Ultrarunning ER Doc

My 2011 Running Stats

2011-12-31T22:12:00.000-08:00

I only recently realized you can easily calculate your totals on the Garmin Connect website. I don't expect many people other than myself to find this interesting, but since it appears I have some down time before the fan might get hit (hopefully it will get hit only AFTER I'm home), I figured I'd do some number crunching and show you that this blog, though neglected, has not been completely abandoned.

My yearly totals:

Count:	251 Activities
Distance:	3,525.90 mi
Time:	693:29:13 h:m:s
Elevation Gain:	580,929 ft

The "251 Activities" is fairly arbitrary-- if I run to work and then run back from BART 10 hours later, I will typically record that as one activity rather than two. So the the only thing certain is that, on average, I don't run more than 5 days per week.

Regarding distance, I probably need to add up to 100-200 miles for really short runs when I wasn't wearing my Forerunner, or during races when I lost reception or the unit ran out of battery power.

Training Runs Over 26 Miles: 13
Training Runs Over 5 Hours: 18

Trips (About 1 Week Each) Offering Really Awesome and Beautiful Trails on Which to Run: 4

Races

Total: 13
100-milers: 6
100-kilometers: 0
50-milers: 1
60-kilometers: 1
50 kilometers: 5 *
* = includes 1 organized Fat-Ass Run
DNFs: 0
Number of ConsecutiveYears Racing without DNFing: 8

Lifetime Ultra Races Finished: Somewhere Between 105 and 115, depending on how you count, so I probably surpassed 100 this past year.

Races from This Year I Haven't Blog-Recapped Yet: 5
Estimated Months It Will Take Me to Catch Up with the Blogging: 15

For those who bothered to read this far: Happy New Year! Peace and Joy and Great Running to You.

Midwestern States, Part 3: My Kettle Moraine 100 Mile #3 and 2011 100 Mile Goof #3

2011-10-12T18:48:00.000-07:00

This year's Kettle (the first weekend of June) was my third running of this race. The first was my 2007 epic win over Joe Kulak, which inspired me to start this unsustainable blogging habit. The second stab was in 2008, when brutal midday heat gave way to lightning, torrential downpours, and nearby tornadoes.

This was also my third 100-mile race this year, after HURT in January and Antelope Island Buffalo Run in March. I finished those races much more slowly than anticipated. Two outs, need a hit.

I had a lot of time to get to the race and prepare, so pre-race should have been glitch-free, except
I couldn't find my driver's license 2 hours before my flight. I needed it to rent the car to drive the 2 hours from the West Chicago suburbs to the race. As it turned out, I had left it in the glove compartment of the car I drove to drop off my family at the airport 5 days earlier, while I ran before working a couple of long overnight shifts. I also managed to nuke the entry on my calendar with my hotel reservation information, but eventually figured it out.

It was already hot, lower 90's even as late as 6 pm. And remember those of you from drier western climates-- the humidity makes the effective temperature much higher. I tried to last-minute acclimate to the heat and humidity on the drive up by keeping the windows up without any AC or even the vent, but it was unbearable and probably dangerous. I had to keep the windows opened a crack.

For the last few miles (20 minutes) though I deliberately green-housed. Stopped at an intersection, clothes soaked with sweat, I tried to capture my the beads of perspiration on my face and general malaise with this self portrait. (No make-up artist with a spray bottle was used.)

I felt better getting out of the car and seeing the cheery race directors at packet pickup. Thanks for putting on another great race!

Jason Dorgan, Tim (Timo) Yanacheck, Anne Heaslett

Timo told me I was originally going to get bib #1, but the 2009 course winner and record holder (set that year in ideal weather), Zach Gingerich, had signed up two days earlier.

I woke up before 3 a.m. (1 a.m. Pacific time) and try as I did, I could no get back to sleep. I nontheless insisted on staying in bed until my alarms went off at 5:20, resulting in my usual late arrival.

One minute before the race started, co-RD Timo instructed us runners to make sure we go over the timing mat at the start. I think this is probably the first 100-mile race I've run using chip timing-- and totally off my radar. I ran over to the table with the timing straps and frantically put it around my right ankle about 20 seconds before the race started.

by Jay Smithberger

From yesterday I knew it was going to be hot and muggy, (the same day a young man apparently collapsed and died at the Chicago Half-Marathon relatively nearby), and remembering my mid-race malaise last time, decided to go out slower, and NOT 7:30 minute miles like in years past.

by Jay Smithberger

I ran and talked some with a Harry Harcrow from Colorado.

lifted from the web. funny, I don't remember him looking like this.

I thought he was breathing too hard so early in a 100 miler, and concluded he didn't know what he was doing, but later decided I was wrong.

entering Emma Carlin (mile 15.5) photo by Billy Thom

Entering the prairies, I turned on one of my iPods and listened to two podcasts of This American Life. I figured this would help me keep my mind off the never-ending prairie and the rising heat, but one of them was about some guy who had been molested as a child and how he plotted to seek revenge on the perpetrator-- interesting, but not quite uplifting.

at Scuppernong turnaround (mile 31+), photo by Billy Thom

BEGINNING OF THE END

At mile 41, near the beginning of the uncovered prairie section, which you would think is untechnical, I tripped over a bump or rut in the trail, and fell forward. My bottle took the first impact, but in the fall, I managed to strain my neck (mostly the back and right), both rear shoulder, right quadriceps and left hamstring. Nothing too bad-- definitely nothing fractured or snapped, but I had a bad feeling. A fall like that causing pain and tightness in so many places can haunt and taunt you later. I had good reason to worry.

A few miles later, my right rear armpit started chafing. I had taken care to lube my crotch every 10-15 miles, but neglected my armpits, which probably only give me trouble in hot, humid weather. I abducted my shoulder to prevent further friction, but about half an hour later, my right deltoid went into painful spasm.

I took a while to figure out what to do with my arm to relax it enough to let the pain subside, but I found (and would continue to find) that any position to relieve one pain would trigger or exacerbate another pain. It turned into a zero-sum game, and a game I was losing.

At the Scuppernong turnaround (mile 31) where I arrived in about 4:57 in 2nd place, there had been several runners coming in only a few minutes after I left, so I was sure that several would catch me, after my fall on the way back. But apparently most of them were having a tough time, since only one passed me-- Harry, whom I had underestimated and felt bad about writing him off when each of two times he passed me. I asked him how he felt, and he either said "terrible" or "like shit." But he was running faster than I.

I didn't know it at the time, but Harry apparently dropped at Nordic (mile 62), so I was in 2nd place. However, I continued to having to work out numerous cramps and pains that kept popping out in my body. I would run several hundred yards with one arm over my head or behind my back, until that position threatened to cause a new pain.

photos by Cathy Drexler

great aid stations at Kettle-- olives if you want them!

I turned on my light right before Highway 12 aid station (mile 77). The first year I ran this I turned on the lamp AFTER the aid station going other way (8 miles farther).

The 4 mile trail to the Rice Lake turnaround is probably the most technical of the course. I had been still trying to run flatter, less technical sections, but soon after leaving Highway 12, my toe kicked a root, I feel lurched forward and my chest and shoulder muscles went into a really bad spasm, probably the worst and largest of the day. I tried to walk it off, but with my mechanics off, my balance was affected and I felt like continuing would cause my calves to spasm on the climb. I had to stop and rest against a tree for a couple minutes, pursing my lips as I forcibly exhaled to try to ease the pain.

I decided that besides continuing to grow more painful and less efficient, running was too dangerous to attempt.

Even power walking posed risks, such as straining a leg muscle (both posterior and anterior compartments), especially while ascending and descending stairs or other steeper sections of trail. The risks weren't imagined-- I had several more painful, close calls.

You should all know me well enough-- though many a runner might decide to quit here, I didn't fell quitting was an option. Besides, if it was flat and untechnical, I could manage a slow jog.

Lots of runners were passing me, but most were in the relay or the 38 mile fun run which started at 8 pm. Realizing that my pace was going to be slow, I gave up first on the sub 17 and then the sub-18 goal, and just made aimed to win an age-group award. So after turning around at Rice Lake aid station (mile 81), I asked everyone coming the other way or from behind which race they were in, and if they were in the 100 mile race, how old they were. I had no problem getting "granped" by someone over 50 (Paul Schoenlaub, 51, who would finished 2nd overall), but just couldn't let anyone 40-49 pass me. This was an imperfect research method, as people wear headphones or have no idea what I'm asking.

At Tamarack aid station (mile 92), 38-mile Fun Run participant Dominic Guinta caught up with me. This was his last long training run before his second Western States (Dom has been extra lucky with the lottery-- some of us who have been running 100 milers years longer have yet to get in...) Figuring that no awards were being given for placing in the Fun Run, he offered to pace me in, and got me running again. Thanks again, Dom!

Only 46 finishers out of 131 registered runners and not sure how many starters. Tough day (and night)! More than hours over my personal best 4 years ago, but everyone was hurting. The winner, elite runner Zach Gingerich, finished similarly-- 19 1/2 hours, more than 4 hours over his personal best and course record set two years ago. I asked him how he felt when I ran into him headed the opposite way at one point, and I think he said what I think Harry said and what I probably said a bunch of times.

Zach Gingrich setting the course record at Umstead 100 mile in 2010. unsure of who took this photo

Still, despite nabbing that age-group award and everyone else running relatively slow, the early face plant and subsequent problems constitutes a significant failure to accomplish my original goal. Though an out that was well worth it.

I'm not complaining.

Thanks again to all the volunteers-- who got me in and out quickly when I was doing well, and who attended to my needs later. (I couldn't bend over or squat to pick up and open my drop boxes once the cramping started.)

Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded maps (missing a few miles) of my run:
miles 0-31
miles 31-70
miles 70-100

results

race website

My previous KM 100 Race Reports:
recap of 2007 KM100: "My First Ultra Win Ever"
recap of 2008 KM100: "Sweltering, Scared, but Spared-- Surviving the Kettle Moraine 100 Mile Run from Hell (and My First Title Loss Ever)"

"Midwestern States pseudo-series"

part 1: McNaughton 150 mile, April 2009
part 2: Mohican 100 mile, June 2010

Firetrails 50 #5: The Deceleration Continues

2011-10-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

Had it continued to rain Thursday and Friday, the firetrails in Tilden, before and after the turnaround for this year's Firetrails 50 Mile would have sucked-- thick, clumpy mud adding several pounds to each foot. Luckily the rain we had Monday through Wednesday just softened the trails. I would have done well with any of my Sportivas, but went with my Wildcats. Rowr.

Unlike the three 100 mile races during the summer (reports I have yet to finish), nothing too bad or crazy happened this race. Did not kill myself trying to talk or run with anyone too fast. I was by my count 16th at the turnaround, but had moved up 8 places the next three splits to Skyline aid station (~mile 37). Was feeling slightly bad-ass about this, though I suspected those 8 people were just hurting more than I. Soon I stiffened up enough that 4 people passed me before the end, losing my top-10 spot, and as I later found out, prize schwag I would've nabbed for coming 3rd in the 40-49 male division.

Leapfrogged several times with Quicksilver teammate Pierre-Yves Couteau,

who yet another time this year (lost count), finished before me.

To my credit, I did look back while on the pavement 1.5 miles from the finish and saw someone I recognized as a 50 miler gaining on me (the Golden Hills Marathoners were mixed in with us on most of the return). I managed enough of a kick to hold him off with just 11 seconds to spare for the prestigious 12th place overall, rather than 13th, which is unlucky unless you are into baking.

No photo of the above end-of-race kick.

Instead a photo of me being chased by a blue balloon, which at least matches my shirt and gaiters,

into Bort Meadow Aid station (mile 44).

photo by Baldwyn Chieh

Normally about 2 km after Bort, we get on a winding single track, Cascade Trail, but this year the East Bay Park District had decided it was too storm damaged, so the course rerouted on the fireroads above it, adding an uphill and a small amount of distance, but making the name of this race, "Firetrails 50" more true to its name by about 1.5 miles. (map of Chabot) I had actually offered the RDs to trim the poison oak and other growth on Cascade Trail on Monday, but our fire alarms started beeping in the middle of the night, which required shlepping ladders from the garage up two flights of stairs and a lot of precarious reaching. So I had to sleep in a little before heading to work, and defer on the trail trimming. This was the beginning of a busy, sleep-deprived work week, further lowering my already low expectations. At least I didn't snip a bunch of trail foliage that we ended up not running through.

I've also decided that if running this race at the age of 60 in 9 1/2 hours is not a wimpy feat, I can slow down about 6 minutes every year and not be considered to have wimpy feet. In which case, I am about on target, given my personal course best of 7:24 at the age of 40 (2007 race report: Halloween Horrors) and 7:43 last year (2010 race report: Bodily Fluids).

The only glitch in my schedule of age-deceleration comes from older Quicksilver teammate, Jean Pommier, who seems to get faster as he approaches age 50, and who came virtually tied for 2nd just above 7 hours, killing his own PR. This is so wrong! Just for that, I am leaving him out of the next section and not including any pictures of him, even knowing that he stuck a picture that included me in his report. (I anticipate some public opprobrium for this rudeness.) Here is his race report, which actually gives you a better description the event, and which despite flying out to Dubai Sunday evening, he managed to crank out the day before mine.

Top Finishers

I usually don't write about top finishers, since this tends to get beaten to death in UltraRunning and other race recaps, sometimes by the top finishers themselves. But for a change I'm going to put out this report BEFORE, and not MONTHS OR YEARS AFTER UltraRunning comes out.

Dave Mackey won his 3rd Firetrails (set the record last year) and his 5th race all year. This win was preceded this year by Bandera 100k (course record), American River 50 mile, Miwok 100k (not the course record but in 2008 he got that with the only sub-8 time ever), and Waldo 100k (course record). All at the age of 41 and while working on his degree as a physicians assistant (PA). I'm guessing he ran Firetrails at a pace I that maybe I could hold for a 10 km trail run. Here I am trying unsuccessfully to look cool and fast next to him.

I would've gotten more of the scoop on his run, his year and his family (his wife showed up at the finish with their young kids), but my not-as-young boys had already grown impatient with my incessant small talk.

The portable fences set up as the finish chute make great makeshift soccer goals.

Luckily a size 3 ball won't fit through the space at the bottom.

Speaking of soccer, my older son's assistant coach Ben Maxwell, finished his first 50 miler, in a solid mid-pack 10 hour finish. Way to go, Ben! And thanks for helping teach him real soccer.

Despite a lot of female talent and a lack of such on my end, I managed not get chicked this race.

Top 3 women, left to right:

1st: Roxanne Woodhouse. I ran a little with her at the start-- she goes out hard. She possibly would have chicked me, but she got lost at a poorly marked road crossing at a complex intersection on the return (I even started heading the wrong way, but caught myself. RD's please take note.) 48 years old, whoa!

2nd: Jen Benna. Ran with her at Tahoe Rim Trail 100 mile in July before she put a few minutes (well, actually, a few hours) on me. (her TRT report) Her baby recently turned 1. She didn't mention bringing her breast pump to this race. More details on this if and when I finish my TRT report. Her husband's Western States documentary coming out soon.

3rd: Bree Lambert. I think she might have been a little disappointed with finish, but she also got off-track and in any case, still top 3. We are so lucky to have her on our Quicksilver Ultra Running Team.

Speaking of our Quicksilver Team, we may have clinched all divisions of the PAUSATF Ultra Grand Prix competition. I think I remember from years past when I won the individual Open (30-39) Men's Division, that the winning teams get a paperweight or something similarly amazing and valuable. Undoubtedly we will give this to our Great Leader, Coach Greg Lanctot, who gave me a Guinness from his cooler.

The fairly steep rise in the race fees under the new management (Norcal Ultras) raised a few eyebrows this year, but at least everyone's family can eat for free. My kids claimed to have only eaten 3 Smores each.

Diane Forrest, post-race picnic volunteer in crime with my kids

Plus the race schwag was pretty good, this from someone with already enough shirts and jackets. Patagonia x2 and Moeben. Plus a nice volunteer gave my visible kids a couple of Puffins cereal backpacks. Thank all you awesome volunteers!

Stand on your head if this bothers you.

(I don't have time to figure out how to invert it.)

race results

race website

Garmin Forerunner recording of my run

race photos by Baldwyn Chieh

my post-race picnic photos

(Mid) Western States, Part 2: How I Was Screwed Thrice Out of Winning the 2009 Mohican 100 Mile Trail Run

2011-06-03T11:04:00.000-07:00

Maybe it took me two years to finish this full report because I was so pissed off about the race. (link to my short preliminary report published soon after) Three times I was screwed at the Mohican 100 Mile Trail Run, the weekend of June 20-21, 2009. I *suspect* it might have had something to do with course markings. Course markings that weren't there when I needed them.

Choosing and Getting There

We hadn't been to my parents in southwest Ohio for four years. So I decided to go that summer, timing the trip for the 20th anniversary of the Mohican 100. As a result, no Kettle Moraine that year (with optimal weather conditions), since it was only two weeks prior. We went to my in-laws' near Chicago instead in April where I ran McNaughton 150 (Mid-Western States part 1).

The first 16 days of June, I worked 155 hours. I was ready for a vacation, though I knew the relaxing part would have to wait until after the weekend.

Since Mohican was a week before Western States, I knew it would lack a thick super-fast elite field. Three weeks after Ohlone 50k and six after Quicksilver 50 mile, it was probably the only 100 mile race that year for which I would be properly trained and tapered (especially since McNaughton beat me up). I didn't have time to try to research everyone on the registered runner list, but I figured I had a decent chance of placing well, and possibly winning. And no matter what, I'd have fun!

My drive from Cincinnati took about 4 hours, as I three 15 minutes stops to stretch out my low back. I arrived to the campground feeling the heat and humidity to which I was not totally unaccustomed, despite spending the previous day around my parents' wearing a hooded sweatshirt and my high school letter jacket. I would have gotten better heat training running in this gig, but I had to taper!

I set up my dad's portable tent

(my tent's actually behind this statue)

prepared my drop bags, and then went to eat dinner and hang under the large roofed shelter.

The weather forecast changed daily since it first appeared on the 10-day extended weather.com forecast. In the end, it was scattered thunderstorms. After the two lightning storms at Kettle Moraine the year before, I wasn't particularly happy about this. Before the pre-race meeting, a sudden extremely heavy downpour came. When it was over maybe 15 minutes later, I went to find I hadn't closed the lid of one of my small bins I was using as a drop-bag crate, and dumped a large amount of water out.

Little did I realize that that single downpour would add well over 1 - 1.5 hours to my time and end my quest to win even before it began. But I'm not going to blame it on the rain gods.

With earplugs was able to get to sleep around 10 p.m., but woke up at 2 a.m., perhaps from eating too much pasta. After using the bathroom, I was unable to get back to sleep. So at the start I had been up since 11 p.m., Pacific Time.

START

The start was delayed several minutes, since not everyone had signed the sheet to check in. OK with me because I was waiting for my Garmin Forerunner to pick up the satellite signals (which it doesn't do for more than half an hour into the race). The race start was 5 a.m. Eastern Time, which was 2 a.m. in the Pacific Time I came from. Ouch!

