Ahhhh…to be back there again (as long as it’s sunny!).

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Let’s share our favorite places. Just post your restaurants in the comments section below and I’ll pull them up and add them to the main part of this page so we will have an ongoing resource.

Flagstaff, Arizona
Races: Mountain Man Triathlon, Soulstice Mountain Trail Run

• Oregano’s Pizza Bistro: The ultimate pre-race dinner. Oregano’s has artfully blended Italian cuisine with the flavors of the Southwest. The Alfredo the Dark ($8.69) is spiral pasta covered in Alfredo sauce and kicked up with Poblano chiles. An incredible blending of flavor! A bit heavy perhaps, but dang, it was good and I couldn’t stop stealing forkfuls from my wife’s dish. I had the Pasta Basta ($8.29) which features penne pasta, spiced feta cheese, kalamata olives, pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes, and olive oil infused with garlic and hot peppers. And you can’t forget the desert! Their Pizza Cookie ($4.99) is delivered piping hot to your table in a six-inc pizza pan and covered with three scoops of vanilla bean ice cream.
• MartAnne’s: This little hole-in-the-wall located in the historic downtown district of Flagstaff is just about as good as you can get for a post-race Southwestern breakfast. The huevos rancheros are awesome and is anything on the menu with green chiles. Anything. Be prepared to wait though. While the service is good, the seating is extremely limited and there is usually a gaggle of hungry customers waiting outside (it’s too small to wait inside!) for a table. Note: I can’t find anything on the Web that gives me their street address. If anyone knows it, please pass it along.

Boulder City, Nevada
Races: Rage in the Sage, Las Vegas Triathlon, Pumpkinman Triathlon, Six Tunnels Half Marathon

• Two Gals from Cal (1632 Nevada Highway): Since just about every Las Vegas triathlon is held in the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, Boulder City is where you’ll find your most convenient meals. Two Gals offers a decent post-race breakfast or lunch for a reasonable price and is on the main drag coming out of Boulder City and heading toward Las Vegas. It’s a family-run operation with good food and good prices.

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Hak’s brain is coming back to life after years of dormancy.

Jumping from a 66 to a 94 feels great. I just had to re-orient my brain. Scratch that. I had to kick-start my left brain which has apparently been dormant for quite some time. Glad to see it’s coming back.

It just goes to show you what happens when you put in the work. Now, if only boosting my triathlon performance were that easy!

Since we were cut loose from class early, and I had my running gear with me, I decided to celebrate by taking a 40-minute run in the desert behind the college campus. I don’t know if it was the 100-degree temps at 8:30 in the evening or the combination of being pooped out, but I could barely run more than a minute without my heart rate spiking. Lots of run/walk for this run.

Looking into Las Vegas from the outskirts of Nevada State College. Within 10 years, this will be a full-fledged college campus with a gazillion tract homes.

Still, it was great to get out and enjoy the desert and the realization that my near 40-year-old brain is not as rusty as I thought.

Find your edge and dance upon it.

hak

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Over the years, I’ve come to know this period as the dog days. It can be the dog days of training, the dog days of work or the dog days of life in general. I just feel like lounging around and doing nothing of significance whatsoever…much like my dog Max.

Max caught illegally napping on the couch.

Those are the days, or weeks, where I see Max in full relaxation mode and say, “Man, I wish I had your lifestyle today.”

That attitude is OK for a day or two. The downside comes when it ends up going from a day or two to a full month.

Funny thing is, once the fire is re-stoked, it’s re-stoked. And it happens in the blink of an eye.

I’m still waiting for that blink.

Find your edge and dance upon it…although it’s tempting to lounge on it every once in a while.

hak

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After returning from Grants, New Mexico on Feb. 18th, I spent the next 36 hours wrapping up production on a title for the Virtual Training Company. Once completed, I had hoped to take a couple weeks off and get caught up on some sorely needed home and landscaping maintenance. The good folks at VTC, however, want me to get started right away on another title.

Although these projects eat up a lot, if not all, of my free time and can get me in hot water with Mrs. Hak if I’m not on top of my “honey-do” list around the house, they do help kill off the Hak National Debt. Perhaps more importantly, they help keep me in gear for the racing season and the last project did pay for the addition of El Lobo Gris to stable.

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On a related note, one of my new favorite reads is by writer and endurance sports scribe Martin Dugard. He offers some great insights on the sport and appears to be living every writer’s idyllic life. He’s writing and he’s getting paid enough to have a decent standard of living. Then again, if he admits that his wife is a neurosurgeon or tort attorney who makes up 99 percent of their household income, I’ll cry.

