Keira Henninger at Ray Miller, Clark Zealand at Terrapin, John Medinger at Sonoma, and David Horton at Promise Land each bring their own touch to their events and each succeed in pulling off something that looks so easy on the surface but is actually extraordinarily difficult, directing a trail ultramarathon. Another thing about this that struck me is that one might think there is one successful formula for race-directing success, one personality type that does it best, and one clear way of getting it done. Yet, these four race directors prove that there are many ways to skin a cat and, in so doing, lend credence to the fact that our sport truly is the ruggedly individualistic pursuit it’s always been.

To illuminate the point, allow me to profile these four outstanding race directors:

Keira Henninger – “The Cheerleader”
I don’t know if Keira ever was a cheerleader but if she wasn’t, she should have been. Throughout her event, she was constantly there smiling, laughing, hosting, and organizing. As a master delegator, she seemed to have everything under control all day and night and never lost sight of what was most important about the whole thing, having fun.

Clark Zealand – “The Professor”
Now, truth be told, Clark is a professor so this is not too much of a stretch. Nonetheless, he goes about his business as a race director in much the same way I would imagine him going about his academic life. He asks as many questions as he provides answers; he has an understanding of every aspect of his event without being overbearing; and his preparation and follow-through are impeccable.

John Medinger – “The Connector”
The Lake Sonoma 50 is, quite frankly, much more of a party than an ultra. Sure, there is always an incredibly deep field at this race but to be honest the race seems to be an excuse for a get-together. John, of course, knows everybody in the ultra world and uses this event to connect people, establish relationships, and grow goodwill across the generations. I know the purpose of the event is to have a race, but John succeeds in creating an event that is rooted on relationships and connections.

David Horton – “The General”
David has been directing races in the central-Virginia area since the early ’80s and he has consistently done them “his way.” As the years have gone by and his following has grown, his style has become one that is at once incorrigible and delightful. Perhaps the best two indicators of that are the following stories. One, during the prize drawing during the pre-race meeting the night before Promise Land, David pulls names out of a hat to give away prizes. When he pulls the names out, if he doesn’t feel like giving the named person a prize, he just folds the paper back up and puts it back in the hat. Then, the next day when everyone finishes, he personally and enthusiastically greets every finisher with kind exhortations like “You got chicked, Chicken Boy.” and “Pretty smart run for such a stupid girl.” Needless to say, there is only one Horty.

Truly, race directing is both a science and an art which requires a rare blend of skills and a great deal of patience. In addition, it is clear from my experience that organizing and carrying out an ultra event is a skill reserved for that rare person who can do it all while remaining true to who they are, what they want, and how much they care about others.

So, for all you race directors out there…

Bottoms up!

AJW’s Beer of the Week
This Week’s Beer of the Week comes from a Taproom favorite, Bell’s Brewing Company in Michigan. Their summer seasonal Oberon Ale is a highly sessionable ale that blends a touch of hoppiness with smooth citrus tones and a nice crisp finish. Served cold on a hot day, Oberon hits the spot.

Call for Comments (from Meghan)

• Let’s get some more shout outs going! Who is your favorite race director and why?
• What, in your opinion, are the top qualities of the race directors you’ve met?

Related articles:

1. Prize Purses in Ultras: Leadville 100 Next? A look at the possibility of the Leadville 100 offering...
2. Buried Seed (1) I’m buried. Buried in a back load of posts,...
3. Race Trilogies: West Virginia, Nepal, and New Zealand iRunFar throws out three trail races that might be worth...

Course
The race covers the 145-mile trail from the Britain’s second largest city, Birmingham, to London on the Grand Union Canal towpath with a 45-hour cut-off. This route is an amalgamation of several canal systems, created in its current form in 1929 to better compete for business transportation cargo with the road system. Several other races use portions of the GUC, especially near London, but none are as long as the GUCR.

It’s hard to get lost on the Grand Union course. Photo: James Adams

Given this is a canal towpath, it’s an effectively flat route on non-technical trails with some paved sections. It doesn’t have race markings although there are canal signs and the general rule is if you can’t see water then you’re probably lost. Maps are required but the main place you can go off course is near London where a left turn off the wider expanse of water is required at Bull’s Bridge, about a half marathon from the finish at Little Venice.

Dangerous animals are not a risk, although hissing geese with newborn chicks have been known to temporarily hold up runners. Other unique features include the chance to race barges (they move at five miles per hour) and dodging drunk locals celebrating the three-day weekend and shouting original thoughts like, “Run, Forrest, Run.” (None of us have ever heard that before.) When fatigued at night there’s certainly a small risk of falling in the canal, too.

The course map.

Runners are recommended to have their own support crews, but up to 40 unsupported runners can be catered for by the organizers for an additional fee. Aid stations are few and far between with only nine along the 145 miles, compared to 24 along the Western States 100 route over a shorter distance. Crews are allowed throughout but pacers can only join runners from mile 70. An unusual rule is that resting for more than 40 minutes at a time is not permitted so there can be no long snoozing at aid stations despite the race lasting up to two days.

The Men’s And Women’s Fields
The main focus of the race is the experience and it doesn’t generally attract a deep field, although often members of the Great Britain 24-hour team attend. Last year it was won outright by Debbie Martin-Consani in a female course record.

Runners and spectators enjoying the event. Photo: James Adams

Course Records

• Men: Pat Robbins – 25:37 (2011)
• Women: Debbie Martin-Consani – 28:01 (2012)

Related articles:

1. 2013 Highland Fling Preview A preview of the 53-mile Hoka Highland Fling run in...
2. 2013 Marathon des Sables Photo Gallery Photo gallery of the 2013 Marathon des Sables by Kirsten...
3. The 2010 Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc in Pictures A photo chronicle of the 2010 Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc....

The La Sportiva Helios

Upper
The most noticeable aspect of the upper when first putting on the shoes was the heel stabilizer. I was skeptical about this at first, but found it did a good job of keeping my heel in place without being too restricting. The rest of the upper is composed of mesh, which did a nice job with drainage and keeping out debris. I ran through a few puddles in the shoe and never dealt with too much water retention. The shoe has a gusseted tongue that I found very comfortable. One strange aspect of the tongue was the thick cushioning present. It never posed any issues on runs, but I didn’t find it to provide any benefit either. The upper is locked down with a TPU lacing system that is integrated into the shoe. The lacing system pulled the upper together and added some structure, as well. The laces could have been a little longer, as they came untied a few times on the trails when I was at a comfortable lace tension. The toe cap on the front performed just fine. I most often wore the Helios sock-less and never had any memorable chafing issues with the upper.

