Going into the San Diego 100 I was well prepared. I’d put in consistent miles and had a good dry run during the Lost Boys 50 in April. But as well prepared as one can be, you’re still never completely ready for what 100 miles will throw at you. Especially when you go at it alone.
Since I’ve recapped this race twice before – once as a DNF and once with minutes to spare – I want to focus more on the uniqueness of running the race solo. In prior races, I often found myself relieved and excited when I would get halfway and get a pacer to help keep me going. I wondered how things would fair if I didn’t have that luxury.
Race Day
The first portion of the race was really enjoyable. The trails of the SD100 had become my primary running trails in San Diego. With this being my third time running the race, they were comfortable and there were little surprises. I took things relatively easy and just tried to soak in as much of the race as I could. There is just something so freeing about running through the great outdoors.
Before I knew it I had reached Sunrise aid station and was in and out quickly. As predicted, it was starting to warm up fast and the next stretch was sure to slow me down, which it did, and by the time I reached Pioneer Mail my time in the bank had started to diminish, and I was starting to feel the effects of the heat.
The descent down to Pine Creek Aid was rough. Real rough. I walked most of it and was out of water. It took me awhile at the bottom to get my head right. After some time at the aid station I started feeling better and ready to head up Noble Canyon.
As I climbed Noble I could tell this was going to be a decision point for a lot of us. While not right up on cutoffs, time was still a concern and the climb was really taking it out of us all.
As I arrived at Penny Pines I had a decision to make. And I chose to push it and keep going. I was in. Out. And on my way. Quickly.
As things got dark I pulled out the headlamp and continued on, before arriving at Red Tail Roost. I saw a few friends there who were rooting me on, which gave me the spark I needed to keep moving forward.
It was at this point I realized that I was still moving, but not picking up any time. The pressure of being up against cutoffs with 50+ miles to go was stressing me out, but I continued on, pushing where I could.
The climb down to Cibbet’s Flat was a killer! It was a new addition to the course and one that really took its toll on everyone. I knew it was going to be another clutch point of the race.
A light up ahead
As I got down to Cibbet’s Flat I was greeted by Matthew – a fellow runner whom I had come to know through various events. His enthusiasm and willingness to help met out was just the spark I needed. I had only come in with 15 minutes to spare. I downed some soup and continued back up the way I had come down.
On my way up I saw people still descending, as well as people climbing up. Their states of mind seem to correlate to the direction they were heading. With cutoffs now a real threat, we were all focused on moving forward as best we could. We’d hit the point where you dig in, or drop. I put my head down and, although my mind was racing, focused on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.
I arrived at Todd’s Cabin with 10 minutes to spare. As I left Todd’s and started heading back towards Penny Pines, the sun started to come up, giving me a sense of rejuvenation I hadn’t experienced since the day before. I’d survived the night, and a new day was about to begin.
Time was of the essence when I arrived at Penny Pines, as I was still very close to the cutoff time. I saw my friend Willy, a friend whom I’d shared the trail with many times. He handed me a breakfast burrito and told me “you can’t stay here!”
Feeling better after eating the burrito, my pace improved and I started moving better than I had in hours. It was now mid-morning and I was some 80 miles in.
Getting back to Sunrise, I knew that I had banked some time and, barring any huge blow-ups, was going to finish. As I left Sunrise I was warned that it was going to get hot, quick.
And it did.
I kept moving. Slowly but surely, I continued to head towards the finish. I linked up with a few other runners who were moving slowly due the heat, but few words were exchanged. We were all pretty deep in our heads.
It was shortly after noon before the lodge came into sight. That was it. I could see it. The finish was literally in sight. I was going to run my first solo 100 miler…and it was going to be one of my strongest finishes yet!
I ended up crossing in 31:08. The day (and night…and subsequent day), felt more like a dream than anything else. I guess that’s expected when you’re running solo; a lot less interaction with others made for some very quiet and introspective miles.
But I learned something equally important in this race. Even though I ran the race solo, I was never really alone out there.
I had a crew with me in my mind and heart the entire time. My wife Christina, our soon to be daughter, my family and friends – many people accompanied me on the run; some of whom only exist in my mind as memories anymore.
Sharing the miles with all of them is how I finished. There’s no doubt about that.
Post Race Thoughts
For a mid-packer, running this race solo was a big deal for me. It was a finish that ranks highly in my mind and will for years to come. While I can’t pinpoint exactly where my mind went for a lot of the race, I do know I spent in an introspective state, revisiting times, people and things from various points in my life, all of which played a role in my being out on the trail alone.
While our past doesn’t dictate our future, it does play a big role in how we approach the present. For me, this run was an opportunity to come face-to-face with some things that I had worked hard to move past and overcome. I’d say progress was made in that regard.
“There is something primitive about running from the desert to the mountains.” – Ben Hian, Lost Boys 50 course record holder.
Ever since I moved to San Diego and started running ultras, I wanted to run the Lost Boys 50. I had heard so much about this race and its long, checkered history that I knew I had to experience it for myself. Last weekend, I got that chance.
C and I—and my parents—arrived in Julian the Friday before the race. My parents had flown out from Iowa to see me run, so I was extra excited about that. We had a great dinner at Romano’s before retiring to our cabin for the night (Note: If you’re running a race in the Anza Borrego/Cuyamaca/Mt. Laguna area and want a good Italian, pre-race meal, this is the place).
We were up early since I had to be at Lake Cuyamaca to catch the 3:30 a.m. shuttle down to the desert. Once on the bus and heading down I began to hope the weather would hold up for what was sure to be an epic race day.
As the runners piled out of the shuttle, we quickly realized we were going to be in for a windy, WINDY day. But it wasn’t raining, so we had that going for us.
After checking in and hiding from the wind back on the buses, it was time to go. Runners huddled around Race Director Brian Gonzales to get a quick history lesson on the race before heading out into the still-dark desert. Just like that, we were off.
Pinyon Wash to Blair Valley (0 – 17.9)
The race wasted no time accumulating the 9K of elevation gain runners were promised, with the first 10 miles of the course gaining almost 3K. I ran into my friend Carlos, and we took it easy together the first 5 miles, catching up on life and things since we hadn’t seen each other in awhile.
After hitting Boulders Aid (5.1), Carlos took off and I settled in for the day. I was really excited about the first 20 miles of the course, since I’d never ran in that area before. The miles didn’t disappoint. Runners ran through desert canyons, scurried over boulders, came across abandoned mines, and more. It was amazing.
I hit Pinyon Mountain Valley Aid (12.4) right on time. I was in/out of the aid station in less than 3 minutes and was off toward Blair Valley, the first place I’d be able to see C and my parents. The next few miles were a slow steady decline where I just zoned out, enjoyed the desert views and began thinking about how I wanted to tackle Oriflamme Canyon.
Blair Valley to Pedro Fages (17.9 – 29.4)
I got into Blair Valley Aid at about 9:15 a.m., and was met immediately by C and my parents. I could tell my parents were getting into crewing and were having a great time already. I was so glad they were getting the opportunity to experience the sport I love first hand. After refueling, and chatting with them a bit I was off.
Before I knew it I was back at the mouth of Oriflamme Canyon. It had been a few years since I’d ran through the canyon, but I still knew it was going to be brutal. I settled into low gear and started the long grind to the top. On the way up I reflected on just how far I’ve come in my training in only a few short years.
I got out of the canyon with no major issues and after a short run across the meadow, I arrived at Pedro Fages, right on schedule.
Pedro Fages to Cuyamaca Lake (29.4 – 50ish)
Though I was on my goal time, I was tired. The constant battling of the wind and slow steady climbing was really taking it out of me. I took some time to reload my pack, refuel on soup, and get rejuvenated by wiping myself down with a Pro Energy Towel. A few minutes later, I was out and heading toward West Mesa aid station feeling great.
