Trail Races Need Better Coffee

There are a bevy of ways in which the local trail running community's collective psyche is a good fit for mine. Or at least, it's a good fit for what I want to do, if not what I ought to do.

An example, from last Friday night: My plan, going in to the fat ass event (a rather long explanation, but think of it as a massive group run, in which you can notch all the mileage you like), was to run for 5 hours. I would take it easy, and probably end up averaging about a 9 minute mile.

In short, while my legs thought this was a great idea, my stomach did not. In between loops, I stepped in to, shall we say, attempt to appease the gurgling and cramping via expulsion of the antagonistic material. Most people - quite reasonably - would tell you to stop running at this point. But these are not most people. Rather, they offer up a salt cap, advice on what to consume (I opted for nothing, and was grateful for it), and tell you get back out there. And so I did. Paces hit, la di da.

But I've just written three paragraphs about a rather slow training run - sorry about that - without ever approaching what was to be the topic of this post. While the trail running community and I have much in common, there is one (unfortunate) discrepancy: The need for good, rather than merely present, coffee.

The coffee at the fat ass run was instant, and about the color of a weak iced tea. A few people commented that, given the volume of creamer (gotta love corn syrup solids and hydrogenated oils in your coffee) they were going to put in it, the taste of the original product didn't much matter. I didn't say anything, because I was too busy feeling nauseous, and because it was free anyway.

This was Friday night. Sunday morning, I decided to race a 5K. I justified the decision with the fact that it was on the 50K race course, but mostly, I just felt like it. I ran the uphills like I needed a walker, and the downhills like I wanted that to be the case. I looked at my shadow, and pictured the disparity between that shuffle, and the visual of actual fast people on a track. I decided, after a moment's glance, that I was not Galen Rupp. A look up at the three people in front of me revealed that they were not either. But on this morning, they were closer than I was.

Still, you find your satisfaction and consolation at the finish line. The guy who won - marked by me at the start as some old dude who had no business toeing the line - just ran in the USATF Master's Cross Country Championships, a month after polishing off a "slow" 2:40 marathon. Second and third were high school kids, decked out in their school singlets and flats, both of whom had placed high at state this year. And then there was me, 4th place and 20-something age group winner, distinguished mostly by my ability to pour pretty milk designs in espresso.

So I felt pretty good then, but would have been better with coffee. I saw a table offering some, and thought that it might go nicely with the mug I had just won (a much better prize than a medal). But as I approached, the color of the liquid became clear. It was a tree sap shade of brown, and oh god, it was being scooped from a bag and right in to the cup. Instant. Again. Only this time, there was a difference: They wanted 2 dollars for a cup of it.

No.

This brings me, finally, to the title of this post. Trail races need better coffee. Notice I do not say excellent coffee, or even good. I understand that my standards are too high, and that to meet them would cost an inordinate sum of money. I also understand the challenges inherent to outdoor brewing. But there are solutions - oh so many. Most easily, a cold press concentrate could be mixed with hot water, on the spot. Failing that, larger pots could be brought from nearby indoor facilities, or purchased from local shops.

Whether these are solutions on a grand scale, I don't know. But I do know that, for my local races, they will be solutions I implement. The best way to insure that I have better coffee to drink is to bring it myself. Something tells me no one will mind.

Instant Gratification

There is a point at which the quality of coffee consumed is outweighed by the mere presence of the stuff. This correlates nicely, which is to say that the more arduous the circumstance, the worse coffee you'll find palatable.

It is with that preface that I must admit to consuming Trader Joe's instant coffee this Saturday night. Furthermore, I must confess that, in the moment, it was as satisfying as the finest Yirgacheffe. If you feel inclined to revoke whatever card I carry for my coffee elitism, now would be the time to do it. I couldn't argue, really. I drank instant coffee, knowingly and willingly, without the slightest bit of coercion. And I liked it.

But there are circumstances.

Well, sure. But there are always circumstances. What sort of circumstances justify such a travesty?

See the previous post, for starters. If you can't penetrate the overly-verbose prose, or simply don't care much for my frequent running-related diatribes, this is basically the gist: There was a 100-mile ultramarathon. I signed on to help, and in so doing, ended up logging about 40 miles myself on Saturday. (As an aside, I should note that this isn't bragging. I don't think I'm any kind of remarkable athlete. Rather, I think everyone is capable of more than they think, and that you can teach yourself to keep picking your feet up. But I digress.)