The lateral upper of the Helios. Photo: Zappos

Midsole
The midsole of Helios was one of the most impressive aspects of the shoe. The midsole is composed of an EVA midsole with the addition of a 2mm LaSpeva plate. LaSpeva is described as a thicker, more-resilient foam that is supposed to add to the comfort and rebound of the midsole. The cushioning was right in the middle ground of shoes I’ve worn. It fit right in the range where I didn’t feel like I was losing energy on the trail or feel like I was going to sustain a stress fracture when I took them out on the roads. The shoe hit a middle ground on width, as well. It didn’t feel too wide or narrow in any part of the shoe. There is a small amount of arch support.

The medial upper of the Helios. Photo: Zappos

Outsole
The outsole is a unique design made up of La Sportiva’s FriXion AT material arranged along the edge of the shoe, and then alternating rubber and indents going from front to back. I’ve been able to test the Helios on a variety of trail conditions ranging from pavement, dirt, rocks, mud, snow, and ice. The grip has been fantastic across the board. The FriXion AT material really surprised me with how broad of a range of surfaces that it gripped well.

The Helios’s outsole. Photo: Zappos

Overall

Over the past few months I’ve been running in the Helios, I’ve found it to be a fantastic shoe for pretty much any trail running situation. La Sportiva really nailed it, making a shoe that combines performance and just enough structure for training and racing long. One of the only issues I had with the shoe was with some foot-swelling issues at about the marathon point on some muddy and icy trails. I wore the shoe between 15 to 20 miles plenty of times without issue, but it felt a lot tighter when I went longer. The size I’m wearing, 44.5, fits like a glove on me now, so if I get another pair for going past the marathon distance, I will probably go a half size larger to compensate for foot swelling. I’d highly recommend the Helios for anyone that’s looking for a minimal shoe with enough support for an ultra.

Related articles:

1. La Sportiva Vertical K Review A preview of the La Sportiva Vertical K....
2. La Sportiva X Country Review An in-depth review of the La Sportiva X Country....
3. Patagonia EVERmore Review A review of the Patagonia EVERmore trail running shoe....

R2R2R—My 6 hours and 21 minutes with the Canyon

May 10, 2013
Unable to fall back asleep after a 1 a.m. bathroom break I quietly laid still, trying not to think about what I was about to attempt, the excitement beginning to build nonetheless. When the alarm finally hit at 3:15, what was at most a fantasy this time a year ago was suddenly a reality: I would be attempting to run 42 miles from the Grand Canyon’s South Rim to its North Rim and back, and I would be attempting to do it faster than anyone is known to have done it before.

“The day of reckoning,” we said and laughed as we went old school with Eminem and Snoop Dog to begin the day. Stirring nearby was my partner Christina, and good friend Brian, both themselves feeling the anticipation. Drinking coffee from the Jetboil and dancing to the music, we soon found ourselves in the car with the high beams on watching for elk as we entered the park headed for the South Kaibab Trailhead.

Brian and Christina sat in the car while I walked to the rim, the light from my headlamp disappearing into the abyss below. I stood here before, these oddly quiet serene moments on the rim before it begins. Even in the half light the blackness before me left a knot in my throat. The Canyon, each time, demands your respect.

It was calm and I could already feel the heat and energy radiating up, I paused and began to set my mind to what lay ahead. Living in Flagstaff, I had years of experience inside the Canyon, a record of successes and failures and adventures with friends that had nothing to do with time. Despite all those runs, and telling myself this was just another, the electricity inside me made it hard to deny this was different, and I knew it. Too much to think about, I stopped myself. I found myself doing some drills and stretches to loosen up and whittle away the final nervous minutes before the planned 5 a.m. start.

I’d been hearing what I thought were the mules rustling in their pens, but in reality were mule guides preparing a supply train about to head to Phantom Ranch. A run like this begs a runner to master everything in their control, yet so many factors outside of that control can change everything. One of those elements in the Canyon is a mule train. All the speed and strength in the world doesn’t mean a thing when your perfect run is turned into a walk behind a line of one of these. Almost humorous it can come down to that. With Brian and Christina waiting at the rim, I was just finishing loading my supplies and removing layers when I saw the silhouette of the train making their way toward the trailhead. My heart skipped a beat as I sprinted towards the rim, suddenly in a race to arrive ahead of the mules in the early dawn light. Arriving in a dead heat, the mule guide was kind enough to allow us a few brief moments to gather ourselves, an omen foretelling the magical hours to follow. With adrenaline hitting its height for the day, I took one deep breath and with a click of the watch Brian and I dropped below the rim.

Shortly after Tipoff, I asked Brian not to mention our split when we hit the river. I wanted to run my own run and not be chasing splits along the way, deciding the North Rim would be the first time I’d check my watch. Soon enough we crossed the Colorado River, cool air emerging through the openings in the bridge below us. I shook my body out, relieved the toughest descent was over and looking forward to the long stretch of smooth trail ahead. Just after the bridge Brian gave me a few last words of encouragement as I headed to Phantom Ranch. I wouldn’t see him again until hours later at Skeleton Point on my way back up the South Rim. Immediately I was alone, but ready to face the Canyon. With the real work still ahead I remembered a mantra R2R2R veteran Jason Wolfe often spoke—when you reach the river it hasn’t even started yet.

It’s so simple. The most precious element inside the Canyon, which is never to be underestimated, is water. You may find no other adventure in your life in which such a simple element is so desperately sacred. Phantom Ranch, about seven miles in, was my first opportunity for water. I quickly chugged a bottle, refilled, and set off as hikers gathered to begin their day looked on in curiosity. Other times at Phantom I might take some time to answer questions, always the questions, but today there was urgency in my brief stops. Soon enough I found myself alone again. The park road to the North Rim hadn’t yet opened and I was fortunate enough to experience the emptiness and enormity of the Canyon in near solitude during the 28 miles north of Phantom Ranch. Heading through a narrow gorge with steep walls referred to as the Box, I began counting the bridges I crossed as a mental marker for my return trip, the sound of Bright Angel Creek and its flowing water my only companion.