The forecast had called for rain and we’d been lucky enough to dodge it all day … but one look at the sky and I knew it was only a matter of time, so I picked it up a bit.
By the time I got to West Mesa aid (36.1) I was actually ahead of my goal time. There was one climb left, the climb up to Cuyamaca Peak. I wasted no time getting started.
I was pretty wiped out by this point. The more I ascended, the more I was climbing up and into a foggy/cloudy oblivion. By this point runners were very spread out, so at times it almost felt like you were in a dream … or a horror movie.
Regardless, I was in the zone and cruising. Apparently cruising a bit too well, as I blew right by a very well-marked junction and ended up off course for awhile. It was a minor mental blow, but I couldn’t help but laugh when I retraced my steps back to the junction. It was so well marked!
I finally got to Cuyamaca Peak aid station (42.9) dropped my pack, grabbed a grilled cheese and cup of soup and started the short out-and-back climb to the peak, before looping back through CP aid, grabbing my pack, and beginning my descent.
As I started my descent I was mentally prepared to just run it down and into Cuyamaca Lake, but as I started coming down I replayed what one of the aid station volunteers at CP aid had said “you have mostly down left, than just a little up before you get to the finish.”
Immediately it hit me; we’re going up over Middle Peak!
Damn.
The same thing happened in last year’s San Diego 100, where I somehow completely spaced on the fact that both races hit Middle Peak before returning to the start. Needless to say, I got one more “nice little climb” in before I hopped on the Sugar Pine Trail and began my (real) final descent.
I crossed the finish line in 13:28, and couldn’t have been happier. All things considered, it was my strongest ultramarathon finish to date.
Post race thoughts:
This race blew me away on so many levels. Running from the desert (at 1,000 feet), to the mountains (almost 7,000 feet), made for an unforgettable day of constantly changing scenery. The aid stations were so well stocked and staffed it was unbelievable. In fact, I found out later there were about 60 runners who started the race…and almost 60 volunteers helping them out.
That’s how great the ultra community is—especially the San Diego scene.
There was something else that played a significant role in my strongest finish to date, a new training device I have been using called GoMore. Stay tuned for a detailed post on my experience with the product—and how it has helped redefine the way I train.
What’s next?
The Lost Boys 50 was my final tune-up before returning to the San Diego 100 this June. My record with the SD100 is tied at 1-1. Depending on how the final weeks of training go will determine if I take on this year’s race solo or supported.
Last weekend C and I took a mini-trip to Arizona so I could run my first race of the year, Aravaipa’s Black Canyon 100K.
We took Friday off and hit the road early, arriving at the packet pick up/expo by 4:30 p.m. From there we headed up to the cabin we were staying at for the night, which was just a few minutes from the start line.
Race Day
Staying close to the start really paid off. I was able to “sleep in” and get to the start with plenty of time to spare. The field was BIG, with more than 200 people starting the 100K—and another 60+ runners in the 60K, which would start an hour after the 100Kers.
As we were all waiting in the high school, I couldn’t help but comment on what a well-organized event this was already turning out to be! Not only were we able to wait in the school—we were treated to flushing toilets, coffee, cinnamon rolls, and more. I ran into a few local San Diego running friends, wished them well, and then headed out to the start.
Off and running
The race starts with a lap around the high school track before runners embark upon their 100K point-to-point journey on the Black Canyon National Recreation Trail. Temps were forecasted to be hot … and they didn’t disappoint.
In my usual fashion I settled in toward the rear and focused on finding that smooth, steady pace for the day. Before I knew it I was through mile 15, things were feeling great, and, for the first time I was well ahead of schedule.
Runners at the startThe course is a Western States Qualifier that features a deceptively challenging elevation profile.Out for a long day (somewhere around mile 6)
Getting ugly
There’s a saying in ultrarunning: “If you start to feel good during an ultra—don’t worry, you’ll get over it.” While I always thought I knew what that meant, it took on an entirely new meaning in this race, and it started around mile 17.
I’ll spare the details, but for the next 15miles I had some of the worst G.I./stomach issues I had ever experienced while running. This slowed me to a crawl, and as temperatures continued to rise, my spirits began to sink.
Things had quickly turned into a hot, miserable day in the desert.
Despite the fact I was well off my goal pace, I kept moving forward, all the while trying to fix my issues on the move. Was it nutrition? There was a bug floating around my office all week that had taken a few people out—was that it? Maybe it was just the heat? I don’t really know, but, eventually—almost 15 miles later—I started to feel like myself again.
… I couldn’t believe it. I’d kept myself moving.
I take it back. There was one good thing during this time. The views.
If there was any benefit to shuffling along the first 30 miles, it would be that my legs were pretty “fresh” for the back half. I came into Black Canyon aid station, quickly refueled, and headed back out.
I’d heard a lot of people talk about the challenges of the back half of the course. I quickly found out their warnings were valid. There were several significant climbs and multiple stream crossings that felt GREAT given the heat, but were a bit much on my feet.
Giant saguaros lined the course most of the way
Back in the saddle
At mile 45, I was back and feeling great much better. Though my initial goal had gone out the window, I realized I still had a shot at finishing under 17 hours, which would give me a Western States qualifier, but I would have to push it. Hard.
This was a defining moment for me. I battled those thoughts that said just getting to the finish would be “good enough” and that I could justify my finish since the first half of my day went so terribly. I said no.
Instead, I decided to push it.
Bringing it home
The last 15-18 miles were a bit of a blur. I had my music going and a goal on my mind. Before I knew it I was crossing the finish in 16:33.
I’d beaten my stomach issues.
I’d beaten the heat.
But most importantly, I beaten the cruel voice of complacency that can sneak into your head when the day doesn’t go your way.
What just happened?With my better half at the finish
Post-race thoughts
Though I don’t know exactly what caused my stomach issues, I do have a few ideas that I’m looking into. Regardless, this still ranks as one of my more memorable races.
Ultras are such a journey. They’re a journey of the body, the mind, and even the soul. And just like any journey, there will be ups and downs, with the real test being how you manage them. For me, I could have given up and said “Meh, not my day. Stomach problems got the best of me.” But that’s not in my nature. Instead, I chose to stick it out—to stay in the fight. I’m glad I did, because I learned much more about myself by doing so.
Thoughts on the race: This was my first Aravaipa Running race and it was fantastic. Everything—from the packet pick up expo, to pre-race amenities, aid stations, course markings, and the finish line party were all top notch. I can’t wait to come back and run another one of their events.
I was so excited to get back up to Big Bear. If you remember last year, I had planned on running the Kodiak 100 to avenge my DNF at the San Diego 100. Well, a year later (and WISER!), I realized how glad I was that didn’t happen, because Kodiak would have eaten me alive.
The facts are the Kodiak races are incredibly challenging – and in looking back, I can honestly say I wouldn’t have been ready. I needed another year of experience under my belt. And now I had it.
Kodiak 50-Mile Course Profile
Arriving in Big Bear
I went to Big Bear last year to train for a weekend, but this was going to be C’s first time up here. I was excited for her to experience the mountains.
We arrived early Friday afternoon, checked in at the race headquarters and walked around talking to several of the vendors who were there at the expo. CarboPro, Altra, Orange Mud, Clif Bar, Feed the Machine, and more were all in attendance – as well as members of the Tarahumara who were selling homemade items to help raise money for their families and to cover race expenses. I spent some time talking with a few of them and ended up buying a pair of authentic, homemade running sandals from them. They are amazing and I have them displayed on my “running wall” at home.