Martin’s work has relit a fire in me to get cranking on my own writing. While others struggle to write for copies of the publication or hope their blog gets them a book contract, I’ve been fortunate to have been able to jump in and out of the publishing game at will. I have a knack for being the hired gun brought in at the last minute to fix someone else’s bad idea or worse, being another semi-anonymous contributing author to a Frankenbook. I played that mercenary game for two years while working a full-time job and trying my best to raise two young daughters under five. Then I got burned out.

Yet, those projects can be somewhat lucrative and I do get to stay home with the family while working on them. It beats stocking shelves at the local Home Depot for extra dough. Plus, it does give me a small amount of street creds in the writing community. Actually, I’m quite fortunate. There are far better writers than me who are eating cat food for dinner tonight.

For me to take this work to the next level, I should take a page from Martin’s book and self promote a bit. It’s the only way I can move from hired gun to big gun and do this full time. After all, writing is no different than any other occupation. It’s the rare individual who gets the fat, multi-million-dollar contract out of the starting gate. While everyone waits for their memoir to get featured on Oprah, there is a shitload of sloppy seconds and thirds out there that will more than pay the bills.

That being said, I will have to sit on this self promotion idea a bit. As long as I am a cog in someone else’s machine (i.e., employee), I am very mindful of keeping my 8-5 job and not putting myself in a position where my employer is questioning what I’m doing during the work day.

“Oh, I see you have a book out. When did you have time to work on that? Is that why my report was late?”

Geez. I don’t even want to get started down that road.

*******

I’m also using this time to get down to the nitty gritty of training for the 2007-2008 season. Last season was all about the experience of triathlon, trail running, a road race time trial and even the exotic winter quadrathlon. I’ve discovered quite a few weaknesses and I want to see what I can do to turn those liabilities into strengths for the upcoming season. Accordingly, just about every training session will have an objective. Coach Ilg has agreed to let me take an initial stab at designing my program and I’ll turn it in for his review in a day or two.

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Oh, and I’m learning to love my left calf again. This guy blew on me last year at this time and after taking the summer and fall off, decided to come back and visit me again at the Mt. Taylor Quad. I found a talented Active Release Technique practitioner just down the street from my office and he’s done wonders. While I’ve tried to break up the adhesions in the Soleus myself, I have not been able to apply the necessary pressure to do so. Dr. Bobby Forsyth, who works in a mostly Chinese-speaking chiropractor’s office on the border of Las Vegas’ Chinatown, has done a great job of turning the two adhesions in the soleus and gastrocnemius into mush. While he was working on my leg during the first session last week, I was grimacing and trying to breath through the excruciating pain. The very charming office manager, whom I’ve only heard speak Chinese, came into the room, laughing, “Need tissue Mr. John?”

“No, Mr. John don’t need tissue. He need shot of bourbon.”

*******

Looking for some gritty inspiration? Check out Elizabeth Fedofsky’s tale of her race in the recent Desert Duathlon. You have to love an athlete that writes, “I am not so much racing as myself, but as the person I intend to be by season’s end.”

Good stuff. This is why you selected Elizabeth’s work as the Best Triathlon Blog of 2006.

Keep dancing your edge.

hak

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I just completed the 2007 race calendar and dang…that’s a lot of traveling.

And a lot of diverse training.

My major suck is in cycling and running. Since the most positive impact on my overall time will come on the bike, that is the discipline I will focus my energies on in the year ahead. To force me onto a higher plane, I’m now a USCF Cat 5 racer for Team Pro Cyclery. I look forward to getting my ass spanked and completely humbled on my training rides over the next few months.

Should be fun.

Although the race schedule may not show it, I would like to break the year into the following macro-cycles:

• Run (Feb-Apr)
• Bike (May-July or May-September)
• Swim (Aug-September (pending team entry in 24 Hours of Triathlon))
• Run (Oct)
• Strength (November-December)

Naturally, the schedule is fluid as I would like to add a few more road races. I’ll wait to see how the team develops and what my role will be: water boy or racer.

With any racing calendar, of course, the main determining factor is family support and available training time to squeeze in between two jobs, a book project or three, and budget. While you can’t control any of the former, you can help with the latter a smidge by visiting a few of the advertisers on the left-hand sidebar “Race Fees Paid By…”

Hint. Hint.

hak

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Yesterday was close to being one of those days. With Mt. Taylor looming on my horizon, I don’t have much time for sitting on my ass. I have a lot of work to do.