A guy with a long red beard darted ahead. ID'd as Stephen Godale, who won the race a few years ago in 18 hours. Except for him, I was running in front, then realized that at 5 am I couldn't see anything without a headlamp. So I let several other catch up to avoid tripping. A couple of guys doing the 50, and last year's 100 mile race winner Jay Smithberger.

I was impressed with how muggy it felt this early in the morning-- ugh. The rolling hills were bigger than I'd imagined, the scenic countryside appearing as it grew light. A few of us complained about pounding so much pavement though.

Without trying to, a few of us caught up with Steve, so I got the scoop from him. This would be his last 100 miler-- the distance takes too much out of him. He decided this 3 years ago. I asked him if he had decided this every year for the last three years. He explained he was holding out for his 1000 mile buckle.

mission accomplished, congrats, Stephen!

He also explained that he was going to go out hard, then crash around mile 40, and would probably finish around 26-28 hours. I calculated he was running a 16 hour pace, so didn't quite get his race strategy with predictable results. Eventually he pulled ahead of everyone, out of sight. I was not convinced he was going to take that long to finish.

Beth

The pack had spread out when I heard the voice of a woman coming from behind. She was running the 50 mile race, and leading not just the women, but the men. We ran with each other off and on for the next 30-something miles. This was only her 3rd ultra, her 1st 50 miler, and she had won both 50k races. Beth Woodward, born in Hong Kong, adopted, hence the non-Asian last name.

Beth on left, from an earlier, different race.

The first and last 10 miles of both races is road, the rest trail. I had considered following the suggestion of veterans to start in road shoes, switch to trail shoes at mile 10, then switch back to fresh road shoes for the end. I was glad I opted to start the race with my Sportiva Wildcats, as I was in no mood to take a minute to change shoes while fresh at mile 10.

The single track of the green section is lush, green, dank. Complete opposite of the dry brown of Northern California at this time of year. I thought I should've learned what poison ivy looks like-- there were lots of the leaves brushing against my limbs in leaves of three.

Beth was fairly timid on the downhills, so even clumsy me overtook her, and then she would hammer it uphill. Sometimes I would not pay attention to the trail, so twisted my ankle a couple times, but nothing major. A few thorn bushes that drew blood (or maybe that was later). We passed South Park aid station (mile 14.3) together. No salt, no Heed, just water, which I had to pour in from gallon containers. This sort of sucked, but this sort of thing happens a lot to front runners at races. The next time around it would be fully stocked.

By Fire Tower aid station (milw 18.6), I was REALLY worried about my lytes, so waited for a volunteer to find a salt shaker, and I poured out my estimate of 2 grams.

Covered Bridge is maybe the heart of the race, as 100 milers go through this five times during the race (miles 21, 25, 42.5, 63.5, 81). After hitting it the first time, we went out to do the purple loop, which traversed only once in both the 50 and 100 mile races. Beth had been ahead, but I ran into her running backwards. There were few markings on the trail and she had run into a large rock. I remember seeing a photo of runners climbing up a wall of roots, and found this immediately to the left. At the top, it was still ambiguous which way to go, but it seemed like we should go right. Just as I had helped orient Caitlin Smith at PCTR's Skyline to the Sea 50k two months earlier, I was helping another fast woman find her way.

Perhaps realizing that navigational help was worth a slightly slower pace, Beth slowed a bit to stay with me. To this day I'm pretty sure it wasn't because she thought I was cute or funny. We climbed further until he hit a road going over a dam. Because I had seen the trail returning from the left earlier, I figure we should head left. Where are those purple plates, we wondered? After climbing a bit, arrows pointed left back into the forest. I anticipated a technical downhill, but it was actually straighter and more gradual. Then, suddenly the trail T-boned into another trail.

No arrow. No plates. No ribbons.
No clue. No way!

Volunteer course marking head at pre-race meeting holding up a colored plastic or paper plate, the supplemental course marking to the arrows. How using plates to match the color used to name each section of the course helped us stay on the right trail was beyond me. Some of these plates were wasted on unambiguous places on the trail. Other confusing intersections lacked them. There were other markings of a different color on many trails. They didn't buy a whole lot of plates. Definitely not enough. I know you are volunteering your time and I appreciate that, but please can someone give me ribbon?

We deliberated a while, but using the same logic as before, I decided we should head left. We did this, and thought we could see some faint white arrows on the trail faded by the heavy rain Friday night.

We ran and ran and I started getting really nervous because the loop was only supposed to be 4 miles long-- already my Forerunner was reading 4.5 miles, though it had been under-measuring every split up to that point in the dense foliage. I remembered my Foreruner has a map function that if can zoom out to see where you've just run, and to my horror, I saw that we were basically running this convoluted route taking us back towards the road, rather than back to Covered Bridge.

Not about to retrace our steps (with no markings, we wouldn't know it even when we got back onto the right trail), I decided to bushwhack down a huge hill to the trail leading us back. Beth agreed this would minimize our being screwed over, so we went down. It was treacherous and slippery, and I wished again I knew what poison ivy looked like, but perhaps it didn't matter. We added at least a mile, but much of it rather technical and least 15 minutes and a lot of stress. --Screwed the first time.

Apparently, we would not be the only ones to get lost in a similar way, but even more apparently, we lost a lot more time than most people. For the next several miles starting the orange loop, we passed several people who got ahead of us during our long purple section diversion.

One guy though kept out of our reach, and we didn't catch up with him until after Hickory Ridge aid station (mile 30.4), maybe as he took off his shoe to get a rock out. The next 6.6 mile stretch was more downhill than up, so Beth let me get in front. Next thing I know, I was effectively pacing both the male and female leaders of the 50 mile race, and did so most of the way to the Grist Mill aid station (mile 37).

The aid station was off a main road, and getting to it requires running this weird flattened Z along the road. It was all uncovered; the sun beating down. I realized this is where the the 50 milers split off, so asked Beth how she's feeling. "Really tight."

My suspicion had been that she was underhydrated (she carried no bottle) and undernourished. Selfish me-- when we entered aid stations together I was too focused on getting my stuff done to watch her. I told her I thought she had gotten behind on her fluids and advised her to hydrate up. Although it would be cool to catch the lead male now a little bit ahead (Dale Holdaway), this was optional-- and probable would be impossible if she didn't fix her fluids.

A true pleasure to run with Beth that long-- a major talent who would the next year down three more records (she came in 2nd, just a few minutes behind, and set the new women's 50 mile record). One of the perks of running at my sub-elite men's level.

After Finishing My Pacing Stint, I Get Screwed a Second Time

The trail exited the station in the same back and forth section, so I got a sense of how many people were following close behind. Closest was Jay, only a minute or two back, and then a few others.

The last section of the orange loop went along the river back to the Covered Bridge, but not having memorized the map, I didn't know this. After an orange plate pointed into the forest, there were no course markings, except these white rectangles on trees not associated with the race. Since this was supposed to be the "orange loop" I was very nervous the whole time and stopped at several junctures to think about which way to go. I passed a couple hiking and ask if the Covered Bridge was up ahead and they told me yes, but "it's far-- several miles." I minorly freaked out, since my Forerunner suggested I should be there in about one mile, not several. But I was not motivated to turnaround and head back.

The trail emerged onto a road with campsites on the side. I saw a string of white arrows close together on the road, leading me to a grassy island on the right. Then they stopped. Huh? I guess I'd been so deprived of course markings, I was too eager to follow them to nowhere. Okay, now what?

"Straight ahead" shouted Jay Smithberger coming from behind, laughing, and so I caught up with him. He didn't know what those arrows were either, but they weren't course markings. We eventually came to the river crossing, under the Covered Bridge (mile 42.3), and I bounded across, drenching my feet for the first time since the river crossing at the beginning of the green section.

I assumed that Jay sped off ahead of me, which is fine. Next aid station, Bridle Staging Area (mile 45.0) came soon.

Bridle Staging Area aide station; photo by Robert Smithberger

The next split is 7.2 miles, the longest of the course. I had stashed an extra bottle in my drop bag at Bridle, but decided just to hydrate well and hope for smooth sailing. There were 3 river crossings. The first was at about 1.3 miles, the second about 4.5, and I forget to take note of the third, perhaps because it was the deepest, and like at McNaughton, up to my knees.

3rd river crossing. photo courtesy Kim Rapp

Felt good, but I was feeling pressure on my big toes from all the water.

The trail lacked consistently clear course markings (where were the ribbons?!), but despite several points of ambiguity, somehow I continued to progress on course. Finally I crested a small hill, turned right and gradually descended to a gate where the trail T-boned onto a paved road.

No arrow. No plate.

???

No clue.

!!!

Screw you number two.

I walked on to the road and ran up and down a bit, looking for some sort of marking, but found none. Phuck! Any hope of catching Jay soon disappeared. I decided that the safest bet was to head back from where I came. I ran about half a mile only to run into....Jay. Guess he hadn't left Covered Bridge before me. An ironic way to catch up to him.

I was disheartened, but at least I could talk with Jay, who knew the course. My hunch that my failure to find any course markings at the turn was not because I was stupid was validated by Jay who laughingly asked me how I could have missed such a well marked turn (friendly sarcasm). We ran together to Rock Point (mile 50.2). My blisters were starting to hurt, so I make the decision to take the extra time to take care of my feet.

This included changing into my Sportiva Ultranord GTX (you can still click to see what they look like, but they've been discontinued, and I like the Wildcat GTX they now have much better). The Ultranords included a gaiters but not in the elegant attached way the Crossover GTXs do. The Ultranords are heavier than my Wildcats, but I figured that keeping my feet dry and protected needed to be new priorities. The other equipment maneuver was to turn off my Forerunner--the battery only lasts about 10 hours and I wanted to save it for the last 10 miles to the finish, especially since I hadn't been able to record the first 4-5 miles.

Although my feet felt good as I headed out, the rest of me was not. It had grown really hot, and I was a little nauseated. I couldn't run the uphills anymore. As I floundered, I suddenly heard a voice behind me, and saw a bearded runner, who I mistook intially for Steve. He introduced himself by his last name, Mongold, rather than his first name, Bradley.

This West Virginian knows me from my blog. Other cool thing is his occupation as an emergency physician. I suspected there was another ultrarunning ER doc, but hadn't met one until that day.
At least one blogger had him on the radar to win Masanutten the month prior.
Mongold holds the record for running the 292.1 mile Allegheny Trail (4 days, 13 1/2 hours)
This was his first stab at 100 miles. I tried to keep chatting with him, but he was talking and running much more easily than I. I apologized, congratulated him for running so well his first 100, and wished him luck.

The next several miles were a definite struggle. I was feeling the humidity, and continued to lag even more.

What got my ass moving finally was a fly (horsefly? deer fly? no clue-- had never been attacked by one in the Bay Area). It kept going after me, including my scalp through my visor.

At Fire Tower (mile 61), I was surprised to see Jay, looking worse than even than I had earlier. He looked green like the color of the section. I asked him if he wanted any ginger, but before I can pull some out, Lloyd Thomas came up to me and asked if I need anything. He used to live in the Hayward Hills and run the trails of Garin / Dry Creek (my preferred longer trail commute to and from work). He offered to get me stuff (thanks, Lloyd), and we had a nice short chat as I tried to recuperate. (Later this year I would help him organize a small fat-ass race in the same park he ran in as a kid.)

I soon saw Jay on the short 2.5 mile leg to Covered Bridge, with a pacer, walking. I gave him my ginger, half wondering if I might regret this later, since I was still slightly nauseated myself and had only one more candy left. However he definitely needed it then, while I only theoretically might need it later.

At Covered Bridge (mile 63.5), I swapped my visor for my hat with the ear and back flaps, dipping it into the water bucket to keep me cool and better protect my head and neck from biting insects.

At Hickory Ridge (mile 68.8), lots of friendly questions for the leader, which made me a bit nervous, since I didn't know who was behind me or how far. At Grist Mill (mile 75.4) I saw Jay, who had dropped from the race at Covered Bridge 5 miles back. He crewed me a little (thanks, Jay) and confirmed what I'd calculated with my watch-- if I didn't see anyone coming out of the forest before I reenter it, I would know I was at least 20 minutes ahead of the next runner.

Less than a minute before reentering the forest, I see the next runner, Wyatt Hornsby, coming the other way. "Great job" I told him.

In contrast to the first time, I knew I was going the right way despite the paucity of course marking. But for some reason, as the sun goes down, it grew muggier. No breeze. Ugh.

I came to a large log blocking the path. I remembered the first time around, I hoisted myself over it easily, but knew it would be trickier the second time with 40 more miles of wear and tear on my muscles. I stopped, sat on the log, lifted my left leg onto it, then to get my right leg, pushed down behind me with my arms. As I hoisted myself over, the lower part of my rotator cuff (infraspinatus, teres major and teres minor) went into spasm. AAARRGHH!! Severe pain--I could barely move. I spent a few minutes trying to breathe through it, will searching for a shoulder position that would ease the pain.

I tried to run, but it hurt too much, so supporting my arm and trying to gut through the pain, I walked. F*ck, he's going to catch up! One of my problems late in 100-milers has been muscle spasming, often my upper body, despite consciously trying to keep things loose.

I mucked through the humidity. The fairly technical trail, root-filled and cambered down to the left towards the river, along with my shoulder pain, prevented me from going very fast.

The second time returning to Covered Bridge (mile 80.9) from the orange loop, we crossed the bridge rather than the ford the river. Not sure why.

I couldn't remember if I had left a light at the next aid station, so I put one of my Petzls, and conscious of the time I lost, quickly head out for the short (2.7 mile) but mostly uphill stretch. My shoulder was almost back to normal, so I pushed the pace. At Bridle Staging (mile 83.6), I found I did have a light. Lloyd Thomas was there again and revealed to me that Wyatt spent "a lot of time" at Grist Mill and left 35 minutes after I did. This encouraged me. Armed with my light and music, I headed out toward the pavement on the remaining 7.2 miles of trail of the red section.

I was in great spirits and excited. After all the set-backs, including getting lost twice not through my own fault, and my mid-race slump probably fueled by humidity to which I could not have acclimated, I was winning the race, with a half hour gap on the next runner. As long as I could keep a decent pace, I should be able to win this thing. I started feeling elated and emotional, thought about my family and how excited my older son would be when I told him I won the race, and just missing them (this happens a lot toward the end of my 100 milers), though I reminded myself that it wasn't over yet, and it definitely was no time to slack. It actually felt great putting out decent effort, especially as the temperature started to cool a bit.

My feet stayed dry through the first river crossing. The trail and arrows on the ground were often ambiguous, but I did my best, stopping at many intersections to look and think about each turn. Maybe because I'd passed this way before, I trusted my instinct and kept going. There wasn't anything else on which to rely anyways. The second river crossing, I notice that the water was to my knees. I thought I recalled the deepest crossing being the third and last, but then I wasn't so sure, my first time in this large forest. I looked at my watch and the timing seemed right. I kept on going.

And going. And going. Seemed like I'd been out there a while-- wasn't I supposed to have ascended and hit the paved roads by now?

Suddenly after a turn, I saw three lamped runners heading towards me. Volunteers checking the course? I asked to verify I were headed toward Rock Point. One shouted back "You're headed the wrong way!" Crap, did I get lost again? Pattern recognition. No surprise that I was screwed the third and biggest time. It didn't dawn on me that this runner was Wyatt Hornsby, now armed with two pacers (until the following summer, I had never used one.) I only figured out his identity later.

Rather than follow them, I tried to figure out where I was. I turned on my Forerunner in an attempt to get the map of the route I ran already, but in the dense forest, it couldn't pick up the satellite signal. After several minutes, another lone runner came alone. He oriented me both in terms of route and race standings.

As it turned out, I was at this point maybe 15 minutes from Bridle, and somehow, I had made a huge loop and was headed back from where I came. Bonus miles, and my half hour lead lost.

I figured it made more sense to just follow him out of this mess.

I was so-o-o-o bummed. I stayed with him, Matt Aro from Minnesota. I figured it would be better-- two lights, two brains.

Only post-race did I learn he was the previous year's PCTR Headlands Hundred winner, and had placed 1st and 2nd in the two double Ironman distance triathlons he'd completed (that's 4.8 miles swimming, 224 miles biking and then 52 miles running). We talked. I try to be upbeat, while debating how hard I was going to try to catch up with Wyatt. Near the end of the stretch, which for me had turned from 7 into 10-11 miles, I suggested to Matt that if I gave up on catching Wyatt, maybe we could finish together (wtf was I thinking) but told me he wanted to give it a go for 1st himself.

At the Rock Point aid station (mile 90.8-- note all these mileages are assuming you don't get repeated lost), any previous idea of changing shoes went out the window. Apparently Wyatt had just left, so Matt and I were probably holding or gaining on him as we ran together.

I would have to make my move now.

I dumped my iPod, which I'd turned off since I ran into and started talking to Matt, had my bottle filled up, grabbed a couple of Hammer gels and then headed out.

Shortly after I left, a couple of people sprinted past me. Were these the number 4 and 5 guys? They told me they were pacing, and only later did I realize that maybe they were holding back intentionally so they could tell Wyatt how far behind I was (hopefully they weren't muling). So even as I upped my pace, I was having trouble remaining optimistic. Wyatt was on the upswing, had 2 people helping and hanging back like spies, and knew the course. And he didn't whack himself like I did running 3 to 4 extra miles on the last segment, drained of fluids. Plus, I was as nervous about getting off course on this 10 mile paved section with its many turns as I had been on the trails. I kept looking ahead to see if I could catch sight of their lights. None. I became more and more discouraged, apathetic, and irritated that I had to keep making up for one disadvantage or screw-over after another.

I had actually had some doubts about the organization of the course due to last minute changes that weren't clearly communicated to runners, and in fact, I ended up taking matters into my own hands and revised a chart of mileage and elevation change so that it reflected those changes about 4 days before the race. Here is a link to a another blog that talks about some of the pre-race information frustration. So, my pre-race apprehensions turned out to be on target. The race director told everyone a few days ago earlier that all drop bags had to be in extra large zip-lock bags or they wouldn't be allowed, which got a lot of people upset. He tried to make it seem like it was a suggestion later, but they way it was phrased was that is was mandatory, not optional.

Back to the race:
Finally, I decided that a continued heroic effort was not what I cared about, especially with unsure dividends. In less than 16 hours I would be back at my parents with my younger son, wanting to ride me piggy-back around the house and up and down the stairs. Call it a cop-out, but this became a greater priority.

I also tried to rationalize that I couldn't really use much of the grand prize for the overall male and female winner, which included free entry to the December Northface 50 mile in the Marin Headlands plus $300 for airfare. I think I would drive to that race. I was still the first master's finisher, and probably would still get some plaque.

Though tainted, this was was still a memorable, worthwhile experience. Don't you love my smile and my positive attitude? Great! Now let me rag on the race director!

I have run ultras mostly because I love being out there. The competitive aspect is great, but it's the pushing myself in the midst of natural beauty that I care about the most. I had always been a little critical of elite runners, who, when things get a little tough, decide it's beneath them to run any farther back in the pack than they are used to. (Though, not too critical-- it is a free country, and they may set their own priorities.) While on some level, I respect their decision, on another level, they are all super-talented pussies. Just put down your ego, suck it up, and finish.

So it might have been this race that made me more sympathetic to their wussiness. They want to win. That's what's important to them. If you are that good, that makes sense. I'm okay with them now.