Race Day
The 50-mile race started on the north side of the lake at the Hana Flats aid station. C drove me around the lake to the start, and after hanging around for about 20 minutes, we were off. I knew even before the race started that the elevation would be a factor for me (the majority of the race is run at 7,000 feet or higher). Knowing this, I planned to settle into a consistent, controlled pace and pay close attention to how I was feeling. As we ran, runners were greeted by an unbelievable sunrise over Big Bear Lake.
I knew right then that the race was going to be a good one.
Sunrise over Big Bear LakeTrail leading into Snow Valley
Settling in
The first 15 miles went very smooth. I stayed conscious of my breathing and settled in to enjoy the views. By the time I got to Snow Valley Aid Station, I was feeling still feeling good and a bit ahead of schedule. Having CarboPro at all of the aid stations was a huge win, since that is what I normally train with.
I refueled and headed out from Snow Valley and toward what I had heard over and over was the crux of the course: Siberia Creek Canyon. Needless to say, it lived up to the hype.
At the top of Siberia Creek
After descending into the canyon and reaching the bottom, runners passed through an aid station before beginning the long, 3,000-foot climb up the other side.
Aid station at the bottom of the canyon
Siberia Creek was beautifully brutal.
As beautiful as it was, the climb out WENT. ON. FORVER!
Climbing out of Siberia Canyon
Once out of the canyon, I arrived at Champion Aid. My climbing had been efficient and controlled, so I was still feeling strong. But things were about to get even better because we were about to run on one of my favorite sections of single track: The Skyline Trail.
As the sun fades away
The views from the Skyline Trail were absolutely unreal. And the fact that it was sunset made for some views that will be with me for a lifetime. My phone was dead by this point so I didn’t get any pictures – but in retrospect, it was better that way. I ran in silence and just took it all in. And it was perfect.
As darkness settled in, so did an increased level of pain and discomfort … but that was a small price to pay for an incredibly scenic race.
I crossed the finish line in 14:58 (38/54) and felt great about it. This was my first time running a true “mountain ultra” … and I must admit, I loved it. The prolonged altitude and steep climbs were the price of admission to experience the picturesque views and run on the alpine-infused single track. A price that I’d happily pay again for a similar experience.
Kodiak 50-Mile finisher!
Definitely a top-notch race and memorable weekend in the mountains.
The San Diego 100 was my first 100-mile attempt last year. Though I dropped at mile 64, I vowed to return in 2015 and avenge my DNF … and this past weekend, I did just that.
After finishing the Zion 100 in April, I knew the name of the game would be to take it easy between the two races and focus on cross training and short, hilly runs. From Zion to SD I bet I only put in 50 miles on the trails. While my legs were still tired, my mind was ready to go. I’d been thinking about coming back to the SD100 ever since last year, where I found myself in the back of a pickup truck at 2 a.m., being driven out of Pine Creek (mile 64) with a truckload of others who had dropped.
Fast forward to 6/5/2015. C and I were once again on our way back out to Julian to get checked into our hotel before the pre-race brief. Once again, Race Director Scott Mills outdid himself. Check-in was smooth, and all runners were greeted by an incredibly kind army of volunteers, not to mention one of the best swag bags I’d ever seen at an ultra. But while all the swag was great, I wanted to come home with one thing: a buckle.
After the race brief, a few of us went out to dinner before calling it a night. Though I’d slept well all week, the only thing I could think about the night before was that I was back … at the San Diego 100 and that I desperately wanted to cross that finish line.
Race Day
Us at the start
231 runners showed up to test their mettle against the challenging-yet-beautiful course. The race has 13,000+ feet of gain, a 32-hour cutoff and takes runners through Lake Cuyamaca, Mount Laguna, the Pacific Crest Trail and Noble Canyon, before returning to the start line. Exposure, wind, challenging terrain and almost always unpredictable weather add another layer of difficulty to an already demanding course. According to the forecast, we were in for some of the best weather the race had ever seen. So, we had that going for us.
Elevation profile of the San Diego 100
At 6 a.m., we were off … and I quickly settled in toward the back. I knew if I wanted any shot at finishing this thing I needed to be honest with myself about my pace, nutrition and the fact that I still had “Zion Fatigue” in my legs.
This Looks Familiar
Runners were faced with a long, steady climb up Middle Peak right out of the gate. I fell in line with my good buddy Mark and we talked about our strategies for managing the day (note: both “strategies” would be blown up by mile 40). Once atop Middle Peak, I took some time to take in the view before running down the back side and right into and through Paso Picacho aid, mile 7.1. I was right on pace with last year.
From Paso it was up and over Stonewall Peak, and then a nice stretch through the meadow to Chambers 1. By now the party of the conga line had all but disappeared and runners were beginning to settle in for the journey ahead. I left the pirate-themed and ever-so-gracious Chambers aid station and headed across some rolling fire road and single track before arriving at Pedro Fages (mile 18.6). With about an hour in the bank, I was feeling good and continued on. Before I knew it, I was running into Sunrise 1, AKA “The Dog Pound”.
The pound is awesome. When you come in there it’s hard to tell who is having more fun, the runners or the crew and volunteers! This is the first spot where I could see C and she had everything ready that I needed, so my time here was brief.
Leaving Sunrise 1, runners head out on an unbelievably scenic stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail that overlooks the Anza Borrego Desert, nearly 5,000-6,000 feet below. It’s quite the site. It’s also the stretch that can crush unsuspecting runners with a brutal mix of elevation, wind and exposure. Last year I remembered seeing a lot of runners struggling through this stretch and adjusted my pace/nutrition accordingly. Before I knew it, I’d made it to Pioneer Mail (mile 30) and was more than an hour ahead of the cutoff. All was well.
View from atop the PCT
The next point for crew access was Red Tail Roost (mile 44), so I made sure I loaded up on food/water and hit the trail, sneaking in and out of Penny Pines before making my way to Todd’s Cabin. I was proud of how I’d managed myself on this stretch of the course, as it ate several of my friends. I left Todd’s knowing that the worst was behind me (in terms of exposure), and cruised to Red Tail Roost with not a care in the world … except for the debilitating blisters that had formed over the last 10-15 miles.
Crap.
I let C know that my feet were in pretty bad shape and she and our co-crewing friend Willie wasted no time locating one of the members of the Ultra Medical Team to help me patch my feet. The gentleman’s name was Jim, and he no doubt saved my race by lancing some pretty nasty blood blisters that had formed on my feet.
Sidenote: The runners of the SD100 (and many other races) are so, SO lucky to have this fine crew of professionals out on the course. They do an AMAZING job watching out for the safety and well-being of all the runners. Hats off to you, Ultra Medical Team!
With new feet and a full stomach, I felt like a million bucks and left Red Tail Roost slightly ahead of where I was last year at that same time. While I felt great physically, memories of the same stretch last year started to creep into my mind. This is where things started to go wrong last year.
I couldn’t let it happen again.
I ran some of the most “conscious” miles of my life from Red Tail Roost (mile 44) through Meadows (mile 52) and on to Penny Pines 2 (mile 56.2), where I knew C would be waiting to start her pacing duties. As runners, we can often vividly recall some of our most profound sections of a run. This was definitely one of those for me. With a renewed spirit, I flew shuffled into Penny Pines 2 … grinning from ear to ear.
Into the Night
C and I took off from Penny Pines about 45 minutes ahead of the cutoffs. With C pacing it out we were able to get down Noble Canyon in a hurry and into Pine Creek with no real issues (other than an eye on the clock). I was so thankful to have her accompany me on this stretch, as it helped keep my mind off my DNF at Pine Creek Aid (mile 64 last year).
