Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

Welcome Veterinarians. And if you get hurt, lost, or die—its your own damned fault. All had gathered for the Third Annual Born To Run Ultras, and spent their night hours building towards the inevitable Rosy-Fingered Dawn. There was a moment of silence following the five shotgun blasts which shattered the remaining dreams of the fitfully sleeping fragile eggshell minds. Then the Void was filled with ranchera drum-kits and button accordions singing of lost love, Tijuana, amor y duelo, all embroidered with other infinitive Spanish verb forms.  The Born To Run Ultras is an exclusive lifestyle spa where the select can enjoy miles and miles of dirt, Merde de Vache Aromatherapy, Vinyasa-Flow Solar Immersions complete with locally-sourced wind-borne micro-abrasian defoliating treatments. The same whispering wind has rowdy siblings that will also turn your EZ-Up into a whirling airborne object.  But enough of that! Four races were on tap: a 10mi flamer loop, a 50k, 100k, and f...

This  AC100 RaceBook   photo crystallizes a lot of thinking I've been doing about hundreds over the last several years. This image is of considerable drama and suffering.  I've seen art like this at the Louvre or Met—and the subject typically has arrows sticking out of them. Howie described it as: "My proudest moment...Too bad you can't hear the hyperventilating or my talking to myself trying to calm my body down." I used this image in the AC100 RaceBook to remind people that Angeles Crest is a tough race of the Old School. No blow-up run thru finish chutes, merchandising opps, timing chips and all the marathon blow-in cheese that have percolated into the 100-mile race scene. Its not Halloween on the course. There's fun, but ultimately its all business. Contrast that with  "hundo", a  cheap shorthand reference to the hundred. Its an easy, slick, drawly, pseudo-knowledgable familiarization of a distance that really demands yo...

Yes, this is Christmas, but it adequately conveys the pathos of the time. (I'm going to give trails and running a break. Check this nugget from 1989. I remember giving up a decent run for it. Maybe it was worth it, after all). In spring 1989 I got dragged to an Est-seminar by my then-girlfriend, who was big on sincere self-help stuff. Her best friend E. was there, and she's a pleasant personality. There are other hilarious details in this grotesque breakfast clusterfuck that occurred at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but they'll have to wait for another time. The featured attraction to this soggy fuckery was a couple who were pimping their self-help book, something titled "Marriage Work Out" or similar. He was a tall, angular, pleat-fronted, smartass New York Jew. She was a curvy blonde All-American cheerleader betty—blonde, blue eyed, shiksa to the core. So this intellectual jackass stood up on the platform, jingling the change in his pockets, telling us ...

Raymond Chandler needed Scotch to write a dope report. What's holding you back? You're stuck with writing a Race Report that will stun even the most clueless at how fucking Awesome You Really Are.  Here at D&L Industries, we have vast experience in these matters. So go ahead, jump in, and bust a literary nut. You'll be done before lunch.  THE STANDARD NARRATIVE STARTS HERE: I arrived at [race] I met [folks] I ate the big pasta dinner at [locale]  I got up the next morning and took a good long [euphemism]. But this is really not all about you. You're running this to raise awareness for*: a Special Cause a disenfranchised group a donations page astro-turfed altruism #orphaned hash-tags The race began. Things were looking pretty good.  My splits were pretty near the [lotto numbers] I had planned. my iPods weren't in the drop-bags, but I was upbeat At about mile [tbd] I began to  barf blister heat chill hallucinate ...

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First unleashed Tue, 12 Jun 2001 18:32:07 -0700 Runners, Fellow Listers, thank you, thank you! You are all *so* wonderful, I don't where to start...or stop! :) First, I want to thank Gawd®. Nothing Compares 2-U. You are the Race Director of Life, in the Biggest Ultra Of Them All! I want to see what kind of buckles *He* hands out!!! Secondly...I want to thank my training partners. Yes, every one of you! You know who you are...don't pretend! I know the parts where I shared with you about my work and tax issues...it's a brand new day! My new kidney is doing well too...what with ebay and a billion Chinese, now there's a combo!!! Third, I'd like to thank all of the really "velocity-challenged" out there who made me look *really* good. I couldn't have done it without you. Also all of you who were busy hiding in the bushes because of the pre-race chili...you have my sympathies. I made up at least 10 places. Vol...

