CoastalChallenge

OK, I'm in!

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

"Ever run in a staged race before?" Coastal Challenge Race Director Tim Holmstrom asked me.

I thought: You mean, the race will be scripted and blocked off, just like a Jon Benet Ramsey audition?

First lesson about training for the 2008 Coastal Challenge: Read the darn web site.

I did. Let's see: six consecutive days of running in tropical heat over barren, bone-dry volcanic regions, near inland lakes and through forests that will take me within spitting distance of the Nicaragua border (cool, I've always wanted to spit on that Noriega dude. Wait, isn't he dead? Oh yeah, we killed him). It gets confusing with all the leaders we kill nowadays. Note to self: Make an "Exterminated Leader" folder in Outlook.

Then I looked at the photos of all the ripped runners who've completed the Coastal Challenge, and immediately felt worse. All of them were named Athena or Apollo. All of them had biceps the size of cul-de-sacs or six-pack abs. All of them were hot.

I will be one of these runners (figuratively speaking) next year, when the race starts on Jan. 27. Sure, I've run a couple of 50-milers, and a handful of 50ks - all on trails. I've finished eight marathons. But I live in Orange County, Calif. not exactly "Survivor" territory. And Costa Rica? I hear it has no summer, winter or Cinnabon.

Wait, I have heard of such a place; it's called the sun.

The Coastal Challenge web site warns of "small, snarly dogs" along the route. Now, I'm not sure what a snarly dog is - maybe they're referring to the event's lawyers - but it got me thinking: Do I need to bring, like, bug spray? I have a hat somewhere. Guess I'll need some Oakleys.

As I slip into my Sperry Topsiders, I ponder: Will there be a Starbucks along the route, wedged between a Payless Shoes and a Quizno's? In "the OC", they paved paradise and put up plastic strip malls, with ATMs and DVD drops built into the pillars. Please, no skateboarding and keep moving.

Awesome, man. Methinks I better start training. I hit the dirt, turn on my iPod shuffle and out pours the late Johnny Cash:

I fell into a burning ring of fire.
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher.
And it burns, burns, burns
the ring of fire
the ring of fire
the ring of fire.

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

"Yo Quiero Taco Bell"

For my first official training workout, Coach Charlie ordered me to sprint continuously through a Taco Bell drive-thru for 12 hours, figuring the food, engine heat and catalytic emissions would simulate the Costa Rica environment. “Mild or Spicy? Mild or Spicy? Mild or Spicy?” The repetitive badgering of the window cashier was torturous but will serve me well when I hit the Route of Fire initial aid station: “Greg, you look tired, would you like an e-Gel or Gu, e-Gel or Gu, e-Gel or Gu?”

With my Taco Bell training I'll respond appropriately: “I’ll take the Pico de Gallo.”

Coach Charlie is like that: a true visionary (Pet Rock type stuff). He contacted local favorite Carl’s Jr. but they didn’t seem overly committed to the Green Burrito acquisition; at some locations not at others. It’s a DNF merger lurking at mile 22 and really bad karma for training.

Figuring that indecisive commuters trying to navigate Mexican combo meals long-term would be too much of a distraction, I hit an actual trail for my second official Coastal Challenge training –  even though the race is seven months away.

So, anyway, I did a 17-mile loop in Silverado Canyon a few weeknights ago –  at 5:45 p.m. We would need our headlamps. For those of you who don’t live in Orange County (and the majority of those who do), Silverado Canyon is a dentistry-optional enclave of about 1,400 recovering addicts located in the Santa Ana Mountains ridiculously close to the “909.”

In these parts, a full set of teeth is considered “Bling.”

With an average temperature of around 70, and humidity not even close to that of Rosie O’Donnell’s armpit, I admit: This run didn’t exactly mimic Costa Rica conditions. But the hills gave me a great workout. I worked up more lather than Paris did on the hood of that Buick, in those Carl’s Jr. TV commercials... Or was it a Prius?

The run had an overall elevation gain of 4,495, with an average ascent grade of 13 percent. Going up the Silverado Motorway at the start, a roughly 2.5-mile singletrack that is very steep with loose rocks, is good training for anything. I recommend it to budding serial killers who want to look fit should their life story be made into a feature film, and the brooding young hunk of the day is signed to play them.

The rest of the 17-mile loop is rolling fireroad, with some stout climbs. The last nine miles are all downhill, including three miles of pavement for the final, uh, sprint, back to the trailhead.

