “tricks” and then turn the drone in a kamikaze missile headed straight for them. This way, not only do you destroy the drone, you get the opportunity to inflict some bodily harm.
Pro Tip: If you can get the drone to chase them up the trail away from the trailhead for a mile or two before crashing it into their head, it makes them even angrier. These people never want to go far.
During a trail race, any registered runner may lower their shoulder and “truck” a non-registered person on the trail holding a gimble setup.
This doesn’t really require further explanation.
The volume in your headphones or bluetooth speaker must be kept low enough to hear someone behind you on the trail, even if you’re not listening to music, just the new Tim Ferriss podcast, or you may be tripped.
It seems that every race has some stipulation of this rule and yet, every time I race I end up behind someone who can’t hear me yelling at them. It’s way worse when it isn’t a race situation and people have to use common sense to determine what and what not to do.
If you yell “excuse me” as loud as you can three times and get no response, you are allowed (obligated?) to trip the person in order to get around them.
Pro Tip: Just as they are picking their foot up off the ground, kick the outside of their foot toward their other leg.
If you are part of a group of three or more people operating a camera in any way whatsoever, you relinquish all rights that you have on this trail and as a citizen of the United States.
Basically, you become fair game. It’s like those Purge movies except limited to this very specific scenario instead of one night a year.
Pro Tip: Always stuff some empty water balloons into the gel pocket of your shorts when you go running. You won’t even notice they are there, and you can have an awesome time on the serendipitous chance that you run into a film crew and have to pee.
During a trail race, when there are already a large number of cameras on a runner, a situation like with Walmsey at Foresthill or Kilian finishing the Mont-Blanc Marathon, and you wish to shoot some amatuer video yourself, you first must count the number of people already filming. Then– and most importantly– shove your iPhone up your ass.
Bobby Geronimo: Here’s the situation: Aliens land on earth. A vastly more technologically advanced species, they intend to wipe out humankind before mining the earth for it’s resources. Luckily for us, these aliens (who are also bipedal and avid runners) hold some ancient karmic belief that gives us a sporting shot: they want to race 100 miles for the fate of the planet.
Wasatch Willy: So, essentially it’s Space Jam except the aliens are ultrarunners instead of basketball players.
Bobby Geronimo: Exactly. I should have just said that… So, after a brief consultation with the aliens (which I imagine will begin something like that scene with Will Smith in Independence Day) we iron out all the details and decided the race will be a five-leg relay run on the toughest, most versatile courses we have to offer on Earth. Each species lines up their five best runners to tackle each course for the fate of the Earth and, in our case, the species as a whole. After running all five courses, the team with the lowest combined time wins.
Wasatch Willy: And the five courses need to be difficult, different and showcase a bit of all the different types of terrain Earth has to offer. Let’s go with: Western States, UTMB, Hardrock, Badwater and Barkley.
BG: Perfect! That gives us a little bit of everything. And for the sake of this thought experiment, let’s both a draft our team (alternating picks) so we don’t end up with any duplicates and it makes it a bit more interesting.
So, you have to draft five runners in any order you choose and assign each of them to a race: Western States, UTMB, Hardrock, Badwater and Barkley. The alternate needs to be able to fill in wherever needed.
Your five runners run the five courses and the combined time needs to be below the combined time of the alien runners or we all die horrible, painful deaths.
WW: Sounds good, I’m going first.
“With the 1st overall pick in the 2017 hypothetical ultrarunning draft, Wasatch Willy selects”:
This actually might be cheating… Are we sure Kilian isn’t some sort of alien? Assuming he is human, this seems like the safest pick. He has the CR in both directions and it didn’t even seem like he was trying that hard. He also is the nicest guy on the planet, the aliens may change their minds about global domination after meeting him.
Bobby Geronimo:#1: Jim Walmsley, USA, Western States 100
Another big surprise here. Nobody is beating Jim Walmsley on the Western States 100 course this year. Not Kilian, not a deer, not some alien. Not after what happened last year. With the fate of the planet on the line, he definitely goes sub-14. Plus, I want someone with the competitive fire of Jim Walmsley lining up for the species. He’s gonna bring a swagger and confidence that, coupled with his suicide pace, will hopefully leave the aliens searching for a planet of less-athletic runners.
WW: #2: Kaci Lickteig, USA, Western States 100
Give us your biggest, baddest lady alien, and we’ll give you Kaci. She is a friendly, smiling assassin and is KILLING it right now. She knows the course and is in great shape. Obviously these aliens haven’t been following her on Strava.
BG: #2: Francois D’Haene, France, UTMB
Experience. Experience. Experience. UTMB course record holder and two-time winner. Adds some perfect balance to the team with someone like Walmsley up front. You just know this guy is gonna get it done, especially on this course. With the exception of Kilian, there’s no one else I’d be more confident in going sub-20 hours on a circumnavigation of Mount Blanc.
WW: #3: Zach Bitter, USA, Badwater 135
Zach is flat out fast. He is possibly the most fat-adapted athlete on the planet, I bet these idiot aliens haven’t even figured that stuff out yet… Anyways, Zach owns the American 100-mile record in 11:40:55(I am aware that some Russian dude has the WR but I’ve seen the movies, Americans always save the world.). He did that on a track, which takes an incredible amount of willpower that will serve him well on the melting asphalt roads at Badwater.
BG: #3: Anton Krupicka, USA, Hardrock 100
This is my darkhorse. It’s a bit risky, obviously, but I’m assuming that with the Earth on the line, Krupicka is gonna push through any latent ITB issues and get the job done. At the end of the day, his skill set fits this course and I think he has the tools to put together a course record performance on a good day. And he wants this race.
Plus, worst case-scenario, we get to watch Krupicka race Hardrock before the world ends.
WW: #4: Rory Bosio, USA, UTMB
These chick aliens aren’t going to know what hit them when they meet the women of Planet Earth. Rory has the UTMB course record in 22:37 and has won TWICE. She also has one of the smoothest gaits around and seems like a total badass. She hasn’t been racing a ton, so she will be well rested and ready to kick some alien butt.
I’m all about gender equality when it comes to saving Earth.
BG: #4: Mike Foote, USA, Barkley Marathons
I was really tempted to go with Gary Robbins here, but I think that Mike Foote is gonna be the guy to get this one done. Gary has the experience on the course, but at the end of the day, Mike Foote has the ability to excel on this course and a bit of a higher ceiling than most previous Barkley finishers.
If Mike puts together the type of race he’s capable of on this terrain, I think he goes under Brent Maune’s CR and gives us a solid cushion on the aliens. Mike is also just a super awesome dude, and if someone is gonna represent our species, I don’t know who would do a better job.
WW: #5: Cameron Hanes, USA, Barkley Marathons
Admittedly, this pick is a little bit out of left field. Cam is a strong runner, a professional bow hunter and very competent in the outdoors. He is PERFECT for Barkely. It is a footrace- but an unorthodox one and Cam is used to being off trail and the challenges that come with those situations. I think his skill set works well for Barkley… Ok, I’ll come clean about this pick. I hoping Cam kills one of these alien bastards with his bow.
BG: #5: Rob Krar, USA, Badwater 135
I think Krar would be capable of doing something really special on this course. Rob knows a thing or two about battling demons. With Earth on the line, He might be able to run 135 sub-five minute miles. Who knows? I just know I want him lining up for that race on my team.