Doubts started creeping into my mind as I thought about the enormity of what still lay ahead—did I get in over my head on this one? I tried to refocus, reminding myself of my fitness, the long winter of skinning at altitude, and the confidence I’d gained from my first 50-miler two weeks earlier. I shifted focus again, this time to my senses—the sound of the creek, the heat radiating from the red rock, the distinct smell of the Canyon, and my rhythmic breathing. Undeniably you will hear the word “energy” used in describing the Canyon, and this is the truest feeling. I had many miles in the past where this energy scared me, intimidated me, broke me. Only through time did I learn to draw on this energy for strength, respecting the Canyon, giving it my best, and feeling it give back to me. In the Box, I worked to dispel my fears.

Shortly after I was suddenly stopped in my tracks, staring at a sign for Ribbon Falls, absurdly questioning myself which way to go in the most straightforward of routes. The sign pointed towards what looked like the more traveled path, but also up a steep climb—not what I’d remembered from my north-to-south run last year. Needing to make a decision I broke left, following the trail across a dry creek bed and continuing along its northerly direction. I soon realized my mistake as the path quickly thinned and couldn’t be the corridor trail I should have been on. Chastising myself for the poor decision I flipped it back to the trail sign and continued up the climb, unnecessarily losing myself two precious minutes. Shaking it off, I soon found myself at Cottonwood Campground and my second stop for water. I guzzled a bottle, then refilled a second time, adding one of three packets of energy powder I’d brought along in zip-lock bags stuffed in my shorts. Feeling the pull of the North Rim, I worked quickly and was likely in and out in less than a minute.

I’d found my rhythm for the day and was feeling strong and quick as I approached Roaring Springs where the moderate grades of the previous nine miles give way to the final steep climb to the North Rim. Still having a nearly full bottle I decided not to top off of Roaring Springs and continued on, catching my first glimpse of its namesake spring bursting out of the rock face in the distance. Passing through Havasupai Tunnel I downed the last of my fluids knowing it was less than two miles to the halfway point of the run. Hitting the start of a long stretch of sandy trail I began hiking, not wanting to fight the frustrating combination of steep grades and soft footing. The Pinyons and Junipers gave way to Ponderosa Pine with their distinct vanilla aroma and signaled the final stretch. Soon enough, there it was, the North Kaibab Trailhead kiosk. I quickly retrieved the video recorder from the zip-lock bag I had it in and began recording. Catching the kiosk and a quick panorama of my surroundings I shifted focus to my watch to record my running time and time of day. I was caught off guard to see I’d covered the 21 miles from the South Rim to the North Rim in just over three hours.

With the rest of the steep descent uneventful, I arrived at Roaring Springs and quickly mixed the second packet of energy powder into my bottle. Two miles later at Cottonwood Campground I topped off my bottle and bumped into Michael Wardian. I hadn’t met him before but knew he’d be in the Canyon attempting his own R2R2R. I quickly introduced myself and we wished each other luck as I headed out to continue my descent. At a small creek crossing I paused for a moment, splashing the cool water over my face and cleaning the peanut butter gel off my hands and out of my beard. Crossing the first set of bridges I was happy to be in the shade of the Box, but could feel the heat rising as I drew closer to Phantom Ranch. The second set of bridges never seemed to come, distress crept in. I was beginning to feel the toll of the day.

My second stop at Phantom Ranch was the longest of the day. With no water available on the climb up South Kaibab and feeling the heat of the day, I tried to load up, putting down a bottle and a half before mixing my final packet of energy powder. I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself the fate of the run lay in the final, six-and-a-half-mile, 4,700-foot climb. Despite depletion and fatigue, and just a few miles separating me from the top, I was well aware that nothing was a given here. Many have heard the stories that occur right here, on this climb—strong men never broken whittled down to misery, forced to slowly walk out when running becomes impossible. Everyone knows it’s this moment that matters. Crossing the Colorado I looked at my watch the second time of the run. 4:49. I’d tempered the pace of the first half and reached the final climb tired but still feeling in control of the effort. Sweat trickled into the dust below me, giving to the Canyon, the Canyon giving back.

I divide the final climb out into four distinct quarters in my head. The first quarter from the river to Tipoff is long, steep and exposed, but one that I feel energized by with sweeping red turns and several postcard views of the river. I began the climb hiking, quickly measuring the ascent with the goal of reaching the rim with nothing left but avoiding the wall I’ve hit too many times before. Thus, I fell into a hike/run pattern, hiking the steepest stretches, the tight turns of the switchbacks, and the highest steps while running whenever the grade lessened, however briefly, and taking advantage of any spots of shade. A friend on his way to the river saw me from above and his calm encouragement lifted my spirits as I passed him.

Tipoff to Skeleton Point begins with a gentle stretch before hitting what many call “The Great Wall,” a long, very steep and exposed grind. Passing the first of three mule trains I’d encounter with little difficulty, I soon heard Brian’s voice from far above at Skeleton Point. I was encouraged and comforted by the familiar voice but also felt myself turning inward and beginning to suffer. I took a few moments to remind myself of the dark place I was about to enter, a shade of gray where the pain and exhilaration of the moment combine into a state of being I both fear and yearn for.

I was relieved to hit Skeleton Point having finished the more difficult half of the climb, at least on paper. I could offer nothing more than a mumble to Brian as he settled in behind me and asked how I was feeling. I moved purposefully and refrained from allowing myself a glimpse of the rim, knowing from experience the sight is a false friend with 2,000′ of climbing remaining. Having exhausted the last of my fluids, I tucked the bottle away and felt the pang of thirst as I heard Brian drink from his water bladder.

Krar and Brian ascending Cedar Ridge. Photo: Rob Hall

Cedar Ridge passed and I began the final short and gentlest quarter of the climb, my mind numb from the effort. Our friends Rob and Maureen had come from Flagstaff to catch the final minutes of the run and their presence on the trail reminded me of the love and support I have from so many in my life and how fortunate I am for it. Rolling past Ooh-Aah Point, I caught a final glance of my watch. 6:10. Knowing I had a little over 10 minutes remaining, I put my head down, lost in another reality, simply wanting the effort to be over. I turned deep inside, not hearing Christina’s voice cheering from above as I counted down the final eight switchbacks before the end. Rounding the final turn I slumped into the kiosk fumbling to stop my watch, completely overwhelmed. This part is hard to describe, and I’m not sure there are words. The watch on my wrist read 6:21. I had done it.