While taking my old bike to the shop to figure out why it was ghost shifting (shifting by itself and not wanting to stay in one gear for more than one second), I saw this little series of trails heading into the Black Mountains. “Hmmmm,” I said to myself. “This looks promising.”

Which way to go? The easy way or the hard way?

When I went back the next day to pick up my bike (twisted chain link was the source of the issue), I made sure to bring my running gear with me so I could sneak in a quick exploratory trail run between my day of pre-holiday errands. Earlier in the day, I was fired up and ready to run. As the day progressed, however, my energy was waning and I was running way behind schedule. I was starting to turn into one of those folks who saw the fork in the road, and just said, “Awww, to hell with it. I’ll come back later.”

Alas, that is not my fate in this life so I parked the truck at the base, donned my gear and started running. And that’s when I was presented with another fork:

I’m still working with a very tender right knee (methinks Chondromalacia), and had a choice to make. Take the left, more level fork, or take the right fork which is quite a bit steeper.

Well, since I’m a Wholistic Fitness kind of dude, I had no choice but to take the steeper path. After all, that is simply what we do.

The view from the top was pretty sweet. You can see downtown
Las Vegas in the distance and all of Sin City’s casino glory.

This route, although short, gained 460 feet in elevation in about 3/4 of a mile. Ooof. A great calf-burner and my heart rate shot to 90% of max within minutes. Naturally, I wasn’t able to keep that pace up for long and had to walk a good chunk of the route…which still kept me around 80% of my max HR.

I was able to run about one half of the descent until the right knee began screaming at me like it was going to be shredded. So, I walked again. If you look closely in the photo, you’ll notice the terrain is just a tad rocky. Sharp rocks with big pointy corners. Fun stuff to navigate.

And here, you can see my ugly mug after adding my own little
rock to the cairn on top of this particular peak’s summit.

Seems like every race has its own physiologic challenges for me. For my first tri in April, it was a torn soleus. For my second in July, it was a fat belly. For my last tri in September and into my trail run in October, it was ITB in the hips.

I guess Mt. Taylor will be defined by my ability to resolve this knee issue. It’s not like I have a choice, is it? After all, I’ve already chosen my fork in the road and there is no turning back.

hak

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Three miles into the Soulstice Mountain Trail Run, I decided to push the pace a bit. After climbing a relatively short 50-meter hill, I could feel my heart in my throat and my pulse slamming in my ears. Out of curiosity, I stopped and checked my heart rate.

Two hundred and ten.

For you Polar heart rate nerds, that’s 16 percent above my maximum HR.

“Shit-gawd-damn. This is going to be a go(o)d run.”

That was one of the many epiphanies I experienced during the Soulstice on October 14. Nestled in the gorgeous San Francisco Peaks on the outskirts of Flagstaff, at 8,500 lung-searing feet above sea level, Soulstice is the highest elevation trail race in Arizona.

Let’s stop for a little science lesson: The percentage of oxygen in the air at two miles (about 10,500 feet.) is the same as at sea level (21 percent). However, the air pressure is 30 percent lower at the higher altitude due to the fact that the atmosphere is less dense. Where I live in Las Vegas, the altitude is 2,200 feet. That gives me an effective oxygen concentration of 19.4 percent according to the altitude gurus at www.higherpeak.com. Soulstice takes place just shy of 9,000 feet which sees the oxygen concentration plummet to 14.8 percent.

In other words, I was going to be on the course feeling like I had been a five-pack-a-day smoker.

The First Loop

After coming to the conclusion that any prolonged hill assaults or attempts to pick up my pace would instantly rocket my low-altitude-conditioned body to Zone 5, I settled down into my four-minute run, one minute walk routine. My Ilg-directed goal for this race was to finish it…run, walk or crawl.

Recalling that I couldn’t run around the block at sea level a mere eight months ago, and only having one 12-mile run under my belt the weekend prior, I was agreeable to that guidance. Three weeks prior, I had completed my first Olympic-distance triathlon…recovered half of the second week…got in a few training runs for Soulstice the next week…then had a half-week taper going into the race.

The first loop is a five-miler that follows a rolling fire road with a fun series of hills known as the “Seven Sisters” (a.k.a. “The Seven Bitches”). The sisters weren’t as dramatic as I had originally thought, although it was a challenge to descend the rocky, loose terrain at times.

Although I was under the mandate to finish, not race, the course, my internal plan was to cruise the first loop and start kicking it on the second loop.

Most of the passing was done within the first 30 minutes…mostly by others passing me. No biggie, this was all about energy management. Especially after the night I had.