Though I was happy enough to finish, a large part of me really wanted to win. Finisher me was still happy I ran the thing and put it out there, but part of me, the would-be winner me was kicked in the balls, stabbed in the heart and then decapitated.

Or least to set the record straight, which I guess I finally have, two years later.

Matt eventually caught up with me. I told him my new priorities, thought to myself he might consider me a wussy, but couldn't care less as I watched him run ahead in 2nd place. I walked up slopes that I knew I could have run, had I had the motivation. I regret having stashed my iPod, but took advantage of the quiet, the new moon, and a few times cut my light to check out the stars of the country sky.

As I approached the campground, I actually stopped for a few seconds to figure out how to stop my watch. Had I noticed my time, I might have waited seven more seconds to finish in 20:20:20, which, though not nearly as cool as winning, would have still been cooler in a geeky-cool way.

photo by Mike Keller

DONE

Ate some, but couldn't get the chicken breast down. Made it to the shower. Climbed into my tent. Woken early due to the sun and heat.

So, Wyatt ran a great race, ran legally, and crossed the finish line first, so he got the win.

I ran the farthest, and even including the deceleration at the end mostly due to loss of motivation, ran the fastest pace per mile. I also won on getting screwed, both the in number and depth.

Maybe just as well-- I live in the Bay Area, and Sportiva sponsored, so maybe not supposed to be wearing lots of North Face garb (also part of the grand prize package). From a the point of greatest good in the universe, maybe it was better that Wyatt got to enjoy the prize package. (As it turned out, he couldn't make the North Face race. But I was trying to feel good about everything.)

Still, it hurt. Not being a super fast elite runner, there are only so many races that I have a good shot at winning. On top of that, being 42, I figured I only a few more years to find them. Had I been in 5th place and ended up coming in 7th, I would have hardly cared. To be in first, to really have deserved finishing in first, and to have been kicked in the balls not even just once, but three times, and all of them preventable if the course were marked like almost every other that I'd run-- really sucked. I might as well of had the RD greet me in the finish by landing his toe right in my nuts.

most negligent RD I have encountered in my career
as far as I can tell, he's not a runner, but a cyclist
someone help me here
I never got any honest requests for feedback or an apology. Lots of others complained post-race about the course markings, but I found your response less than adequate. Don't tell me you had no idea it was going to rain buckets. Buddy, until you apologize properly to me and change your ways, I will reserve my not nice opinion of you.

Even if you've fixed the problem since, you sucked then.

Okay, readers, I feel much better now, thank you for bearing with me. (and maybe I'll edit this post a little later. soften it up a bit. to be a nice guy...)

Regardless about my gripes, thanks to all the volunteers. And the friends who at times gave me special help. You were all awesome.

The pain of my blisters was nothing compared to the pain of being screwed repeatedly.

play with my feet anytime, podiatry angel!

By the way, this was the first time I met Lori Liu, who would later pace me 16 miles at the 2010 Angeles Crest 100 Mile Run.

She did a great job finishing her first 100-mile run here. But talking to her post-race, she got dizzy and almost passed out, and had to be shipped away in a red truck. I guess I have a way with people. (link to how a Sportiva Mountain Running teammate almost passed out shortly after we talked post-race at the 2010 San Diego 100 Mile Run." (read it, it's short and might make you laugh)

All med students should have the experience of being carted away in an ambulance. Though I refused transport when it was offered to me after a swim race in the SF Bay more than a decade ago cuz I wasn't sure if it would be covered by my medical coverage (maybe a little ironic).

Garmin Forerunner 305 partial map of my run

official results-- not sure these work still. I can't find the results of this run on line currently.

100 mile

50 mile
or try the results and reports page from website.

race website (a little confusing to navigate, as it the Mohican running races are on a semi-obscured subset of links on the "Ohio Mountain Bike Championship Series" website). Go figure.

super-volunteer Colleen Theusch's race report. note, I didn't try to correct her story to include the navigational problems not of my fault.

list of confirmed registered runners

other blogged reports (due to unfamiliarity with the midwestern ultrarunning scene, am probably missing lots, please tell me of others I can add)

100 mile

Kimberly Rapp
Michelle Bichsel
Wyatt Hornsby
Nick Longworth

50 mile

Mike Keller

Crews/Spectators

Rob Powell

If you understand what this mysterious sign means, please tell me via a comment!

Antelope Island Buffalo Run, the Inaugural 100-Mile Version

2011-05-31T07:38:00.000-07:00

runners in one of the shorter races that started Sunday, by Bradley K. Johnson

I learned the reason many 100-mile runs in Utah (also think the Bear and Wasatch) start on Friday is so the run ends on Saturday and people can go to church on Sunday. Or so I heard. Correct if I'm wrong.

The advantage of a Friday start is less weekend time from my family.

So for the inaugural Antelope Island Buffalo 100 Mile Run, I was able to leave on the first Southwest flight out of Oakland Friday morning (March 25th) and still make it to the race with its noon start without missing or having to reschedule work on Thursday. One glitch-- I woke up more than an hour earlier than I had to, which would make me tired the next morning.

I would return home before the sun set on Saturday. Our kids' progressive preschool celebrate Cesar Chavez Day, so I made sure to also get Sunday and Monday off work to hang out with them. Good deal.

at Año Nuevo on Monday

Heavy snow and rain fell on the drive from the airport Friday morning, with poor visibility, and slush and snow all over the highway. My rental was an economy car without snow tires, 4-wheel drive or anything else useful to keep me alive. It was quite treacherous. often it seems getting to the start line is harder than finishing these races. Of course, I wasn't sure the snow and freezing rain would let up.

ice on car after making it to the start/finish area

Race Director Jim Skaggs asked we all bring a can for veggies for the post-race buffalo stew. He said there was a Walmart on the way. There were two after leaving the highway. So many choices.

damn Walmart did not pay me anything to post this free graphic ad.

After spending enough on my plane ticket and car rental, it didn't make sense to cheap out, so I splurged on the larger Family size.

Antelope Island is a very pretty island, and there really are lots of buffalo roaming on it. We were warned to steer clear of them.

photos by Sherry Shay or her crew

...lest they try to tongue you.

Okay, so the take-home lesson for this race: there is not such thing as an "easy" 100-mile run. Either something goes wrong, or else nothing goes wrong, but if you're at all the competitive type, you'll push yourself enough even in the latter situation that it will hurt. I was hoping for the latter (and in fact, after my near DNF at HURT 100 over two months earlier, was expecting the latter), but instead got the former.

Luckily the snow let off right before the race started.

turning on my GPS, thinking this was going to be quick

photo by Catra Corbett

Each 50 mile loop is essentially two out-and-backs. The first 19 miles involves a couple of loops and is hillier. The last 31 miles includes a flatter and theoretically faster out-and-back running loosely along the road going down the east shore of the island, with a final counter-clockwise loop of Buffalo Point on the northwest corner. (Note that the map incorrectly locates Mtn View Aid Station--it's at the trail intersection, so we went through it twice each 50 mile loop.) link to same map below

The first 50 miles went pretty smoothly.

During the first 19 miles, we were running both above and below the fresh snow line, so at times could imagine I was running in the peaks of some distant Rocky Mountain range, minus the 5-digit altitude. Parts of the trail were also very muddy as the snow melted, but most of the puddles were avoidable.

They let us choose whether to do the short out-and-back to Elephant head or the counter-clockwise loop down to Split Rock Bay (see lower left corner on map), and most of us chose the out-and-back first opposite the order suggested by the map.

Elephant Head aid station, miles 5.3, 8.2, 13.5; 55.3, 58.2, 63.5

6 thanks, Elephant Head volunteers!

courtesy Davy Crockett

The mud was thick and clumpy on the detour back to the start/finish (around miles 16 and 17) the only unpleasant surface on the course.

Miles 19 through 30 was flatter, but still had its charms.

The Wasatch Mountains which I could see despite being right next to them while driving to the start due to the storm, from the island's east shore. photo courtesy Davy Crockett

The half mile leading to the Lakeside Trailhead aid station, the last of each 50 mile loop went diagonally through a meadow. Apparently this was a little confusing at night, but luckily I got there before dusk.

I got back to the halfway 50 mile mark (the start/finish) in 8:41:27, [GPS recorded map of miles 0-50] after turning on my headlamp in the last mile or two. Coming into the start / finish, I passed Tim Long, who had been running very well and way ahead, but told me he was going to drop at 50 miles. So now I was in 3rd place, but a far third place, as the guy in 2nd, rather famous, was hours ahead of me.

Karl Meltzer with his wife hanging out post-race. He finished about 35 minutes behind the winner, Dan Vega.

I spent 7 minutes preparing for the night, then took off again.

Despite the dark, I ran well. It helped that the puddles were smaller and the thick muddy part less clumpy-- the trails indeed drained well. I did notice the turnoff to the loop after leaving Elephant Head wasn't clearly marked. Had I not been carrying a copy of the course map and referring to it, I probably would have missed the turn. Finishing the loop I saw a woman had done this so would run the loop in reverse, which was probably harder since this involved running down the steeper technical slope.

I got back to the start/finish/mile 69 about 4 hours 35 minutes later, which was only a few minutes longer than it took me to run that 19 miles the first loop [GPS recorded map of miles 50-69] still in 3rd place, though I was being pursued by the next runner. I had a lot to prepare, anticipating colder weather. Thanks to Catra Corbett for helping me out there. I spent 12 minutes at the aid station, allowing the guy who was trailing me to get ahead (I later verified it was 55-year-old local ultrarunner Davy Crockett, not to be confused with the historical Davy Crockett, "the man who don't know fear."

From Davy Crockett's race report:

As I continued on, I could see that I was closing the distance with Mark Tanaka ahead of me. I decided to try to finish off the rest of this loop strong and reel him in. I kept gaining on him, but I think he noticed because his pace picked up. That is the great thing about running in the dark, you can usually pick out the other runners nearby easily. We reached race headquarters again before I caught him.

Mark was still in the aid station when I arrived and complemented me on catching up. I was rather surprised to see him sitting casually with no urgency to get back out. I realized that 3^rdplace was out in the dark waiting for me to grab.

Davy ran a great race, and an especially awesome time for someone in his mid-50s.

A mile after leaving, despite having run that course already, I noticed that I was running by some building I hadn't before. The course had been marked with arrows on the road, but the road was wide so if you were running and looking on the wrong side of the wrong like I was, it was easy to take the wrong fork. This points out the need to mark things more explicitly for night running-- in the daytime, you couldn't miss the markings. (I'll tell the race director, who has proactively demonstrated much sincere interest in getting our feedback, perhaps my most important criterion in evaluating race directors. This was the first year for the 100 mile race, so the first year runners had to navigate in the dark.)

However, the few minutes I spent getting lost and then getting back on course, during which 1 or 2 more runners probably passed me, turned out not to be a significant problem.

Two bigger problems: First, it got cold, dipping to at or below freezing, resulting in me getting too cold. And, second, I think the altitude, though not super high (some would not even call it altitude, 4000-5000 feet above sea level), was making me a little sick. Altitude is always trying to get me.

So, here were my (rounded) splits for the last 31 miles, which took my almost 10 hours, 80 minutes longer than it took me to run the first 50 miles. Uh, I think this is called a positive split.

GPS recorded map, miles 69-100

Note that some mileage discrepancies are due to inherent Garmin Forerunner error, and maybe my error pressing buttons on my GPS and my stopwatch, or maybe the map distances and mileages were off.

Two points-- I was moving really slowly, having trouble running rather than walking. And I was spending a lot of time trying to warm up in the chair, spending almost 1 hour 45 minutes at 4 aid stations. Thanks volunteers for helping me get through.

31 minutes, 1.87 miles out to Mountain View aid station (mile 70)

26 minutes, 1.80 miles to turnaround and back

12 minutes at Mountain View aid station (mile 71.8)

1:22, 5.0 miles

13 minutes at Lower Frary Peak aid station (mile 77.4)

91 minutes, 5.65 miles

52 minutes at Ranch aid station freezing my ass off under blanket (mile 83)

97 minutes, 5.64 miles

25 minutes at Lower Frary Peak aid station (mile 88.7)

63 minutes, 4.83 miles

2 minutes at Mountain View aid station (mile 94)

32 minutes, 2.2 miles

8 minutes at Lakeside Trailhead aid station (mile 96)

57 minutes, 4 miles to finish

Special thanks to these two sisters helped me at Ranch, including piling on the blankets. I stayed almost an hour. Maybe that's too long, but they saved my life.

Marcia Nielsen and Maureen Miles Lee

Maybe a third significant problem slowing my pace. Storing gels in the back pockets or your shorts may prove hazardous. During one of the extended periods sitting or lying on my ass, probably at Ranch, I must have ruptured one or maybe two, an unprecedented gel disaster. It wasn't just a mess. The stuff coated my hairs on my legs and perineal (crotch) area, then with certain movements (including running, which was sort of the point of the whole event) hurt me quite a bit. Girls (and I dunno, maybe some of you sexy guys) think of a slow, drawn out, never ending bikini wax. Pure torture! It was the first painful insult to my beloved scrotum since last May's Masanutten 100. At one point I tried stuffing paper towels and plastic bagging into my shorts to minimize the sticking and pain (to no avail). It took several baby wipes post-race to make walking comfortable.

aftermath of my shorts

(No, NOT one of my bodily fluids!)

By the way, these were the same shorts I wore at Masanutten, where the drawstring broke.

RaceReady did fix them for me.

However, recently gels keep flying out of the pockets on downhills-- does this happen to anyone else?

Catra Corbett came out mainly to watch Linda McFadden's dog (a long story) and crew her, but I got the benefit of a fair amount of help from her several times, especially at the Gate in Fence (start/finish) aid station (mile 69) and on the last visit to Lower Frary Peak aid station (mile 88.7), where she fed me Linda's uneaten pancakes, and pushed a caffeine tablet on me. Although I was suffering less from the cold, I was having severe attacks of the sleepies, which was further destroying my pace. I had been literally swerving on the trail, almost falling asleep. Duh, caffeine works. I became a new convert to the pill form of it in for late-100 mile sleepies. Thanks so much, Catra, and for helping me clean up post-race!

Dirt Diva Catra

I also saw Linda at Lower Frary, only 11 miles behind me. She also later let me shower in her hotel room before I drove to the airport. Thanks, Linda!

I left Lower Frary Peak with an old, large green Gore-tex jacket, or maybe a garbage bag, I can't remember, and soon became hot. I then saw the leaders of the 50 mile and maybe 50k race coming the other way. The leader was wearing Sportiva yellow, one of my newer teammates, Dylan Bowman. He greeted me post-race, though he must have thought I was brain damaged since I was pretty spent. his race report

50 mile winner in 6:15:36, celebrating with his girlfriend Courtnee

So during the slog during the flat, theoretically fast out-and-back, I got passed quite a bit, and ended up finishing 16th overall in 23:26:58 (per my stopwatch) although the last time I checked, the results still listed me as finishing 2 hours faster in 8th place. (Despite having written Stride Racing, the timing people, about this.)

Buffalo stew really hits the spot after eating peanut butter and gels and other typical race food for 24 hours.

Even with another "miss," -- I was now 0 for 2 with running this year's 100-milers well-- the experience of getting through and finishing one of these races was and is always worth it. Thanks RD Jim Skaggs and all the great volunteers for putting on such a great race.

I guess to run a clean, fast hundo this year, I'll have to try my luck farther east.

tangible memento I can wear above my crotch

Here's a cool trailer for an upcoming documentary on an upcoming speed record by Nikki Kimball this September on the 271 mile Long Trail (running the length of Vermont). The trailer has lots of footage of Antelope Island during the 50k race on Saturday March 26th.

race website

my Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded maps again, if you want to geek out
miles 0-50
miles 50-69
miles 69-100

"Running" On a Grand Scale - Why My First H.U.R.T. 100 Hurt Way More Than I Could Have Imagined

2011-05-28T14:44:00.000-07:00

Honolulu skyline from atop the ridge, by Andy Kumeda

Everything really has been relatively easy, compared to my first race this year, the Hawaii Ultra Running Team (H.U.R.T.) 100 Mile the middle weekend in January. Since I was out there running (in more ways than one) a real long time, this report is sort of long, so if you are short on time, skip to the bottom and watch Billy Yang's video of me finishing (good stuff) and get on with your day. If you want to take a few extra minutes to get grossed out, also read the beginning of loop 2. If you've ever come close to making or not making a race cutoff, make sure you read loop 5.

Otherwise.....

Pre-Race

not sure what I think about the penguins at the resort

We arrived at our resort in Waikiki on Friday afternoon, but our room wasn't ready. I wasn't exactly sure when the pre-race meeting was, so used the wi-fi in the hotel lobby to read the race website, contemplating on napping on one of the chairs if I had time, since I felt pretty awful and tired. Unfortunately, I had less time than I'd thought. I arrived before 4 pm to find the meeting already in progress. There were so many people there, I couldn't even spot friends I knew were there when I looked out at the crowd.

I hadn't seen Mike Sweeney for a while and didn't even recognized him at first. He ran a sub-17 hour Rio del Lago the first year I did it in 2005, my first 100 mile race.

Catra Corbett, Andy Kumeda, Mike Sweeney

After the meeting ended, I hung out a little, before having to use the toilet. I figured I should check out the toilet at the Nature Center, since I would be going through it four times (every 20 miles) during the race. A simple door with a latch, a single toilet and a sink (gross) without soap. Little did I know, it would be the pinnacle of toilet luxury during the race. I took a photo of my work there, since I felt some people might suspect I was concocting my gastrointestinal complaints to excuse a mediocre performance. (Fortunately for you I've decided against showing it here.)

The drop bags were not going to be collected until race morning, so I still had some time that night to hastily prepare mine. For the start/finish Nature Center "bag" I ended up having three bag filled with stuff including a black duffel for clothes to wear after I was done.

Back at the resort, my family and I went to a noodle shop in the Hilton Hawaiian Village, where we were staying. I didn't order anything, but told my wife I'd eat what the kids didn't finish, which amounted to the non-noodle stuff in the ramen bowl they shared. There was also an uneaten teriyaki chicken bowl, but I had no appetite for it.

my 3-year-old ate more than I, a bad sign

Summary of my caloric intake since my appetite tanked and my diarrhea started, late Wednesday night:

Thursday: 20 ounces of Nuun; half a banana; 3-4 spoonfuls of Fage Greek yogurt; a leftover potsticker.
Friday: the remaining 3-4 spoonfuls of Fage yogurt; this small supposed omelet that Hawaiian Airlines gave during the flight-- I really didn't want to eat it, but I felt I had to eat something; 2 orange juices; what I ate at the ramen place
Saturday 3:30 a.m. (wasn't planning on waking up that early, but I had been getting up 2-3 times a night due to the runs): a Zone Perfect chocolate peanut butter bar, 210 calories

I hadn't thought to ask if sports drink was going to be provided at the start, and I didn't stash any gels or lyte caps in my shorts. Ken Michel gave me a few shortly after we started (thanks!) So it was just two handhelds filled with water and 4 lyte caps for the first stretch. Would not have been a big deal, except I was running such a large calorie deficit.