Krar spent. Photo: Christina Bauer

It took some time for the many emotions to settle and organize in my mind. Collecting myself I walked to the rim, just like I had begun, taking a few moments to stand and look over the Canyon and reflect on the enormity of the effort, the power of the Canyon washing over me once again. I thought about the journey my running and life have taken the past few years, from meeting my partner in the mountains of Colorado, to injury, then surgery, and a recovery so long I doubted I’d ever run gentleman’s pace with friends again, let alone race and compete. I thanked the Canyon for gifting me with near-flawless conditions, sure the stars would not align so perfectly for me again. I thanked Brian, Rob, and Maureen for their support, hugged Christina and took the obligatory celebratory pictures. It was a day I’ll not soon forget.

Krar with his supporting friends. Photo: Rob Hall

Thoughts & Reflection

Many recent FKT attempts have been hindered, whether by heat, snow, crowds, an off day, unfamiliarity with the Canyon, nutrition and hydration issues, difficult mule trains, or more commonly a combination of several of these. I was blessed with a strong day, near-perfect conditions, and only very minor issues. Today, there are so many incredible runners reaching new heights and redefining what is possible, and under similar conditions, the FKT will continue to be challenged. Remember the following quote from Dakota Jones in his 2011 FKT report:

I will stick my neck out and say that a fit and rested runner who finds the Canyon in good condition could significantly lower the time. My prediction is that within five years the men’s record will be under six hours. Go ahead – call me out on that. It will happen.

I feel compelled to offer a few brief thoughts on the future of running in the Canyon. In recent years there’s been a considerable increase in the number of runners tackling the Canyon, and, unfortunately, a corresponding increase in tension between the runners, hikers, and park staff. Rangers are rightfully concerned for the safety of all visitors venturing below the rim. If they stop you to offer their thoughts and concerns, please take them to heart. The Canyon can be a brutal place to find yourself unprepared. Please be safe, know your limits, and understand the unique challenges the Canyon presents. Search-and-rescue efforts risk lives and come at a great cost.

For many, a visit to the Canyon is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and everyone enjoys it at their own pace. Please be respectful of others on the trails, giving them plenty of warning as you approach to allow them time to safely react. Mule trains are luck of the draw and runners may find themselves unable to pass for some time. Leave plenty of space and wait for the mule guides’ permission before attempting to pass. The vast majority of runners are courteous, kind, and enter well prepared. However, a few bad apples can easily sour the opinion of others. I fear the consequences of continued tension could lead to further discussion of a permitting process for runners and result in decreased access for all of us.

Finally, running and racing can be an inherently selfish endeavor and I’m eternally grateful for the unconditional love and support of my partner. Her patience and understanding help quell the guilt I sometimes feel chasing these intangible dreams.

Krar and Christina. Photo: Rob Hall

Splits

• South Kaibab Trailhead to River: 46:31
• River to Cottonwood Campground: 1:00:11
• Cottonwood Campground to North Kaibab Trailhead: 1:17:04
• North Kaibab Trailhead to Cottonwood Campground: 51:08
• Cottonwood Campground to River: 54:36
• River to South Kaibab Trailhead: 1:32:17
• Final Time: 6:21:47

Krar absorbing the day’s events. Photo: Christina Bauer

Nutrition

Breakfast 90 minutes before start:

• Quick oats with walnuts, raisins and brown sugar: ~400 calories

Gels:

• Began with 12, consumed about 11 after salvage: 1,100 calories

Fluids:

• Three 20o ounces Perpetuem, 1.5 scoops each: 600 calories
• One 20 ounces HEED, 1.5 scoops: 150 calories
• Approximately 80 ounces additional water throughout run

Related articles:

1. Grand Canyon Double Crossing FKT Double Broken Dakota Jones sets a new FKT for a Grand Canyon...
2. Bethany Lewis and Her Grand Canyon Double Crossing FKT An interview with Bethany Lewis about her Grand Canyon Double...
3. Ponderous Posterior 50k “Race” Report Tom Caughlan's race report from the 2011 Ponderous Posterior 50k...

The other, often overlooked benefit of having the fitness to and the interest in running long distances is the use of running as a way to get from one point to another with a more functional larger purpose. Using running as a way to get from point A to point B doesn’t, of course, require point B to be some far-away, remote place that we would never go to otherwise. Point B could also be your job or the store or a social engagement.

Very few people seem to use running in this way. As a means of commuting around town, driving, biking, walking, and public transportation all seem to be very widely used and widely recognized methods, while running tends to be looked at as odd and silly. There are a few obvious reasons for this, but when you stop and look at these reasons there really isn’t anything all that odd and unusual about run commuting.

Probably the number one reason why most people don’t run commute is that they don’t want to be wearing goofy running clothes and sweating like a pig when they get to where they are going. Certainly this is a valid concern, and a logical limiting factor in many cases, especially in very hot weather. There are a lot of quite simple ways around this hurdle, though. Most importantly is the reality that you don’t have to wear goofy running clothes to go out and run somewhere. We think nothing of hoping on our bike and riding 10 miles across town in our everyday clothes, but very few people ever run more than a couple blocks in anything other than run-specific clothes. There’s really no logical reason for this other than the fact that biking around town in “street clothes” is totally accepted in our culture while running around town in the same clothes is not.

An old-timer friend of mine has told me a great story which illustrates this point, and shows that this has been the case for several decades. The story goes that when he first began running in Alaska (more than 50 years ago), it was really only something that was common as a competitive endeavor. People didn’t just go out and run for the hell of it, and most certainly not in Juneau, Alaska. Well, he wanted to go out and run for the hell of it, so he did. People also didn’t really have running-specific clothing at this time. Unless you were a competitive runner (which in those days likely included less than a few thousand people in the entire country) you didn’t own running shorts and a singlet, or for that matter running-specific shoes. Instead, if you wanted to run you wore jeans (or cut-off jeans in warm weather), a cotton sweatshirt or a flannel shirt, and some tennis shoes. In other words, if you wanted to run, you ran in the same clothes that you would wear to walk down to the store to get a gallon of milk. This doesn’t mean it was publicly accepted though, as running in general was not publicly accepted, unless it was part of a competition.