WW: You get to pick your alternate first because I had first overall pick. Just to be clear, the alternate needs to be a versatile runner capable of filling in for ANY injured runner on ANY of the courses. This can’t be a one-trick pony.
BG: Sounds fair. Alternate: Magda Boulet, USA
This is a no brainer for me. I already have too much testosterone on the team (because you stole my two picks!) but I really feel like Magda could line up at any of these races and crush it. She’s done it before on the UTMB and Western States courses and I think she has the foot speed and ability to withstand the heat enough to be very successful at a race like Badwater. She just edges out David Laney for this spot for me, as a 2:17 marathoner with a true mountain running pedigree, he’d be a nice reliever to have on the bench as well.
I like my team! I think we win the planet. Who you got on your bench?
WW: Alternate: Gary Robbins, Canada
He is versatile as can be, runs super-fast on all sorts of terrain and is a Barkley finisher guy who almost finished Barkley. I’m really concerned Cam will be DQ’d for killing the aliens and Gary can fill in if needed.
BG: Good picks bro! That was fun. Our lists might be a bit-American centric (as we are from the US). We would love to hear from readers what their mountain running teams look like.
The Final Teams:
Bobby’s Team: Jim Walmsley, Francois D’Haene, Anton Krupicka, Mike Foote, Rob Krar, Magda Boulet
Long story short, I have no idea how to taper. When I didn’t think about any of this stuff and I just went running, I had no taper issues. I was running around 35-40 miles a week and then I would just take Monday, Wednesday and Thursday off, run like 5k on Tuesday and Friday and show up for my 50 mile race and feel great.
Now, I’m running a lot more (at least 75 miles a week) with much bigger weeks peppered in during a big training block. I’m also running a lot faster. Things have fundamentally changed. But I’m still trying to hydrate, eat and taper like everything is status quo. I need to figure my shit out. I’m on a mission to master my nutrition. Determined. That’s a whole different post. For now, let’s talk taper.
When I’m running 90-100 miles a week, I feel incredibly strong. Tired, but strong. It takes me a bit to get going (or even out the door a lot of the time) but when I get warmed up, some of my strongest training runs have come as I’m closing down back to back 100 mile weeks with tons of volume on my legs. Things I didn’t even think were possible. I perform better deeper into runs. At mile 25 or 30 of my training runs, I feel strong. I need to capture this during race day.
For my recent Backbone Ultra (110k), I ran three consecutive 100 mile weeks followed by a 93 mile week heading into my taper. I ran just over 15 miles leading up to the Saturday race and while I initially felt fresh and rested, it seemed to turn bad on me very quickly (after only about two hours, which seems insane considering the training I put in). If I had just kept running that week like my training, how would the result have been different? My previous Saturday run on tired legs was great.
In an attempt to figure it all out, I took a look at what some elite trail runners, those who actually have consistent success at distances beyond 50 miles, do in their taper. I’m not talking about the guy on social media you follow who puts up photos of himself eating donuts under the hashtag #tapertantrum. I’m talking about the big boys. Let’s see if Jim, Kaci, Gary and Tim can help us amateurs figure it all out.
Jim Walmsley, Western States 2016:
We all know how this went down. Despite his wrong turn, he obviously had his fitness dialed in. Jim runs a ton, so this should be a good indication of how to taper down from high volume successfully:
Six: 140.7mi 17h 29m 22,530ft
Five: 141.1mi 17h 3m 14,285ft
Four: 120.0mi 14h 19m 10,268ft
Three: 100.3mi 12h 34m 15,349ft
Two: 65.2mi 8h 37m 11,993ft
Race Week Prior to Western States: 27.2mi 3h 5m 1,689ft; Days run race week: Tuesday (8.2) Wednesday (8.1) Thursday (6.2) Friday (4.4)
Jim (somewhat surprisingly) does dip down in volume the last two weeks. Two weeks out from race day, his volume is approximately 46% of his six week mark. He only took a single day off the week of the race (Monday) which, from what I can tell, seems to be the way to handle the final leg of the taper: increasingly shorter runs leading into the weekend, keeping the effort easy but not necessarily jogging slowly. Like David Roche has pointed out, you need to keep your muscle tension high in order to maintain your speed. Jogging slowly in your runs before a race doesn’t do that for you. Short and fast. This certainly worked for Jim.
Gary Robbins, Barkley 2017:
Obviously, Barkley is incredibly unique. There are not a lot of other courses out there that pose the challenges a race like Barkley does. The training is specific. It might be a waste of time to look at this data, but Gary Robbins is a smart, calculating dude and this was Gary’s second time running Barkley so he knew exactly what to expect and how to train specifically for the task. Let’s see what we can glean:
Six: 47.2mi 14h 35m 30,446ft
Five: 43.5mi 13h 22m 30,453ft
Four: 56.9mi 18h 14m 40,322ft
Three: 43.9mi 14h 42m 27,828ft
Two: 33.7mi 8h 9m 11,040ft
Race Week Prior to Barkley: 9.9mi 2h 50m 4,134ft; Days run race week: Tuesday (5.0) Thursday (4.9)
The crazy part about comparing Gary’s Barkley taper with Jim’s WS100 taper is how similar they actually are. You would think those two races and their different demands would render wholly different training cycles, and yet, in terms of time spent running these two tapered very similarly. Following them both on Strava, it definitely seemed like Jim was running a lot more, but he was hanging significantly more mileage, not necessarily spending a lot more time on his feet. Gary was tackling Barkley-esque terrain on the BCMC everyday in Vancouver, eating up massive chunks of vert each and every time he stepped outside.
If you start three weeks out, Gary actually tapered a lot less than Jim in terms of time and vertical gain. He only ran ~10 miles race week prior, but the three hours he spent was the same as Jim (who almost ran 30 miles). Both athletes were very specific to the demands of their individual race but tapered in a shockingly similar way when you compare the numbers side-by-side. We might be getting somewhere here…
Kaci Lickteig: WS 2016:
Kaci is a beast. She runs a TON. And fast. She’s similar to Walmsley in that regard (although she probably trains on flatter terrain than him day in and day out, living in the Mid West). She looked so, so smooth at last year’s WS100 and according to her Strava data, she spent less than twenty combined minutes stopped at aid stations during her 100 mile win. She just kept rolling and never even looked tired. I want to taper like her. Let’s take a look:
Six: 102.1mi 14h 18m 10,410ft
Five: 111.7mi 15h 48m 9,429ft
Four: 129.8mi 17h 56m 10,282ft
Three: 100.4mi 13h 34m 5,902ft
Two: 86.6mi 11h 7m 2,365ft
Race Week Prior to WS100: 27.9 3h 5m 787ft; Days run race week: Monday(10.2) Tuesday(10.4) Wednesday (7.1)
She tapered down her volume less than Jim, but her peak wasn’t as high. She’s running at 85% of her six week total two weeks out from race day. She peaked in volume four weeks out (just like Gary did for Barkley) which is in contrast with Jim’s peak six weeks out. Kaci and Jim’s race weeks were eerily similar in terms of distance/time:
Kaci: 27.9mi and 3h 5m
Jim: 27.7mi and 3h 5m
Jim grabbed about twice the amount of vert but the big difference here is that Kaci took Thursday and Friday off, while Jim did not. Unless she’s not putting a run on Strava (and she seems to log just about everything) Kaci took two full days off before Western States after averaging over 106 miles per week the five weeks leading into the race. Something David Roche suggested not doing (which made a ton of sense to me when I read it). But it definitely worked for her. Interesting…
Tim Tollefson UTMB 2016:
Tim is an impressive dude. He almost never takes a day off. Sure, he took a couple after UTMB and single day after this year’s Hong Kong 100k, but in his training cycle, never. He comes from a background of consistency in his running and he sticks to it. Even if there’s 10ft snow of the ground in town in Mammoth Lakes, Tim is out there getting it in. And, as far as I can tell, he runs everyday leading up to his races (Side note: Tim’s Strava really makes me want to live in Mammoth Lakes. Like really bad.)