Race morning-- luckily my kids and niece were still on Pacific Time two hours ahead, so we didn't have trouble to wake them up. Maybe it was my niece that originally suggested that I run the race with a diaper, the big joke of the morning. My own boys were already enjoying calling me "Uncle Mark" instead of "Daddy." This started occasionally morphing into "Uncle Diarrhea Head."

The race was started with the blowing of a conch shell. Can't remember who this is.

Loop 1

For those unfamiliar with this course, the 100 mile race consists of five repeats of a 20 mile course, shaped as (I am not sure who first noticed this, whoever did can claim credit) the female reproductive system, including external genitalia, vagina, uterus and two fallopian tubes. The start and finish (Nature Center) is where reproduction and birth starts and finishes, the vulva. There is a crossing over halfway from the start-finish to the summit where the cervix would be. The two remote aid stations are the ovaries. For a map see page two of this link.

The pain of my race though, was not gynecological, but purely gastrointestinal.

Near the summit between the 1st (Paradise Park) and 2nd (Jackass Ginger) aid stations, I started feeling extremely low on energy, as if I was about to hit the wall. Nothing that I haven't encountered before in an ultra, BUT NEVER AT MILE 10 (!) I had anticipated finishing this race would be difficult. But I had to start eating or I would never even finish my first loop.

Local Hawaiian Hannah Roberts gave me half of some energy bar, allowing me to make it to the 2nd aid station without crashing. In return I gave her extra mojo energy that helped her become the first Hawaiian to win the women's race.

not sure who took these photos to credit. winners Hannah Roberts and Jason Loutitt

Running into and out of Nuuanu (Jackass Ginger) aid station (mile 12.5 of each 20 mile loop) the first time, I was a bit whiny, the food intake leading to my first pit stops and stomach distress.

the fun and challenging (for a run anyways) Nuuanu stream crossing

(It wasn't the energy bar in particular, but any food.) As people passed me ascending the hill out of Jackass Ginger, I felt the need to explain my medically caused slowness. One woman told me she had just recovered from a bronchitis she had for several weeks. As she easily and briskly passed me. "Bronchitis Schmitus" I quipped, wishing I had had a bronchitis, heck even a pneumonia, as long as I could shit normally. I admit to a lapse of grumpiness, but I would be punished enough for it...

Loop 2

At the Nature Center I dumped my bottles and put on my Ultimate Direction Wasp pack, to join several other runners in the race using the same. I normally only use this for long training runs where I have to long distances without access to potable water, never in a race. But I now figured I needed the Wasp's pockets to hold food (the weight of just two gels was making my shorts sag-- I didn't want to cinch them too tight, since it is always a pain to untie the drawstring, and I had to drop my shorts often and on very short notice.) And with more food I needed more liquids-- my bottles ran out early on the last leg of the first loop, and it was growing warmer.

With my Wasp, my nutrition improved. We passed many more hikers out on the trail, especially near Paradise aid station to and from the waterfall. Since nothing particularly noteworthy happened on this lap, and I gotta get this out sooner or later, this would be a good place to discuss my diarrhea.

My Diarrhea

Thin liquid, the consistency of miso soup (which they had at two aid stations, yum!) Since it was so thin, my butt didn't get very inflamed, and I felt the need to stick lube around my ass only twice during the race. (I'm sure you were wondering.)

As I learned during loop 1, the output varied directly with the amount I ate.

It also varied proportionately with how fast I was running, maybe due to all the shaking, so the frequency per both time and distance was greater on the descents than the ascents.

I'm guessing I had at least 40, maybe over 50 episodes over the 100 miles, with at least an hour spent moving to a suitable spot, doing the deed, cleaning up my mess, or having to start real slow due to mild cramping from the act.

Parts of the trail were hazardous, particularly the single track on the ridges. Early I once tried to crap on the side of the trail, but almost fell back off the edge, which appeared deceptively less treacherous because of the greenery on the side. Close call. It would be so embarrassing to have them find your dead body with your pants down.

This also made burying paper problematic--often there was no place to bury it. Often I'd have to chuck it over the side, or use a stick to knock it off a leaf. I probably should be disqualified for violating some rule, but honestly, there were often no other options. More frequently, I'd use leaves to wipe, since it wasn't actually that messy.

I'm wonder if I could get banned from this race for admitting all this.

Loop 3

mile 40, Saturday, 5:54 p.m. Hawaiian Time (11 hours 54 minutes into race). with Shawna, an awesome volunteer who helped me this time through the start/finish aid station. In return for her kindness, I did not crap on her.

I had left a headlamp in each of the three aid stations and a new handheld at the Nature Center. I made a huge tactical mistake of thinking that since I was taking my only handheld now, I should leave the headlamp until it got really dark later. This was stupid and costly in at least 3 ways.

First, it grew dark quickly, due to the dense vegetation, so I turned on my handheld within 20 minutes of my ascent.

Second, since the hand light is meant to focus a beam down, I kept it mostly down and missed a sharp turn up to the right off of Makiki Valley Trail and went right under blue ribbons marking the wrong way. I reached the paved road and started running up it, but something didn't feel right, and I then remembered there was supposed to be a guard rail you had to get around on the left before you headed right. I pulled out my map and figured out what I did, so headed back down. It didn't seem like a major loss at the time (my estimate looking at my Garmin map was about 0.6-0.7 mile and 13 minutes), but I guess it was.

Third, on the descent when you are moving faster, the absence of my headlamp really slowed me significantly. The reason I bought the thing was per the advices of Brian Wyatt at last year's Headlands Hundred, when I was complaining about the glare of my headlamp in the fog. (Thanks again, Brian!) Once I put on my headlamp at Paradise, the combo worked great and I could use often use the lower or lowest setting of both lights.

Nonetheless, the dark still slows everyone down, and maybe it slowed me down more so. Aside from the diarrhea and nausea, I now also felt, fatigue, malaise, and sleepiness. All-nighter runs probable aren't too healthy for you. Possible stupidly I avoided taking too much caffeine because I was scared of the diuretic and slight pro-motility effect it had on me. I didn't want to add to my dehydration and gastrointestinal woes.

The only good thing about my nocturnal deceleration was that my bowels ran less frequently, perhaps from being able to digest and absorb fluids better. The moon was almost full, tropical birds and insects made the jungle a magic place. I hadn't turned on my iPod all day and wasn't inclined to do so then. I only pulled it out at Nuuanu, mile 52.5-ish, mostly to help myself stay awake.

Volunteer Cindy Goh set up her little station at the muddy 3-way intersection at the summit on Pauoa Flats. The first year she gave aid, but the RDs told here she could't to protect the integrity of the race. I hit her up for a wipe and a lyte tab once, and it was an encouragement to see her out there three times a loop.

At Nuuanu, I asked a volunteer to fill my bladder with water and pour in this half packet of whey-based protein powder from my drop bag. But I also left with half a ham sandwich and half a PB and J. After finishing those, I was pretty thirsty, but the protein powder was clabbering up my mouth and making me belch. I'm guessing it was probably way past its expiration date too.

Loop 4

mile 60, Sunday, 2:46 a.m. Hawaiian Time (20 hours, 46 minutes into the race)

Having learned from mistakes the previous loop, I was looking to run loop 4 more cleanly (well, I guess I never got clean down there) and welcome the sunrise, which invariably makes you feel more alert and accelerates you pace.

At Paradise I heard the mention of cutoff the first time. Not having anticipated being this far back, cutoff times were never on my radar in the weeks and days leading to the race.

I had to leave the Nature Center to start loop 5 at 11 a.m. Whoa! How was I going to do that? I had just spent over 8 1/2 hours to finish loop 3 and now I had to rally to finish slightly less than 2/3 of this loop in 4:45? Well, I was feeling more awake and fairly more comfortable. Let's do it! I thought, and started my way back up.

I ran all the level and gently upslopes for the first time since maybe the first loop. I also started having to crap again, frequently, but luckily the process never took so much out of me that I felt weak or dizzy for more than a few minutes. Was it Circadian related, due to my resisting adrenaline, or had my body learned to adapt, the way it had learned to survive these 100 mile runs?

I came into Nuuanu about 8 a.m. I told the volunteers I was in a hurry and wanted to be out in 5 minutes. I unloaded my lights, donned a cap, got my food. After all the long drawn out aid station stops through the stops, this felt like a car racing pit stop.

Apparently station captain and race director Jeff (above) thought I was nuts and incoherent so included my 5-minute deadline in his roasting at the post-race banquet. My kids and niece though this gadget he gave me was pretty cool.

my kids occasional enjoy fighting over this gadget, which apparently works

At some point during this loop a female runner from Hawaii tipped me off about the constipating effect of guava juice. Is this true? Unfortunately, I could never get any.

My left lower back started feeling tight, so I worked on my posture, and held back a bit. It was too early to go full throttle anyway.

I continued my furious running and crapping, passing even more people. During this time I figured out that the lack of sleep had seriously deteriorated my math skills. For some reason I thought that an 11 a.m. Cutoff at the Nature Center gave me 6 hours to do the last 20 mile lap, which seemed insanely fast so I had told myself at Paradise that I should get there at 10:30. Partly due to this erroneous mild panic, I only took 2:05 to finish that stretch. When I arrived at the Nature Center I already figured out my glaring error of 2 hours, and now realized I had slightly less than 8 hours to finish my last loop. Since I had run the last two legs to get here at a sub-6 hour loop pace, I figured I was better than okay. Cake! I had finishing this race in the bag.

Loop 5

It wasn't my intention to be so slow and inefficient at the nature Center before my fifth and final loop, but that's what happened. I would later attribute this partly to the fact that many of the people hanging out at the aid station were not volunteers or runners still in the race, but dropped runners (by this time there were many) and their family, friends are crew. Perhaps from my lack of sleep or my expectation from being so proactively serviced the last three times through, I handed a volunteer my Wasp pack and told her I was going to go to my drop bag. On the way there, I went on a goosehunt for antacids, finally locating them at the medical tent.

A well intentioned volunteer had at some point placed my green race bag containing my extra charging Garmin Forerunner 305 into my black duffle bag, which resulted in my not being able to find my green bag. I suspect s/he did this because the small sticker with my name and number on it (this was the race goodie bag) had come off it I wasted a few minutes and those of a volunteer, looking around the whole sprawling aid station, until she thoughtfully suggested I look in the black bag. The other unfortunate effect of the bag being stashed was that my Garmin Forerunner became dislodged from it's docking cradle connected to my portable charger, before the GPS was fully charged. No huge loss, especially as the satellite reception was always so poor that I lacked a true recording of my exciting last 60-90 minutes of my race even if my batteries had not run out so early. Anyways, so I minorly freaked out, presumed they'd lost it, and ended up asking a volunteer to help me find my bag. I got roasted for this one at the banquet Monday night, receiving a GPS locator so I can located my GPS.

I also got this real device to attach to my keys. If you lose your keys, you can clap or scream and it starts beeping. It really works. Except that it's always beeping in the closet whenever there is a loud noise. And so the batteries will probably die right before I actually lose my keys.

My kids love it.

My wife hates it.

mile 80, 10:14 a.m. Hawaiian Time (28 hours, 14 minutes into the race)

The first thing I realized leaving the aid station was that I left a pulled pork sandwich by my drop bag. I was really looking forward to eating it, but it was too late to go back for it. The regret and craving increased with each step, turning into pure torture.

by Andy Kumeda

On the initial root-filled ascent I explained my pulled pork woes to a runner I was passing. Her pace offered me alternative greasy food, and I thankfully took a couple tater tots and a couple similarly sized pizza wrap things. The pizza things were slightly spicy, so started having heartburn again, but I decided the reflux was worth getting the chocolate Gu taste out of my mouth. Normally, I don't mind that flavor, but when you are craving and should have been eating pulled pork, it's unbearable.

my forbidden food porn

After hammering the last two laps, I found my energy level and pace had decreased a bit. No problem-- I had 7 1/2 hours to complete this last lap, all in in daylight. Last lap = bringing it home!

BUT(T)...

At the top of the ridge I felt the urge to shit, with a little more than average stomach cramping. It took a little longer than normal (the stuff came out as quickly as always, but it felt like I could push more out). I then stood up-- and immediately felt it-- a severe tightening all over all my legs, that radiated through my lower back (including the hot spot on the lower left). I tried to start running again, but the stiffness and pain increased-- no matter how I tried, I could not run.

Could. Not. Run.

Uh oh.

Avoiding panic, I told myself to keep moving. Much of the next mile was the relatively flat, but very technical section. I never could run it fast even before this cramping crisis, but here I was walking it.

photo on ridge by Robert Smith, doubtful if taken at that moment, but hopefully conveys stiffness and pain

Or make that "I was trying to walk it." Even what most people would call a casual walking pace became impossible, especially on any downward steps. I soon figured I needed a stick to help support me. Problem was, my legs were now too tight to crouch, and my lower back that had been bothering me was too tight to bend over.

Using my arms to support me, I reached down for bamboo sticks, to find twice they were actually still rooted to the ground. I also broke about three flimsier sticks, almost tumbling over when they snapped, and coming very near to ending the race from acute sever spasming of a particular leg or back muscle. I felt lucky each time amidst my misfortune. Eventually I managed to pick up two that worked. Though I was not sure they would help me enough to make the next cutoff.

a photo of me much later by Andy Kumeda, still with the sticks. Note that I didn't start smiling and running immediately

I didn't suspect hyponatremia. I was taking enough salt and fluids. Still, every third runner who passed me, asked if I wanted lytes, which I declined, since I had a stash. I swallowed one anyways, then felt the slight salty taste in my mouth when I've had enough salt.

I was suspecting potassium was the problem (I did learn in medical school that diarrhea can deplete you potassium), and took a couple of gels from my Wasp pockets, but soon my water ran out. Meanwhile, the pain and stiffness in my legs was only worsening. I looked at my watch. My 35 minute buffer on the cutoff was dwindling. If something didn't change soon, I would miss the 1:30 p.m. cutoff and my race would end early. In the back of my mind, I was hoping that simply with time, if I didn't push it too much, my legs would recover and I could run again. But it wasn't happening.

I got desperate, realizing my survival in this race was critically endangered. I begged and mooched. First some water from a hiker. Then this guy gave me several ibuprofen (more than the maximum recommended single dose, but luckily as a physician I knew what I was doing):

Eric Allosada, by Evelyn Cabrodilla

The pacer of a female runner heading back the other way to Jackass Ginger let me drink off the rest of her bottle of fairly concentrated fruity drink. That was so nice and generous of you, mystery pacer, thanks!

Another runner Wily Woo and his pacer Jeff Rockenbrandt then caught up with me, and if I remember correctly, gave me more water and acetaminophen.

photo by Robert Smith

Eventually I was running again, and able to catch up with and keep up with Wily and Jeff. Thanks everyone who saved me on that long descent! We three got in at 1:18 pm, 12 minutes before the cutoff for leaving the station.

cartoon I found via google images on dearnurses.blogspot.com

More convinced about my potassium theory, I chugged two cups of fruit nectar at the aid station, took more analgesics (no liver damage can possibly result from 1300 mg of acetaminophen in 30 minutes), but got out of there by 1:21 or 1:22.

from livestrong.com

I forgot to ask if anyone had any extra pair of hiking poles. Maybe it's just as well-- they deserved my loyalty after helping save my race.

this finger blister was a small price to pay

I had to crap on the initial ascent, but was scared to crouch again, so ended up doing it standing, a first for me that I'd never rehearsed. I ended up peeing all over my shorts. Awesome!

earlier ascent photo by Robert Smith

I took nothing for granted, knowing this was going to be close, and that a 7 hour loop pace, in my condition, was no easy feat. I started to feel sleepy again, and took caffeine from sodas and gels without much effect. I came into the last aid station even closer to the cutoff than the last (arrival 3:20 for 3:30 cutoff). I passed one woman who had cramped up worse than me, who obviously wasn't going to make it. I felt bad for her, though I figured at least her bowels were better off than mine.

Although I wasn't floridly hallucinating, the shapes of the shaded forest often resemble people or objects. I was seeing other runners and photographers with their SLR cameras aimed at me constantly. Even though I was aware they weren't real, I kept seeing them. It was quite trippy. Meanwhile, I was aware that in my drowsy, exhausted and mildly cramped state, I was a set-up for a trip or fall. For this reason, I concentrated on not running beyond myself.

I had been offered my light before I left Nuuanu, but didn't take it. I later realized that if I weren't going to make 6 pm cutoff for the race, I would need a light just to make it back safely. So, making the finish cutoff was tied with avoiding stumbling on the HURT trails in the dark.

Luckily, no major mishaps during the last stretch.

It started raining about 30 minutes from the end.

I saw Wily and Jeff up ahead, very close from the end. I was gaining on them, and considered making a move on them, but relinquished this for two reasons. First, they had stopped on the trail to help me, so I thought it would be in bad taste to get hypercompetitive. Second, I was feeling pretty tight and thought that even a mild increase in my pace even this close to the finish could trigger more severe spasming and was way too risky. They took it up a notch anyways, putting a minute on me by the finish.

actually an earlier bridge, but I already used Andy's final bridge photo

Cheers as I crossed the bridge into the finish area (see the photo above). Still a large crowd (12 of the 32 100-mile finishers came in during the 36th and final hour.) Rounding the corner, I was perplexed as exactly where the finish line was, but heard someone tell me to kiss the sign. You'd think I would be able to manage this simple task, including the very non-technical boardwalk leading up to it, but after 36 hours of running, walking and chewing gum would have been a challenge. This is classic. You have to have the sound turned up for the full comic effect:

link to video, courtesy Billy Yang

after getting up and about to molest the sign, photo by Stan Jensen
32nd and dead-last official finisher, 35:54:21
probable dead-last blogger to finish his race report, 18 weeks, 5 days and 21 hours

My kids and niece learned the phrase "face plant." They realized "Uncle Diarrhea Head" not nearly as elegant or funny as "Uncle HURT 100" and "Uncle HURT 100 Face Plant," and so that was my nickname for the rest of the vacation. Good times for the kids!

This tops my list of "I can't believe I made it" race finishes. I couldn't believe it. I still kind of don't. I collectively owe a lot to so many people, many of whom whose names I can't remember, to finish officially under the cutoff. The RDs, volunteers, other racers, and even random hikers on the trail. I love you all.

I actually wasn't the last to finish the 100 miles that weekend. Just the last to officially finish. I passed Alex Garcia, with I chatted briefly a few times during the race, ascending Nuuanu. In addition to his new but apparently defective Camelbak bladder bursting early in the race, his already bad knee continued to worsen, so that he couldn't no longer run downhill, among other disabilities. He ended up finishing the dark, about 90 minutes past the cutoff. The sweeps suggested to him that he could take the straighter way back to the finish, but he told them no, he was having a great run, and he was going to run the whole course. I thought it was cool that the RDs singled him out as the epitome of what ultrarunning is all about.

Which made me think: just a 6 more minutes, and I would have been just as unofficial. No buckle, no 100 mile results, just my 67 mile split as a 100 km result. But, in terms of the effort I put in and what I went through, almost the same. It's weird, arbitrary and a little harsh, but that's how it works. This time I lucked out. In the context of being really UNlucky, but I still lucked out.....

and got the same buckle as the winner

results

Okay, I've just spent 10 minutes trying to get this rotated correctly, I give up. Sometimes it's okay to give up.