When we got to Pine Creek I saw Jim, the Ultra Medic who helped put my feet back together at Red Tail Roost. I told him thanks again and that they were holding up well. He said “That’s great. Now all you’ve got is a long climb up Pine Creek Road before getting on the Indian Creek Trail, where you’ll have another long climb up to Pioneer Mail 2.” My response?
O___O
In all truthfulness I knew what was coming. I was just dreading it. I’d hiked this section on an overnight training run last year and knew it would cost me a lot of time. After refueling, we were on our way up from the lowest point on the course. It was 1:15 a.m.
“Dlaaainggg” my Garmin ticked off a final mile before dying. It read 25-something minutes. Not good. With 8 miles to go and a 4:30 a.m. cutoff at Pioneer Mail, I knew it would be close. But C was all over it, and by pushing the pace (and keeping me distracted) we got to Pioneer Mail with 30 minutes to spare. She did an amazing job.
At Pioneer Mail, Mark’s friend Stephen said he’d jump in with me for the next stretch. With C acting as a 1-person crew/pacer, I knew she had been working super hard all day and could use the rest.
After thanking Stephen profusely for the kind gesture we were off … headed toward Sunrise 2.
Just Another Day
As we ran back towars Sunrise 2 on the PCT, we were greeted with one of the most amazing sunrises I’d ever seen. As the sun continued to rise, so did my spirit and before I knew it we were moving at a pretty good pace.
Coming into Sunrise 2
We got to Sunrise ahead of schedule, ate some food and then Stephen said he’d go with me again. I couldn’t believe it, but took him up on the offer to run the 8-mile stretch to Chambers 2. By now it was morning and the sun was out in full force, which forced us to slow down a bit.
As we approached Chambers 2, I couldn’t help but think of being there almost a day ago on my way out. Now I was returning … only in a little worse shape.
The Home Stretch
After about 20 minutes at Chambers 2, C and I took off for the final 12- mile stretch. The final miles send runners BACK over Stonewall Peak at mile 92-ish. I’d heard my friends who finished last year talk about how brutal this was … and I can now agree with them. It was killer.
But the surprises weren’t over yet. As I stumbled into Paso Pichaco 2, I was greeted by my friend, Ultra Medic Nick, who had some “unplanned” news for me.
Nick: “So, you’ve got an easy few miles through the meadow, then a mile, mile-and-a-half climb back up Middle Peak before you run down the mountain to the finish.”
Me: “Sooo, you’re telling me we’re not running a lap around the lake this year?”
Wow. Shame on me for not checking the map closer. It turned out that they had changed the end of the course and added the substantial climb up Middle Peak in lieu of the lap around the lake.
My 45-minute buffer seemed a lot less comfortable now, so C and I high-tailed it out of the aid station with all hopes of making it to the finish in time.
The Final Push
As we started the final climb, it was pretty apparent I had nothing left. We were moving at a snail’s pace and the mental blow of not anticipating the final climb was stinging pretty bad. As we climbed up (and up and up and up), we ran into a few other people who were experiencing the same unplanned joy that we were. We had another thing in common … we were all growing more and more worried about time.
As we continued climbing, I became convinced that we were going the wrong way (the course had been subject to vandalism in prior years, in the form of people moving ribbons and mismarking the route). I didn’t think we were supposed to go all the way to the top. After confirming with a few other runners, we all agreed the way we were going HAD to be right. After what seemed like an eternity, we FINALLY saw the junction for the final descent.
Normally I’d be happy, but instead all I could think was, “Tick tock. Tick tock.”
It was 1:20 p.m. The course closed at 2 p.m. We still had a little more than 2 miles to go.
All I’ve Got
The final two miles were a big blur. C and I descended the Sugar Pine trail in a hurry, before looping around and putting the finish line in our sights.
Thanks to C’s ability to keep calm, run hard, and stay positive, we crossed the finish in 31 hours, 48 minutes … 12-minutes before the course closed.
I couldn’t believe it. We’d done it. Finished the San Diego 100!
Sitting in a folding chair, watching the last few runners come in, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day (and night … and subsequent day). C paced me for nearly 30 miles … almost all of which were unplanned. Mark’s friend Stephen was kind enough to jump in and pace a complete stranger. Ultra Medical Team gave me the feet I needed to have a fighting chance … and all the runners gave each other the strength and encouragement to keep moving forward.
What. A. Journey.
Finally
Post-Race Thoughts
I’ve had people ask me which finish mattered more, Zion or San Diego. The truth is they both are two of the most important and memorable days of my life, but for very different reasons. Zion for being my first buckle, and for truly showing myself that I have the grit it takes to finish … and San Diego, for having the guts to go back and try again after dropping the year prior. My SD100 finish was also almost 2 hours FASTER than my finish at Zion, which I ran just 8 weeks prior.
Proof you can do anything if you want it bad enough.
Looking forward, my plan is to ease back into things and focus on putting in some high-quality, purposeful training. With a few races left in the year I’m hoping to make some improvements in my speed, and transition from a goal of just finishing to more time-based goals.
Some memories have a significant impact on you and your future. For me, last year’s DNF at the San Diego 100 was one of those memories. It humbled me and forced me to be honest with myself and my abilities. But it also lit a fire within me and became the catalyst for a rematch with the 100-mile distance, and I chose the Zion 100.
Ever since Monument Valley, I’d been experience some significant hip pain that had derailed my last 3-4 weeks of training. I’d gotten a few massages and met with a running doctor to help diagnose and fix the issue. I was physically feeling about 75-80%, however, mentally I was at 110-120%, so I figured I could hit the start line of Zion at 100% (of sorts).
Zion bound
C and I left San Diego early Thursday morning and arrived in Springdale, Utah, around 2:30 p.m. We checked in at the Pioneer Lodge then went into Zion National Park for a while to do some exploring before heading to packet pick-up which was at the start line in Virgin. We didn’t hang around too long. My nerves were kicking in and I just wanted to get some dinner and get some rest. I knew the next day was going to be a long one.
C and I in the park the day before the race.Zion 100 Course MapZion 100 Elevation Map
Race day
There’s an energy at the start of a 100-miler that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and the Zion 100 was no different. Both the 100-milers and 100K runners took off at 6 a.m., and just like that it was on. My second attempt at a 100-miler was underway.
As I approached the first big climb, Flying Monkey, the sun was just beginning to rise. I got up FM with no issues, hit the aid station up top and set out on the 6-mile loop atop the mesa.
The scenery up on top of the mesa was amazing – a completely different landscape than the land below. Oh, and the views from above were jaw-dropping.
Beautiful sunrise as we were going up Flying Monkey
I descended Flying Monkey with no issues and hit a nice stretch of Jeep road and was able to run most of it, before hopping on some single track and working my way to Dalton Wash Aid (mile 15).
C was anxiously waiting for me at Dalton. She knew that by now I’d know how the day was going to go. Once I got there she asked how I was doing – my response was simply “I made it to here.” I knew if I wanted to have ANY shot of staying in this thing, I had to focus exclusively on running from aid station to aid station.
After a quick pit stop I began the climb up to the Guacamole Loop, where runners would be treated to nearly 8 miles of challenging slick rock. It was impossible for me to get a rhythm going up there, so I just enjoyed the views and tried to keep moving as best I could. I finally made it off the mesa and back down to Dalton Aid 2.
View from the Guacamole Loop.
Once I got there, I noticed my pacer and good friend Tony from San Diego had arrived and immediately jumped in to help C out in crewing me. I wanted to take a few extra minutes to rest up – my hip already wasn’t feeling great and I wanted to recharge for a minute.
Neither of them let me, and before I knew it was back on the trail.
Going up
After crossing the highway I headed toward the infamous Gooseberry mesa. In my research of the race, I knew this climb was going to be a beast. The climb gains 1,500 feet. Fast. Sprinkle on some serious exposure to the sun and a subpar hip, and 1,500-foot climb felt like I was climbing Whitney.