My friend though, he just wanted to run, and that was what he did. At least until he had people call the cops on him because they thought he was suspicious running down the street. After this he began to transition to trail running because at least he could run without any people seeing him and wondering what he was up to. This is by far my favorite “why did you start running trails story.” The point I want to come back to, though, is that even 50 years ago running around town in street clothes was unusual, and likely to raise some eyebrows.

In the time since then, running has become universally recognized (at least in this country), but running in street clothes still draws the same double takes that it did 50 years ago. It’s hard to go against what society views as normal, but all we really need to do if we want to be wearing our street clothes when we get to the café where we’re meeting a friend for lunch is to realize that there really isn’t any reason why we can’t just run across town in these clothes.

The sweating like a pig thing can be a little harder to work with, but certainly not impossible. When we go out and run for exercise or for exploring wild and remote places we are expecting to sweat and we push ourselves at a pace that often leads to large amounts of sweat. With the exception of midday summertime weather, most healthy and fit runners can slow down considerably and run for several minutes (or even hours) without sweating much at all. If you sweat profusely at eight min/mile pace in 50 degree weather, try slowing to a 12 min/mile pace and see what happens. Most people will sweat very little in temperatures below 60 if they slow down by several minutes per mile from their “normal” pace.

The other major challenge that makes run commuting potentially difficult is that we are so often needing to carry a decent amount of stuff with us when we are going to and from places in our everyday lives. This is another issue though that in many cases can be handled with very little difficulty. We pretty much all have running packs nowadays that we use for long races or training runs. Throw in a 100-ounce bladder, a dozen or two gels, a light jacket, and you can go run for 30-plus miles in the mountains with no resupply. We think nothing of doing this on a fairly regular basis so why then can’t we readily wrap our minds around the idea of running to class with three or four books and a lunch, or running to the store to get some groceries for dinner? Obviously, there are certain times that we need the cargo capacity of a vehicle or a bicycle, but the majority of times that we are moving around from place to place in our everyday lives we are carrying less than 10 pounds of stuff with us.

Another thing that comes into play when we begin to think about using our fancy running packs to carry things other than food and water for long runs is that we can also use them to help with the first problem I presented: that we don’t want to be wearing goofy (and sweaty) running clothes when we get to where we are going. In most cases we are going somewhere where we can change into street clothes (that we can carry in our running packs) when we get there. There are even times when you could take a shower when you get there. Say for example that you’re going to a friend’s house for a barbecue, or you are lucky enough to work somewhere with showers.

I recognize that there are numerous situations when run commuting doesn’t make sense, but I also believe that there are numerous situations in which it makes perfect sense, but it’s not something that we often think about doing. I include myself in this. It’s just not something that I think to do very often, but then most times I do I find myself thinking how logical, easy, and enjoyable that was. Certainly running across town to go pick up a book that you’ve had on hold at the library isn’t as memorable or as exhilarating as running up your favorite mountain, but it might just be more memorable and more exhilarating than driving to get that book.

[Editor's Note: iRunFar's Bryon Powell once reflected on discovering run commuting six years. ]

Call for Comments (from Meghan)

• We know you run commuters are out there. What are your tricks of the trade for getting past some of the challenges like sweating, needing clean clothes at your destination, and social stigmas?
• Have you encountered a situation in which you just couldn’t make run commuting work because of the logistics (other than distance)? If so, what was it?

Related articles:

1. Run Commuting The past two weeks have been a microcosm of the...
2. Looking for Floor Space for Way Too Cool 50k (and a Workout Report) So I’m headed out to California next weekend for Way...
3. Flyin' Bryon I’ve only got time for a short post, but here...

The most bizarre thing happened to me the other day. I don’t know if it’s because of all the kombucha I drank or the stress from dealing with Telluride Mountain Run permits, but boy was it odd. I’ll start from the beginning.

I was fidgeting on my couch, hemming and hawing about races, camping trips, and my schedule, when all of a sudden Lao-Tzu and John Muir show up at my door step. I know what you are thinking, “Reese! That’s impossible! You don’t even have a doorstep. You have a patio.” Okay, well, that may be the case, and you might have caught me in a slight exaggeration, but the main point is, Lao and John are knocking on my door. Naturally, I invited them in, offered tea, and ushered them to please have a seat on my couch. So there we were just sitting around like old friends. We got to talking, the normal formalities at first, but I had to know why they were at my house. The following conversation is a rough account of what happened:

Reese: I didn’t know you two hung out together! And I would have never guessed you’d be in Denver. What brings you to my neck of the woods?

John: Well Reese, you see, I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.

Reese: Oh. Yes. I think I get it. And Lao, may I call you that? What brings you here?

Lao: Silence is a source of Great Strength.

I could tell I wouldn’t be getting a whole lot of answers from Lao.

Reese: Lovely. Well since I have to two of you here, maybe you could help me with some ideas for my summer. You see, having summers off is certainly a blessing, but it can also be a bit of a burden for someone like me. Namely, someone who has a hard time sitting still for very long. As the daylight steadily increases, so, too, does my anxiousness about how I am going to fill my time. Sure I have some trips planned, but I feel as though this gift of summer is something I shouldn’t waste by idling in some mountain town by myself. And if you really think about it, because I don’t work over the summer, my only job is figuring out how to spend my time well. Any ideas on how to fill my time?

Lao: Act without expectation. If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.

John: In every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks. That being said, to ask me whether I could endure to live without friends is absurd. It is easy enough to live out of material sight of friends, but to live without human love is impossible.

Reese: I think I see what you two are eluding to! Yes, the mountains are enjoyable, but perhaps galavanting in them is not an end in itself. Sharing experiences, be it time in the mountains or elsewhere, is satisfying on a deeper level.

Lao: A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Reese: Excellent insight, Lao.

After a short while, it was obvious that the two of them were growing restless. John was staring towards the west out the back window, visibly yearning for the peaks. Lao had stopped stroking his white beard and a contemplative look glazed over his face.

Reese: Well, I suppose the two of you are busy men and likely have others to impart your wisdom upon. Any idea of where you are headed next?

John: I wish I knew where I was going. Doomed to be carried of the spirit into the wilderness, I suppose. I wish I could be more moderate in my desires, but I cannot, and so there is no rest.

Lao: A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving. Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.

And with that being said, they departed, leaving me dumbfounded but inspired. I immediately started brainstorming, making lists of things I want to do this summer:

• see new towns,
• meet more trail runners, and
• get to know the trail running community better.