Thanks also Catra (Corbett) and Andy (Kumeda) for the ride back to our condo, where I found myself locked out since my wife was out and figured she'd drive the race finish and see if I was there. (I had texted her several times, to no avail.) But I still thank my wife for letting me finally do this race.

The banquet was fun, had great food, and I only had to use the toilet three times. A destination race, comparable to a destination wedding (more post-race hullabaloo than normal, and quite fun).

race website

I figured the rest of my races this year should seem like cake in comparison.

Ohlone Wilderness 50k Block of Wood #7

2011-05-26T15:09:00.000-07:00

Very specific goal for this race: Win a block of wood. These trail post awards are given to the first three in each age /gender division, not counting the top three overall. I was 6 for 6 (four 1st place and one 2nd place division, and one 3rd place overall), but Men 40-49 is always the largest category including lots of kind-of fast guys around my speed, and each year I creep toward the older end of the cohort.

If you don't win the thick block of wood, you get a thin wood finishers award that I'll bet would be easy to chop in two, even without any special martial arts training. While finishing this race should be enough (this is one of my favorite races, a must-do for any ultrarunner living in Northern California), I cannot be content with what pleases the masses. Realizing that how well I do at any of these races has no impact on making the universe a better place to live for anyone including myself, I made this goal of getting another thick block of wood into a cause larger than life. I was prepared to ambush, maim and if necessary, even kill (myself included) to get another award.

This was my first race wearing my blue Quicksilver PAUSATF team blue shirt (with the Sportiva logo specially emblazoned on the front and back). I've sort of been doing my own thing all spring so hadn't done any races with the team this year.

Personal Ohlone 50k annual tradition: my family sees me off. This allows me to avoid taking the early morning shuttle from the finish at Livermore. Thanks guys!

photo by Agnes Pommier

Starting in the front row means I have to finish top 6 or else I am a dork

or I am a dork anyways because I'm the only one smiling and not looking at my watch?

link to Chuck Wilson's video of start. I had no idea what 202 runners starting a race looks like. I'm always running these things.

The big error in this race, whatever your level, is to go too fast up the initial climb to Mission Peak. I paced myself behind Charles Wickersham and John Burton until the summit, where it was cold, foggy and windy.

Charles Wickersham miles later by Chihping Fu

half-naked John Burton by Chihping Fu

John's race report

Atop Mission Peak I caught up with Ron Gutierrez, whom I hadn't seen all year, and we chatted all five miles down to Sunol, Ron setting a good fast pace. At Sunol (mile 9.1) I handed my bottle to a volunteer, sat my ass on the ground, undid my gaiter that was supposed to keep rocks out of your shoes (but I guess not if your shoe goes deep into one of the many puddles on the Mission Peak climb due to all the rain we've had this spring even into May), pulled off my shoe and poured out the big-ass rock that was bothering me the last 6-7 miles. Ron was still tired from his 9:30 at Miwok two weeks ago so I was able to quickly catch up and overtake him on the first climb out of Sunol.

I saw Chihping checking course markings a few miles later. He's been doing this for several years, a new tradition.

He took two pictures of me and I think even did this short interview with me as part of his race video (I'm from 1:11 to 1:46). I felt like a rock star at the time, though I need to work on talking more like a rock star. To give myself credit, I think I'm the only one who actually made a good effort to talk while he was filming.

According to Chihping, Quicksilver teammate Jean Pommier was in 5th. I was counting on him finishing top three, but if he was 4th or later overall, he would count towards my age division. This got me a little worried. Plus I didn't know who else was ahead of me between 40 and 49. Jean's race report

As it turned out, the next guy I caught up to approaching Rose Peak, the high point of the course, was 48 years old, a Jeff from Grass Valley. Pressure was one.

ZombieRunner Rookie Award winner Jeff Boutte

The other guy I caught I hadn't seen in 5 years, but amazingly, I recognized him right off as Truman Long, who as a cyclist, always climbs fast, but whose quads sometimes give out on the descents like the first time he ran it in 2005 when he had to walk the remaining 10 or so miles to the finish.

Note that he did win the race in 2006.

Truman flanked by Graham Cooper on left, and Simon Mtuy on right
from race website

Keith Blom catches me coming into Schlieper Rock (mile 25.65) looking happy

I was a little worried I hadn't seen Catra Corbett finishing her 131 mile run, and Andy Kumeda, pacing her the last 60+ miles. But they were there, descending to Williams Gulch, both in great spirits. This photo says it all-- Andy later admitted to being more tired than Catra. She told me this would be the last time she does 131, and will cut back to a more reasonable 100 miles next year. I always get inspired when I see her on the course, thinking how sleepy and tired she must be-- so speed up Mark and make it hurt some more!

by Tony Leung

Although it seemed that I was widening my gap on both Jeff and Ron whenever I looked back from the top of a ridge, I got scared by this guy in a bright orange shirt that appeared behind me climbing out of Williams Gulch (mile 27). Turns out it was another course checker, Keith Blom (I should have remembered him taking my picture at the previous aid station). I docredit him with saving me 20 seconds on that climb. Fear can be a good thing.

course checkers Chihping and Keith at the finish

Earlier in the week, I had done a short run and had no time to stretch out my calves before having to work in the ED. That night half asleep in the call room, I plantar flexed my foot and spasmed my left calf. Then I repeated it the next night. During the last 10 miles of the race, I felt my calf start to bother me, so I had to hold off at times. The other thing that probably slowed me a couple of minutes was the fear of injuring myself two weeks before my next 100-mile race, Kettle Moraine in Southern Wisconsin, while I saw no one running ahead or behind me (other than Keith).

I was happy enough with my time even though I probably should have been able to run faster given the perfect weather. Fourth fastest time, so my median.

by Noé Castañón

After my wife showed up with my kids at the finish in Del Valle Regional Park in Livermore, she spent a while talking with this year's 3-peat winner, Leor Pantilat, who, despite having a bad day, still beat me by 45 minutes. My wife, due to not moving, also got to hear Leor's race account at least 10 times, as numerous people came up to congratulate him.

Once again trying to look cool hanging out with super-fast Sportiva teammate Leor Pantilat.

Leor had just slashed 14 minutes off Chikara Omine's Quicksilver 50 mile record three weeks earlier, then, in pursuit of breaking his own Ohlone record, probably climbed Mission Peak too fast. He still won in 4:31.

Read his race report

photo by Keith Blom

One of the people who came up to ask about Leor's race was the incredible David Scott, who won the race 8 times on the old pre-2002 course (1.2 miles shorter). I had seen Dave Scott's name in the Ohlone 50k website page of archived race results. Dave somehow knew who I was, but I hadn't realized who he was. It was good to get the scoop later on both, since I spent a lot of time running around (see next paragraph). David used to run the course as a training run several times a week. His wife would pick him up at the end. This impressed my wife, to whom I am most grateful for dropping me off in the morning and picking me up at the end. He also mentioned to her that he would hold back on the initial ascent up Mission Peak, so that it took him 40 minutes. (Leor climbed it in 37).

Usually my 3-year-old is the out-of-control one, but my older son graduating from kindergarten soon, was the manic one. His frenzied rampage included insisting I drop whatever I was doing to see each runner finish and cheer them on. Actually a very polite thing to do. But as a result, I didn't get to continue any conversations more than 2 minutes. Both my kids also enjoyed imitating my end-of-race face plant at January's HURT 100.

vintage Ohlone 50k, with Mark Lantz, who I never see anymore. Mark usually beats me but has never in this race. I hadn't met Scott Dunlap yet, and he maybe wasn't as famous as he is now. My son is on my lap. Completely calm and content, though maybe less interesting than he is now.....

Apparently the women's race was pretty intense, as the first six finished within 18 minutes of each other. Numbers 4 through 6 (Bree Lambert, Adona Ramos and Clare Abram) were Quicksilver teammates. Bree Lambert made the excuse of having stayed out late at the Prince concert the night before, but I imagine this might provide an unfair advantage.

most of our team, by Noé Castañón

left to right from me: John Burton, Adona Ramos, Greg Lanctot (our manager/coach/cheerleader), Clare Abram, Bree Lambert, Scott Laberge, Harris Goodman

Sarah Lavender Smith was leading until mile 26,

by Jørgen Randrup

but Keira Henninger from Southern California ended up winning. Sarah's race report on the exciting women's race

by Jørgen Randrup

I have to say that this was perhaps the most generously marked course I've ever run.

Kirk Boiseree, former Kourse Marking Kommisar.

My only name problem was thinking Mike Palmer was Kirk several times.

Joe Swenson assuming this role for the first time

doing the 50k two days straight

Chihping for a third photo here

by Noé Castañón

As much as I'd like to redeem myself, lubed, at Masanutten, I love this local race too much to miss it. Wait, I take that back! It's not about the race, the beautiful course, the great people, runners and volunteers and runner-volunteers like Joe. Duh, it's about the trophy.

The thick block of wood, along with the race shirt and Zombie Runner bracelet given out atop Mount Rose as proof of doing that short loop.

Mission accomplished, crimeless, as I hurt no one trying to get it.

Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded map of my run

race website

race results

Couldn't Be a Lazy-Ass at This Year's Fremont Fat-Ass 50k

2011-05-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

I had RSVP'd "maybe" for this year's Fremont Fat-Ass 50k. Not because I was still sore and tired from HURT 100, but because I had barely seen my kids that week. But my wife was cool taking them alone to the San Jose Discovery Children's Museum (usually my job) race morning (Saturday, January 29th). My decision to run was solidified by my deciding NOT to run the day before, and instead taking my wife to the local matinee of The King's Speech, which happened to be the first film I had seen in a movie theater since March of the Penguins more than five years ago. I had to immediately leave the theater for a clinic shift, so I didn't even get to first base with my date. But that's okay since I knew I'd get my running fix, which is sometimes almost kind-of better than great sex!

I barely got up in time to get ready before Baldwyn Chieh picked me up in his pickup, his dog Cub panting with excitement in the back.

I had trouble framing the shot on his iPhone while running

I actually wasn't that ready, as I brought two packs (with the bladder taken out) but forgot my bottle and my East Bay Regional Parks parking pass. Thanks, Baldwyn, for lending me your bottle. I put on my Ultimate Direction Wasp pack, which I usually wear on my long runs. Comfortable, with lots of great pockets.

pre-start photo by Everitt Chock

Bigger turnout than I'd remembered the last time I ran this FFA50k three years ago, plus we soon caught up with throngs of runners who had started earlier. The course starts in Quarry Lakes (an East Bay Regional Park), goes east to the end of the Alameda Creek Trail, goes back the other way to the west end of the trail, winds around Coyote Hills (another East Bay Regional Park), then returns back along the trail, through Quarry Lakes to the finish, co-fat-ass-director Mike Palmer's pick-up truck.

We started ten minutes late, at 8:40, not bad for a fat-ass run. I had printed out a map, and somehow ended up being the navigator for the front runners, since the route through the park was a little tricky. A pack of about 10-12 of us headed out to the first turnaround and water fountain at the Niles staging area, after which things thinned out a little, and then we headed back on the Alameda Creek Trail to run past Quarry Lakes to towards the bay.

by Catra Corbett

I chatted mostly with Andy Kumeda, Ron Duncan and Pierre Couteau. Rather than hang with his woman, Catra, Andy wanted to run this fast, in preparation for his Boston Marathon in April, where he PR'd (I think) the distance in 3:15. Congrats, Andy!

By the time we got to Chihping Fu's aid station, I think we were about seven. Chihping was very cool and generous to be out there. Xie xie, again, Chihping! I downed a couple slices of chocolate muffin and filled my bottle with sports drink from powder.

by Chihping Fu

Upon entering Coyote Hills Regional Park, we mixed in with runners in a 5k, 10k and half-marathon event put on by the same people who took over the Diablo Trails 50k Challenge I won two years ago (when it was actually 56 km). The sun was partly out from behind the clouds, and I was sweating profusely with my jacket, which I stashed in my pack. The Chinese runner wearing a Silicon Valley Marathon shirt (later ID'd as Haiming Yu) was, to my chagrin, pushing the pace a bit. Here we finally caught up with co-Fat-Ass-Director Catra and Linda McFadden, who started early at Catra's house to run 42 miles. I would catch up with them at my next 100-miler in Utah in March (report coming).

the two finishing later

A few or us gave moral support to the racers, many of them probably pushing their limits, as we flew by, doing our casual, informal run 2 1/2 to 10 times as long. When runners or volunteers told us we were doing great, we'd casually reply we are Someone I hadn't met before, Haiming Yu, was pushing the pace a bit, balancing the beautiful scenery along the water.

by Everitt Chock, from the hill we were supposed to climb

Ron Duncan assumed navigating duties, having this more recently than I, and managed to direct us onto the Brazen Racing course routes, but off our own course route, and almost to the toll plaza for the Dumbarton Bridge on Route 84. Even after we realized we were off, I decided to head to the turnaround, since there was one of their aid stations there, which I admit to having used.

Andy and I, shot by Ron Duncan

More pretty scenery in the marsh, then back onto the trail and Chihping's aid station. From here, my Garmin told me it was a little more than 7 miles to the finish, except that our course diversion probably added bonus mileage-- unfortunately I wasn't sure how much.

by Chihping Fu

Ron, Pierre and I first lost Haiming and Andy. Ron kept accelerating slowly. He really wanted to finish under 4:30. I wasn't too happy about working so hard, having enjoyed our more relaxed pace and the conversation so far, but as long as I didn't cramp up or puke, figured this was good for me, especially as I wasn't running Jed Smith 50k next weekend because I have to cover sick call for my group.

by Catra Corbett

Ron and I then lost Pierre before turning into Quarry Lakes. I guess we were up to 7:10 minute miles, which doesn't sound too fast, except I'd just finished one of the toughest hundred milers around two weeks ago, and I was carrying a pack with food and a jacket. Basically I was pretty close to 100% effort staying with Ron, right up to Mike Palmer's truck.

My watch said 4:24:46, but I had stood by the truck waiting for Ron to slap it, which he never did, and he decided our official arrival was 4:24:40. Apparently, for it's worth, this being a fat-ass run, the new course record! (If this were a more formal race, we could maybe disqualify ourselves for running a modified (though longer) course, but being a fat-ass run (without any course markings), we figured this was legal.

probably breaking some rule about drinking beer in the parking lot

Pierre came soon after, then Andy, Haiming, and Everitt, though a few ran a slightly shorter course.

Ron opened his trunk, and I had a soda and beer. I could have gotten a ride to the San Jose Children's Museum, but my wife didn't text me back in time, and I didn't want to cross paths and get stuck there. Thanks again, Roger Jensen, from Rancho Cordova, who ran less distance so was there at the finish and gave me a ride home.

Here's my Garmin Forerunner recording of my run.

co-RD Catra's Fremont Fat-Ass 50k website

The Sort-Of Inaugural Diablo 60k

2011-05-24T17:52:00.000-07:00

I had started the Diablo 50 Mile Endurance Run three times, including the inaugural race in September 2003, which almost ended my ultrarunning career before it began. (One day I'll blog that story-- the skinny was that I ended up with my only DNF in the "ER" as a patient and not the physician.) The last time I ran it was 2007, so I was long overdue, but after last year's hiatus the longer distance (paired with the shorter marathon race) was shortened from 50 miles to 60 kilometers, about 37.2 miles. Would the new, shortened Diablo be too light? Well, it was there on the PCTR calendar. Like when I don't have time to train as long as I'd like on a given day, I figured if were shorter, I would just run it harder.

Sunday May 1st was going to be warmer than the days preceding, but before the start at 7 it was cold. I was shivering in my short- sleeve Sportiva jersey and yellow Moeben sleeves. Relatively fewer familiar faces in the start pack. I figured there might be some fast guys I didn't know. A guy with long hair and a beard with Where the Wild Things Are monsters tatooed on his legs. He kind of reminded me of Tony Krupicka, as in, if you divide everyone on the planet into 30 groups by appearance, they are in the same corral. See the guy on the right catching his breath, later ID'd as Connor Curley.

photo by Karen May

He and another guy (later ID'd as Jacob Rydman), at left in the finish area photo above) sped up the hill, and I settled behind another couple of guys who were chatting and occasionally tripping, while I was out of breath but at least not tripping. Perhaps the week before that I spent running nothing but flat terrain on a beach resort island in South Carolina atrophied my climbing muscles. Eventually I passed runners #3 and 4.

taken with my old phone on a training run in February

Approaching Eagle Peak (not even halfway up the Diablo Summit, but with astounding views), a guy who knew me from this blog, chatted it up with me. His name was Jorge, so I was thinking not only Krupicka's double, but Jorge Pacheco's alter-ego was running this race.

same guy as the one seated center two photos back

So experienced veteran me then led relative rookie Maravilla (two years running ultras) off the course, though he questioned the move (straight rather than sharply left). I had gone much farther, so had to back up much more. By the time I was back on the trail Jorge was way ahead, along with another guy in a red shirt.

The guy in the red shirt's name is Rich Conder, I found out when I passed him heading up the hill to the final stretch to the first aid station at Juniper campground. Rich said he knew my name from seeing it so many race results. Say what? Do I really race that often?

half a decade earlier

First aid station at Juniper (mile 6.2)-- pretzels and some Cliff Shots in my back pocket, bottle fill up, then up the straighter Juniper trail to the summit. Starting the final short trail to the summit I saw Jorge had just about caught up with the leaders coming back down; I had the same short gap on Rich.

Juniper trail emerges at that radio tower on left. After traversing the parking lot at center,

runners come up the short trail stretch to where I was standing when I shot this photo,

then maybe another 50 feet to the final summit parking lot.

We then ran back to Juniper (mile 10.4) by the more gentle Summit trail.

one of many views from Juniper, late February

A continuous descent for several miles, during which two Gu gels I'd brought and several Cliff Shots bounced out of my back pockets. :( It seems the pockets on those Race Ready pocketed shorts get loose over time.

The next aid station (North Gate, mile 14.6) hadn't been set up yet. PCTR had put out a distress call for more volunteers a few days before the race, so I figured this was a result of that. I passed two volunteers and race director Michael Popov lugging various supplies up the trail right across the road. I got my bottle filled up with water, opened the pretzel jar and stuffed several into my back pocket. But no gels. Mike ran up to me to ask what I needed, then said he would run back and catch up with me to bring me some Cliff Blocks, which work just as well for me. I assumed he wouldn't really catch up, but half a minute later, he had delivered on his promise. I was probably running faster than 8 minutes per mile on the relatively flat trail. Not a lot of race directors who can pull a sprint-stunt like that!

RD Popov running fast in the La Sportiva Crossover GTX, lifted from his facebook profile

Down at these lower elevations, much of the single track went through tall grass, sometime above the chest, probably from the record rains we had in March. I got paranoid about ticks, and would check my legs to see if any were crawling on me if I felt anything, which I did often because of an unseasonably large amount of mud splattering on my legs.