Me coming up Goosberry. What. A. Climb.
Once up to the top I came into Goosebump Aid, refueled, and then set out on my last solo loop across more slickrock to Gooseberry Point and back to Goosebump #2. I got back a little before 8 p.m., but not before taking in one of the most amazing sunsets I’d ever seen.
Unreal sunset from atop Goosberry Mesa. One of my last photos before my phone died.
By this time I was only an hour ahead of the cutoffs. Definitely not where I wanted to be. I picked up my pacer, Tony, and we headed out into the darkness toward Grafton Mesa. Running with him was a huge breath of fresh air and though we weren’t moving fast, we were still moving. We arrived at Grafton Mesa, downed some soup and headed on through. Grafton was a breaking point for a lot of runners, many of whom were still sitting around waiting to get picked up.
I’d be lying if I said the thought of dropping didn’t cross my mind. I hurt from the start, I had yet to get into a rhythm, and now I was furiously chasing cutoffs … all with 45 more miles to go.
Before I could turn that thought into any more than just that (a thought), Tony said “You ready, G? We gotta go.” And just like that, we were back on the trail and off toward Cemetery Aid Station (mile 57.5).
After a mix of single track, slick rock, climbing, and then a huge descent off the mesa, we arrived at Cemetery Aid with 45 minutes to spare. After another quick in/out we were on our way back up. The climb up was the hardest and most challenging part of the day night for me (so far), but Tony did a fantastic job of keeping me moving.
This was also about the point in the race where I DNF’d in my 100-mile attempt last year (around mile 60). Tony knew this – and though we weren’t saying much at this point, he did say this:
“You’re about to be on the other side of what you know you’re capable of. It’s all new after this.”
In a weird way, hearing that gave me a spark that I hadn’t had most of the day. It was true; I was now further into a race than I’d ever been. What a rush.
The way back was a serious grind, and making cutoffs was still a top priority (talk about a feeling of added stress!). We were in and out of Grafton Mesa #2 within 5 minutes and got back to Goosebump Aid #3 by 4:45 a.m.
By this point all I could think about was how bad I wanted off the mesa. Upon leaving Goosebump I got my wish – in the form of a 1,500-foot, pitch-black descent down Gooseberry.
I’ll leave most of the details of it, but just know that I was in a dark place (both literally and figuratively) by this point.
A change of scenery
After getting off the mesa, we had to get to the Virgin Desert Aid station by 8:30 a.m. The stretch was tough, but we got there by 7:45 a.m. My hour buffer was fading.
Fast.
Once you hit Virgin Desert Aid, the style of the race changes. Runners were now faced with a series of challenging desert loops. In prepping for this race, I had thought that if I could just “get to Virgin Aid” that I could spend some time getting re-energized before hammering the loops out, but being up against cutoffs, I didn’t have that luxury.
C was waiting for me at Virgin Aid and would be responsible for pacing me out the rest of the way (25 miles). Tony had done a phenomenal job keeping me moving overnight, knowing that I was hurting and not in a good spot. He was able to keep me on pace, and focused just on the next aid station. It was a night I never thought would end – but, like all things, it did.
For the record, Tony wasn’t unaware of what was going on at all, either. He knew we were crunched for time, had a long way to go, and that I was starting to fall apart. (He had dug deep and finished the SD 100 last year, so he knew what it took to get to the finish – and what I had yet to go through).
The red, white, and blue
By now my mental state had gotten a lot worse, and I was seriously rationalizing a second DNF in my head.
“Well G, you made it 76.5, farther than you’d ever gone – but it’s just not going to be your day. You weren’t 100% when you started … and you’re paying for it now.”
This “inner monologue” slowly started to leave my head and now C and Tony were hearing it … but they weren’t having it. They both knew me well and weren’t ready to have a repeat of last year.
And just like that, they switched roles. C was ready to go and after 5 minutes we were out on the Red Loop, a 4.7 stretch of rolling desert single track … with a cutoff of 9:15 a.m.
A snail’s pace is probably an adequate comparison to what I was churning out at this point. I asked C every 3-5 minutes “how much distance have we covered? Do you think we’ll make the cutoff?”
C, being the ever-positive person she is, assured me we were doing great and that we could make it.
I apparently thought otherwise. I began walking, saying I had “given it my best effort, but it just wasn’t going to happen.” We came in at 9:10 a.m, the cutoff was 9:15 a.m – and I didn’t think I could go back out.
I thought it was 9:15 a.m.
An aid station worker who had taken notice of me when I first came into Virgin Desert Aid came over and said “Don’t get too comfortable buddy, the cutoff is 9:30 a.m. You have to get back out there. You’ve come this far. You’ve got to keep going.”
He took my red bracelet and replaced it with a white one, to signify I was about to start the second loop.
And again, just like that, we were off.
The white loop (mile 81), was a bit longer with more rolling hills … and it was getting hot. I was kicking out salt bad and knew I was on the verge of losing control of my nutrition, but we slugged it out. All thanks to C.
It gets a bit overwhelming when you start to think that you’re within 20-30 minutes of not being able to continue on, which is exactly where we were at when we returned from the white loop.
Mile 87.1
Time in/out: 11:10a.m./11:22 a.m.
Cutoff: 11:30 a.m
The same aid station worker that had kept me on course earlier found me again and offered me more words of encouragement and advice. His support, along with C and Tony’s was hitting me hard, but I was falling apart. I hadn’t stopped for more than 5-10 minutes since mile 47.5. My hip was on fire, my feet were all blistered, and my nutrition was in the tank. I was a mess.
Even with all the support I was ready for a DNF in my head. But my crew didn’t let me act on that thought and sent me back out. I had more than 3 hours to go 7 or so miles. But like I said, I had fallen apart. I was walking/shuffling along at a dismal pace, and things were looking bleak.
The blue loop was also the most exposed (and challenging) of the loops, and the sun was just roasting us. We had caught up with a few other people who were in the same boat, wished them well and continued to shuffle along.
A view from the blue loop
C did an unreal job pacing me, knowing just when to talk and when to let it ride. When to let me vent and when to tell me to man-up. It was a delicate balance and she managed it well.
In my head I thought that IF I could somehow get back to Virgin Aid for the last time by 1:30 p.m. that would give me 2.5 hours to finish, and at the pace I was moving at, I thought I MIGHT have a shot.
But 1:30 p.m. quickly passed, and I was still out there. I watched 1:45 and 2 p.m. tick by as well, before getting returning to Virgin Aid for the last time at 2:18 p.m.
Mile 94.
That was it. I came into that aid station to drop. I was dehydrated and distraught. I thought I had left it all out there and came up short. There was no way I could go 6 miles in less than 1 hour 45 minutes based on how I had been performing for the last 12 hours.
It wasn’t possible. Not to me.
I walked in and sat down, ready to make my announcement, but before I could, the aid station volunteer dumped an entire cooler of ice water over my head, and said “Hey buddy, you look like hell, I know you feel like hell – but YOU. CAN’T. STOP. YOU GO FINISH THIS THING! YOU’VE COME TOO FAR TO QUIT!”
His statement was matched with Tony handing me two new water bottles and C pulling me back out on the course.
This was it. We were going for it.
The ice bath was reinvigorating – and the support from my crew and the aid station worker helped stoke a fire deep within me. I was 94 miles in. I had 1 hour 35 minutes to give it everything I had.
And so I did.
For the first time since miles 10-20 I started running. As hard as I could. I’d tell C to “Go” and we’d run as hard as we could, walk and repeat. Tony had parked near mile 97 and was stressed to the max, he knew I had fallen apart and my pace was bad.