The 2016 UTMB was Tim’s first 100 mile race (easy first, haha) and he threw down one of the best performances ever by an American athlete. He ventured into unknown territory and did it flawlessly. As someone who hopes to race 100 miles for the first time in the future, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at his training and preparation for this race. (Fun Fact: Tim stood on the UTMB podium without running longer than 55k in training.)
Six: 101.2mi 15h 4m 15,942ft
Five: 86.9mi 11h 36m 7,251ft
Four: 107.1mi 15h 32m 17,074ft
Three: 92.9mi 12h 30m 9,195ft
Two: 75.3mi 11h 25m 9,889ft
Race week Prior to UTMB: 36mi 3h 19m 2,503ft; Days run race week: Monday (10.0)Tuesday (8.0) Wednesday (8.0) Thursday (6.0) Friday (4.0)
Thirty-six miles seems like a lot leading into a race like UTMB, but when you look at his overall time, he only ran 14 minutes longer than Walmsley and Lickteig leading into Western States. He did hang a lot more vert than Kaci and Jim that week (which means he was running FAST; muscle tension!) but that’s specific to the demands of a course like UTMB which has much more vertical gain/loss and poses a more technical challenge. Not the vert or technicality of Barkley, but somewhere in between the two, where it seems like Tim found that sweet spot in his training.
Looking at his last six weeks, Tim peaked four weeks out (the same as Gary and Kaci) and had a small dip in volume during week five (the same as Gary and Kaci). Something about that small stagger in their training weeks is interesting to me. Sure, Walmsley’s nice straight lines that are always building toward or descending away from his peak are strangely satisfying to look at, but there seems to be something to the five-week-dip into a four-week-peak. Take a look at Dominic Grossman’s training for the AC100:
Dominic Grossman AC100 2016:
Six: 72.2mi 11h 30m 13,480ft
Five: 45.6mi 6h 33m 7,424ft
Four: 54.1mi 13h 34m 19,114ft
Three: 66.3mi 11h 30m 13,555ft
Two: 36.3mi 6h 2m 7,520ft
Race Week Prior to AC: 18.4mi 2h 49m 3,109ft
While Dominic may not be running as much as the rest of them (he has a full-time job to balance with his pro running career) he is super consistent and he has a ton of experience, especially when it comes to running the Angeles Crest 100. That’s his race. So, despite slightly lower volume overall, you would expect him to have his training and taper dialed in.
With him, you see the same four-week-peak (the most time by over two hours and 5k more vert than the other weeks) after a similar dip during week five. Dom’s training is very specific to the course demands (almost all of his training was done on the course) and he clocked the appropriate amount of vertical gain and wound up with a third place finish. On a rugged, high-elevation, point-to-point mountain course that eclipses Western States in difficulty in all categories.
Tapering is a specific thing. Each race offers a different list of challenges and demands. Everyone has different goals. That being said, it’s very interesting to me how similarly the elites taper. Even for races as different as Western States and Barkley. They’re doing it right based on experience and wisdom. And, surprisingly, essentially in the same way. If I want to run 100 mile weeks and train at a volume similar to elite ultrarunners, I need to start tapering like one.
During last year’s pre-race briefing for The Rut 50k, Mike Foote, standing behind a podium at the Bozeman Running Company store, was asked how much we should be tapering the final two weeks before the race.
Mike smiled and said, “Well, at this point the hay should already be in the barn… but you don’t want to turn the faucet off completely, you want to keep it running.”
There seems to be somewhat of a distinction forming— a line being etched across the dirt. The community as whole seems unusually divided. The comment sections of seemingly every article slowly gestating toward the inevitable. Even places normally reserved for congratulations and respect, like Strava runs, are seen exploding into 40 comment arguments. I haven’t been running for very long so I’m not exactly a historian when it comes to the cultural swings and relative zeitgeist of the mountain ultra community, but I’m starting to feel like we’re at a crossroads.
I’m a bit ashamed to admit, when I first got into running it was really because of Born to Run. I was in a post-college basketball funk where I hadn’t figured out what I was going to do athletically and was getting incredibly sedentary, bored and fat. I was primed and ready for somebody like Chris McDougall to tell me that I was designed by evolution to run, so I should probably be running. It made sense to me. I don’t have any problem doing things that make sense. Plus, it felt really good and it got me outside in the mountains— at first I didn’t even think about running on the road, it wasn’t even an option, I wanted the romanticized spiritual experience that McDougall was selling along with a pair of minimalist shoes.
Pretending I was a tarahumara certainly kept me running everyday and was getting me into great shape and calming me down and having tons of other positive side-effects, but I seriously doubt I would have tried to push my running as far as I have without Tony Krupicka. The runners that I knew about at the time were people from Born to Run, like Scott Jurek, but I had yet to even pick up a running magazine or look at an ultra running website. I really didn’t know much about the culture of the sport at all.
Then I ran my first ultra and the race director put a three-month-old issue of TrailRunner Magazine in the swag bag. The big story inside was the 2013 Speedgoat 50k matchup between Anton Krupicka and Sage Canaday (where Anton gets beat by 90 seconds and they run the fastest two times ever on the course).
So then I get introduced to these guys and it’s already very apparent how different they are: Sage is wearing maximal shoes, a fanny pack, long(ish) and a sleeveless tech shirt. Anton is wearing some New Balance Mt100s that he probably whittled the heel down on and the smallest pair of shorts he can find. He’s got long hair and beard. Sage is clean shaven with a stupid hair cut.
A little more research produced more of the same: Sage talked about running on the track while Tony talked about a spiritual connection with the mountains. Sage was doing hill repeats on graded fire roads and Tony was tagging every 14er in sight. Tony has other aspirations in the mountains: climbing, skiing— hiking when he was injured. Sage Canaday seems like the type of dude to pick running on an Alter-g treadmill in physical therapist’s office over going on a hike and has no other aspirations in the mountains from what I can tell. (Side note: I’m not trying to single out Sage Canaday for some reason, this was just how my experience happened. I think Sage is an amazing runner, obviously.)
At this point, I pretty much wanted to be Tony Krupicka. He’s the basically the coolest dude in the world. He was out there talking about running like a buddhist philosopher and then toeing the line on race day and crushing everybody’s souls. He was some mythical legend, sleeping in his car at trailheads all summer and running every big peak in short shorts and no water bottle, taking routes that most people would be roped-up on. He slept on the floor of a buddy’s hotel room then won the Miwok 100 the next day to punch a WS100 ticket.
He was the definition of minimalism. He needed less than everybody else and he was still going to perform the best. Kilian was and never will be what Tony Krupicka was for a few years there: a true mountain runner. Tony was running in the winter still, he wasn’t skiing yet. He was literally running in the mountains everyday and, in the summer at least, showering in the river. He just embodied this certain ideal. He lived and breathed the mountains. Like he would rather not run than step on a treadmill or a track and he would most certainly choose to forgo shoes altogether before lacing up a pair of Hokas.