The trail I was on T-boned into another trail. The striped ribbon (indicated a turn and which way to turn) was on the right, so I turned right, but I didn't see another pink ribbon to the right, or to the left. Still I turned right, and crossed several streams (or the same stream several times). After several minutes, not seeing another ribbon, I got paranoid. FORTUNATELY I had a copy of the turn-by-turn split chart / course description in my pocket, which I pulled out, but UNFORTUNATELY I had already missed a short-cut (turn LEFT onto Falcon Rd.) and had added more than an extra mile (something I only figured out the next day looking at the map of my GPS recorded run up close), so I mistakenly thought I must be farther down the chart on it than I was, and thus misinterpreted where I was, and backtracked, went past the intersection, then started following the chart incorrectly, until I figured out that I was headed back to the North Gate on Burma Road and would hit it before 4 miles for the split, which was 5.0 miles. So then I headed back, and only then did I notice the pink ribbon around the corner, which I somehow missed twice before.

(If you read that last paragraph, but it made no sense, in brief-- I got lost and confused and more lost and went back and forth for bonus miles.)

While doing my bonus miles, red-shirted Rich had caught up with me, so I passed him again.

I kept running, saw another striped ribbon on the left, but no additional pink ribbon (and this time I really slowed down to look), so spent 1-2 minutes deliberating, until some mountain bikers pointed me the way to Burma Road, which led back to the aid station.

Total distance for the split-- 7.7 miles, so at least 2.7 miles added with all the snafus and stops, at least 25 minutes.
I'd learned my lesson, and started referring to the split chart religiously for the rest of the race, folding the chart over every other line so that the current trail was either at the top or bottom of the fold, and this paid off. Actually, I'd learned this lesson before, but need to be more consistent.

Lessons summary:

If a map is provided, bring it (though this can prove impractical for 100-mile runs that don't involve repeated loops)
If a split chart is available (PCTR provides these with almost all of their races), bring it and use it.
Slow down at intersections unless it is 100% clear where you are supposed to go.
When you think you have messed up, take even more time to figure out where you are.

Of course, I had run out of liquid during the 7.7 miles and so was feeling a little whacked out during the ascent to Rock City. At least I asked a volunteer to top off my bottle, but I probably should have drank an extra before leaving. I was forced to take things a little slower to recover.

Rock City's Sentinel Rock and the rocky and treacherous "trail" leading out to it,

which I finally let my kids climb three weeks earlier (not part of the course)

In the 50-mile course, there was a 12+ mile total out-and-back from the Rock City aid station east to Finley Road that was cut. After leaving Rock City, we went up this trail towards Juniper.

I encountered many in the marathon, running in both directions. That shorter race would be won overall by a fast 40+ female Caren Spore, whom I met hiking with my family near the summit just two weeks earlier.

Then I ran back up to Juniper for the third and final visit.

Juniper and the rest of the mountain was much warmer on race day than 10 weeks prior when lots of kids got to make snowpeople and throw snowballs. But luckily it didn't get too hot race day-- I never needed to put ice in my cap as I'd anticipated.

On the second trip to the summit, there was an aid station in the parking lot. Though just 1.6 miles from Juniper, it was a long 8 miles to the finish, so quite needed. We were instructed to touch the door. In other years, we had to go onto the observation deck, but due to extensive leaking and presumably budget cuts (it's a state park), it's been closed for months.

After going most of the way up North Peak (below), we hit some really gnarly, technical single track-- steep at times with lots of loose dirt and gravel.

I had three near misses from totally wiping out. On one, I managed to stay on my feet, but my shin almost got impaled by a branch stump jutting from the trunk of a downed dead tree hanging just off the trail at a turn I could not make due loss of my footing. I continued running, but I could not dare to look down at my leg, lest the site of blood make me faint. Later, using the green-tinted glasses that I always wear at work to allow me to do my job in the often gorey "ER," I saw neither stitches nor amputation would be necessary, though my wife made me cover it up that night lest I "ooze all the bed."

Jorge, who's name means "marvel" or "wonder" in Spanish, ended up winning. Connor Curley, one of the two who had taken the lead at the start had been passed, but inadvertently finished before them without passing them, so obviously had unintentionally cut the course and so his result was disqualified. I'm wondering if he missed the North Gate to North Gate 5-mile loop, since there wasn't an aid station when he got there at mile 14.6. If this is the case, maybe he should get official results for 32.2 miles.

So I ended up finishing 3rd overall, and 1st masters, and so far behind 2nd place Jacob Rydman that getting lost had no impact on my place. Therefore, I was GLAD that I was so STUPID, because I got more training miles out of the day's run. (Of course, had I not added those miles, I would have been closer to them and probably more inspired to try to catch up. But that would've hurt! I can't take pain! Ugh!)

I hung out at the finish grazing and taking pictures until I spotted a tick crawling up my leg and then a fly trying to feed or lay eggs in my open wound. My feeling that bugs were crawling all over me was not merely psychotic delusion, as the shrinks keep telling me. I became convinced this guy was trying to poison me with the chicken-vegetable soup and chili he poisoned. It was time to leave!

Volunteer Steve (and NOT Tim like I wrote last post-- big whoops, I am truly a dork.)

I met Steve on the bus to the Skyline to the Sea 50k start three weeks earlier.

I must have called Steve "Tim" but he didn't correct me.

I need to do a google image search for Tim Roush.

I also had to get home to make a play that night, originally by that good doctor Chekhov, in honor of race director Mike, who also hails from Russia.

Since I've digressed, the best play I saw this season though was a monologue by this guy:

preview trailer for Mike Daisey's "The Last Cargo Cult"

results
race website
Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded run -- as always, short-changed on the distance though not as much as a more wooded course. I'm pretty sure I ran over both 65 kilometers and 40 miles
Mount Diablo State Park website

Jacob Rydman's report

Thanks to PCTR and all the wonderful volunteers, who optimized enjoyment of a most beautiful spring day. "Diablo Light" wasn't too light.

Skyline to the Sea 50k, 2nd Time: You'll Agree I'm Still a Dork

2011-05-04T11:17:00.000-07:00

A few things were different at this year's PCTR's Skyline to the Sea 50k on Sunday, April 10th, from my first Skyline run two year's ago.

First, no pre-race fashion crisis. Last time (two years ago) I made it a family trip, with upscale "camping" at the nearby Costanoa resort. I had forgotten my running shorts.

actually NOT a recycled photo. 2009 race report

This year, I left the family at home to fend for themselves (they did go to a birthday party). Since I left from home Sunday morning, the only way I could have forgotten my running shorts this year would to have come bottomless, which so far has only happened in a dream.

Second, I came to the this year's race sore from running the inaugural Antelope Island Buffalo 100 mile run two weekends before, sort of stupid. Two years ago, I came much sorer and sorrier from having finished the McNaughton Park 150 mile run, which was a definitively stupider. Point is, I had to better my time, even if the course was a little longer this year.

Third, instead of talking with David Schoenberg on the bus ride from Highway 1 to the start off of Skyline Blvd (route 35), I talked with Tim (Roush) and Steve (McCluhan) respectively from Concord and Clayton.

I can use the picture I took of Tim after Diablo 60k this past weekend:

-- but as for Steve, forget it. (I tried to google his image, and, I shiP you not, I got About 822 results (0.06 seconds), none of which look like Steve, even though I am a little fuzzy on what Steve looks like now. Sorry, Steve, your chance for pictorial fame on this blog will have to wait.

Here are some images you get [qqwhen you type "steve mccluhan" under Google Images (try it!) :

WTF? Hopefully some of you readers out there wondering why I haven't posted on this blog for almost 4 months can get an appreciation for how difficult this endeavor can be.

David did not sign up for the race, but I was struck with the fact that had he gotten trampled by a buffalo the day before, I would not have noticed and would have enjoyed my conversation with Tim and Steve anyways. It was sort of tragic and comic and depressing and bizarre when I thought about it, but then I started feeling sick. See, once the road started getting windy ("windy" with a long i, as in rhymes with "one of a kindy" and not "blow like the windy"), I halted my running-related chatter, laid down and prevented myself from getting very nauseated as I had the last time.

Fourth, it was not as cold at the top as in 2009. Nonetheless, I was so scared of freezing my ass off in the woods, and much of this course is shaded single-track, so I ran the whole way with my long sleeve black Sportiva jacket. Sometimes I got a little hot, but it wasn't too bad.

I took no pictures for this race. Why? Because I took the race directions literally-- you could only put a jacket and pair of pants in the drop bags at the start to be transported to the finish. I hadn't seen my pocket camera in months, so I had started taking all my photos with my iPhone now, which I had left in my car. Besides being anal about following the instructions, it COULD conceivably fall out of the bag and then I'd have no cell phone.

Fortunately, La Sportiva teammate Leor Pantilat got a photo of us two and gave it to me, so I have one photo:

So, anyways, about the run. It was awesome. A beautiful day, clearer than two years ago, so better views near the top. No major mishaps. There were two guys I passed kind of early (I think I talked with a Troy Hartman, and maybe a Randy asked what took me so long to pass him), then a long stretch without seeing anyone.

Then this guy started catching up with me right before the first stop at the Gazos Creek aid station, at the start and finish of the extra loop that the 50k runners do and the marathoners don't. During the loop, I could tell he trying to pick me off, but I was able to keep ahead of him. After the second stop at the aid station, he caught up. We talked a little, then he made his move and lost me. Later I would be a little chagrined to discover he wasn't 26, but 46. On top of that, he was from Carmel, which is sticky and sweet. And his name was Judd.

Ashley Judd actually does a lot of awesome humanitarian work.

I listened to Terry Gross interview her on NPR's "Fresh Air" while I was running once.

Ashley Judd's website

However, because of the Judd thing, it still felt like I got chicked.

And here's the kicker. His full name turns out to be Judd Haaland. Do you get it? Three "A's" in his last name JUST LIKE ME. So even in the "male runners 40-49 with three A's in your last name" category, he still kicked my aaass.

I passed a bunch of runners until the end, but they were all marathoners that were at a slower pace. Less satisfying. By the way, pretty cool that a woman named Linden Bader won the marathon overall.

No age-group top finisher's medal, like I got at Redwood (previous report). In fact, the three guys ahead of me, places 5th through 7th, were all 40-49, so I was a despicable 4th in my age division.

But, look, the I'm looking so cool here with the race winner! (And HE was the one who suggested we get a photo together.)

Back at the finish, I found out that Leor, who hadn't raced since November's Quad Dipsea since he was recovering from injury and so hadn't expected that much from himself, broke his course record yet again, finishing in an amazing 3:24:09, which is 53 minutes faster than I did, which wouldn't be such a big deal if it was some 150 mile race and he finished in 33:24:09 and I finished in 34:17:24. Calculate the ratios to see what I'm getting at. Damn, I feel so lucky and undeserving and proud to be on the same sponsored Mountain Running Team as he is. I gotta throw in an even bigger pic of us two:

While we're at it, here's an even bigger picture of Ashley Judd.

Plus, bonus shots, since you have read this far.

Man (or should I say, OMG?) these are all copyrighted (copywritten?) probably.

I'm going to get busted!

Clap for Leor, Ashley!

Leor's race report-- better written than what you just read, has a nice photo of a waterfall at the beginning, instead of me in my dorky shorts (but no Ashley Judd!)

Thanks PCTR and all the volunteers (I was really buzzing through those aid stations, you were all so smooth!) for making an already beautiful day even better than beautiful.

race website

Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded map of my run

No Snow, Just Fun Mud at Redwood Park 50k

2011-05-03T22:08:00.000-07:00

coming into the start/20k/30k/finish aid station, photo by Rick Gaston

The forecast was that it would rain a ton, and then snow Friday into Saturday, in which case the PCTR Redwood Park trail runs would be cancelled by the East Bay Regional Park District. I walked out of the emergency department shortly before midnight Friday, and the parking lot was dry.

Amazingly I woke up at 7 a.m. on Saturday (February 26th), 15 minutes before my alarm was going to go off and less than six hours after I'd gone to bed, feeling fairly rested and feeling pretty good. Wednesday I had started feeling like another flu was coming on.

After running HURT 100 so sick in January, I feared someone had put a curse on me so that I would fall ill before every competitive race in 2011, and I would feel progressively more ill as the race went on.

Even then, I wasn't sure that the antibiotics I started Thursday to kill the Strep which grew from the throat swab would necessarily completely cure me in time, especially as I had the suspicion that it was more a viral flu thing going on, rather than Streptococcal pharyngitis. (The throat wasn't all of it, but since my nose wasn't running and I lacked a cough, had figured my throat was worth swabbing.) I figured I would know how recovered I was only around half-way through the 50k.

Baldwyn Chieh picked me up at my house, which I much appreciated since this way I could get picked up by my family in our loaded SUV and head straight to Tahoe, where it did snow a ton on Friday. Maybe because everyone was scared of icy roads and left real early, the parking lots were all full as early as 8:05 when we arrived, so we had to park outside the entrance on Redwood Road and walk in at least 1.25 km to the start finish area.

volunteer Darshan Thaker and my chauffer and fellow racer Baldwyn

Presumably due to the parking issue, the race started 15 minutes later than the scheduled 8:30, so more time to mingle. Surprisingly, I was shivering in the cold, possibly due to the bright sunshine unblocked by the puffy cumulus clouds-- it was going to be a beautiful morning.

nature-made ice, rarely seen in Oakland

In additional to greeting several friends I had seen since last fall, I got to briefly meet a few others (there were a couple of other yellow Sportiva jerseys, though most of the people doing the 20 and 30k races were gone by the time I finished the 50k. My pre-race highlight was to congratulate in person (rather than just on facebook), Mister100-mile Trail North American record holder himself, Ian Sharman, whom I'd completely ignored (and didn't recognized) at Stinson Beach 50k in November, where he had finished in 2nd place.

In addition to pulling off an incredible ultraruning feat almost by accident, I thought he was extra cool for being around my height.

photo by Rick Gaston

He lost a little credibility though when he told me, after telling me this was just going to be long training run (pefectly reasonable), "in fact I would be surprised if I finished before you today." (No shit, he really said this, and then a few lines later told me was going to run the whole thing (I was planning on walking several steep uphill climbs).

Once the race finally started, Ian, along with several others, including many probably running the 20 and 30k races, shot up the hill. I knew it was futile to try to keep up, but was still out of breath even walking half of it. (Ian would drop after 20 or 30k, so at least he proved it was really a training run for him. He would run a 2:40 at the Napa Marathon the next weekend. Heck, he can do whatever he wants!)

So it wasn't until the ridge that I felt well enough to suspect, that yes, I had recovered, and this was going to be a fun run.

The single track French Trail section, the middle 10k in between the 20k loop done twice, had been closed (by the East Bay Regional Park District) to the race, and it was rerouted. This made no sense, since that trail drains well.

original and usual course:

The "extreme weather contingency course" we ran:

It was soon apparent that the muddiest parts of the park were the flatter fire roads on the ridges, which effectively became fairly technical unless you wanted to completely soak your feet. Which I didn't, though I was amused at the number of runners who at least early on, seemed to use extreme effort to avoid getting their shoes and legs wet at all costs. Part of me wished I had worn my Wildcat GTXs instead of my Raptors (the Crossover GTX would have been overkill), but my Defeet wool socks kept me comfortable and dry enough, despite a few puddle submersions.
After the first 20k (pink) loop, you got to see people going the other way doing a previous lap. Fortunately none of the faster runners partially lapped me.

Doing the orange 10k out and back, I talked with the guy who finished 3rd at Muir Beach with red hair, Colin Gardiner, who was running the 30k, before he left me behind.

photo by Rick Gaston

The second time doing the 20k loop, the wide fire roads got messier. All the more fun.

The forecast for snow and rain came to nothing. It was a beautiful day, though it stayed a bit nippy. So, my brilliant act of preparation for this race was this:

In case it's not too clear, two left gloves.

At one point, I took my gloves off, as the pulling of the left-handed glove on my right hand actually made it sore after a few hours. But then my hands got cold again, so I put them back on.

I hung out a little with others trying to stay warm, until my wife picked me up with the kids, pre-loaded for a Tahoe ski trip. Personally, I think had it snowed, it would have been fun to run in it. But I got my snow in Tahoe where it belongs, with a great run to kick it off.

Thanks for PCTR and all the volunteers for a great day nearing the end of winter.

Jon Gunderson, 2nd place. 5 minutes was too far ahead for of me for me to ever see him.

He later did me the favor of pointing out that the guy on the left was not really Brett Rivers,

but Elmer Fudd.

Fudd with PCTR's RD Michael Popov and timing guru Mike Bohi

my pre and post-race photos

results

race website

Garmin Forerunner 305 recorded map of my run

Cut-Off Confusion at the Cascade Crest 100 Mile (Pacific Northwest race #2)

2011-01-14T17:19:00.000-08:00

Depending on how you count (here not counting timed races or that 150 mile ordeal), tomorrow's H.U.R.T. 100 will be my 18th 100-mile run. If I finish (see previous short post-- I would normally assume I could), it will be only my third time finishing the distance over 24 hours. Here was my second time missing the one-day cutoff.

Cascade Crest 100 mile, last weekend of August, 2009

PRE-RACE

This was my first race to which I flew myself for no other reason than to run the race. Felt a little guilty and ungreen. But I got over it. I got a view of Seattle and the Cascades to the east, where I would be running.

.

I drove my rental out to Easton and checked into the Silver Ridge Ranch, probably the closest lodging to the race start.

The guy who checked me in is the husband of the woman I had made the reservation with months ago. He had gone blind a few years ago, after a really fulminant, severe Staph infection, he explained to me when I asked. Orbital cellulitis, I figured, a relatively rare problem that I must rule out with every patient who comes to the emergency department complaining of pink eye or atraumatic eye pain (99.9% of the time it's not, but I can't miss it once.)

My room was called the Duke room. If I had never heard before that John Wayne was called the Duke, well it became obvious.

I finished the dinner I took out from Trader Joe's on the way. I started having the runs. Or rather, I continued having the runs, but they got pretty frequent. I sat on the toilet about seven times by the next morning. I had been having messed up bowel movements for the past few weeks, since getting sick at mile 76 of Headlands 100 three weeks earlier. It then occurred to me that maybe I picked up Giardia during the swim portion of Vineman the week before Headlands.

I hid this fact from Bay Area runner Sean Lang, here with his family. He had barely missed finishing under 24 hours the year before (in 2008). At Headlands he ran the 50 mile race with a heart rate monitor, while I got to the 50-mile mark before he did. He obviously was taking Cascade Crest more seriously, and I knew his times this year at many races was faster, so I felt he would do really well (and he did, finishing 5th overall).

Perhaps I had cleared everything out of my system, because my bowels didn't bother me during the entire race.

The 10 a.m. start works well for people who live in Seattle. They can get up at a normal hour and drive out to the race relaxedly. For people like me already staying nearby, it was just a painfully late start. But at least there was time to hang out, eat breakfast (freshly made pancakes), and even attend to my personal hygiene, which is so often neglected at these long events. Really wanted to start my race with clean teeth. Oral-B / Braun should sponsor me.

THE RACE

Map of the course, a big clockwise loop:

First half:

Race started up. Lots of guys darted ahead. I could tell quickly that I was still recovering from Headlands, because even holding back, I felt that lingering fatigue that normal mortals still feel three weeks after a 100-miler.

I met Trey Barnes, who had entered the race with a bunch of his ultrarunning buddies from North Carolina, although he had just moved to the South Bay (of San Francisco). Goat Rock (mile 3.7) came sooner than we expected; passing it was marked by Glenn Tachiyama shooting a picture of every runner. Here's me, with Trey right behind.