The Night Before

I had driven down from Las Vegas the night before, after a long day of excruciating meetings. There was an exquisite light show from the thunderstorms near the homestead and were part of this huge weather system that would also be creating a bit of moisture in Flagstaff.

After a four-and-a-half hour drive, I made it to the Schultz Road turnoff just north of Flagstaff and made the slow drive up the mountain to find the trail head where the race director, Neil Weintraub, had suggested I camp.

A little after midnight, I had my tent set and was ready for some well-deserved sleep. I never sleep well the first night camping but I figured the constant patter of rain on the tent would lull me to la-la land.

No luck.

This night was no different. Some RV’ers blasted in about 3 a.m. hootin’ and hollerin’ for about an hour, so no rest for the weary.

The sound of the raindrops falling on my tent crescendoed and at one point, sounded like a steady downpour. Or then again, it could have been the RVer’s bastard dog taking a piss on my tent.

The Crack of Dawn Arrives
I figured I had about 60 minutes of total sleep before I gave up and decided to head down to trailhead to pick up my race packet and spend some quality time in my usual pre-race space: the crapper.

As I made my way toward the center of activity, there was energy in the air. Everyone I passed had this goofy smile on their face. They were happy.

“Crazy mountain people,” I murmured.

I picked up my packet and asked if it was OK to wear my race belt. I had seen people with numbers pinned on their chests and didn’t want to poke holes in my brand spankin’ new North Face Windshirt.

One of the volunteers overheard me and proclaimed, “Race belt? What’s that?”

I told her we used them in triathlons and how handy they were for, you know, not poking holes in your overpriced “performance” shirts.

“Race belts?” she queried again and shot me a look like I had just fallen off the turnip truck. “I’ve been trail racing since I was 12 and I never heard of a race belt! They want your number pinned on the front.”

Seeing that my quest was going into a black hole, I shrugged my shoulders, and headed toward the other “hole” to make my pre-race deposit.

Walking back from the port-a-potties, I saw this crazy dude who had decided to make the race a duathlon. He rode his mountain bike up from town and was already soaking wet and shivering before he even toed the start line.

The crazy dude was none other than the mighty Steve Ilg. Friend. Coach. Advisor. We exchanged hellos and went our separate ways to make our private pre-race preparations. Ilg, perhaps intimidated by my prowess on the trails, opted to do the 10K while I did the full 11.5-mile course.

Note: Go to Illg’s blog InDirect Lines and pay attention to the difference between the photo of me above and Steve’s. Both were captured at the same spot on the Sunset Trail. Other than his studly gams, what did you notice? Look at how he is dressed. Here is a dude who is not only built for speed, but is dressed like he is there to race.

Now, look at me. I’m out there in my long johns (albeit high-tech thermal bunders) dressed like I’m out for a day’s jaunt in the woods…which I was.

The photos alone will tell of the current gap between our two levels. Read his account of the race and you’ll see exactly what I mean. (For what it’s worth, I would suggest shelling out $10 for at least a one-month subscription just to read his full race report. It’s worth its weight in gold if you want tap into the mindset of an elite athlete-warrior in full “battle” mode.)

Second Loop
Coming out of the First Loop and the conclusion of my first five miles, I was feeling pretty strong. Ilg, his race long done, was at the intersection of the two loops, freezing his nuts off, cheering me on.

What a great coach!

I stepped onto Sunset Trail, re-charged and ready to start adding a little more steam to my run. Then this friggin’ hill from hell popped out in front of me.

Figuring it wouldn’t be that long, I kept running.

The bastard never ended. It just kept going up to the summit. A 1,000-foot climb over two miles. I had to walk it. I saw no one in front of me or behind me at this point. It was just me, the forest, the rain, and this freakin’ hill.

Once I reached the summit, I took a minute to drink some water from the volunteers who were shivering their asses off, and at long last took off on a run once more on the Upper Brookbank Trail and worked my way to the Lower Brookbank.

A short hop later I ascended to Dry Lakes Hills, and then down Little Gnarly Trail to Shultz Creek Trail. How anyone but a mountain goat could actually run some of the sections on this trail amazed me. I would have loved to sit on a boulder and watch them make the technical descent springing from rock to root like Tigger.

From there, it was on toward Shultz Creek and across a nice mud bog to the finish area. I crossed the finish line 2:37:54 after I started, earning me 28/28 in my age group (no surprise there) and 93/98 overall.

Of course, as I turned to thank to two gents at the finish line, that’s the only time I slipped and fell in a nice pile of muck.

I scraped the mud off my leg and hands, and made a beeline to the beer wagon. Yes, Hak loves mountain people who provide post-race brewskis. Screw the bananas and gels, just grill some hot dogs and have two types of beer on tap.

