TOILING IN OBSCURITY:

The CrossFit x Ultra Experiment

When it comes to the “traditional” endurance runner, most people conjure up images of salt stained, tall, stick thin dudes and ladies wearing too short shorts with long, unkempt hair and a physical repulsion to the gym. And for most of my early life into the first few years of being an adult dirtbag, this was me.

But, as it turns out, unbeknownst even to me at the time, I am an anomaly.

I LOVE strength training.

Perhaps too much.

In fact, it’s essentially all that I’ve done for fitness over the last few years. Leaving the trail left me with a lot of unfilled time that I would have otherwise been out, grinding gravel beneath the lugs of my trail running shoes. So I did the most reasonable thing possible - went to the entirely opposite extreme. I started picking up and putting down round circles as often as possible. I wasn’t particularly good at it at first, but I found that the engine I had built out on mountain single tracks transferred pretty well and I could lift for a really long time, and in time, I’ve come into my own in the weightroom.. Sinking my teeth in and committing wholeheartedly to the effort, I found myself rocking new training gear and equipment, chalking my hands, and even letting out the occasional “power grunt” (I know, I know…but there’s some unknown science behind this…it really works!). I’m no world’s strongest man competitor, I won’t win any upcoming Arnold Classics, and I’m a long way off from ever even thinking about competing in the CrossFit Games. But I’m proud of the progress and mildly addicted to the process.

For eight years or so, I used a “Functional Fitness”, one size fits all, periodized, linear training program. It was effective, I felt strong, and I convinced myself that I’d be able to translate the “gainzzz” I had found in the gym to the mountain.

And, for a brief time while I basecamped in Greenland, I attempted to find the trail again under this guise. I ran for about a month outdoors as the sun slowly crept behind the low mountains of the Pittufik valley. It about as well as I could have hoped. I made progress over the course of the month – increasing my distance steadily as my pace increased to near what I was running in 2016. I felt strong, if a little heavy, I had only a few minor muscle or joint aches that threatened injury, and I was running again!

Then I froze.

Literally.

With the dwindling arctic sun suspended in a permanent twilight, I went out for a very easy 10 mile run and my neck gaiter LITERALLY froze to my face. It took me 15 minutes sitting in the mudroom of the dormitory with the radiator on “full” to thaw the ice enough to peel the merino wool from my cheeks (and I’m fairly certain at least 1/3 of my mustache was ripped out in the process).

So, fearing frostbite, I hid my running shoes in the back of my closet where they’ve sat collecting dust, dejected that they couldn’t fulfill their true purpose, while my strength training shoes were getting beaten to threads nearly every day.

I moved from Greenland to New Jersey and quickly found my new “third place” at a local CrossFit gym. I’ve been working with them for a little more than a year now and have seen incredible progress. I’m lifting heavier, working faster, and even mastering some complicated new gymnastics movements. All things I had never even dreamt of on my old programming – in the gym or on the trail.

There is some running involved, but usually nothing more than one mile. And even that was sparse and relegated to the access road on the backside of the training complex – far from a wild or scenic route.

As my revelation unfolded a little over a week ago, I found myself searching Ultrasignup.com for races that I thought I could compete in, with enough lead time that I could comfortably train up to running at distance and speed again, and were local enough to my current basecamp in New Jersey that I wouldn’t have to commit to flying into a race somewhere across the country. I found two, both run by a small race company that is focused on environmentally friendly events and seemingly, were staying true to the grassroots counterculture of ultrarunning that I’ve come to love.

I signed up for both.

The Climb it for Climate - Catskills 25K at the end of June, and the C’mon Armageddon 50K mid-October. Two ubiquitously East Coast mountain runs with ~5,000’ and ~7,500’ of vert, respectively, over the low, ancient Appalachian mountains.

Sitting here in my new, but very temporary basecamp in Pakistan, these goals seem lofty. Unmanageable, even. But I have a plan. Or at least the beginning of an idea of a plan.

Over the course of a few days, I set to work devising a way to incorporate serious run training that could also accommodate the pursuit of functional fitness – aka CrossFit. Borrowing a base plan from Ultrarunning.com and the weekly training from my local CrossFit gym, I modified and periodized the work, looping back on itself after the first, 25K race (which I’ve labeled my “tune up race” in preparation for my “A Race”, the 50K). I prioritized CrossFit and Ultra training equally for the first few weeks, slowly increasing the priority in favor of Ultra training as time moved on. I also included some “optional” days, where a workout or run is scheduled, but can be substituted for rest days or cross training (cycling, hiking, climbing, etc.), as well as days specifically structured for mobility, flexibility, and recovery through a yoga practice.

I have a few hypotheses about how and why this will work:

Hypothesis 1: Integrating CrossFit into my training plan will allow me to operate in different modalities, speeds, and levels of athleticism - simulating the nature of a long trail run. Road running is generally flat, with the occasional (relatively) small climb or descent. Trail running is wildly varied and offers unique challenges, both physically and mentally. CrossFit, by design, is varied in speed, duration, and intensity. The parallels, seem obvious, at least on paper, especially when I live somewhere as flat as the majority of New Jersey.

Hypothesis 2: Prioritizing strength development can improve muscular output and flexibility while increasing overall durability and resistance to injury. Failure to train anything other than our run is a recipe for something to break. I’ve dealt with this in the past and am still dealing with a painful torn labrum in my hip because of this very thing.