On the descent to the 2nd aid station, Cole Butte (mile 10.8), I managed to trip forward, scraping both my knees and muddying my hands and bottle, but fortunately no serious injury. Hours later I would put duct tape over the right knee after repeatedly irritating it passing through stretches of tall grass.

At mile 16, the course was supposed to go onto the Pacific Crest Trail. I had stashed a copy of the course directions from the runner's manual available online for each section in all my drop bags. The directions said that we would get on the trail in one mile after the Blowout Mountain (mile 15) aid station.

So naturally, running alone, I was really nervous when after more than 1.5 miles, I still hadn't gotten to the described junction. It turned out that point is almost two miles after the aid station. This would not be the last time the directions confused or misled me.

During miles 20's and 30's, a pattern emerged. Runner caught up up with me, we talked for a variable amount of time, then the runner left me behind.

As an example, I chatted a few miles with James Varner, of Rainshadow Running, which holds several ultras in the Washington state. He demonstrated to me that the ubiquitous plant on the trail that I initially thought might be poison oak (I saw very little of it during the race, in contrast the races in California)-- mulberries. I wasn't as adept as he in picking the berries without breaking my stride.

James pre-race. He had to drop at 80 miles, but showed a great positive attitude post-race.

Another Glenn Tachiyama photo, me coming into Stampede Pass (mile 33)

At Stampede Pass there were lots of people, with a big cheer for each runner as s/he came in-- it felt like a big party. I stupidly had left needed batteries into my drop bag there, and didn't want to carry them almost 30 miles until I would need them later. Luckily, as I left the aid station I found Catra Corbett and Jessica Devine, crewing for Andy Kumeda, and they told me they could stash the batteries into my drop bag at Hyak (mile 53). Thanks!

Another runner to catch up with me, talk a while and then leave me behind, was 100-mile rookie Samantha Sigle from Boulder. She would maintain her lead in the women's race to win in 23:18, 18th overall).

photo maybe after she won Steamboat 50.

I talked to her briefly post-race, but was too disorganized and whacked out to take my own.

Unfortunately, the section from Olallie Meadows (mile 47) to Hyak (mile 53) involving ropes and the the long Snoqualmie Tunnel had to be rerouted this year. No more tunnel-- I just missed it, my only view would be on my finisher's buckle.

RD Charlie Crissman replaced it with a climb to the top of a ski lift, followed by a harrowing, technical descent, a black diamond run ("most difficult" for those that don't ski or snowboard), largely along the lines of another lift. On the ascent I was talking with a guy who knew the founding race director well, but this was his first time doing the race himself. We must have been enough into our conversation, that we forgot to read some question left near the ski lift to verify we had done the route that we were supposed to report to a volunteer at the next aid station.

On the descent, several guys whizzed past me--I couldn't attack these very fast partly because I still felt beat up from Headlands, and partly because I'm not that good at steep descents. On the descent I turned on my headlamp for the first time.

Hitting the roads at the bottom, cheers from people living in some of the vacation houses, and several rounds of big and loud fireworks-- way cool!

Garmin Forerunner map of the first 53 miles of the race to Hyak

Third quarter:

Ready to head out, I asked someone to show me which way to go-- and it turned out to be Charlie Crissman, the race director, who walks me out of the tents and points the direction. However, I was mildly out of it and didn't really hear or register what he said. Had I listened better, or simply read the printed directions I was carrying, I would have known that it was a straight shot with no turns, first flat and then up a long hill to the next aid station Keechelus Ridge (mile 60.5). But I didn't, so when I saw a ribboned gate at the entrance of a fireroad to the left, I took it. After going up almost a quarter mile, I came to a house. There were ribbons tied to a gate, so even though it looks like someone's house, I figured I must be on course. After fumbling around someone's property, I finally pulled out the directions and figured out that I screwed up. Fortunately no one home with a shotgun.

After climbing, it was all downhill to Kachess Lake (mile 68). Then the 5.5 mile stretch nicknamed the "Trail From Hell" that goes along the lake. On the elevation profile for the course, it appears like a welcome break (the flat part on the right).

After literally bushwhacking through a non-trail stretch of dense forest, I soon encountered a trail completely washed out in places, littered with roots and fallen logs, and quickly learned I had to be very careful if I wanted to prevent injury and finish the race. This didn't stop one guy, apparently familiar with the "trail", and quite coordinated and fearless, who flew by, commenting "God, I LOVE this trail!"

At a more runnable part, I got nervous due to lack of ribbons, and so turned around and went back a quarter to half a mile, until I saw a light approaching. It was Shawn McTaggart, from Renton, whom I had briefly talked to in my last lap or two of McNaughton 150 mile in April. We ended up running a while together for a while until she dropped off, and I had to slog through the trail alone. Luckily two guys came from behind, but weren't going so fast I couldn't keep up. Roch Horton and his pacer armed with this humongous, bright light. I do believe pacing often IS light-muling, but had no qualms about using their lights (ahead of me) to pick up the pace and probably save 10-15 minutes. In the end, it took me 2 hours and 20 minutes to move less than six miles!

It was great finally to get to Mineral Creek aid station (mile 73.9), where this guy, among others, helped me regain my bearings.

Ben Blessing, RD of the Wild Idaho ultras

Last quarter:

At No Name Ridge (mile 81.5), I laid down for several minutes. Just had to sleep. Though not a drop-bag station (the last was Mineral Creek), they said they would deliver anything I left by 1pm, so I left my pack, which was killing my shoulders and neck by making by trapezius muscles increasingly tight. Unfortunately, I decided to keep my jacket tied around my waist, scared it would get cold at the higher elevations, but which I never used. I also brought my headlamp, which I kept on maybe 10 minutes. I ran a little with Trey Barnes, whom I hadn't seen in almost 65 miles. He had caught up with me while I laid down at No Name.

Trey soaking post-race

The penultimate decade (miles 80-90) included the Needles, these steep hills. I think there were supposedly four of them, but I lost count. A deemphasis on switchbacks-- it felt like I was running straight up and down them. This late in a race, they were brutal. At some places, slipping could result in sliding down the side of a mountain.

This awesome couple hiked in (hiked up) to man the Thorpe Mountain aid station (mile 84). They told me I then had to go up and down a summit, remembering to grab some sort of ticket to give them as proof I went all the way up.

At first I wasn't too excited about this, but the views of Mount Rainier and other peaks, popping out of the clouds, like island in a white sea, as the sun came up, were stunning.

And Glenn Tachiyama was there, shooting amazing photos of all of us (including the two above and below). Well worth all the running we'd done.

Perhaps one of the only places on the course (a big non-repeating loop) where you could see runners going in opposite directions.

There were probably two more Needles to climb before the next aid station, French Cabin (mile 89) before a long, sustained 6.5 mile descent the last aid station. During this time, I was looking at my watch and noticed that I could finish under 24 hours, but should probably push the pace. It's always hard to tell how hard you need to push to make some time goal on these trail races you've never run before. I started hammering it and felt pretty good, coming into the last aid station with an hour to run less than five flat miles, which I enthusiastically told the volunteers there. Only after I leave did I switch my watch from the stopwatch mode to time of day, and noticed that it was past 9:35 a.m. giving me 25 minutes to run 5 miles. Oops (those volunteers must have thought I was crazy). Apparently I accidentally stopped my stopwatch for at least half an hour.

Having lost any hope of finishing under an hour, and figuring I was in 20-somethingth place, it then became difficult to try to sustain any sort of extra painful pace. It was even getting warm. I figured it was better to save what was left of my legs so I could get up and down the stairs when I returned home-- my kids' preschool was closed the week leading to Labor Day, and my parents were in town, so this was a real concern. A legitimate excuse to be a little lazy, relatively speaking.

I finished in 24th overall, 24:28:08.

Garmin Forerunner map of the last 20 miles of the race (minus the last mile or two after the batteries ran out)

POST-RACE

My flight didn't leave until that evening, so plenty of time to socialize and eat. I even drove back to the river to soak a bit, got a massage, and tried to nap on a cot.

An Unexpected Race After the Race

Fellow Bay Area runner Chihping Fu finished shortly after 3pm and I start talking to him and Hao Liu. Soon, I figured I should go-- "guys I've gotta leave soon, and make it back to the airport." Hao tells me "I hope you can make it back on time with the large traffic backup."

What? Traffic backup?! Bye, guys! I bolted. As fast as possible. As it turned out there was a huge accident pile-up on I-90 about 8 miles to the west, so the highway was barely moving. It took me about an hour to get past the accident, which was being cleared by then, during which I told my very unhappy wife that I might not make my flight and be back home that night, and could you get the exact policy on Virgin Airlines for missed flight? Aided by my portable Garmin Nüvi, which showed my estimated time of arrival at the Enterprise Rental Car, I drove an unspecified velocity faster than I legally should and would have, until I knew that not only could I make my flight, but avoid the car return late fee, and even, get this, fill up the gas tank to save even a few more hard-earned bucks. So though I missed the 24 hour cutoff, I made all the rest, which was more important to maintain domestic tranquility.

Thanks, Hao, you saved me (barely)!

Next time I bug out earlier...

An epic race, that I'll have to retry with fresher legs. I missed 2010, since Angeles Crest was held the same last weekend of August. This is a maybe for 2011 depending on the results of at least one lottery.

Thanks to the RD and all the volunteers for helping to put on such an amazing experience!

official race website

race results

my Garmin Forerunner recorded maps:
miles 0-53, start to Hyak
miles 53-80, Hyak to No Name Ridge
miles 80 to not-quite-100, No Name Ridge to almost the finish

official race recap published in the Ultrarunning Magazine, November 2009

link to Glenn Tachiyama's photo gallery
(You can few his beautiful images full-sized. Thanks, Glenn-- they are a definite bonus for running this race.)

My First DNS? Or Second DNF? Ouch, That Would HURT!

2011-01-13T15:50:00.000-08:00

Whatever has hit my kids over the past week seems to have spread to me. My wife had to return from work last Thursday and my plans to run all day Friday as my last long training run for H.U.R.T. 100 were cancelled by my son being too sick to go to preschool two days straight. (I made the most of my forced running abstinence by finishing overdue blog reports all day.) My younger son has had a "tummy ache" off and on for days, puking all over the seat at a lower-end sushi buffet 2 days ago, though he was able to keep two ice cream cones down right after while mortified mommy waited at the front with his brother.

Anyone who knows me know I eat a lot, constantly grazing, but today, I haven't had anything and the thought of food makes me want to throw up, on top of my constant nausea. Last night I slept poorly due to uncontrollable acid reflux, along with shaking chills that started while finishing a call center shift that ended at midnight last night-- utter hell. No energy. I can't imagine even running 3 miles right now, much less 100 of brutally technical terrain in tropical heat for which I am completely unacclimatized.

I DID make it through my shift today however. I would have called in sick, but that would mean an extra weekend shift in March, part of a new sick policy among our group that usually works in my favor (since historically, I get called in to cover much more often than I call in sick myself).

Can I recover in the next 40 hours enough to toe the line? Or if I start, will I be recovered enough from this illness and resulting involuntary fasting (depleting my glycogen and already meager fat stores) to finish?

How I'm putting my chances right now:

chance of starting: 50%
chance of finishing if I make it to the start: 50%
chance of finishing under 30 hours if I finish: 50% (my original goal time was around 25 hours)

live webcast -- if I'm in it, I'm number 135 (but you can just type in "Tanaka")

I remain hopeful, but won't delude myself. Writing this short blurb has wiped me out, and still gotta finish packing....

STORMY 100 Mile (Pacific Northwest race #1)

2011-01-11T12:37:00.000-08:00

photo by Lucinda Iglesias

I had wanted to run Cascade Crest 100 Mile at the end of August of 2008, but figured I needed to get my parents to come out to help my wife with the kids while I was running. The earlier days for STORMY (Squamish Test of Running Mettle, Yeah!) 100, August 9-10, worked better for them. To sweeten the deal I told them I was willing to pay for all the lodging.

I ran into Baldwyn Lee from BC before Miwok 100k in May. He told me he was running STORMY, and so I asked him about the course, particularly if I needed trail shoes. Back then I was less experienced interpreting total elevation changes, and thought that 10-12 thousand feet over 100 miles might allow road shoes.

Baldwyn, stolen from his blog.

"Road shoes, definitely," he told me.

I was surprised at his certainty. "Really?"

"Totally. Road shoes. It's completely UNtechnical."

"Oh, okay, thanks."

The next month (June) I ran into Gary Robbins (who I met early on the course at Miwok) at Kettle Moraine 100 mile. He was there to pace a friend. I decided to get a second opinion about the shoes.

"Trail shoes," he told me, as firmly as Baldwyn gave his opposite answer a month earlier.

"Really? Baldwyn Lee told me road shoes."

"Well, no offense to Baldwyn, who's a nice guy, but look where he finishes. I guess if you run that slowly, you can run anything in road shoes."

"Good point. Thanks!"

In any case, I got the one available comped entry via La Sportiva that year, so figured I should wear my Lynx. (This shoe has since been at last in the U.S. discontinued. It was a great shoe, but I do like the newer Wildcat and Raptor better.)

The night before the race, we went to friends of my parents they knew through the city's symphony orchestra, who now lived in Vancouver. The wife went all out with the hospitality, preparing this multi-course feast, while I was scared my kids would trash their really nicely decorated, un-childproofed house.

a small part of the spread

We got home late, so at the time I was relieved that the race wouldn't start until noon the next day.

Although I slept okay, I had a long-running sleep deficit from the previous couple of weeks, and wanted to sleep longer. There were traffic delays on the road to Squamish due to improvements being made for the 2010 Winter Olympics, but we had plenty of time.

Race Director Wendy Montgomery gave the pre-race talk.

Out of gazillion of photos my then 3-year-old older son snapped while on his rampage, this was the probably the best.

These were more typical:

(Now almost twice the age we was back then, he's become much better at framing shots now.)

The race was a diverse mix of terrain, from a few stretches of pavement, such as at the start...

...to single-track, some of it quite technical, though that pictured here was quite tame.

But it was all quite pretty.

link to course map if you want to see it bigger
(The course had apparently been modified a couple times since the 2008 race, but not by much.)

A good number of runners pushed the pace at the start, but Gary Robbins was playing it conservatively, being his first 100 miler. He caught up to me around the Alice Lake and we ran together a few miles mostly paved.

Suddenly, the course veered into dense forest, and the twisty trail descended. As I struggled with the roots and rocks, forced to walk clumsily down the slope, Gary bounded gracefully and aggressively ahead-- I was amazed. I would end up not seeing him again, and he would win in 17:39:03, setting a course record that has survived the next two years.

Almost a year ago (as I am about to publish this), Gary won and set the new record of 20:12:00 for the super-technical HURT 100 mile race in Hawaii (which I am about to run in a few days. Unfortunately, an injury has precluded Gary's racing this year.) I feel privileged to have been one of the first to witness his superb cerebellar skills.

This and next several race and immediate post-race photos by super-volunteer Lucinda Iglesias

A short loop past Quest University, had us run up a fire road but down a single track (rather than the other way around, which would have been much easier and quicker). I almost tripped several times on the technical descent. In the late afternoon, though I had been only running a few hours, I could feel the heat wearing me down. But I was able to make it back to the start/finish/50 mile mark shortly after it got dark.

Heading out on the second loop through the town of Squamish, I was tempted to run into and plunk myself down in a movie theater and call it a day. Good thing I had no money on me!

The lack of sleep along with the double-edge sword of the noon start really wore me down. During the night, I was sleepy and exhausted-- the week leading up to the race I had a tough work schedule and had slept poorly. Doing the same loop again without sunlight was psychologically tough. I vaguely remember whining too much about lousy I was feeling. The volunteers were nonetheless always, cheerful, helpful and great. (You have no idea how guilty I have felt getting this report out to write that last sentence until now, 2 1/2 years later!)

The sun came up before the southern turnaround. Nonetheless, the technical section during the end of the loop, killed my toes. It was technically challenging enough the first lap, but the second time around, with the dark, drizzling rain and my fatigue, I stubbed them dozens of times and tripped a few. During this time, I knew the #4 runner was in hot pursuit. His girlfriend was nice enough to carry my drop bags back to the finish so I wouldn't have to wait for them.

Sukhi Muker finishing 4th overall with his pacer.

An emotional moment with his girlfriend and crew.

I finished 3rd overall in 21:12:22, much slower than I'd anticipated. It's not just elevation gain that counts.

No age-group award for me, since Darren Froese finished 40 minutes ahea, din 20:33:32.

In addition to the standard tech tee-shirt and finisher's buckle, we all got a cool ski cap as hip as useful swag. I have managed not to lose this cap yet, and love it.

My wife really loved Vancouver, and wants to check out Whistler so I hope to return to again run this race in the scenic and pretty town of Squamish caught between those two places. This year's race will start at 10 a.m. (rather than the evil start time of noon) on Sunday, August 6, 2011, with the 50-mile race starting Sunday at 6 a.m.

2008 100 mile race results (18 finishers out of 30 starters)
lots (931) of great photos by amazing volunteer Lucinda Iglesias
official race website

Other blogged reports from 2008:

Baldwin Lee (last place)

Gary Robbins (1st place and new and still current course record)

POST-RACE EPILOGUE

Two days later my family, parents, and I climbed up Grouse Mountain, which due to my tired legs and load (my son did hike up some of it), kicked my butt.

If you are a runner, the climb up Grouse Mountain is great. You can pay them money and have an official time recorded. Because of all the foot traffic, you are not supposed to run down, but pay for the tram ride down. Apparently a few people ignore this daily. (I confess that if I lived in the Vancouver, I could see myself doing this especially on a weekday.)

For those with kids, the free shows at the top of the mountain are fun for the whole family.

The next week we drove back to Seattle and saw friends. Mostly I took it easy, eating, doing only one easy hike, and hanging out of the beach to practice my juggling....

(okay, just a joke, that wasn't me-- too uncoordinated!)

Tiger Mountain. Thanks again guys for letting us stay with you!

But when we went up north to our friend's dad's house on a lake, I was able to do some water skiing and wakeboarding. No easy feat a few days after a 100-miler-- the seconds before my legs could take it no longer and I would finally wipe out were utter agony!

Sun, Smiles and Speedsters at Stinson Beach 50k

2011-01-10T19:17:00.000-08:00

My last race three weeks earlier had been the drenching at SF One Day. This weekend (Saturday November 13, 2010) finally brought beautiful, sunny weather.

I wasn't expecting too much-- running around Crissy Field somehow beat me up more than it did last year, despite doing fewer laps this year. I was still pretty sore even two weeks out. I was just looking to have, per the PCTR motto on the previous logo, "serious fun."

Coming from Santa Rosa, Bob Shebest graciously picked me up at my brother's in San Rafael. Bob is a tri-stud. He won the Full Vineman in 2006. (He's also a triathlon training coach in addition to teaching middle school math and science, so look him up if you are looking to try or improve your tri performance.) Bob didn't mention this, but he had just won the last PCTR race, Muir Beach 50k the weekend before in very cold, windy, wet and muddy conditions (results). He was looking for some back-to-back short races to get back in shape after his recent honeymoon, in preparation for North Face 50 mile next month (technically last month, but pretend it's still before Thanksgiving).