The Ultrarunner's Low-Archy of Needs The UltraRunner's Low-Archy of Needs was first proposed in 1994 during the D&L Colloquiums which have been studying what motivates brain-dead trail runners. Further research and study [Bingo:1997] suggested that esoteric stimuli-respond cues played a large part in cortical devolution. Further insights on the nature of sonic dissonance/interpretations of Antonio Carlos Jobim's "Girl From Ipanema [Fopak:1999] were seminal in the pursuit of relativity, and shit. Mapping this conceptual terrain had defied space, time and logic. It "must've gotten lost, somewhere down the line", but was recovered, not just waiting for the end of the world.

A long time back, in the Golden Age Of the UltraList Salt Wars, a poet declaimed epic poetry as none other could, would, or did. Periodically here at Mr Trail Safety Speaks!, we'll present some of these immortal verses for your learned perusal.   I Am Home: The Poem Long ago and far away, I chanced a home to seek, But knew that it would not be found, On Gottapeepee Creek. I packed it up and headed West And Drove into the westward sun, For I was on a Vision Quest This was My Destiny to Run. I have been here for about 3 weeks, In my dreams for what I’ve yearned, The home I have always seeked, But now the trees are burned. The sylvan rapture is so weighty, The smells, jack rabbits, and the deer But I can rent movies over on I-80 And they’ve got my favorite beer. I’ve looked down on the old South Fork, With fishermen that wait, Who only think of spuds and pork And cutting some more bait. Yes! Here in the tall green pines. How can I fully convince? Only ...

"Which Way LA?" of KCRW in Santa Monica took time out from their busy audio-wallpaper environs to pose a Burning Question: Which is more LA? Eastside or Westside?  Since this is either deadly serious, or a frolicsome ratings stunt, people are gonna get hurt. Think of it as two fat, naked, bald men, slippery with salad oil, fighting over comb.  Already somebody's feeling left out. The Valley, for instance. Better luck next time.  So here are the original questions, with my M-80 answers attached. 1] Which is better, the Westside or the Eastside? Why? Eastside. I sojourned in the People's Republic of Santa Monica, summer of 86. Smug levels were already building. I lived for 28 yrs in the Melrose/Fairfax. Seven yrs ago I moved to the western slope of the Silver Lake Alps.   2] What is the boundary that separates the Westside from the Eastside?   Do you cross those boundaries? What are you willing to drive across town for? 405 ...

Is "Ragnar" another way of spelling "Poser Douche"? Hell Fuck Yeah! Of course it is! We've all heard about the Tough Mudders, Spartan Series, Warrior Dash etc. Then there are Ragnars. What are Ragnars? They're crowded, expensive relay events of multiple participants of short duration [20 miles] over longish distances [100 +  miles], that will grind you down to bare-metal with lots of driving and waiting. Kurt Vonnegut described this kind of thing as a "granfalloon". Go ahead, look it up. There was an NYT article recently about how Wall Street assholes really loved this kind of bullshit as a way to vent cube-rage in their constipated, competitive Type-A looter lives. Maybe boxing got too real, and their sparring partners were failing at pulling punches for their clients. Whatever. Enter a classic Corporate Anal Intruder   ... Salomon! Yes, The UTMB Helicopters Flying Around Mont Blanc Salomon. Go ahead, they need your money. But back t...

I'm digging a snow pit to look at snow layers, instructor Dave Beck is taking notes.  It will tell you everything you need to know, if you care to look. Dave Beck Avalanche Workshop, Meiss Meadows,  Feb 1989. In Feb '89 I took an avalanche-workshop/training class  with Dave Beck, up at Meiss Meadows south of Tahoe near Luther Pass, somewhere around 8,000'. We spent 3 days digging snow pits, snow analysis, XC skiing, etc. Looking at snow structure in a variety of scenarios. There's a world of wonder there. I also found out what its like to have an avalanche dog look for you. We went out in front of the cabin, six feet of snow. I dug a 4' hole. Volunteers? Me. I jumped in, wild-splayed, miming a probable avalanche-induced off-balance throw. The class backfilled the hole, and tromped out the fill and surrounding area. We waited 20min. I was covered, and it was dim. I realized my irises were flaring because it got light/dark/light dark. Everything was d...