Then we lost Tony. I realize this is an entirely selfish point of view. I don’t care. We need him now more than ever and I want him to come back. As his old self. At the very least, I’d love to see him running again, with his newly-honed climbing and biking proficiency, he’d undoubtedly be doing some insane running/biking/climbing projects that nobody else would have the skill set for. But as of right now, there’s nobody to fill his shoes.
I hesitate to even mention it so early on but he has, ever since his recent trip to Chamonix, been logging some solid runs in the mountains. He has put multiple runs over three-plus hours on Strava in the past couple weeks and he seems to be holding up. So there’s that. Could be something. Fingers crossed.
I read an interesting article by Chase Parnell where he talks about the dichotomy in ultra running and just reading it, I get the sense that if Tony were still his former self, this debate would be a lot less heated. The purist-mountain runner side has no one to carry our flag. Walmsley and Co. seem to be growing by the day (thanks to Rob Krar, according to Tony Krupicka]. We should make hats like surfers did when Laird Hamilton re-popularized paddle boarding, ours will say “Blame Rob”). And all us mountain purist people have to either site Krupicka circa-2010 or hope that Killian beats Walmsley at UTMB.
Chase spends a lot of time talking about the difference in technicality of the races and making predictions about certain match-ups in the mountains and I certainly agree with what he’s saying. There’s no way Kilian gets beats by Walmsely because Kilian won’t line up for a race that Walmsely is going to win. Kilian likes steep, super technical stuff. I ran The Rut, that shit is not flat. There’s a better chance we see Kim Kardashian line up for Western States than Kilian again.
But I think he’s missing the point about this whole debate. Tony Krupicka was so special because he transcended running. Tony was so much more. Tony Krupicka was like a religion, a lifestyle. Listen to any podcast that he’s on and the hosts alway ask the same questions: trying to decipher his lifestyle and unlock the code to his success. He lived the dream and he did it for the right reasons. He respected, humbled himself to, drew motivation from and exclusively ran in the mountains. It was pure and it was beautiful.
At first, I was mad about the whole Tony Krupicka thing. Then, I realized that I was being ridiculous and selfish. Sure, he had completely abandoned most things that seemed to give him so much success early on in his career and made ridiculous statements about how old he is and how his “body can’t take the pounding it used to” when there are numerous examples of people much older than him running much more, some exclusively in the mountains and some at a much faster pace (like Mike Wardian). But at the end of the day, none of that shit is my business.
Thinking about this (and spending entirely too much time in comments sections reading about this) recently has highlighted the fact that even a small community like ultrarunning—where most of the famous runners are essentially no-names to the general population— is still an incredibly celebrity driven culture. We’re obsessed. It’s a problem. Why does everyone care so much?
I loved being inspired by Tony Krupicka. I still go back and read his old Runner’s World blog posts when I’m feeling especially unmotivated. But if I don’t have my own very real reasons for wanting to go running everyday, for wanting to spend time in the mountains, nobody else is going to be able to get me there. Everyone gets to pick which races they run (for the most part, lotteries can be a bitch) and everyone gets to pick where they devote their own time, effort and money.
Regardless of where the community as a whole swings, or regardless of who graces the magazine covers, there will always be people on the fringe, people who spurn the establishment for a more pure, simplistic style. People who draw their motivation from a different well. Breathe the air a little more deeply. And they probably belonged out on the fringe all along, where they prefer to be.
We were skirting the West edge of Yellowstone National Park, the pedal of the Jeep Wrangler smashed all the way into the floorboards when Lone Peak first came into view. I don’t exactly know how to describe the sensation, but something unique happens the first time you witness a big mountain in person. It’s some scattered combination of awe, fear, excitement, anxiety and desire. It’s a deep, spiritual sort of feeling, one that reminds you that you’re alive.
Bugs exploded against the windshield as we swerved into the left lane to pass yet another Subaru, driving well below the posted limit, obviously without anywhere to be, admiring the put-all-your-wallpapers-to-shame magnificence draped all around us. If only we were so lucky.
It was Friday at 1:50pm Mountain Standard Time and the gun for The Rut Vertical Kilometer was going off at 3pm. I left Santa Monica at 4pm (PST) on Thursday afternoon and had been in the car ever since, literally without a single minute of sleep. It had been about 18 hours of driving and a couple scattered hours sitting in diners and watching my wife charm her way out of a ticket (she was going 80mph in a 60mph construction zone- if that was me driving, they would have found some way to arrest me, but naturally, she got off with a warning).
By the time we finally pulled into the Big Sky Resort, I got changed and jogged the 200 meters to the starting area, it was 2:40pm. I was a little shocked that I actually made it. 18 hours and seven states (CA, AZ, NV, UT, ID, WY and MT) later, my Altra Superiors were laced up and I was ready to go.
All the speeding and driving through the night aside, the whole thing just seemed surreal, the surroundings were taking my breath away everywhere I looked. I may have been delirious… but it was probably just the altitude. Standing at 7,800’ staring up at Lone Peak another 3,400’ above me, it was hard not think about the fact that I hadn’t slept since I’d left the beach.
As per the notification I received from the staggeringly useful Run the Rut app, winter was coming sooner than expected in Big Sky country and a lightning forecast from 3-6pm forced Race Director Mike Foote to make the tough call to stop the VK short of the summit. From Mike’s email:
Don’t worry too much, the plan B course will still be hard! It starts in the same area and climbs just over 2,000 ft in 2.4 miles on a mixture of ski runs, single track trails and scree fields to the base of the Lone Peak Tram.
Honestly, I was relieved. I felt surprisingly good for spending so much time in the car but I knew that I soon as I started demanding high-end performance from my body, it was going to be a different story. I was entirely out of touch with my whole gastro-intestinal array; I didn’t know if I was hungry or I needed to take a shit. I probably needed a nap. I figured I would still be able to tag the summit during the 50k on Sunday and I definitely needed a warm up at (slightly) lower altitudes.
The gun went off and I started out fast, probably somewhere in the top 15. I had warmed up with a few hill repeats and felt decent but I could tell instantly that this pace was far beyond my current capacity. I started gasping pretty quick and then my biceps starting cramping, something that has never happened to me before, under any circumstances, even after climbing for two hours and then doing pullups. So that was a little weird. Then my abs joined in. Then I was being passed by someone every couple of steps.
The trip up to the bowl directly under Lone Peak, at the top of a large scree field took me 42 minutes. My Suunto had me at 2.35 miles. Hardest two miles of my life, without a doubt. I’ve been above 14k’ before but I’ve never sucked oxygen like this. My throat and lungs burned with every inhalation of the crisp, mountain air. I crested the top of the gigantic choss pile, walked through the Run The Rut archway and proceed to projectile vomit all of the water, coffee and bile my stomach had to offer.
Then I continued to gasp for air until I had jogged about halfway back down to where we started from. Then I ate a burger, drank a beer and fell asleep for thirteen straight hours.
There’s something about this race that is just different than other races. For one, it’s the only race in North America that belongs to the International Skyrunning Series, which is a series of eight races around the world (well, mostly Europe with a single race in China and the US, respectively) that draw the best mountain running talent around the world. Kilian Jornet has run this race. The Men’s podium for the VK went Spanish, Bulgarian, Catalan.