While running down the Maple Springs trail after climbing Main Divide, we heard the comforting blasts of several gunshots. Running guest Officer Jerry Armstrong, a rising ultrarunner star from San Diego, happens to be a SWAT sniper. So the shots just generated cravings for donuts sprinkled with dry HEED. Turns out some local beer fans were “hunting.’’ Right. And I’m Eric Clifton (nice tights, Eric).

Now, I’ve never been to Costa Rica (or anywhere in Central America, although I loved “Commando” –  wasn’t that set in those parts?), but I figure the sound of gunshots may become useful should I venture off course during the Coastal Challenge and end up in the middle of some drug lord’s poppy field; “say hello to my little friend.”

At a minimum, the blasts will remind me of good ol’ Santa Ana –  the heart of Orange County, where Desperate Housewives rarely venture and obnoxious teens from “Laguna Beach” believe lives Santa Claus’ less fortunate Latino brother.

Ciao for now.

Keep cool, drink ice water.

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

He came, he ran, he kicked its...

OK, they all laughed at the Taco Belkuzl training regiment, scoffed at the illegal midnight kennel runs (preparing for “snarly dogs”) and they flat-out ridiculed Greg after watching 24 hours of “The Flying Nun” for visualization purposes.

All I have to say is “Results.’’ For those not scoring at home, Greg finished 11th with a time of 9:46:35 at the Lake Tahoe Rim 50-miler on July 21. His hair looked fantastic before and after the race. I tried getting into his post race make-up tent but his handlers got rough with me and sent me packing. So, I’m giving Greg the week off to pull his head out and write the TRD Tahoe Rim race re-cap.

Greg is seen here getting his 383 PH balance post race chemical results. Looks like the Pantene for oily hair held strong; anything over 350 is good.

Anyway, his break comes at a very good time. Last night while in between “Sponge Bob” episodes, I clicked over to the David Letterman show. For those of you who missed it, the Top 10 list was central to this blog, so I have reposted it below.

David Letterman’s Top 10 reasons to run in the 2008 Coastal Challenge Route of Fire:


10. Most organized roads resemble steep single-track.

9. Churros are considered a super food.

8. Native dogs extremely high in protein and make fantastic recovery tacos.

7. Not in reference to buying a bigger house than your Newport Beach neighbor.

6. Aid stations offer optional flu shots, Chicklets and ceramic Bart Simpson figurines.

5. Hook-ups with other hot athletes.

4. No bugs but lots of small flying mammals.

3. Sell used Coastal Challenge bib to locals for car license plate.

2. Gain/Loss calculated in meters so you’ll have no idea how tough it is.

And, the number one reason to run in the 2008 Coastal Challenge Route of Fire!

1. Firecrackers are legal.

Stay tuned, next week we'll look into Greg's mental training techniques while pulling some medical records (screw HIPAA) from Bellview prior to his clerical error release.

Coach Charlie

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

Climb, climb and more climb.

This is how organizers of the Mt. Disappointment 50k/50mile endurance run in the mountains northeast of Los Angeles describe the last leg of the race:

“The final climb, which offers spectacular views, ascends the challenging Kenyon   Devore Trail (1,910 feet in 3.1 miles) up to the Mt. Wilson Summit Finish.’’

This is how I describe it:

Pure, unadulterated hell. Throw me a ladder!

Which brings me to my point: If I’m going to run around Costa Rica for six days, including up and around a volcano, the Mt. Disappointment run, held this year on a hot August day, thankyouverymuch, was a perfect preview –  or so I imagine.

What will they call the run around Arenal (the volcano) in Costa Rica? Mt. Beyond Disappointment? Mt. Another Four More Years of George Bush for President? AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Dante’s Seventh Circle of Hell has nothing on the Kenyon Devore Trail.

It kills runners, adding an hour or more to their expected finishing times. Surviving it, I am told, builds character. Well, it sure builds up resentment that I ever took up this “sport” (temporarily); plus, a waxy build up under my nails.

I was alone (reminded me of sex) during most of my slow, agonizing shuffle up the Kenyon Devore Trail. Seems the faster walkers had the flames of Satan licking at their running shorts, spurring them on, while the slower ones preferred to wallow in their hopeless, cheerless fate –  as well as pools of vomit and other bodily fluids.

Ahh, I love this sport! And, I really need a new Coach, someone who cares about me as a valuable person!

Greg

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

Too Many Questions???

October finally is here, which means it’s time for me to get serious about training for the 2008 Coastal Challenge –  and to start debating whether to dress up as Tinkerbell, Pikachu or a Keebler elf for Halloween.