Finisher belt-buckle for the obscure cultic "URFKT100" 100-mile trail race. Hello, fun-hogs! As we all know, Americans don't likes to pronounce names that require any additional effort outside the HFCS Food Groups. So, in recent conversations with Dr Casino Bingo, we decided to fix that problem. Of course there are shakedown "feeder" races, so runners can "pre-qualify", before they dominate and/or crush the respective courses. The Körnhole 100 is based on the classic Kornhole 69 Hr Track Run.  This rugged finisher's buckle is crafted from select off-cuts of All-American CX 3/4" plywood. Hand-tooled by D&L Holistic Industries' doe-eyed eco-femmes, in the offshore tax-havens of the Bang Slap Archipelago.  INCOMPLETE RACE INFO: Height Categories: Dwarf, Average, and Too Damn Tall Weight: Anorexic, Uneasy-About-It, Love Handles & Roll-Overs, and Truck-Scale Worthy. Length: Guys, I suspec...

!guanaTrdz—the Go-to Paleo Treat! Hello, another New Year! Yes, a whole stack of wishful thinking nuggets are all ready to be flung outwards into the Universe, which is indifferent to your plight. Bunches of you out there in UltraLandia are wondering "How the fuck am I ever going to be faster/better/more awesomesaucely than I am already?" Good question, get out your credit card. But first, a word from one of our sponsors. !guanaTrdz   Energy Bars. New energy bars consisting entirely of lizard-made, holistically harvested, sustainable, from contented Fijian iguanas in their natural free-range habitat. Each bar contains 10g of protein and 50g of fiber. Recommended by experts world-wide in the treatment of Irritable Vowel Syndrome. PETA-approved. Proud sponsor of the URFKT100, and other fine events. No animals were harmed or their 401ks looted in the making of this product. Have a nice day! Is this mike on? Seriously—you're just not going to get faster. I can ...

Somewhere out on the WS100 Course, June 1993. Note: This post was originally unleashed to the UltraList on  December 10, 2011 12:11:26 PM PST Not only is this still largely relevant to WS100, but practically every other major 100 in the US, right now. Times have changed, and things need to be rethought. Hello, fun-hogs! Yes, its that time of year when thousands of anxious WS100 hopefuls agonize over whether or not they're in the magic circle. Are they 3-time losers in the 2nd degree? Nominated and EZ-Passed due to Extraordinary Accomplishments or somesuch? Busted out a 50-miler somewhere on a 2% downhill course? Probably not. So lets go down to the killing floor, and go to work. Here are some ideas. COMPLETELY ELIMINATE the 50-mile race requirement. This is dead meat, and has been festering like a zombie with bad manners for way too long. The new baseline qualifier would be a *FIVE prior 100-mile finishes* requirement. Yes, this is harsh. And pay phones are gone foreve...

After a long absence, the Joshua Tree VisionKwest was reconvened on December 3-4, 2011. It had been almost 7 years since the last Gathering Of The Tribez [And Shit]®™. Were the Ancestor Gods annoyed, or delighted that their prodigal children had returned? As with all family gatherings, we'd have to be deep into the mix before finding out. Casino Bingo and Draw Poker had begun laying plans and cable for this enterprise several months earlier, with Dr Bingo doing the bulk of the heavy cranial gymnastics. A New Route had been chosen, one promising elements of delight from Previous Outings, but with New Sensations. Ostensible Route: Boy Scout -->Big Foot-->California Riding And Hiking Trail. Our original destination was Juniper Flats.  THE DAY IS REVEALED When the rosy-palmered sun arose over the Whine-Dork Sea, a nipply start was enjoyed by the under-dressed scrum, setting epic pace uphill out towards Boy Scout Trail. The bravely-dressed Rebecca V, Lori...