But which towns? How do I immerse myself in a foreign community? Which brings me to the REAL point of this article. I need the help of the iRunFar readers. In an effort to be a trail running investigative journalist, I’m asking iRunFar readers to show me their town, their local trails, and introduce me to the local running community. By taking part in this, I will feature the town in iRunFar articles throughout the summer. Are there any limitations on where I can travel to? I haven’t thought that far. Someone wise once told me to “let things flow naturally.” So that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Pitch your town and we’ll go from there.

Notes and a Call for Comments (from Meghan)

• Let’s hear it. Why should Reese visit your town and write a Destination Dirt article about it? Do you have good singletrack and an even better culture?
• Make sure to leave your name, email address (It won’t be published, but Reese might need to contact you!), and answers to the previous questions in the comments section. Give Reese a good pitch on your town and she might just turn up to trail run with you!
• In addition to creating Destination Dirt articles for iRunFar, Reese will be documenting some of her voyage’s experiences on her personal blog, Odi et Amo.

Related articles:

1. The Changing of the Seasons A discussion of the changing of the seasons and how...
2. Endless Autumn: Running Through the Winter That Never Was A discussion piece about trail running during this Winter that...
3. Running & Happiness: Joy Amongst the Tribe Bryon Powell explains how his joy for trail running comes...

Based on the halo effect people tend to place higher levels of trust in information from people they like or admire regardless in the quality of information presented. So if the girl handing out free cases of sunflower-seed butter at the post-race party casually mentions that Scott Jurek eats organic beet gel you are far more likely to try this yourself than if your cranky boss asked you to work the weekend and then recommended the same gel. The likelihood remains the same even if your boss also gave you a trove of peer-reviewed scientific reports on the amazing power of beet gel.

People tend to trust anecdotal evidence even if it flies in the face of well established base rates. Suppose you were best friends with Karl Meltzer. Suppose you and Karl had just finished up a session of partner yoga. Right before he speeds away in his shiny new Bentley he looks you in the eye and tells you he ate four gels an hour at the Run Rabbit Run 100. Since you also heard this from another friend yesterday, the availability heuristic suggests you are more likely to try this yourself even though it flies in the face of conventional knowledge (everyone knows you should eat at least seven gels an hour at altitude).

Now suppose while running the Hardrock 100 counterclockwise a feeling of certain death overcomes you as you climb into the nest of Virginius Pass. Why are you likely to follow Julien Chorier’s lead and hit three gels at once and then keep rolling? The sunk cost fallacy says that people would rather suffer than accept a loss. As I am sure you already guessed, it’s not failing to finish that is the greatest potential loss here, the true burning potential loss is not getting your proper share of gels at the remaining aid stations. After all, you paid for them.

Imagine for a moment that you love the Western States 100 more than life itself. Also imagine that people refer to you in catchy, three-letter form and your second love is repeating that you have finished top 10 at this race a Guinness-certified world record of seven times. You are making the grueling climb to Green Gate where miles of buttery, fast singletrack awaits you. If the aid station attendant said to you “do you want more or less than seven gels?” the studies indicate you would leave Green Gate with less pocket space than if asked “do you want more or less than two gels?” This simple phenomenon is referred to as anchoring by my peers.

Luckily you’ve been following both Jurek’s and Meltzer’s methods by eating four beet gels an hour. However you encounter a serious dilemma. The Brighton Lodge at mile 75 of the Wasatch Front 100 has grape gels containing organic aspartame. Faced with overwhelming temptation, you end up eating nine gels the next hour while cresting Sunset Pass. Fortunately for you regression of the mean indicates that the next hour you will likely eat less than nine gels and thus restore alignment with your normal point.

Now the endowment effect creates a fascinating challenge for your crew at the Fish Hatchery towards the end of your spectacular Leadville 100 debut. In this scenario, we’ll assume that you actually do not have a borderline unhealthy obsession with the Canadian band Rush. Upon arrival your Rush tank top is mired in filth and gel drippings. Hoping to avoid holding their breath around you at May Queen an attempt is made to decontaminate you. If they try to give you a clean Van Halen tank you are likely to resist more here at the hatchery than you would have protested if they tried this cruel stunt the day before while trying on the tank prior to purchase.

Living the fantasy life of most Americans you have listened to Justin Bieber all day while consuming 67 gels at the Vermont 100. When you arrive at Sergeant’s aid station on this particularly hot and humid July day the friendly attendant asks “would you like three tasty gels to power you home?” Compare that to if your tired and annoyed crew asks “do you really want to load up on three more gels if you are just going to projectile vomit again in 400 yards?” The subtle trick the attendant used is referred to by my colleagues as framing.

Finally this brings us to our grand conclusion. Study after study has shown that people actually choose longer durations of unpleasant conditions if the high point and end point are positive. We in academia refer to this as the peak-end theory, which explains why you continue to run ultras even if they hurt so badly for hours on end. The high associated with gel consumption throughout the day, particularly the hot banana gel you administer at mile 98 later creates a powerful pleasant illusion of the race by the remembering self overriding the actual miserable experiencing self.

I open the floor to questions. In the highly unlikely situation that any readers have read Kahneman, have an authentic advanced degree in psychology, or have watched every episode of the hit TV show Friends, I would ask that you email me your congratulatory remarks instead of filling precious space intended for pressing questions on this hot issue.

Call for Comments (from Meghan)

• Where else have you seen some of the, shall we say, psychological phenomena described by Evan at play during trail runs or races?
• When have you found yourself bound up in some strange or slightly irrational behavior all for the sake of our beloved sport?
• A more serious thought: ultrarunning, like life, is an experiment of one. Have you ever found yourself trying new things not because you’ve been informed by your own experience and/or intuition but because of outside influence? Has this ever led you to trouble?

Related articles:

1. What Are Your Favorite Energy Gel Flavors? Bryon Powell of iRunFar shares his favorite energy gels and...
2. Low Carbohydrate Training A discussion of long training runs with little-to-no carb intake,...
3. Dreaded Stomach Issues AJW explains how he avoids and/or deals with stomach issues...