Secondly, the race directors/creators are world class mountain runners themselves, so it’s fun to be interacting with them and running a race conceived by them that was so fucking epic the International Skyrunning Federation had to include it.
It also ended up being a fun, inclusive environment captured by the Big Sky Resort and centered around the race. With three days of racing, the majority of the people at the resort are runners or there to support the runners in some capacity. It seemed like most people were hanging around the events they weren’t running in, watching the show put on by a bevy of world class mountain runners. Oh, and you could just walk around the whole resort with a beer in your hand like it was Mardi Gras or some shit. Somehow slightly reminiscent of my college days.
Saturday for me was mostly spent sleeping and eating. I watched the first 15 runners finish the 28k (unfortunately the early leader, Dakota Jones, rolled an ankle around mile 14 and dropped- it would have been nice to watch him win) and, in some misguided and wholly worthless attempt to acclimatize to the elevation, I rode around on the chairlifts up as high as possible. The views were nuts.
By the time Sunday morning rolled around, I was feeling pretty good. Presumably ready to run hard. A full-on winter advisory warning had been issued for Sunday and they expected upwards of eight inches of snow to fall on the big peak by Monday morning. My second chance to bag Lone Peak for the weekend was ripped away in the chilly pre-dawn dusk. Fucking lucky 28k runners…
Mike Foote assured us once again the course would still be hard- albeit with slightly less distance and elevation gain. As disappointing as the announcement was, it carried the slightest twinges of relief. I had pretty much fully convinced myself that my VK woes were due to lack of sleep more than pure elevation. I thought all the sleep I had gotten the past couple of nights was going to manifest well, but I was still a bit worried.
Sure, I had been up to 14,000’ before and I had spent plenty of time running above 10k’ but the reality was, I had never raced up this high before. I had never demanded the kind of top-end performance that racing requires above about 7,500’. The Skyline Mountain Marathon in the Wasatch Mountains flirts with 8,000’ a couple times but it’s nothing sustained. After just flying up from sea level, I was running in 5th in that race through 22 miles (in 2013) when severe ab cramps on the final descent forced me to walk far enough that I slipped to 18th. Then I threw up for the rest of the night.
I tried to shut off my brain as the Elk Bugle sounded and I, along with the rest of the first wave, charged off into the damp darkness. I went out hard but quickly realized that I was pushing an unsustainable effort. The weird bicep cramps came back. I felt like I was hammering up the initial fire road climb but a glance down at my Suunto revealed that I was chugging along at a mere 11:30/min pace.
Then things started to get really steep. I settled in to what I thought was an easily sustainable power hike, something I could have maintained for hours on the steepest pitches in the Santa Monica Mountains. A mile and a half into the race, as I reached the top of a particularly gnarly pitch, I did something I’ve never done before, ever. I stepped off the side of the trail and proceeded to pretend like I was taking a piss. Probably thirty runners passed me as I gasped for air through a wide mouth and teetered from side-to-side, happy to be standing up at all. I clicked the light on my headlamp off in embarrassment.
I got going a little bit on some downhills and I began thinking that my body was settling into a groove. I was running well on some of the climbs, about every other one, and I started to pass some people. I had been nurturing some very early thoughts of dropping out of this race, but now I was thinking that a finish was within reach.
With so many racers on the course, there was never a moment where there wasn’t two or three people visible and it seemed like every time I slowed down a bit I got passed and every time I sped up a bit I was passing a couple of people. Frankly, it was annoying. I did get lucky enough to glance an elk, full on devouring his breakfast as I jogged by. He paused his massive jaw for a split second and peered in my direction before resuming normal activity.
We started picking our way up a scree field a couple of miles below the Swift Current aid station (about 14 miles into the race) and the temperature had dropped a bit, the weather now exhibiting some combination of rain and snow, and I was finally forced to pull my jacket out of my AK vest and cover my t-shirt.
This is about the time shit started deteriorating fast. I honestly don’t remember exactly what happened. I was hopping across a scree field one minute and the next I was trying to remain upright as vomit splashed against my shins as it ricocheted off the flat talus below.
By the time I was done yacking, I was shivering uncontrollably. The average temps in the various mountain ranges I frequent in Southern California have been in the 80s and 90s recently. I haven’t worn a shirt on run in as long as I can remember. I came into this race (unintentionally) heat trained. Sweating early and often. I don’t think the sub-freezing temps would have been a problem by itself, without the elevation slowing me down so much, but the combination of the two left me in pretty rough place.
As I hiked into the Swift Current aid station, Luke Nelson was standing at the edge of the drop bag pile with my bag (he had placed 8th in both the VK and the 28k the previous two days). I quickly changed my shirt and my jacket and added a second long sleeve layer. The shaking continued. I walked over to the table, looking to get something warm and found myself a delicious smelling cup of broth that lasted about 45 seconds in my stomach.
I found a volunteer to inquire about what exactly I had left on the course and for what I hoped would be some solid motivation (it’s been my experience that aid station volunteers will usually do whatever necessary to get you back on the course if they feel like you still can). The guy I talked to did everything short of carrying me to the chairlift himself.
“Look man, you can be back down below 8,000’ in a hot shower in less than 20 minutes. The chairlift is right there.” I was shaking, I couldn’t keep anything down, my head ached and it was dumping these massive, fluffy snowflakes. I wanted to keep going but I couldn’t wrap my head around the decision. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I told the station captain that I was dropping, he brought me inside for a minute to try and warm up before riding the chairlift down and within a few minutes, I was back down in warmer temperatures and lower elevations, feeling infinitely better. It was only 9:15am. I had barely gotten started. I had only been running for three hours. Did I really just drop?
After a shower, a nap and a bag of chips I felt pretty good. I barely felt like I had gone running that morning. I felt stupid for dropping. I couldn’t remember why I dropped. The condition was so fleeting…
When I had dropped in the past, I had been in bad shape for days after the race. Laying on the grass as my quads and hamstrings took turns seizing for hours as I desperately drank bottles of coconut water. A couple hours after this drop and I was feeling fine.
After wrestling with these feelings for far too long, I’ve decided that I need to trust myself. Whatever I was feeling up there that caused me to drop, I suppose I made the right choice. But I still can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had just left that aid station.
Another reason The Rut is such a cool and unique race: they offered free tattoos of their logo (which is dope) and gave anyone who got one free entry into next year’s race. There has never been better motivation for me than a DNF. It always spurred my training and my drive. My best performances as an ultrarunner have come on the heels of DNF.
So, naturally, I figured that if I DNFed, then got a tattoo of the race logo and entry into next year’s race, I would be motivated as hell. Not only would I have the memory haunting me as I tried to fall asleep every night, I would also have a very obvious reminder permanently inked on my body. A good performance at next year’s race would turn that mark of shame into a trophy.
Despite my relatively poor performance in the VK and my DNF in the 50k, I still had an incredible time. Montana open my senses to a whole new type of experience while firmly cementing my beliefs that I want to spend as much time in big mountains as possible. My Run the Rut tattoo and I will be back next year, for no less than two weeks this time, and for better or worse, ready to run steep, get high.
This is Part One of a Pose series. Part Two digs into the (mostly) scientific arguments made against the Pose Method
“You run like shit.”
Not exactly something anyone wants to hear. If you’re currently in the process of running 80+ miles a week, this kind of news can be devastating.I stared blankly at the 50-inch flat screen placed precariously in front of our small group— maybe 16 people—and wondered why I looked so bad.