I swear, it’s getting harder for me to take this running thing seriously. I mean, what’s wrong with us wack-job ultra-runners? Recently, in the span of a few days, two of my trail-running pals insisted on continuing to get all medieval on the trails, when lesser mortals would have caved, called it a life, and decided to write about running or something comparably inane.

Runners in the inaugural Noble Canyon 50k in San Diego County (Sept. 29) who were unlucky enough to be huffing it behind Coach Charlie ended up having to part his Red Sea, as a water-deficient Chaz battled a bruised bladder and blessed the dirt with his crimson tide. Did Coach Charlie DNF? Hell no. Why not? Because he’s funny that way; we use funny and stupid in the same context.

Meanwhile, up in Lake Tahoe, Jennifer Forman was on day three of a triple whammy of a run: two back-to-back marathons, followed by a 72-miler. During the 72-miler, Jenn continued to run despite feeling the ill effects of a shin stress fracture (which she had been running on for weeks). She eventually had to stop at mile 40 for a totally wimpy three-day total of 92-plus miles. Not content to simply return to Orange County and rest, Jenn blubbered to her hubby on the drive home to take her back to Tahoe so she could complete her 72 miles. Her hubby, a wise man, refused.

I love these people. They exemplify the drive and sheer degree of nuts one needs to have to run crazy mileage in the wild.

Which brings me to the 2008 Coastal Challenge (this post is starting to feel like a freaking 50-miler, sorry).

My girlfriend, Wendy Primary, has decided to accompany me to Costa Rica (yeah!), and that is just a totally rad and hot and a cool thing, ya know, but it got me thinking:

Is sex a good thing during a six-day stage race?

Is sex a good thing for runners, period?

Is sex all alone really sex? Oh, I think soOOOooooOOoo!

Callers are standing by. I need to know. I’ll tackle that subject in a future post –  I just wanted to get the proverbial juices rolling.

I need to tell you, briefly, about a decidedly unsexy “run” that should serve me well in the steamy jungles of Costa Rica.

A couple of weeks ago, I paced Robert Schipsi as he tackled the fabled AC (Angeles Crest) 100, from Wrightwood to Pasadena. I met Robert at a bar. Oh shit, wrong blog. I met Robert at 10:30 p.m. at mile 75 for the 25-mile “run” to the finish.

Well, we walked 23 of the 25 miles. It took us more than 10 hours to cover what normally would have taken about 4 1/2 hours.

Irritation can be a good thing, as long as it’s not in the form of chafing around the delicate Gen Italia region. Viva la Generation Italia! So, I got real irritated during our 25-mile walk –  not with Robert, poor guy, who was in pretty bad shape but still managed to finish the very demanding AC100 in less than 29 hours.

I got irritated with the world, although I’ve never been farther from “the OC” than Barstow.

I suspect that in Costa Rica-havoc on my legs, when things aren’t going well, I will have to learn to suck things up and just plow ahead –  sort of a fitting description for my first (and only) failed marriage; my only DNF.

Anyhow, pacing Robert reminded me that ultrarunning isn’t always about the highs, but the lows. I should recall this pithy phrase from my free-basing days, but it’s been a while since I’ve smoked cracked or snorted AJAX. (Note to self: RSVP Halloween party at dealer’s meth lab in Barstow). OK, Silverado Canyon so give me a break!

Greg

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

Orange County Burn Out

My house almost burned down in Orange County’s Santiago fire, which as I write this refuses to die –  like The Rolling Stones, some tangerine-flavored Gu at the bottom of my drawer of leopard-print thong underwear and, of course, Rosie O’Donnell.

As it turns out, as far as training for the Coastal Challenge is going, fire has been berry, berry good for me.

After the embers cooled a bit, Coach Charlie and I broke the law by running 16 miles on the charred Santiago Truck Trail in the foothills of Orange County. Technically, we were in the Cleveland National Forest, which remains closed to the public.

At one point, about 3.5 miles into the run, we saw Barney Fife standing on a ridge, ready to ticket us, but we pushed him off and he fell down the steep ravine. Luckily for him, a strong rush of hot air blowing up from the canyon via downtown L.A., where Rosie O’Donnell was yapping, pushed Fife back up the hill. He survived. By then, Charlie and I were long gone.

A cool bragging point about running in Costa Rica is the bit about the volcano. We will be running on a volcano, right? I hope so. I better get some benefit from sucking up enough airborne crap to possibly kill Rosie (nothing could kill her, at this point). My throat still aches from my run on the Santiago Truck Trail. I better not have run there in vain.

Finally (kinda sorta) waking up to the fact that the Coastal Challenge will require me to run six days in a row, I have come up with a new weekend running strategy: back-to-back long runs, on trails with nasty uphills.