What’s not to love about this race?

Lessons Learned:

• The layering I had with a base layer of the REI light thermal shirt, followed by the Mountain Hardwear Wicked Tech t-shirt and topped off with the amazing North Face Apex wind shirt. The North Face shirt kept me dry until the last 30 minutes of the race and warm throughout.
• I need to get some strength and get in touch with my inner Tigger so I can run instead of walk those gnarly rock-strewn descents.

The Soulstice was the best race of the year. It was just a hoot to run and the vibe on the course, as well as that with my fellow runners, was an incredible experience…rain or shine.

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But, I can’t.

I had a great time with the family and that took precedence over all of my training plans, which included trail running in Zion National Park, riding my bike Chuley along scenic Highway 9, and taking the Coyotes for an extended skate while I admired one of the most famous vistas in the American Southwest.

The Coyote session was relegated to 20 minutes on Friday night. I skated in circles in the RV park streets, guided only by a few dim streetlights, while my wife watched the kids as they swam in the outdoor pool. I stayed warm focusing my energies on avoiding unseen obstacles while the kids, swam in the outdoor pool. It was 50 degrees outside yet the kids were undeterred by any chance to swim in a pool.

Saturday, the plan called for me to ride from the RV park to Springdale and meet the family for lunch. We would then drive into Zion and everyone would enjoy a nice hike for a couple hours. Well, the family was hungry and didn’t want to give me the hour head start on the bike. Being an adaptable chap, I said, “No sweat. I’ll put the bike in the truck and will ride back to the camp site after our hike.”

Long story short, the Head Coach was navigating and we missed the turn-off to the trailhead and ended up taking a driving tour through Zion. Although it was beautiful, we lost about 90 minutes. By the time we found the trail head and finished our fun hike, it was about 45 minutes to sunset and the rain started coming down. Opting not to test the abilities of my 17-year-old helmet against the sideview mirror of Winnebago at night, Chuley stayed in the truck while we drove back to camp.

Alas, Sunday was to be the day that all would be absolved of my planning sins. I would get up semi-early, drive down to Zion, and tackle the 5-mile Angel’s Landing trail. Guaranteed stunning scenery and a chance to meet one of the last-minute directives from Coach Ilg: Get some more time running on trails in prep for Mt. Taylor.

As I lay awake in the cramped RV trailer (we were once again staying with another family as guests in their camper), planning my morning escape, the fatal flaw hit me on the head like a giant turd from a bald eagle. It would take me at least two hours to get to the trailhead, run, and return. I would have my family’s bath gear and luggage. I couldn’t leave it at the campsite because everyone would be tearing down while I was gone.

I was P7′d* again.

The first little hill that started the run.

Not to be completely outmaneuvered by myself, I grabbed my running shoes, made a left from the RV park, and started hoofing it west on Highway 9 toward the town of Virgin. I figured I would go for 30 minutes, but that turned into 45 since I was feeling pretty good. A couple nice hills later, however, and my knees were starting to jones pretty good. I had to take a couple one-minute walk breaks on the return loop since the right knee was starting to have flashbacks to Soulstice.

As I type this, nearly 12 hours later, my right knee is sore as hell.

Oooof.

Time to replace the running shoes. I’ve had this pair since February and it felt like I was running in flip-flops today. Almost zero cushioning.

Do I have any regrets about the lost training weekend?

Nope.

I have my entire life to train. I only have a few more revolutions around the sun to spend this kind of time with my girls.

It’s all about balance, eh?

P7 = Proper Previous Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance

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Much to my surprise, I received a promotion of sorts at work (new assignment and questionable on whether or not more dinero is involved) and had to move offices pronto. As result of this little drama, I ended up showing up about an hour late to the Thursday night group run and just took off on my own for the three-mile loop.

I felt great.

I felt like I was running instead of shuffling for the first time this year.

Did I say I felt great?

I kept with the standard 4-minute run, 1 minute walk routine throughout the three miles. As I was approaching the turnaround, I decided to turn this recovery run into a bit more of a challenge. I wanted to crack that elusive 10-minute mile.

The first 1.5 miles of this course is slightly uphill, which naturally means the return 1.5 miles is downhill. Ahhhh…the downhill is where I felt the lingering spirits of Soulstice in my knees. Still not fully recovered there.

Oh well.

Although I didn’t crush the 10-minute mile barrier, I did crack it at 9:59. Exclude the walk breaks and the pace was definitely faster.

Methinks I’ll keep the Thursday night runs to three-mile time trials and see what I can do to drop that time.

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