Until he saw C and I come around the corner. 3 miles down in 35 minutes. Some of the fastest miles of the day for me were miles 94-96. I had 3 miles to go – and more than an hour to get there.
I gave the next few miles all I had as well, and came across the finish line in 33:25, side by side with C, Tony, and my friend Corina, who had hung around to watch me finish.
Finishing my first 100-milerHandcrafted buckles were awarded to all finishers. After two years, I finally got mine.
I couldn’t have done it without the support of C, Tony, Corina, the aid station worker, and my fellow runners. It truly was a life-changing experience. I learned more about myself during this race than I ever thought possible, but most importantly, I learned to never give up – in running or in life.
The gang at the finish. I wouldn’t have finished without them.
It’s hard to believe it’s been two weeks since C and I road tripped to northeast Arizona for the Monument Valley 50. The weekend was amazing, and not just because of the race. In fact, even though we logged 24 hours in the car on a trip that lasted less than 60 hours total, we both agreed that we’d do it again in a heartbeat.
We took off from San Diego bright and early, at 3:30 a.m., and hit the road. This was total déjà vu for me, having done a similar middle-off-the-night departure to get to the Antelope Canyon 55K just a few weeks prior. But lucky for me this time I’d have company, both in the car and on the trails, as C was coming along to pace me for the last 15 miles of the race as training for her pacing duties at Zion.
As much as I enjoy road tripping alone, having C along for the ride was a complete blast. We made great time and were through Phoenix before either of us knew it. From there, we were northbound for a few hours, before heading through Flagstaff and on to Monument Valley.
We lucked out and snagged a last-minute cancellation at a hotel called The View just a few hundred feet from the race start/finish line. After checking in and dropping off our bags, we decided to make the most of the daylight we had left.
Monument Valley as the sun set the night before the race.“Well, I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.” Just kidding! I’ve got the Monument Valley 50-miler tomorrow!
After a nice meal at the hotel and an evening walk to take in the scenery and look at the stars, it was off to bed (except for when we got up and to look at the stars again at 3 a.m.).
Race Day
Monument Valley 50-Mile Race Elevation ProfileMonument Valley 50-Mile Course MapSun rise at the start line
Prior to the 50M/50K start, runners were treated to a Navajo Prayer Ceremony at the start line and then, promptly at 7 a.m., were off on our way.
I thought that Running Antelope Canyon a few weeks prior had given me a pretty good idea of what to expect, but since the Monument Valley area had been hit by extreme weather during the past two weeks, I knew it was best to take anything I thought I knew about the course conditions, throw it out the window, and prepare for a long, tough, sandy day through the Navajo Nation.
Sunrise somewhere near Mile 4
With less than 60, 50-mile runners, the pack thinned out fast, and runners were able to experience the area’s beauty on their own. As I trudged along through the sand, it quickly became apparent that I was going to get, way, WAY closer to the monuments than I had originally thought. By mile 9, I knew this was going to be one of my favorite races to date.
Near Brigham’s TombSandy conditions for miles
The weather that hit the area earlier had helped “pack down” some of the sand, but most of the miles between Brigham’s Tomb Aid (mile 9) and Hogan Aid (mile 22) were still a challenge. I hit Hogan’s Aid for the first time in around 5 hours, feeling pretty good overall.
From Hogan, the 50-milers would do a series of loops, all of which passed back through Hogan before heading onto the next. The first loop (North Windows) took runners out on some of my favorite singletrack of the day. The views were simply unbelievable.
Running beneath the monument
After North Windows, I cruised came through Hogan before heading out on the Arches Loop. This 9.5 mile loop was incredible … and sandy. But mostly incredible.
Is this the Sahara? No, it’s Monument Valley.Ear of the Wind
I returned to Hogan for the final time at 3 p.m. and picked up C, who was planning to run the final 15 miles with me. We headed off to Mitchell Mesa – which would be the biggest climb of the day at mile 40.
(Sidenote: To the group of volunteers at Hogan Aid, kudos on running such a great aid station. With runners hitting this aid station multiple times, I estimate they saw somewhere between 800-1,000 runners. Every time I came through food and support was plentiful and spirits were high. One of the best aid stations I’ve ever ran through. Thanks again – you all were great!)
Heading up Mitchell Mesa was tough. The trail up was really technical and slow going, but once we got to the top, the views we got where the highlight of my day. Words don’t even do it justice.
The view from the top of Mitchell Mesa
At the same time I was up there, I noticed a local Navajo man up there … ON HIS HORSE. I couldn’t help but stop and ask how he got up there with that horse. He smiled and simply said “the same way you two did.”
We weren’t the only ones on top of Mitchell Mesa …
I had a lot of interactions with the local Navajo throughout the day, each of which was an incredibly memorable (and positive) experience. Talking with them about their land, its beauty, and its history was a once in a lifetime experience that we all enjoyed.
Coming down Mitchell Mesa was a lot more fun than going up, and before I knew it C and I were back to Hogan Aid for the final time. Just 3.2 miles were left until the finish. I’d been out there a little more than 12 hours and was feeling pretty thrashed … yet I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.
Having C out there as my pacer was fantastic. She did a great job keeping me moving and helping me forget about the pain. Definitely a natural!
Together, we knocked out the final 3 miles and crossed the finish line at 12:53:36 (30/41).
50-mile race finishers received a bracelet handcrafted by a local Navajo family
The next morning, bright and early, we put about 700 more miles on my Altima before arriving back home in San Diego. Talk about a whirlwind trip!
One that neither of us would change for the world.
Coming off my race at the San Diego 50 I was feeling good about getting back out on the trails and putting in miles … which is why I was so excited to head to Page, Arizona, for Ultra Adventure’s Antelope Canyon 55K last weekend.
Well, that was one of the reasons.
The other was to experience first-hand the much-talked-about scenery of the course!
I opted to drive and left San Diego bright and early, at 4 a.m., and arrived in Page around 3:30 p.m. Not a bad drive at all; pretty scenic in parts, actually.
Sunrise over the Mojave on my way to Page
The first thing I wanted to do is complete one of the Trifecta Challenges. The Trifectas are a really cool thing Race Director Matt Gunn has put together. Realizing that these are destination races for many runners, he put together a list of “other must-see areas” while they are in town for their race. In addition to seeing more of the area, runners who participate in the Trifecta are eligible to receive discounts on future races. MORE trails and money off race registrations? No complaints here!
I was most interested in The Cable Trail, which, if followed all the way down, will take you to the Colorado River. Since I was traveling alone, I felt like going halfway down was good enough; I didn’t drive 600 miles to spend race day stuck at the bottom! Definitely an amazing trail.
A bit tough to find, but definitely worth looking for!
—RACE DAY—
I got to the staging area at 6:15 a.m., got prepped and headed to the starting line. Matt gave a quick pre-race briefing, which included a moment of silence for a fellow runner’s daughter who was tragically killed in a car accident last year. In addition to the moment of silence, purple bracelets were available for runners who wanted to run for Alyssa and her family. I was one of them.
Once the briefing wrapped up, it was time to get busy. The 55K runners were off at 7 a.m. sharp.
Map of the 55K courseElevation profile for the 55K
The first loop took us out through the desert toward the much-anticipated Horseshoe Bend and Waterholes slot canyon. The first thing I said after taking off was “wow, the scenery out here is going to be amazing,” followed abruptly a few miles later by “wow, this sand is going to make for an incredibly hard run.”
It most certainly did.
Trudging through the sand early on
Since I’m making a more concerted effort to not waste too much time at aid stations this year, I went straight through Horseshoe Bend aid (mile 5) and continued on toward the river.