The full breadth of my stride was on display here; one foot trailing behind my body and the other reaching in front, driving forward.This was how I was supposed to look.This is how “good” runners look.All those Nike ads and pro-runner’s Instagram feeds had burned the images into my mind.I didn’t understand.All these people I emulate run like shit too?
There was clearly a disconnect here.The smartest man in the world of running, Dr. Nicholas Romanov, was tracing a laser pointer across the TV screen, advancing my lumbering body frame by frame to show everyone in attendance why I couldn’t run.In increasingly specific terms, he shredded my gait from top to bottom, eventually concluding that if I was going to run like THAT, I should probably just save my energy and not run at all.
As I sat there, disillusioned, disheartened and incredibly embarrassed, I realized this was, in fact, exactly what I wanted.Did I really spend a shitload of my money and time to fly to Miami (in August!) so I could hear Dr. Romanov tell me that I run perfectly?That’s an expensive ego boost, even if it is coming from The Most Interesting Man in the World. No, this was a good thing. It was time to figure out what I had been doing wrong.It was time for my education to begin.
It has become widely accepted that running played a huge part in our development as human beings.Despite anecdotal romanticisms like Born to Run, the real information (i.e. backed by data) is out there and has become an accepted addition to our larger evolutionary picture.In his incredible book, The Story of the Human Body, Harvard Evolutionary Biologist Daniel Lieberman describes all the ways evolution designed us to become running machines, from the stabilization and balance systems in our heads/ears/spines specifically designed to let us balance and see clearly while running to the entire anatomy of our lower leg being setup like an energy-returning spring.
According to Lieberman’s research, running made us who we are today.It allowed us to track and run large mammals to death, largely thanks to our bipedalism and superior cooling systems, which allowed for larger, more nutrient-dense meals to be consumed, eventually resulting in an explosion in brain size.So without running, there is no us.We are inextricably linked to this simple act of locomotion, for better or for worse, and whether we want to believe it or not, we are all “runners”.We might not be “born to run” but we were certainly “born runners”.
Most people view running as a very simple movement.People are constantly uttering cliches like “just put one foot in front of the other” or some similarly reductive phrase to remind you how simple it is.Sure, at one time it might have been the pinnacle of complex movement, but now we have bikes and baseball bats and basketballs and pole vaults and 110m hurdles.We go to the gym and sit on massive machines designed to let you barely move a single joint in your body so you can “isolate” it.
Clearly, we’ve got it all figured out.All this overcomplexity and information has made us the healthiest we’ve ever been in human history (ha!).Also, we never get injured anymore (ha!).All kidding aside, the real irony here is that if you look at all the athletic movements we make as humans, only the ridiculous invented motions (i.e. swinging a golf club, shooting a three-pointer, the backstroke, etc) all come with a universally accepted prescription. In a lot of cases, it’s based in physics (measuring the amount of torque produced at the end of a bat based on various swings) or simply based on years and years of data (the tennis coach who has seen thousands of hours of backhand swings and understand exactly— even if he cannot fully articulate it— why certain players are more effective than others).
For running, this doesn’t exist.If you go out and hire a running coach, 90% of them will “coach” you by essentially writing a program that tells you when, where and how hard to run.They toss around words and phrases like tempo, intervals, aerobic threshold, hill repeats and “recovery run” to make it seem like they’re doing something more complicated to justify the money you’re spending, but the bottom line amounts to ZERO time spent focusing on actual running technique.People don’t teach it. If you compare that to someone who hires a tennis coach or swimming coach (or any other coach), the vast majority of the time spent coaching, usually around 90%, will be spent on technique.
What this fact tells us (beyond illuminating running coaches as assholes who steal your money) is that the prevailing sentiment— not just in the running community but in the athletic community at large— is that we all run differently.People believe that they DO NOT need to be taught how to run.People will say things like, “Nobody taught me how to walk, when I was eight months old I couldn’t even talk, I don’t need anyone to teach me how to run.”Most intelligent people quickly see how foolish a statement like this is.It shows a total lack of understanding for how we “learn” as humans while completely missing the point at the same time (more on this in Part Two).
So just to recap:All the invented-by-humans human movements we’ve been talking about, swinging a golf club, the breast stroke, karate chopping a cinder block— whatever it may be— has a very specific technique that must be taught and mastered.Deviation from this technique is worthless and unacceptable.But running, the movement that was “invented” by natural selection over the course of millions of years with a very specific set of levers and fulcrums acting against a very specific force (gravity), can be done any fucking way you feel like it.It doesn’t matter at all.Just do what feels “natural”.Nature doesn’t know shit.You know everything.
II. Looking for Answers in All the Wrong Places
Ever since reading ’Born to Run” I had been wearing minimal shoes.For my first race ever, a 50k in Idaho, I “laced up” a pair of Vibram Five Fingers. I ran a mountain 50k wearing these kicks, based on Chistopher McDougall’s generalized view that minimal footwear makes you run properly.I had dreams of running 100 miles across the mountains like Tony Krupicka and Scott Jurek but I could barely run 50 miles a week without totally breaking down.I was bruising my feet constantly on rocks, my ankles were always a mess, my knees ached, my IT Bands felt like someone was ratcheting them up like a slackline.I would read articles about the weekly volume elite ultra runners were putting in, sometimes upwards of 200 miles a week, and wonder how their bodies could possibly withstand all the punishment.It seemed unfathomable.
Nevertheless, I tried and I tried.I started to get my weekly volume up a bit.I finished 7th place at the Zion 100k.I snuck onto the podium at the Malibu Creek 50k. I started really pushing to get more miles on my legs.I was looking at all these successful runners and the formula seemed obvious: more volume.
The problem for me was all in the health of my lower extremities.My energy systems were never an issue.My feet or legs would always breakdown long before I could get to that point. I needed more volume and my legs hurt… so I began running through a lot of pain.I ignored my body completely and routinely went out on long runs in the mountains despite experiencing agonizing pain with every footfall. Then one day, about nine miles from the trailhead, the pain got too bad to continue.After a two-hour hobble and a couple of days of denial, I was at the doctor’s office with a diagnosis: severe stress fracture of the Lateral Malleolus.
The Lateral Malleolus is the distal end of your Fibula, basically what most people refer to as their “ankle bone”.According to my physician, during bipedal locomotion, this bone is non-weight bearing.To me, this immediately meant that my gait was FUCKED UP.I did enough damage to a non-weight bearing bone to break it?My stride is so bad that I’ve got muscles wrenching on the end of my fibula to the tune of enough torque to crack it?This was obviously something I needed to figure out.
Naturally, I asked the doctor what I was doing wrong.What could I do to fix this? I will never forget what happened next.This prestigious orthopedic surgeon, operating out of one of the most respected clinics in Los Angeles (SMOG), sat down in the chair across from the table I was sitting on, took a deep breath, exhaled, looked up at me and said, “Unfortunately, you’re just too tall to run. Especially long distances.I wouldn’t recommend running more than two miles at a time. You need to get some shoes with some more padding and on your next visit, we’ll fit you for orthotics.”
I am tall.I’m 6’7”.But I have the same equipment as everyone else.I have the same set of levers.Just a little longer. I couldn’t believe what he had just said. I stared blankly through his face as he kept rambling on about the history of tall NBA players and stress fractures of the feet. He was saying something about Yao Ming when I stopped listening.
This couldn’t be true. I wouldn’t accept it. I’d long held a deep distrust for every doctor I’d ever met so it wasn’t hard to convince myself that he was a myopic idiot.No, that was easy.The hard part was going to be figuring out what to do next.