With a few more niggles than normal (I don’t like the word injury; that implies I should maybe cut back on my running), I headed off to the physio. I anticipated maybe a critique of my running form, some analysis of imperfect biomechanics, or advice to cut back on the miles if I also wanted to be logging quality speed sessions. Basically, I expected to hear that my high volume of running was making me injured (or ‘niggled’). Instead, my physio made a rather depressing statement that I’d never considered before, “So, you spend more than 40 hours a week sitting at your work desk, that’s probably the real reason for all these hamstring issues.”

Huh, rather obvious really, but I guess I wanted to think I was a runner so my thoughts had focused on the time I spend doing that, and then work – well, that’s just work isn’t it? I guess not; 40 hours at a desk versus 15 hours running, yeah – it could make sense that all this desk work could be wreaking havoc on my body. Sure, if all I wanted to do after work was sit on the couch or maybe do a little light gardening, I’d probably be fine but no – I want to log my runs after work and that is when the pain is flaring up – running aggravates imbalances and injuries that are caused by sitting at a desk, but that’s not to say the running causes them – it just brings them to the forefront.

Of course, in a way, this is what I wanted to hear – yay, no need to cut back on running! Can I cut back on the paperwork pounding? Hmm, well, that would be nice, but not really too realistic if I want my monthly paycheck. So, I guess it’s about how to manage the way in which other aspects of my life, which might not be the best compliment to my running, can be modified or changed so they don’t negatively impact my running. I can tell you one thing, I felt pretty darn stupid walking out of a physio session with one of my main tasks not being daily exercises, but, instead, instructions on how to set up my work station properly and how often to take breaks from the office-desk-slump-posture. This all seemed so obvious yet I know I’m not the only one who has been working day-in day-out in some crumpled-up-slouched-over-the-keyboard position.

The next lifestyle analysis and adjustment was the gym. In a similar vein to my desk job, I’d not considered how the gym could possibly be detrimental to a runner. It’s not as if I’m bench-pressing huge lumps of iron, I’m more the mid-size many-rep bicep curl kinda girl. Oh, and whilst I was at the gym I figured I’d throw in a few other things – chest press, shoulder shrugs, etc. – can’t do any harm, can it? Well, no not really – not unless I already had super tight shoulders (which have now been surgically removed from being attached to my ears) and sit at a desk all day and then want to run, too. Hmm, cut out a few of the gym exercises, carrying the groceries home from the store probably builds those muscles enough for a runner, as tense shoulders were resulting in me running with my shoulders fixed rigid. Of course, the magic of the human body means that tense shoulders can cause hamstring issues, which is pretty clever if you ask me!

All I can say is thank goodness I don’t drive a car, I think that I sit stock still at a desk for a bulk of the day, but sitting in a vehicle is even worse for lack of movement. And no doubt there are many physical jobs or ones requiring you to stand on your feet all day that can have a real negative impact on a runner. Overall, it’s been an interesting and eye-opening experience to have a look at how other aspects of my life impact physically on my running, and I am sure this is the same for many of you reading this article. If you think about it – we have 24 hours every day, let’s say eight of those are spent sleeping, that still leaves 16 hours and it’s my bet that no one reading this spends anything like half of those 16 hours running every day. Which means more time is spent doing non-running activities (be they other sports, hobbies or a paid job). While those activities might not seem overly physical (I always joke that my desk job lets me rest for eight hours every day), they can still impact our physical form, which then carries through to running, and all too often running injuries.

Related articles:

1. Still on the Upswing? While I wouldn’t consider myself fully recovered, I do feel...
2. No Energy While Running – Help!? Folks, I need your counsel. It’s now been over a...
3. Runners, New Activities, and Injury As runners, we tend to be pretty confident in our...

1. Approximately eight weeks before the goal race, provided the foundation has been laid, each run feels easier than the last one. I have found this to be particularly true in those mid-week tempo runs when the miles just seem to flow by effortlessly. This is the time to step back and be sure not to overdue it.
2. The long runs no longer feel too long. For me, it has always been a slog to get out in January, February, and March and log six and eight-hour runs. However, after doing so, come the middle of May, these long runs don’t seem so long and, in fact, the general feeling of fatigue that typically accompanied such runs is miraculously gone.
3. Recovery between runs is faster and the “bounce” is greater. This one is funny because it’s really counterintuitive. Nonetheless, for some reason, once the switch has been switched and the training intensifies, recovery becomes easier and the ability to train harder is enhanced. If I can walk this line for three or four weeks without becoming worn down, I know I am close to hitting the peak right.
4. I just know when to start the taper. Many training regimens lay out a specific cycle which is made up of base-building, peaking, and tapering and I am sure that makes sense to many people. For me, I like the idea of the first two and tend to prescribe specific time periods to each. But with the taper, I like to just go with the flow based on how close to the top of the peak I have come. In 2005, I did a nine-day taper and, in 2011, I did a 15-day taper. This year, well, who knows?
5. An aura of calm peace descends on me with about three days to go before the race. This one, is of course, the most difficult to plan for and is, in my opinion, impossible to predict. However, when this aura of calm has come to me in ’05 and ’11, the feeling has been euphoric. I am sure others can relate to how extraordinary this can be. In fact, I recall reading a description of Kyle Skaggs’ calm aura in the days preceding his record run at the 2008 Hardrock and I felt a certain kindred spirit with him in that moment. (Even though I could never dream of running that fast.)

This week’s Beer of the Week comes from Spanish Peaks Brewing Company in King City, California. Their Black Dog Ale is a simple, English-style amber that is at once smooth and complex. Kind of like the feeling that comes over you when you hit the peak just right!

Related articles:

1. Your Ultra-Training Bag of Tricks: The Difficult Art of Peaking How to properly peak for an ultramarathon....
2. Brief Training Update Holy Cow, I ran a 50 mile week without a...
3. Optimal Endurance Base Building or What's the Longest Period that You've Trained for One Race? As this post is longer than I originally intended, I’ll...

Race Results:

Individual: 152.03 miles, American Record, Silver medal.

Team: Gold.

Weather: Overcast and windy, punctuated by bouts of sleet and rain.

Best Part: There were so many countries racing! It was like a United Nations summit, with all representatives wearing spandex in the colors of their country’s flag.

Other Best Part: The International Anti-Doping Agency tested me twice (once pre-race, once post-race). I am happy to live in a world where little nerd balls like me can, with sincerity, get tested for performance enhancers twice over a span of three days. How fun! I have the muscular development of approximately a primary schooler. But this will keep our sport honest.