The scene, then, was the same picnic shelter mentioned previously, stocked with various kinds of salt, starch, and sweets. In short, there was endurance fuel aplenty, save for caffeine, my favorite kind. I had brought to bottles of cold press, which had been used to prepare the morning's hot coffee. But morning, for everyone there, was between 4:30 and 5:30. Thus it went quickly - and with plenty of thanks to the provider of it, I might add.

It was, as I returned from my last lap of the evening, about 8 PM. Calories were the first priority, which I consumed easily enough. After choking down several handfuls of pretzels, a bagel, and two cups of tomato sauced pasta, my appetite felt somewhat sated. At least, my stomach volume had mostly been filled, which required a stop to eating, lest I lose the food I'd just consumed.

Still, I felt a bit off. Granted, one might expect to feel a bit off, after spending 8-10 hours running over technical trail. But this was not an "off" born of exertion, but rather deprivation. Simply, it had been far too long - and with far too little sleep - since I had last consumed coffee. A reasonable man might have gone to bed. A reasonable man might also not attend ultras, and offer to do "whatever needs done". So no, I would not be going to sleep for some time yet. There was, perhaps, more to do. At the very least, there were other volunteers to entertain with my witty banter.

Thus, we finally wind back around to the start. The only coffee left available was Trader Joe's instant. I dosed it, or rather, I poured it until it covered the bottom of the cup. This seemed appropriate, to my glucose-starved mind. There was just-off-the-boil water, which I poured to the cup's rim. I sniffed. It seemed flat, a little like acrid smoke.

Then I sipped, and sipped a bit more, then gulped. Then, it was perfect, because it was there. The caffeine and the residual endorphins made fast friends, danced a stimulatory tango and resigned fatigue to the periphery. I stood, paced, grabbed more pretzels, then considered going back out. I decided that another cup would be necessary, consumed it, then decided that my regained energy would be better spent regaling the other lagging volunteers with information about quinoa's amino acid profile and the sole of my running shoes.

A Bitter Instance

Unforgivably, and unfathomably, I let myself run out of coffee. I looked in the cabinet, and the realization punched me, knocking the air from my lungs, the sensation from my mind. What? How? Why? So many questions, and nothing but the simplest of answers to all of them: I had forgotten. I had let my mind drift to other matters, my focus shift to things like school, dips, and running. And I had forgotten coffee.

There was surprise in that dawning, and shame as well. How dare I, barista, coffee enthusiast, coffee blogger, even, forget that most base of things? It happens, I said, though I knew it should not have. I had been to Dillons the day before, purchased vegetables, rice, oatmeal, and fish. I had all of those things now, but all of those thing I could do without. Peanut butter slapped on saltines would be enough for sustenance, enough to quell hunger and fuel my efforts at work.

I had options, none of them ideal. I could drive so a kwik shop, or perhaps a local grocer, and buy either a cup or bag of coffee. But I looked at the windows, frost rimming their frames. The sun had yet to crest the horizon, and the temperature remained below zero. A cold wind whipped past, screaming its taunts. I would stay inside.

That settled, I began to rummage for caffeine. Like a squirrel trying desperately to dig up nuts, having exhausted his winter stash, I opened cabinets, tore through their contents. Surely, there had to be a can of Folgers. Everyone has some coffee, even if it's nothing more than a safeguard, in case some caffeine fiend comes to visit. But no, there was not even that.

There was, however, a remnant of a visit from last fall. I saw it, a brown rectangle propped in a far corner, behind forgotten noodles and black beans. Nescafe. Instant coffee. I resigned myself to this pungent fate, measured out the course granules, and tried not to inhale to deeply. I boiled water, crunched an apple, stirred peanut butter in to my oatmeal.

The pot whistled, and I swore there was a hint of sarcasm in it. I snatched it from the burner, refusing to be mocked by a tea kettle, and poured the water over the granules. It hissed, steamed, and released an astringent aroma. I sipped. Watery, wispy, and yet bitter too. It manged nearly all sins at once, offending every part of the palate and a whole spectrum of senses.