The answers had to be out there, I just needed to find them.Freshly clad in a size 15 walking boot, I was out the door and on the search for my running salvation… but a revolution would have to do.
III. (My) Running Revolution
When you’ve been running a couple hours everyday for the past year or so and then you’re forced to halt this activity abruptly, it really fucks with your psyche.There have been countless studies done showing the hormonal effects of cardiovascular activity— it changes your brain.It alters your decision making.You’re not really the same person, in terms of brain chemistry, when you’re not exercising that you are when you’re regularly getting a good dose of cardio.
I suffered through this (much of it probably placebo) for about three weeks and fell into a desperate pit of despair.Then my ankle finally got to the point where I could put some weight on it without any pain, and I started biking, doing a lot of hang cleans and front squats (I still couldn’t do a full power clean) and generally started to feel less worthless and ready to uncover some answers (that I hoped were there).
So I started doing research.And this is when I started to realize that most people don’t talk about running form. If someone was , it was usually a current or former elite runner who has made a transition to coach, but doesn’t understand why they were faster than their peers or happened to stay injury free.The result of this is a lot of ambiguous, relative terms being thrown around like, “make your stride feel smooth” or “be light on your feet” or “imagine yourself gliding down the trail” or “drive your legs”.None of this helps anybody and it certainly wasn’t what I was looking for.
No, I wanted definitive information about the differences between a heel/forefoot strike.I wanted to know what cues I should be focusing on during the different phases of my stride.I wanted to know if Nike really ruined the world like Born to Run claimed.And more than anything, I wanted to be able to run with a certainty that I wasn’t damaging my body.A quick google search of “running+physics” and I stumbled across the Pose Method site.
I started reading a bit and it sounded promising.It was offering me a way a singular, correct way to run. At fast speeds and jogging alike. It has always seemed naive to me that, as creatures of the same species, we run so dramatically different.I grew up watching NBA games on TV wondering why some of the players (the more athletic ones) ran on their forefeet, while the big centers usually plodded down (very un-athletically) with an obvious heel strike.It was apparent that these things were not equal, but no one else was talking about it and I was ill-equipped to discover the answer to which of these methods was better.
Dr. Romanov was laying it all out there for me: here’s how you run and here’s why.Not only did he have the balls to say something audacious, but his claims were making sense.I was never a competitive runner before I started entering ultra marathons in my 30s.I never worked with a track or cross country coach and I never had anyone tell me how to run (my college basketball coaches wouldn’t have dared to correct someone’s running form).So, I was picking all of this up starting at first principles, with an empty cup waiting to be filled with information. (I honestly think this was a huge advantage for me because I didn’t have to unlearn a bunch or erroneous information or running dogma.A lot of runners are already full of that shit, so it’s hard.)
Upon my initial reading of The Running Revolution, I missed a lot. Even with the videos that accompanied the iPad version of the book, it’s hard to learn how to run by reading a book.It’s hard when you can’t watch yourself and see what you’re actually doing. So I kind of heard what I wanted to hear and picked up about half of the Pose tenants and adopted them in my running.
It helped a lot, but it wasn’t perfect.My big mistake after reading the book was inaccurately synonymizing the words “fall” and “lean”.I took falling to mean leaning, and I ran with poor posture.I was trying to do a continuous-leaning-type-thing instead of the pendulum falling effect.Then, when your posture is shit and you’re bent at the waist, you’re forced to counter-balance (around your GCM) by leaving your feet trailing behind you when they should be directly underneath your hips.I had more time on support because I was waiting for my trailing leg to catch up with the rest of my body that was essentially running away from it.
I need someone to look at me and point out my specific deficiencies, and Dr. Romanov certainly obliged. After I left the clinic in Miami, I couldn’t wait to get out and try my new technique.I had finally seen myself in action and I knew what was going wrong.At first it wasn’t easy.I had been so conditioned to “use my long stride” that the short, choppy steps felt incredibly foreign to me.I didn’t feel like it was conducive to running fast.Then, one day about two weeks of running, I had a breakthrough.
I was running on a trail that I had been on a lot (over 100 times) and I was focusing on pulling my foot from the floor as quickly as possible— even though the high cadence felt weird— and maintaining my posture.I got to the top of the climb much quicker than I normally would, but I was keeping the effort easy and (incorrectly) assumed that there was some mistake or I had forgotten to un-pause for a bit after I took a leak.
I turned and started back down the mountain, once again with laser-focus on my cues, fighting the urge to over-stride.What happened next was amazing.I still remember the sensation vividly. My short, choppy steps started to flow.My legs started to feel light, like they were popping off the ground as soon as they touched down.It felt great, but I assumed that I was running very slowly.I felt way too in control of my body to be running fast downhill— usually when I hit seven minute pace, I felt out of control like I was pounding and the impact felt dangerously high.
I glanced down at my watch and did a double-take.It said I was running at 5:30min/mile pace. That can’t be right! There’s no way I could be running this fast and be in control like this.I didn’t feel like I was doing anything.I had this weird feeling where I felt detached from my legs.I was just this person up in the cockpit driving, and all I had to do was pick my feet up and get them under my GCM as quickly as possible. It was surreal. And I was fucking flying down the hill. I couldn’t help but let a huge smile grow across my face.
Never in 100 years would I have come to the conclusion that my downhill running problem was from leaving my foot trailing behind me too far. This type of error wasn’t even on my radar. In a single moment of clarity, running downhill switched from being slow and strenuous to being fast and fun.
I got home and checked the results of my run on Strava.I set something like 25 personal records on a run that I had done 100+ times.And I had kept my effort easy the entire time.I wasn’t pushing, I was concentrating on my cues. From that day forward, I was sold.You could now call me a Pose runner.
Since then, I’ve naturally had some ups and downs with my training, but you can’t even compare the runner I was with the runner I am now.100 mile weeks aren’t scary anymore.My legs don’t hurt.I’m partially convinced that the only thing holding my running back at this point is the amount of food I can eat.Now, instead of having my legs break down, I’m dealing with energy systems issues (which has led to a few dangerous situations actually where I was way too far away from home and running out of energy— it took me a little while to get a handle on that situation because it hadn’t happened before).
I do a lot more flat running too.I still hate it, like I did before Pose, but now I see the real benefit in it and I understand how it translates to the mountains a lot better.I need to come back to the flat to push the reset button after too much time on variable terrain.Taking all the other variables out of the equation is still the best way for me to get in touch with my form, but as I said, I’m still very new to this whole thing, so hopefully that’ll improve in the future.
I’ve fared well in my races since fully adopting the Pose method as well.I brought my 50k PR well below five hours and somehow (I’m slow) managed to place 2nd in the Santa Barbara Red Rock Marathon with I time I wouldn’t have dreamed of a year before.
I haven’t raced much though, and it seems to surprise people when they look at the volume I’ve been consistently putting up for the last year.They want to know what I’m training for.I’m just having too much fun running as much as I want as hard as I want.I’m having too much fun pushing the boundaries of my own body right now. When I’m interested, the races will be there. It’s like someone finally gave me the blueprint to operate this vehicle I call a body and I’m still test driving the shit out of it.
There are myriad reasons why I’m sold on Pose running.But to avoid sounding dogmatic, I’m going to save you the rest of the anecdotal evidence of my personal experience and do my best to look at some of the common arguments made against Pose (scientific and otherwise), understand why they are being made and attempt to get to the truth.Because at the end of it all, after the trolling and debating and commenting is over, truth is all that matters.