Worst Part: Sleet.

The Voyage

On Tuesday of last week, I said goodbye to my students. They sent me away with hugs and cards and released 24 balloons into the air (one for each hour I would be competing). “It’s simple, Mrs. Little,” they advised me. “All you have to do is be the fastest.”

My husband, David, and I packed up and flew off to the Netherlands the following morning. We landed in Amsterdam and explored the city. Late that evening, we arrived in Bergen Op Zoom, a small city 15 minutes away from the race site where the American contingent would be staying.

Pre-Race

The next morning, we ate breakfast, and the U.S. athletes who had already arrived piled into a big van and drove to race site. This was good for race-terrain reconnaissance and for team building. We ran together for about an hour and talked. We bonded. When you share ultrarunning with a person, then that person remembers to ask you about all the other aspects of yourself that nobody else asks because they’re too busy asking about ultrarunning. So ultrarunner-to-ultrarunner conversations are the least socially reductive conversations available for ultrarunners.

Later that afternoon, we had a team meeting and made a grocery list for race day. We talked about expectations and assigned roles to our staff and crews. I was beginning to get nervous.

There are some exclusive clubs that are difficult to gain access to, but once you get in, life is easier. You can relax. Take Ivy League institutions, for example. A U.S. National Team is not like that. Earning the American singlet is difficult, and once you do that, more is demanded of you because running is no longer a singular pursuit. You represent your country—your coaches, your family, and your freedoms. It was weighty, so I was feeling anxious.

The day before the event, David and I were leaving the breakfast room when Coach Howard Nippert pulled me aside. He told me I was strong and fast and that I could be in the mix to place well. That was that. My nervousness sublimated into zest, and I was ready to compete. Encouragement, when it comes from the right source, is impactful and world-shaping. I could have climbed Mt. Everest if he’d told me I could do that, too.

David and I ran alongside some cow fields on the outskirts of town, and then the Anti-Doping Agency swept me away to take two vials of my blood. We took team photos, marched in the parade, ate dinner, and waited for the morning.

Race Day

When we awoke on Saturday, a cold rain was falling. Athletes scurried about, trying to stay dry for a few final moments and to set up their crews. The American contingent was a well-oiled machine, so I had no worries.

Traci Falbo and I lined up next to the Estonian team, just ahead of Canada, but when the gun went off, I lost sight of her and the rest of my teammates. The course was a 1.45-mile mix of pavement and bricks. Spectators lined the course, and locals hung their heads out of windows. It was as rowdy as an American marathon.

Sabrina Little cranking out the miles. Photo: Zane Holscher

Strategically, I break my races into two parts: 100 miles, then everything else. I try to get to 100 miles as quickly but painlessly as possible—reigning myself in but not running at a leisurely pace either. I ate early and often, primarily Honey Singers and Shot Bloks, with sliced turkey every two hours, and water with S! Caps whenever I could stomach it.

Those first 100 miles were uneventful. I ran back and forth with a man from Great Britain who called me “Miss America” all day long. Not a problem. I scarcely saw any Americans, but when we did pass, we encouraged one another. From crew reports, I knew I was leading the U.S. women, with Connie [Gardner] about a kilometer back and Traci and Susanna a couple of laps behind her, looking sharp and at ease.

At one point during the night, Traci and I crossed paths, and she was cranking out mileage. I typically wait until sunrise to push the pace but had no reservations about joining her, so I dug in, too. We noticed Susanna doing the same. The Americans were making their move.

At 15 hours, 14 minutes, I hit 100 miles and assessed myself. I felt fine and was on pace to hit 150 miles if nothing catastrophic occurred. At around that time, I noticed Connie leaving the course with hypothermia. My heart sunk because I knew we shared a race goal. Connie is a stud, and her American Record attempts have emboldened my own and refined my efforts. She is a tremendous teammate and raises the level of competition. Even though breaking records is striking uncharted grounds, it hasn’t felt that way because of the way Connie has spoken of breaking the 150-mile mark with such bold inevitability. The sleet and heavy winds took down a lot of athletes during the night, and she and Harvey Lewis (on the men’s U.S. team) encountered hypothermia. After being treated, Connie returned to the course and continued to log more miles for our team as if nothing had happened. Unreal.

I passed Debbie [Horn] and Carilyn [Johnson], long-time veterans of the U.S. team and wonderful friends. They were focused and racing hard. Susanna, Traci, and I found ourselves in the top four. The stronger I ran, the more I genuinely felt like I was in the right place, being myself. It’s like Aristotle says, “The true nature of a thing is the highest it can become.” And how Justin Beiber says, “If you need me I’ll come running from a thousand miles away. When you smile, I smile. Oh wh-o-o-o-a-a.” (Is that relevant here?)

In the final four hours, I was tired. Mike Spinnler and Howard started checking my lap splits and making sure I was on pace for the record. I whined and told them my legs were done. Also, at that point I had arrived at the idea that an “American Record” was an arbitrary consignment of value, since if Pangaea had split in a different way, America might have been a bigger landmass with more people on it capable of beating me anyway.

The miles did pass, and I got the record by over two miles. As I dropped my partial-lap wooden block at the sounding of the horn, a woman from the Anti-Doping Agency peddled up beside me and told me she was there to escort me to a drug test. I asked if David could come. I didn’t want him to miss such a fun time. Sharing is caring!

At the awards ceremony press conference, we were awarded Team Gold. We were wobbly and tired, so the French women kindly helped us climb onto the top podium block. When the U.S. National Anthem played, I got chills. But I also had the chills because the Anti-Doping tests took a long time, and all of the hot water was used up in the showers by the time I got in. After the press conference, Dr. Lovy’s team wrapped me up in metal blankets, rubbed down my limbs, and fed me hot soup through a straw. The taste of victory! Dream come true.

Thanks so much for all of the love and support, especially from David, my family and friends, Howard and his staff, DryMax, and Dr. Lovy’s medical team. It was a neat weekend.

Related articles:

1. Mike Morton and Connie Gardner Post-World 24-Hour Championships Interview An interview with Mike Morton and Connie Gardner following their...
2. The Revival of the American Ultra-Distance Track Race A look at ultra races on the track and an...
3. Racing Confident: Max King’s Record-Setting 2012 JFK 50 Mile Report Max King's race report from his course record-setting run at...