I drank the entire cup. I did, not because it tasted good, but because it was there, and because it was coffee. Some brown water remained at the bottom of the cup, with bits of not emulsified coffee still floating. I rinsed it, and scrubbed the cup, hoping to absolve it of its part. I tried to forgive myself too, saying that there was no choice, that circumstances forced me to play a week hand. But of course, they were circumstances of my own making; I had forgotten to buy coffee, no one else. And so I got dressed and went to work, a bitter tang still idling on my tongue.

Lazy latte

The idea of a vacation, I think, is to recharge one's self. Thus in theory, I should have been motivated to do any number of things this morning. Like scramble my own eggs. Like make my own coffee. Like put on pants.

But I just wasn't motivated. No, some of the residual relaxation hadn't yet dissipated. So I trudged upstairs -- no pants, no eggs, no fresh coffee.

Instead, I broke my fast on a mammoth bowl of Arrowhead Mills puffed rice, wetted ever so slightly with Westsoy unsweetened soy milk. But as I sat and munched, it occurred to me that this was a rather low protein meal. There were eggs, of course; but scrambling or otherwise cooking them sounded suspiciously like work. 

The soy milk, then. But drinking it, plain and cold, sounded too boring. Then it hit me: I could make a lazy latte. 

What is a lazy latte, you ask? Microwaved milk and instant coffee. Yes, it really is lazy. 

But didn't I just write a treatise on latte quality, in which I state emphatically that properly steamed milk is essential to crafting a great drink? Well, yes. That did happen. But a lazy latte is not designed to supplant the genuine article. Rather, it is intended only to satisfy a craving when one has neither the motivation nor the finances to do so any other way.

My lazy latte consisted of 8 oz microwaved unsweetened Westsoy and one Columbian VIA packet. It was not great, certainly; but it was exactly what I wanted at the time. 

You can make your own lazy latte just as easily, provided you have three things: Instant coffee, milk or a milk substitute, a microwave (or stove top). The stove top method allows for whisking, which actually does aerate the milk a bit, thus more closely approximating the texture of steamed milk. But that's almost too much effort for a lazy latte. You can simply nuke your liquid of choice for ~2 minutes, add the instant coffee, and stir.  

Instant gratification

My generation is famous for it. If the yuppies of the eighties needed cocaine to fuel their buzz, we're too busy to stop and snort it. Maybe if there were some easier, more convenient way to get our fix... maybe if coffee only took a couple minutes to prepare...

Enter VIA, Starbucks' foray in to the instant coffee market. Ahem. Check that. According to Starbucks, VIA is not instant coffee, but rather "microground". The idea is that 100% arabica coffee is ground so infinitesimally small that it can be dissolved in water straight away. I don't pretend to grasp the science, nor do I care to. My only concern is whether VIA holds up under taste scrutiny. 

I was inspired to try this by a comment on my previous post, which mentioned Folgers' coffee/tea bag pouch things. I picked up a box of Kroger brand bags and a three pack of Starbucks Columbia VIA.  

Both were served using 8 oz of near boiling water, as per the directions.

The comparison:

Price:  Kroger - About $3.50 for 19 bags. Starbucks - $3 for three packs.

Method:  Kroger - The bag is steeped for just over one minute, a la tea. Starbucks - The contents of one pack is stirred in to near boiling water.

Aroma:  Kroger - Slightly pungent and syrupy. Starbucks - Rich and full, eerily similar to Starbucks regular Columbia roast.

Taste:  Kroger - While the smell is a bit too strong, if not overly pleasant, the taste is weak. The coffee tastes thin and whispy, and lacks any body or strong flavor. Starbucks - The taste picks up where the smell left off. The coffee is hearty, dense and smooth. While there isn't anything interesting going on in the flavor department, the result is still satisfying. 

Verdict: Kroger - Cheap as can be, but still not quite worth the investment. The quality of the product just isn't there. Which shouldn't be surprising, given that it includes "coffee oils" as an ingredient. Starbucks - At about one dollar a cup, VIA is hardly the sort of thing you want to start every morning with. It also lacks the nuance of properly brewed coffee. Even still, in a pinch, VIA offers salvation for those who need real coffee flavor, but don't have access to real brewing methods.