I have been a big fan of Joel Wolpert for the last few years. His films are things of beauty, to say the least, and whether he’s chasing Anton Krupicka down Green Mountain in the snow in Runner in Winter or flying down the Kabib Trail with a deeply introspective Rob Krar in Depressions, you know you’re watching more than a simple trail running film, you’re viewing a piece of art. From the spot-on soundtrack choices to the compelling subject matter and the flawless tracking shots, Joel Wolpert is producing quality content.
I was lucky enough to attend the Los Angeles screening of the Wolpertinger’s last Vimeo VOD offering, In the High Country back in late 2014.This film is essentially Joel’s “ode to the moutains” and follows Tony Krupicka around the Rockies (specifically up Long’s Peak).I was always amazed at the candor and vulnerability that this film was able to access from its star; most of the others things I had seen or read almost always portrayed Krupicka as this bearded enigma who, if you’re lucky enough, you might catch a glimpse of tearing shirtless down a Boulder-area trail.
In the High Country did a great job (for me at least) of breaking down some of these barriers and not only showing some of Tony’s personality but also some of his running too.During the Q&A session the followed the screening, Krupicka was raving about Joel’s technical trail running ability— something that is certainly witnessed in most of his films (just watch how smooth the shots of Rob Krar bombing into the Grand Canyon come out). I love Billy Yang and his running films, but he would need a vehicle of some sort to keep up with TK and it shows in how impersonal a film like 15 Hours with Anton Krupicka comes across. (Note: I’m not trying to knock Billy Yang, his work is awesome, if you haven’t seen his Mont Blanc film, you should definitely check it out.)
Joel Wolpert seems to be the perfect package for producing this type of film: he has the eye, the skill and acumen to follow athletes through technical, varied terrain and he picks compelling subjects. Or maybe he’s just lucky enough to have awesome friends, but Jenn Shelton certainly does not disappoint in Outside Voices.The first thing you hear the “Hunter S. Thompson of ultra running” say as she’s about to begin a speed work session on the track is “I just ate a shit-ton of Taco Bell so this could be interesting”.
What follows is a gorgeously crafted, black and white film showcasing Jenn Shelton’s eclectic personality, fun-loving attitude and her hard-charging, leave-it-all-on-the-trail approach to running. Shelton might not necessarily be worthy of the HST comparisons but her gonzo approach to her (decent) writing coupled with her hard-partying antics certainly make her the best candidate in the ultra running scene to carry on the flame. I, for one, would much rather hear Jenn talk about Taco Bell and beer than listen Timothy Olsen tell me how to “run mindful”.
Some of my favorite moments in the film:
Shelton getting hammered on Mezcal while volunteering at an aid station and attempting to get every runner who comes through to “take a nip” off the bottle.
Her story involving $20 of Taco Bell being puked all over her kitchen floor directly in front of her ex-boyfriend and the realization that they probably wouldn’t be together too much longer after that.
Shelton about to strip off her sports bra and hop into an alpine lake for a mid-run dip when she asks, “Do you think Vimeo is ready for some milky white jugs?” and Joel, who is behind the camera, firing off a super quick “Yeah” without an instant of hesitation.
The Tony Krupicka cameo where he shows up to crew/pace her to a 3rd place finish at the Bear 100 looking impossibly cool (per usual) in a Sombra Mezcal tank-top and his Fr33ky cap.The best part is probably when Tony is handing her a bottle of water and she calls him her “fucking cabana boy”.
For what seems to be her “recovery run” a day or two post-Bear 100, Shelton organizes a beer/shoot a can mile where she has to pound a beer and shoot a can off of a fence with a rifle every lap.And then proceeds to run it hard and not miss a shot.Doesn’t get much better.
We all love Strava. Or hate it. Or spend hours obsessing over it while simultaneously pretending that we don’t care at all. As has been pointed out exhaustively—it’s a pretty polarizing piece of the social media puzzle.
I personally spend anywhere between five minutes and two hours a day on the site, a time usually determined by how impressive I deem my current activity levels.If I went on a run that boasts impressive stats, I’ll repeatedly open the page throughout the day at work just to look at the run—check my splits again, memorize my segment goals or simply just stare at mileage totals.
If I haven’t been doing anything impressive—or anything at all—I am far less likely to open the app throughout the day.I’m just going to see that Dylan Bowman ran 22 miles in a little over 40 minutes and summited Mt. Tam for the #108 time that week.Or that Anton Krupicka rode his bike 150 miles to the base of Longs Peak before skipping up the keyhole route and tagging the summit.Just a bunch of depressing shit mainly.But you can’t say that it isn’t motivating.
Strava at it’s best is a statistical catalog that allows you to track and share your endurance activities while giving you a transparent look at the training programs of your friends and some of your favorite athletes.
Like all social media, however, it can be horribly misused.Just like you have friends who suck at Facebook or Instagram whose name you dread seeing pop-up in your feed, we all have those people on Strava that we feel obligated to follow even though they suck at using it and perpetually flood your feed with garbage.
If you’re already one of those people who suck at Strava, just keep doing what you’re doing.If you are using it properly, please stop immediately and follow these six steps:
1.Break your run into as many parts as you possibly can.You would never want to have a single activity as your run on Strava.Then you’re just lumping your warm-up, cool-down and actual run into one thing.This is going to bring your average pace way down.Not cool.
If you can, try to break every run into 4 separate activities: pre-warm up, warm-up, run, cool-down, and post-cool down cool down.That way, we can all see your “real” pace during your workout but you can also flood all of your follower’s feeds with multiple activities. And— perhaps most importantly— you are effectively quadrupling your Kudo potential.Just think about all of those extra Kudos. They are going to make you feel sooo good.
2.Put EVERYTHING you do on Strava. Did you walk to the mailbox?Strava that shit.Did you walk around Whole Foods for 15 minutes?Strava the hell out of that shit.That’s mileage you gotta keep track of.When you’re looking back at your training log trying to figure out why you performed so well last year, the answer might be in all those walks down to the corner store for beers.You never know.
3.Log your indoor resistance training workouts (with details).I love it when I’m looking through my feed and I see “Lats and Core Work Today” or “4 x 10 reps of Bicep Curls”.This is really why I started using Strava. Oh, the motivation!I think I’m going to drop to floor right now and do 25 pushups so I can log it.I should probably take a photo too…
4.Sign up for every possible challenge that you can, every month, over and over again. Sign up for the 10k challenge every month, even though you run a 10k every other day.And definitely sign up for the open-ended challenges that track your mileage monthly, that way it pops up into feeds each time you run 25 or 50k.That’s better.I love when I can’t even see a single activity in my feed because all I can see are someone’s list of 14 current challenges. It’s awesome.
5. Create a bunch of segments-within-segments so you can find the perfect section where your time cracks the top ten. I know Strava says they don’t want you doing this but simply ignore all those warnings about your segments being to similar to existing segments.And definitely do NOT make it private. We all need to see these results and how amazing you are.
6.If you go running on the treadmill, please take a picture of the treadmill screen after you’re finished.Otherwise, you could totally be lying.Plus, when Strava updated their app to give photographs a much bigger role in the interface, this is exactly what they had in mind: treadmill photos.Just like treadmill runners are their target demographic for Strava Premium Memberships.