Hypothesis 3: LSD (Long Slow Distance - not the psychedelic), can be insanely boring. Exercising mental flexibility, solving real-time problems, and changing gears throughout the training week will help keep things fresh and interesting to avoid psychological fatigue and mental burnout – both of which have been incredibly difficult things to avoid in the past. Not to mention all the mental strategies for coping with pain and discomfort in an eight minute Workout of the Day (WOD) that translate pretty directly to the mental strategies you might employ between aid stations in a rugged ultra.

Follow Along, Or Join In!

If you’re interested, the beta for the program is HERE. CrossFit WODs aren’t available until the weekend prior to the start of the workout week, but the details of the work I have done will all be documented in my Training Journal every Sunday. Keep in mind that this is an experiment, and my training will remain slightly flexible (with a few exceptions for key workouts) and may be adjusted or modified as life unfolds in unexpected ways along the trail.

I’ve managed to rope a few friends into tagging along on this journey – I’m thankful for the company Cam and Nate!

If you’re want to follow along or having a program tailored to you, feel free to reach out and we’ll put something together.

Find Your Self. In the Dirt.

-Dirtbag.

DIRTBAG REVIVAL

At some point along the way, I had lost the trail.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been lost. I’ve taken the wrong exit on the highway and had to fumble with Google Maps to find my way back to a route I’ve taken every day after listening to my favorite playlist a little too loud and going into “auto-pilot” mode. I’ve ambled down a trail for five miles in the wrong direction before realizing I needed to turn around; that I had made the wrong turn - that the goal for the day had to be completely scrapped. I’ve circled the grocery store eight times looking for “clothes soap” because my mind couldn’t recall the words “laundry detergent”. I’ve wandered through the mountains in the Sierra Nevadas, postholing in hip deep snow – dehydrated and under-fueled – betrayed by my own ego and humbled by the callous nature of the mountain wilderness. There are infinite reasons for me to have considered myself lost before, but never like this.

Somewhere, in the last 8 years, I’d lost something far greater than where I was on a map.

I had lost myself.

I’d lost the things that make me feel at home both in the real, physical sense as well as in the supposed “comfort” of my own mind. It was as if I’d been approaching a mountain summit and in the blink of an eye, with the next step, I was transported to the heart of a foreign city. Stumbling aimlessly. Adrift. Battered by the hundreds of people mulling their way down their own paths. A mere annoyance of a tourist in their eyes, a lost scared child in my own.

I could point to all of the life changes that I’ve been through in the last eight years and say “There…see! That’s why!”. But that’s too easy. And ultimately, it doesn’t help the issue at hand – I had no direction. In fact, I no longer even had a compass. Finding fault, laying blame, or trying to console myself about how complicated or unfair or unpredictable my life had been wouldn’t bring me any closer to rejoining the trail.

The realization happened suddenly, without any warning, and in the most unexpected context. I was at work, “killing time” by reading the fiction novel “Vaster Wilds”, the 2023 New York Times Bestseller by Lauren Groff. The story features a young girl escaping the horrors of the starving and diseased Jamestown Colony in early America, in pursuit of freedom. She navigates her way through the wilderness of the eastern coast of North America, facing the terse realities of the natural world. Worse yet, she struggles with the inner torment of her mind.

I was a little over halfway done with the book when a quote struck me. It was as if the words had leapt off the page and punched me square in the jaw. I re-read it several times, absorbing the words one by one. Letting them soak into the very essence of my understanding.

“And though her lungs burned hot in her chest and her broken head pulsed and her joints and feet screamed, she ran again. And after some time running, the running became sweet to her, the pain silenced itself, and she no longer felt her body at all, only the goodness of the run.”

I knew this feeling. My mouth contorted and soured with the taste of blood – the taste of pennies – from lungs that struggled to cope with the demand of oxygen not readily supplied and too quickly consumed by aching muscles. My eyes winced from salt from beads of sweat lingering too long on my forehead and finding their escape into the crease at the corners of my eyelids. The lactic acid built in my legs until they were leaden. All while I sat firmly in an ergonomic office chair, surrounded by the modern convenience of air conditioning and running water – having not even moved an inch. Where did this come from? Why now?

From 2012 to 2016, when I still lived at the midway point between San Francisco and Sacramento, California, I had relished these feelings. I was attempting to race ultramarathons competitively, training with a coach, and even placing at a few smaller venues. I spent my weekends and vacation days in remote backcountry settings as often as possible. Literally “working for the weekend” when I knew I could escape to the bright sun, baked granite, and fresh glacial streams of the High Sierras.

But I stepped off that path. Afraid of an injury. Scared of the new responsibilities in my life. Working toward new, different goals.

Afraid, perhaps, of succeeding.

I’ve spent that time “off trail” developing in new and unexpected ways. None of the time being lost has been “time lost”. It has led me to know and understand new things about myself, and about the world I exist in, that I would never have been able to understand otherwise. I’ve found strength and resilience in ways that I never would have known if I had stayed singularly focused on the trail ahead. The detours in life are sometimes essential.

But the detours I have taken have also led me further away from the person who I had grown to know as my “self”. They’ve taken me into the depths of despair and isolation. They’ve left me largely shuffling through my days, thankful that yesterday was gone, waiting for today to end - just so I could wake up the next morning to wish that day was over too. They’ve taken me away from a community of people - a true tribe that offered any who would toil and suffer alongside them a place of welcome and belonging. And they’ve taken me from the nature of my very spirit - a wild, adventurous soul that finds solace and respite by moving in and through the natural world.

It’s time to wake up stiff and achy in a too old sleeping bag cramped into the back of the car or slung in a hammock between two trees, still caked with mud from the adventures of yesterday, boil water to brew coffee on the flattest rock I can find, and to do it all again today. It’s time to get back to my home. It’s time to find the trail - to find my Self - again.

-Dirtbag.