Me at Horseshoe BendAbsolutely amazing
Standing over Horseshoe Bend was one of the most surreal moments I’ve ever experienced. Billed as one of the most photographed land features in the country, I definitely added to the picture count by snapping 20-30 pictures on my iPhone.
Once I picked up my jaw from the ground, I continued on my way.
One thing that quickly became apparent was the fact that you’d be running on a wide variety of terrain. Running on the slickrock overlooking the river was an awesome experience – but one where I had to stay pretty aware of where my feet were landing so not to injure myself.
Careful!
All went well and I hit Waterholes Aid with no issues before dropping into Waterholes slot canyon.
Runners were pretty spread out by this point, which allowed me to experience Waterholes slot canyon alone. It was an awesome experience. I’d like to try and capture it in words, but I think pictures tell the story better:
Entrance to WaterholesSomewhere in the middleContinuing on throughLadders to get out
Once out of Waterholes it was some fire road, followed by a quick pass back through Horseshoe Bend aid, before heading back toward the staging area. The first “loop” was about 23-ish miles.
The 55K finished up with a lap on the Page Rim Trail, a 10-mile loop of scenic singletrack that encircles the city of Page and gives runners amazing views of Lake Powell and the surrounding area.
Awesome views from the trail
I crossed the finish line in 8:26, somewhere in the middle of the pack. I was definitely happy with the effort and think that I’m improving each and every day.
Finishers’ awards for the 55K were handcrafted pieces of pottery that were each unique – and way cooler than a medal (in my opinion). I also really liked how you got to pick your own award based on which one spoke to you the most.
Awesome finisher awards
But I was given so much more than a finisher’s award. Antelope Canyon gave me the opportunity to run through some of the most memorable and breathtaking scenery in the country, and to do it in support of a fellow runner who had experienced a significant loss. Thinking of him and his family throughout the day really put life into perspective for me.
It should be noted that the runner who lost his daughter committed to running the Antelope Canyon 100-mile race in her memory. It was his first 100-miler. He finished strong and I’m sure his daughter is incredibly proud.
I know I am.
—POST-RACE THOUGHTS—
A week has passed since the race, and I’m still replaying a lot of it in my mind. I’ve also had some time to think more about the event and here’s what I came up with:
I loved that Antelope Canyon was not only a race, but an adventure. Using ladders to get in and out of slot canyons, bushwhacking to get to The Cable Trail, running on slickrock overlooking the Colorado River – all of these things added so much to the experience.
I’m becoming more and more interested in destination races that offer an opportunity to run through scenic areas.
The event was incredibly well-supported, well-marked, and lived up to what it said it would offer on the website.
It’s important that we take care of the areas where we run. I really admire Ultra Adventures for living up to their commitment of hosting a zero-waste event.
Never … EVER … judge a race by its elevation profile. Running through sand for extended periods of time is really, really hard! Not to mention scurrying across slickrock and climbing up and down ladders.
My experience at Antelope Canyon confirmed one thing: I need to run more of these events to see more of the The Grand Circle. But I won’t have to wait too long; I’ve got two more UA races on my calendar, Monument Valley and Zion.
Zion will be my second attempt at the 100-mile distance … and I can’t wait.
Take care,
Greg
This was my first race as part of the Ultra Adventures ambassador team. For more information on Ultra Adventures races please visit their website. You’ll be glad you did!
Hi there, We apologize for being so absent since the first of the year; January and February have been a blur for both of us. Wedding planning + an insane work schedule has left us both feeling pretty drained. But we’ve still been active!
The highlight of last month for us was running the Third Annual San Diego 50 and Trail Marathon through the San Dieguito River Park. G ran the 50-mile distance there last year (his first 50-miler), and was excited to see how much a year’s worth of training would pay off. C decided to take on her first trail marathon distance this year, and then find G at the Mile 40 aid station to cheer him on for the remainder of his race. Perfect plan!
We decided to carpool out to the start/finish line, and picked up our friend J on the way (he was running the 50-miler with G). After checking in and labeling their drop bags for the Mile 20/30 aid station, G and J took off at 6:30 a.m. for their race. That left me with an hour to pin on my bib, eat a bit more and psych myself up. I had never run the course before, so I had no clue what to expect other than quite the climb at Mile 5-6.
The marathon group took off at 7:30 a.m., and honestly the first 4.5 miles were lovely. It was a partly cloudy and in the mid-40s temperature wise, which is my ideal race start weather. We wound our way around the edges of several farms and began to make our way to the start of the climb up Raptor Ridge. While the climb up Raptor Ridge was strenuous, I enjoyed the challenge and kept pushing until I was able to fly down the backside to the Mile 5.7 aid station.
The view as I was climbing Raptor Ridge.
Raptor Ridge to Sunset Park (5.7 – 10)
I’ll be honest and say that this stretch of the course got a little boring for me, but I contribute that being so spread out from other runners (very common in trail races, but very new for me) and not having headphones to listen to music. I did, however, see a fox cross the path around Mile 7 and that helped to break up this portion of the race. It also started to get warm as the clouds went away; I kept telling myself that G was out there running twice the distance I was. Basically, suck it up, buttercup. At the Sunset Park aid station I ate a few potato chips, had some soda, and a handful of pretzels, and got back on course.
Sunset Park to the Marina turnaround (10 – 13.1)
Things got a little more scenic once we crossed under Interstate 15 and began to run along the trail overlooking Lake Hodges. The mid-section of this part was fairly rocky and I was so glad G had encouraged me to wear my Hokas for more cushioning. I hit the turnaround in 2:52 and really felt strong despite the direct heat from the sun. I ate a couple of vanilla wafers with Nutella, pretzels, and a quarter of an orange. I refilled my hydration pack with water and started back toward the finish.
Marina turnaround to Sunset Park (13.1 – 16.2)
I ran most of this section with a nice gal in her mid-20s. It was her first trail marathon, too, and we talked about significant others, our dogs, and how hungry we were. Overall, it was good part of the course with the views of Lake Hodges and knowing that the next aid station wasn’t too far away. Once there, I ate half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, drank some soda, and took off toward the base of Raptor Ridge (did I mention we have to go back over it?).
Sunset Park – Raptor Ridge (16.2 – 20.5)
I was kind of dreading this portion again (because I felt so lonely the first time around). A few women on horseback passed me and offered to just take me on to the finish with them. It was definitely tempting, but I just kept running. This was, by far, the hottest part of the course and I noticed my fingers were starting the swell. I knew from crewing G that when that happens that means there is an electrolyte imbalance, but I couldn’t remember in which direction: did I need more salt or more water? I rolled into the aid station and was happy to see our friend T volunteering. I asked him about my swollen fingers and he gave me 2 salt tabs and said I should be fine with less than 6 miles left.
Raptor Ridge – Finish (20.5 – 26.2)
My first time over Raptor Ridge was challenging, but fun. I was humbled by the second trip over it. The backside is a very steep single-track trail to the top, whereas the front side had been wider with a more gradual gain. About halfway up, the guy who would be named the winner of the 50-miler passed me. You guys, he was moving and running the entire way. I was in more of a power hike mode at this point, and had no intention of trying to catch up with him. Running back down Raptor Ridge was actually a lot of fun, and then I made my way back around the edges of the farms and crossed the finish line in 6:36.
C coming into the finish at the end of the trail marathon.
G’s second running of the 50-mile race
What can I say? I love this race! Over the past year it has become a staple in my training. It’s scenic, close, and provides a little bit of everything in terms of terrain.
That said I hadn’t been able to train regularly on the course for quite some time. Ever since fall of last year, I’d been dealing with a foot injury that completely derailed the latter half of 2014 for me.