Last weekend, I logged 13 miles in the foothills behind San Juan Capistrano (Coach Charlie ran in front of me, rolling out the red carpet) on Saturday, followed by a brutal 23 miles (well, mostly brutal) in Aliso and Wood Canyons and El Moro state park –  two popular running/mountain biking/hiking spots separated by Laguna Canyon Road in Laguna Beach (and believe me, separating anything in Laguna Beach, including the men from the boys, isn’t easy).

I realize that I need to continually punish myself if I am to survive Costa Rica. In that spirit, I am forcing myself to watch all of Howie Mandell’s movies, to be followed by anything featuring Goldie Hawn in a supporting or starring role. Goldie, you and I may have the same hair, but that’s as far as relationship goes. Sorry.

Keep cool, drink ice water and eat lots of fire retardant.

Greg

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

No Way Out

I booked my flight to Costa Rica today, the last day of November and perhaps the first day of the rest of my remaining short, pathetic, delusional life. The airline, Lacsa, sounds like some outtake from “Borat” that ended up on the cutting-room floor –  some obscure word that means, “Death in Lame Airplane That Falls and KABOOM! Incinerates All Aboard in A Hellish Fireball, Including American Runner Boy of Dubious Talent.”

Perhaps I need to switch to decaf.

For the record, Lacsa is Costa Rica’s national airline. It stands for Lineas Aereas Costarricenses SA. Put that in a pipe and smoke it.

It’s one thing to claim one is going to enter a six-day stage race in a foreign country (more foreign than central Orange County? Crap, I’m in trouble!). It’s an entirely different thing when one actually panhandles hard-earned cash for a red-eye flight from LAX to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica (not the monument to capitalism in Northern California).

So, I’m in.

To make sure I am increasing my threshold for pain, I ran in last week’s Santa Barbara 9 Trials, which translates to, “Freaking Annoyingly Difficult 35-Miler Through a Roller-Coaster Course With No Breaks Whatsoever, Especially for Coastal Challenge Entrants With Leif Garrett Hair. Oh Yeah, There’s an Overall Elevation Gain of More Than 11,000 Feet. Hahahahahaha!”

Perhaps I doth protest too much.

I’m easing into this Coastal Challenge thing. I’m starting to walk barefoot on razor blades and drown my Grape Nuts in Drano to build up my stomach lining.

Next planned run: Dashing up a rain-fueled mudslide in fire-devastated portions of Orange County. We “Canyon” folk are funny that way.

Greg

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE

It's Payback Time!

Screw Coach Charlie! I’m sick of being picked on!

Those were my thoughts a few weeks ago when I decided to turn the tables on Ladera Ranch’s own trail-running version of Quentin Tarantino, creator of intricately sadistic scenarios of pain and depravity.

I arranged for some meth lab heavies from my past to kidnap Coach Charlie from his plastic  mansion in south Orange County, Calif., then drive him up to the desert in their faded puke-green ’66 El Dorado, then dump his over hydrated rear on the side of the road to see what he was made of, besides caramel frapuccino lattes and goat-cheese pizzas.

Thus was born the Primm-to-Vegas 43-mile run, held this year in frigid conditions on Dec. 13. Coach Charlie’s lovely family was there to bid him adieu, but not before eating his gels and consuming all of his Gatorade. A lovely bunch, the Nickell clan.

Coach Charlie DNFd, claiming the wind made many boo-boos on his middle-aged body. The poor boy was cold! Ah, that’s sweet. Have some hot milk chocolate –  you’ll feel better soon. Of course, in Coach Charlie’s case, shrinkage is never an issue, since it’s the state he was born into, so he didn’t moan about that.

To prove how manly I am, and show Coach Charlie how it’s done, I ran from the Pacific Ocean to Santiago Peak this last weekend –  a 42-mile journey that took me from the lowest to highest points in Orange County, give or take a few luxury auto dealerships.

I touched salt water and snow on the same run, and not once did I cry about how cold it was.

The tables have turned, Coach Charlie. Man up, bro. You have created a monster! Costa Rica, you are a mere pebble on my road to ultra greatness! Poisonous snakes? Hah! I eat them for breakfast and make designer boots out of them in my spare time.

Bring on the panthers, the volcanoes, the makeshift toilets dug into the ground!

And, please, can somebody sober me up! The mushrooms are starting to wear off.

Coach Greg (I like the sound of that)

CLICK HERE FOR GREG'S COASTAL CHALLENGE DAY-BY-DAY COVERAGE