However, starting in late November, I slowlystarted putting in miles again – which included a nice and easy run at CIM Marathon, several back to back long runs, and weekly mileage that climbed its way back into the mid 30’s. While I wasn’t in peak shape – I was definitely getting back on track, albeit slowly.
The goal for the SD50 was to improve over last year’s SD50 race and use it as a benchmark of where I was at physically/mentally going into the 2015 race season.
I’ll spare you the turn by turn details (see last year’s post), but know that once again the course was beautiful, well-marked and well-supported. In fact, this year’s race was even more enjoyable for me than last year’s because I was able to run with so many friends I’d met over the last year at various San Diego races.
C was able to double back to cheer G on at the 40-mile aid station.
I finished the race in 11:35 – a 1 hour and 21 minute PR for me at the 50-mile distance. Though my pre-race mileage wasn’t where I wanted it to be, I attribute the strong finish to three things:
Being on top of hydration & fueling (this was where I crumbled last year)
Consistent pacing throughout the entire race
Course familiarity (I run this area a lot)
The race was a good one for me. My best ultra so far, actually, and was a real confidence booster looking toward what’s coming up in 2015.
The thing I loved most about this run was that it provided me an opportunity to reflect on how much I’d learned about the sport – and myself – over the last year, and how big a part of my life trail running has become.
Since the SD50 I’ve been quietly ramping up my mileage, incorporating new workouts, and refining my approach to nutrition and hydration – both while running, and in day-to-day life.
G’s best 50-mile finish: a 1 hour and 21 minute PR!
It’s been more than three weeks since my first DNF at mile 64 of the San Diego 100-Mile Endurance Run. In that time I’ve replayed the race a hundred times in my head, analyzed the highs and lows, and have come to the following conclusion: I needed that. But I’ll explain what I mean by that later. Here’s the recap:
C and I picked up my buddy Mark—who was also running—and headed out to the pre-race meeting at Lake Cuyamaca. Once we got out there I saw several other people whom I had trained with and had the chance to chat and check in with them all. Race Director Scott Mills gave a great pre-race briefing, and then it was off to our hotel for the night in Julian.
The pre-race briefing
I slept surprisingly well and was up by 3:45 a.m. getting ready and at the start line by 5. The next hour was the worst. I just wanted to start running!
At 6 am sharp, I got my wish and 222 runners took off from the start.
Lake Cuyamaca – Paso Picacho 1 (0 – 6.8)
The first section had about 1,300’ of gain so I took it easy, settled in and climbed. My strategy for the day would be simple: walk the ups, jog the flats, and run the downs.
Paso Picacho 1 – Chambers 1 (6.8 – 12.5)
After a brief pitstop, it was time to head up and over Stonewall Peak. By now, runners had spread out a bit more, which was nice. Before I knew it, I was up and over Stonewall and running through the fields nearby, still feeling great.
View from the stop of Stonewall Peak
Chambers 1 – Pedro Fages (12.5 – 18.5)
I checked in and out of Chambers in less than 5 minutes and continued on my way. Not a lot to report on this section other than some beautiful singletrack.
Heading into Anza Borrego
Pedro Fages – Sunrise 1 (18.5 – 23.2)
I got into Pedro Fages and was ahead of the cutoffs by and hour. I was feeling good and was managing my nutrition and hydration pretty well, too. The next stretch left the runners pretty exposed, and as the day wore on, it quickly became apparent that the “heat” was wearing runners down.
I say “heat” because, while it didn’t necessarily feel hot out there, there was nothing protecting the runners from that sun! Staying on top of electrolytes and hydration became paramount. Before I knew it I was rolling into the Sunrise 1 and was incredibly excited to see Christina there (Sunrise was the first spot for crew access).
Coming into Sunrise 1
Sunrise 1 – Pioneer Mail 1 (23.2 – 30.4)
After talking with C and Jessica (my buddy Mark’s girlfriend), I was out of there and back on my way. Oh, and the views got better, too.
Great view from the Laguna Mountains
Pioneer Mail 1—Penny Pines 1 (30.4 – 34.4)
Felt great here and actually started getting some time in the bank, which felt great.
Penny Pines 1 – Todd’s Cabin (34.4 – 39.6)
Nothing much to report here.
Todd’s Cabin – Red Tail Roost (39.6 – 44.7)
I had run this area on several training runs (as well as during the PCT 50), so knowing what was just ahead was helpful. I’d caught up to several other runners I’d trained with in the months prior and we ran it in towards Red Tail Roost.
The last photo before my phone died
Red Tail Roost – Meadows (44.7 – 51.1)
As I came into Red Tail Roost, I was still feeling good – but was hungry. I knew I’d been on the move all day (in and out of aid stations in less than 5-7 minutes) and hadn’t rested much at all, due to skirting some of the cutoffs. I decided to sit, and have some real food before heading out and picking up my pacer at Meadows.
Boy, things did NOT work out like that.
I left Red Tail Roost feeling good, but didn’t get more than a half-mile out when I got an unbelievably intense sharp pain in the bottom of my forefoot. Sharp enough to stop me in my tracks. Now, I’ve had blisters, and “sore” feet, but this was unlike anything I’d ever felt.
I stopped and started walking, noticing that if I kept my weight off my forefoot I could at least keep moving. So, move along I did … all the way into Meadows, but my running had been replaced with a slow walk.
Meadows – Penny Pines 2 (51.1 – 56.3)
It was dark by now, and the last section had cost me dearly in regards to time. I was back to less than an hour to hit the cutoffs. Not a place I wanted to be with a bum foot.
I picked up my pacer, Paul, who was gracious enough to offer to pace me on my first 100. At this point I felt like I owed it to him to keep going. He had been out there for a few hours and I wanted to desperately believe that this pain would subside and I’d be able to keep going. I modified my stride and incorporated a walk/run and somehow managed to get to Penny Pines 2.
Penny Pines 2 – Pine Creek (56.3 – 64)
We got to Penny Pines 2, and Paul could tell that I was hurting pretty bad. I’d dropped pretty far behind him and couldn’t shuffle along for much more than 20-30 yards without having to stop.
To say I was thinking clearly at this point is probably inaccurate, but aside from the physical pain, I was mentally and nutritionally still very much in this race and wanted to believe that I could keep going. I left Penny Pines with Paul and was still somehow managing to make forward progress, even though we were predominately walking by this point.
Then, it happened. My foot literally “gave out” and I couldn’t put any more pressure on it. Zero. And I knew right there … I’d be getting my first DNF in the San Diego 100.
After a brief mini blow up of emotions—frustration, anger, sadness, etc.—I pulled myself together and slowly (read: very, very, VERY slowly & with the help of Paul) made it to the next aid station, where I turned in my bib (I’d missed the cut off by 20 minutes).
My first attempt at 100-miler would end at Mile 64, Pine Creek, after 19 ½ hours on my feet.
-3 Weeks Later-
If my recap seems a bit blurry compared to ones in the past it’s because it is. The past three weeks have been full of me replaying the race in my head, asking myself tons of questions about what I could have done differently, and self-diagnosing myself through research. At first I was determined to find out what went wrong.
Was I undertrained?
Had I not tapered properly?
Was running in minimalist-style shoes a bad idea for me?
Did running the PCT 50 just four weeks prior set me up for an overuse injury?
The questions went on and on, which is one of the reasons it took so long for me to write this post.
After three weeks, and a lot of questions, I believe I have the answer and–regardless of what happened out there—my reasoning for not finishing was much simpler than I wanted to believe.
It just simply wasn’t my day.
Once I was able to accept that, I was able to move on and begin again. Which is exactly what I did yesterday, as I went out on my first run since the race. Time to start looking forward and stop dwelling on the past. That’s what it’s all about, right? Relentless Forward Progress.
Life Through the Miles 