Thanks again for the ride, Bob!

Had I not been still a little sleepy, I think I might have puked on tortuous Route 1.

I had run Headlands 50k two times and Quad Dipsea four. All of these have aid stations at Stinson Beach. But during any of these races I'd never seen the beach. You have to do a race that starts and ends there to walk on it.

course map

The climb up to Pantoll on Steep Ravine Trail is, as the name implies, steep, so the usual early conversations at a lot of races quickly ended. A large horde of fast runners shot up ahead. I was breathing hard and couldn't keep up to put in the top fifteen. Had I been running a shorter race, I doubt I could've run faster or breathe harder. Maybe over my heavy breathing I heard the sounds and sights of flowing streams and waterfalls. In this section there were many fallen trees under which we had to duck.

John Mintz apparently missed the message about the staggered start, since he was running the 12k, but started at 8:30 with the 50k runners, rather than at 9:10 as he was supposed to. I'm guessing they let him count his time.

I picked off about four runners on the outbound. One was Kendall Wu (above) who then passed me on the climb up Deer Park / Dipsea, when we both passed Devon Crosby-Helms, the first-place women. Any relief at unchicking myself was tempered by the fact that she had just placed 2nd at the Lithia Loop Trail Marathon the weekend before, so maybe this was a recovery run for her. Another yellow Sportiva jersey approached from behind.

Nathan (Yanko), I thought, but it was Leor, running the 25k which started 20 minutes after we 50k runners. He was on his way to another win and course record (even if it weren't the first year for this particular course, trust me, it would have been a course record) at 1:52:24, insanely fast.

with Leor, center, and Nathan (3rd in 50k at 4:49 flat), right

Brett Rivers in 2nd would finish in 2:08:36 at a faster pace than I probably could have run 12k, but Leor was the only 25k runner to pass me.

25k finishers Larissa Polischuk and Brett Rivers

On the final descent to Stinson on Matt Davis Trail, I passed Kendall again, but despite having raced down that same trail several times in my life, missed a turn and blew about 30 seconds. After the Belvedere Point 25k aid station, Devon saved me again when I was about to turn right toward the Stinson Beach finish not far away, instead of left to head back up.

The second ascent, I knew I was going more slowly. It was interesting that I was breathing less hard, yet was less able to think clearly. Nonetheless, I think I appreciated the scenery more this time.

I caught up with another woman, whom I'd never seen before. Talented rookie named Kristin Munson I learned from out quick chat. I was able to pass her on the uphill to Pantoll.

At Pantoll, Jady Palko was leaving. He saw me and took off. I couldn't catch up, but was actually more motivated to not get chicked.

stud Jady with his ultrarunning fit mother, Barbara Ashe

In the last few miles, I sensed the increasing concentration of female pheremones from behind. I thought Kristin was gaining on me, but as it turned out, it was Devon.

overall winners: Devon 5:05:47, Leigh Schmitt 4:27:22

I finished in 5:05:41, 9th place overall and 1st in my age division, a mere 6 seconds before Devon who was gaining on me (whew, that was close!) Kristin would finish 2nd woman, only a minute plus behind women's first (and me).

I'm never do those ice baths post-race. Too much hassle, and even without the ice, I'm too wimpy about it. But when you have this ocean right at the finish, there's no ecological impact, and it's easier to wade right in.

I stayed in the water until I couldn't take it anymore. Plus I got hungry again...

Thanks to the many volunteers, including Monica Brennan.

results

race website

Finally done blogging my 2010 races--yay!

Pure Endurance -- My 2nd SF One Day 24-Hour Race

2011-01-09T06:53:00.000-08:00

I am convinced that the 24 hour race (and it's even gnarlier cousins the 48 and 72 hour races) is the purest form of running endurance challenge.

Generally held on small closed circuit courses, you lack the sense of going anywhere. Minimal scenery change. Progress is measured by a number, not a place, or even a time. Such a race is guaranteed to be, at least some of the time, psychologically grueling.

Throw in inclement weather, and you can at least triple your pleasure.

photo by Toshikazu Hosaka

Before last year's PCTR San Franisco One Day, I dreamed at least twice about it beforehand. Knowing what to expect this year, I must have had less unconscious anxiety, since I had no pre-race dreams. Last year I worried that I wasn't training enough off hilly trails. This year, I realized that running on completely flat surfaces was as impractical as relatively unenjoyable for someone who lives where I do. So I stressed less. This race was going to be a fun, challenging change of pace.

pre-start signing in, when still dry

I knew I probably went out too fast last year, hurting my overall performance (just under 118 miles). This year I would be more controlled. Indeed, I was able to do this from the start, making no move to fun with the front pack. There was nothing close to heavy breathing, as I averaged about 9:30 per mile for the first hour.

Jean Pommier, running his first set time running event ever, the 12-hour race, lapped me twice that first hour. He went on to pass me multiple times, and win that race. his race report

There were puddles all over the course even before the first rainfall, complicating the path of each circuit since running with soaked feet that long is never advisable. We enjoyed maybe 4 hours of pleasant dry weather, before the first rain the afternoon, while running several laps with Toshi and a couple with his fiancee Judy. They were going to see Madame Butterfly in the city.

photogenic happy couple after Firetrails 2 weeks earlier

The rain didn't let up, so rows of chairs set up near the timing mat for a wedding were put back into a large truck. The rain made things tougher-- I wanted it to be light while it was daytime. It helped that I still had the competitive race to spur me on. I started gaining on the 3-5 runners ahead of me around mile (or was it lap?) 40, and by lap or mile 60 or so had assumed the lead. (Need to finish these reports faster while this stuff is still fresh!)

Through the rest of the night the rain would start and stop, along with a wind, with gusts up to 30 mph or more. I switched out of my black Sportiva jacket to a pseudo-water proof one (couldn't find my Gore Tex as I left home that morning, whoops). That became soaked, I grew no less skinner and so colder. Finally I asked for a garbage bag, which I popped over my head. It was a bit restrictive, but did the trick. The rain and wind would stop, I'd get warm, I'd take it off. Off and on several times through the night.

sporting my mega-hip bag-jacket post-race

Around midnight, the increasing pain on the top of my left pinkie forced me to pit stop-- I needed to cover the blister before it wore down to the bone (my toes are exactly fat). Maybe it took 10 minutes to tape it and switch my drenched socks, almost a lap. Thanks for volunteer Mike for helping me out.

And yes, half my toenails are nasty anyways.

At home 2 hours post-race, my early trench foot was still both swollen yet shrivelled

Toshi ran back from downtown SF to Crissy Field to run with me my last laps. Last year I was able to crank out a several laps at a decent pace, but unfortunately, this year the last hour or two I had lost the ability to run, so it wasn't much of a workout for him. He wasn't really dressed for the rain and cold, so I felt bad for him, though being of tougher samurai blood than I, he said he felt fine.

On the last lap, I saw the cones on the far side of the course. Since I knew I wasn't going to finish my last lap before time ran out, I thought I'd do the RDs a favor and pick them up and bring them in.

action photo by Toshi Hoshizaka

As wet, windy and cold as it was, Sarah called off the post-race awards ceremony, a big extended love-fest photo-op last year. So no post-race socializing or picture taking, but I'm sure we were all relieved. My prize schwag:

Mike Nutall, age 61 and 3rd place overall, quite impressive:

Winning is often less an expression of my talent and more a function of who doesn't show up. Last year Suzanna Bon mega-chicked me. This year, she skipped our local PCTR event to do a 24-hour race in Oklahoma for a 24-hour race the same weekend, and went almost 8 miles farther, gigo-chicking me (and everyone there). Wow!

1 F Suzanna Bon             SONOMA CA           137.78      143 23:56:25

Thanks to the RDs Sarah Spelt and Michael Popov, all the volunteers and fellow runners who braved it out there that weekend. You make me feel more normal for still having fun!

race results

race website

last year's report

Blood, Sweat, Tears and Other Bodily Fluids at the 2010 Firetrails Fifty Mile

2011-01-08T15:05:00.000-08:00

Bodily fluids. Have to deal with all of these at work. But sometimes while at play too.

Lake Chabot (where the race begins and ends. Taken years ago, from a different angle than seen during the race, held Saturday, October 9, 2010)

BLOOD

Aside from being a likeable guy, I like it when Chihping Fu and I run races together, because he brings his camera and takes lots of photos, which I can use in my blog reports.

This is not without risk, even in race like Firetrails, which as hinted by the name of the race, is relatively untechnical. Near the turnaround, while snapping a photo, he tripped, wiped out and figuratively ate dirt.

Literally he bled. Sometimes that happens on these races. I've done this several times myself.

SWEAT

Luckily, it never got so hot during the day that the temperature became an issue. The last few aid stations I dipped my Moeben sleeves in water, but no ice in the cap.

VAPORIZED SPIT

Lots of my teammates from the Rhomobile Quicksilver team showed up to run. The team goal is to earn team points in the PAUSATF Ultra Grand Prix. And even though our chief rivals, Team Tamalpa, could care less, we do, because I think winning gets us some partial race fee reimbusement. And glory.

So, at the start, I was running with a group of my teammates-- Jean Pommier, Sean Lang, Toshi Hosaka (whom I met first at the 2nd Second Saratoga Fat Ass in February). We Rho runners ran and chatted 1.5 miles until the bridge.

Jean had his camera and told me he was not planning on running fast this year, and was intent on taking lots of pictures. Nonetheless, he along with Sean (and they both ran Rio del Lago 100 mile three weeks earlier) and Toshi pulled ahead from me. (Toshi would finish 2nd fastest rookie.)

I was breathing too hard. This wasn't a pace I can maintain for 48 more miles. I lost them. I could make an excuse of having run too long several times a few days before while in Ohio, but most of it is that these young guys are too fast for me (well, Jean is actually three years older than me. He would take a gazillion pictures and finish 18 minutes ahead of me and finish his blog report 3 months faster. Show-off!)

photo by Jean Pommier

Nonetheless, it felt good to work it, to breathe hard this early in the race.

A large part of the improvement curve in 50 mile races is improving your willingness and ability to breathe hard the whole 50 miles. Perhaps some people can extend this to 100 miles, but I can't. But 50 miles is still runnable. I'm not much faster than when I started running ultras 7-8 years ago. I'm just pushing it at a given level longer.

URINE

I was starting to feel the urge to void on the long downhill to the turnaround in Tilden. It would have made sense to try to pee on the return up hill, but somehow I though that a steady stream of runners would prevent me from doing that decently. So I took a minute to go behind a tree behind the aid station (to which volunteers pointed when I asked if there were a portalet). As it turned out, I was being peeranoid.

Later through the redwoods around mile 39 some runner I don't know catches up to me to ask if I peed on the trail. There were some other pee marks before me, but I told him yeah, probably. Sounding a little...pissed, he complained that he had to walk through it. I apologized. He seemed relieved to have gotten that out. Then he dropped back with his pacer at an aid station, his pacer handing him back a bottle to be filled, which struck me as muling, but even if he had caught up with me later, I probably would not have mentioned it.

If anyone is pissed off at me, you are free to complain to me here in my comments. Generally I try to pee to the side, but depending on the trail, this can be quite technical.

FECES

What did I eat yesterday? Bad pit stops x2 early in the race, once right past Bort (mile 7.9) having to dig the hole with my foot, and the porta-potty at the 2nd aid station at Skyline (mile 15). This resulted in passing and being passed by this one guy trying again to break the 50 and over course record (which he didn't, but admirable try) until I, being 7 years younger, was able to pull ahead.

Regarding the pit stops, I luckily could later write off 5 minutes lost on my 2010 form, and be done.

Too much information, eh? But I started this bodily fluids theme. Fluids.

Hey-- finally finishing and publishing these long overdue race reports feels kind of like taking a big dump.

VOMIT and TEARS

After the race, I had fun hanging out. No cell reception in the park, even to text, so I either had to borrow others' phones or walk up to Lake Chabot Road. I wanted my wife to bring our kids so they could eat dinner there, and I could hang out longer. It's a very festive, family friendly affair, the post-Firetrails Cafe.

On the way home, my younger son complained of a stomach ache, but he's always crying wolf about his tummy and other things, crafty, manipulative kid that he is, so neither mommy nor daddy took him seriously. Finally, he proved his integrity by spewing thin vomitus all over our couch. Followed by hourly repeats most of the early night. Lots of sheet changing crying, not lots of sleep.

By next morning, he was able to take in fluids, and by Sunday evening, back to his baseline.

I assumed it was from one of the pasta salads he wolfed down at the picnic, that his older brother ignored, and that this was a toxin mediated (as opposed to direct bacterial or viral infection) based on the fast on and off symptoms (no diarrhea).

Two days later, my working hypothesis is debunked, as his older brother comes down with the same thing.

CEREBROSPINAL FLUID and/or BILE

Heading back through Chabot around mile 45, from Brandon Trail to Cascade Trail, this very large African American guy was screaming and making threatening gestures, and even attacking to a couple of marathon runners coming through. I encounter agitated psychotic patients infrequently but regularly enough at work. He sounded like he was about to lose it. When I arrived at the last aid station, I told the volunteers, who had already been warned, and had called the park rangers. Poor guy. Fortunately no one got seriously hurt. He was heroically calmed down by the the husband of writer/blogger/ultrarunner Sarah Lavender Smith (who was incidentally the 2nd or 3rd female rookie finisher--- congrats!).

Sarah's heroic husband Morgan's account (a must-read) (not 100% sure, but I think you have to have a facebook account to read this.)

her much better than the one you are reading written race report

A few other select kudos:

Bree Lambert won women's race. Since I came 4th overall on our team, my points counted with hers for our Rhomobile Quicksilver mixed team in the PAUSATF Ultra Grand Prix.

photo by Jean Pommier I think

A few friends, familiar and new, finishing their first 50 mile run (this will not be a new blog report tradition, but I thought I'd clap for them publicly):

John Ostezan (left), who paced me the last 25 miles at Tahoe Rim Trail 100, Jean Pommier (not a rookie) at right. Jean's race report and his race album of 329 photos

Erika Kikuchi, who decided to run this last-minute almost on a whim, choosing between, if I remember correctly, a 5k or this 50 miler. (sligthly different, I guess...)

Stephen Wright

Baldwyn Chieh (not his first 50 mile, but he's been injured so long, it counts). His inspiring blog report. How can my stupid post on bodily fluids be as inspiring?

with non-rookie Clement Choy on right

results

race website

Garmin Forerunner recording of my race

Jean Pommier's album of 329 photos

my more entertaining and seasonally-themed 2007 Firetrails report

Paced and Almost Self-Disgraced at the 2010 Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run

2011-01-07T11:26:00.000-08:00

My kids have gone to Disneyland twice. Both times the excuse to go down there didn't happen.

The first was for a medical conference, the costs for which I could partially offset with my modest annual continuing medical education allowance. The conference got cancelled, but I had been granted the week off my work schedule, the tickets were purchased, and the hotel booked. So we went to Disneyland anyways. We had fun.

The second trip came when I first mentioned the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run to wife about 30 months prior ago, as something we could do when the kids were older. But she was all over it. "Sure, sign up, let's go! I loved Disneyland!"

So last year (2009), I did my trail work, paid my fees and was all ready to go. It would have been my 3rd straight 100 mile run, each 3 weeks apart, after doing Vineman a week before the first (Headlands). However, the Station Fire cancelled Angeles Crest. But we did go to Disneyland, which is now not just about the Mice, Ducks and Mutant Dog. We had fun. (The first trip was a bit pricey, so this time we drove instead of flew down and stayed at a hotel outside rather inside the park. I got some running by dropping my family off at the park, driving back to the hotel and then running back to the park, reversing the process at the end of each day.)

The race directors were very generous for not requiring us 2009 cancelled race entrants to pay again for entry to the 2010 race, scheduled earlier during the last weekend of August. My kids' preschool was out the following week (leading up to Labor Day), so we planned a vacation with friends to Donner Lake near Tahoe. So I decided to go down to SoCal the last weekend of August without my family, and booked a return flight from Burbank back to Sacramento arriving at 4:15pm, where my family would pick me up on way to the rental house.

Jonathan Gunderson was driving down, so I asked to get a ride with him. He was going to arrive at my house before 4 am, but luckily he didn't show up until 4:20ish. I managed to dump work hours so I could end at 7 pm, but with getting the kids down, I wasn't in bed very early. The race directors quoted a noon cutoff for drop bags, insanely early. During the ride, I dozed on and off, but enjoyed talking to him, his wife Wilma and their friend and pacer Peter, who is here taking my suitcase out of the trunk. (Maybe I was supposed to tip him, dang, I'm so rude.)

Lunch at the Evergreen Cafe, ran into Brian Myers and his wife Ysa. She saved my ass (or rather my feet by providing a nail clipper when I realized I had forgotten to trim them. To give myself credit, I realized this BEFORE getting to the start line.)

Ysa Myers, Wilma Yun, Jon Gunderson, Peter MysteryLastName

Jorge Pacheco who would win the race, was sitting at the next table. I thought of saying hi to him, but was too shy. I am a shy guy.

After lunch, still sleepy, so laid down on my bed for an hour in my cheap but clean enough hotel around the corner...

...before the pre-race meeting, which apparently wasn't as long as in the past.

But some people still couldn't stay awake.

Ysa and Brian Myers

I opted for the official pre-race dinner, a fund-raiser for some nearby girls' organization that buys books to read to poor kids, and every member is a princess. Yeah, I know what some of you are thinking...

For the night before a big race, I didn't sleep too badly.

Finally--since I'll never get into Western States, the less-hyped SoCal point-to-point equivalent!

photo by Ysa Meyers

On the ascent in the dark up to Inspiration Point, I heard numerous conversations. Tried to engage in a few, but other than a few minutes talking with Donna Utakis from Amherst, was too out of breath on the ascent to talk much. At the top I was moved by Blake and Heather Wood, a veteran father (who had been leisurely snapping photos when I caught up) and his rookie 24--year-old daughter from Los Alamos, New Mexico, running together. (Moved in that it would be so cool to run with my daughter when she turns 24 in her first 100 mile run, but I don't have a daughter.)

Blake in green, Heather (I think) in pink.

At the first aid station at Inspiration Point (mile 9.3) I ate a potato, grabbed some Chex Mix and pretzels and stuck them in my pocket. No gels, no blocks. There was only water at the start, luckily I had brought a couple gels, but I wanted salt. "Any salt caps?" I asked loudly a few times. Apparently not. I complained about the sparseness of the station fare to Jeff Lang, and he shared a lyte cap. At successive aid stations I would look for protein-- turkey, PBnJ, but none of those would show up until halfway through the race, which I and many others running found disappointing-- we weren't expecting this from such a long-running race.

Passed Scott Mills, San Diego 100 race director. Catching up to him was initially disturbing since he's 16 years older than me. He was concerned about Keira Henninger, who directs Leona Divide, and with whom he had been running. Apparently some hikers gave her wrong directions, so she added some serious bonus miles.

Keira on some fun run with Eric Wickland, stolen from her facebook profile

Ran also a while with David La Duc, pictured in action below at the princess dinner giving the peace sign with Jeff Lang on left (they drove down from Oakland together) and Roger Jensen in the shades at right. We both agreed the scenery was much better here than the 100-miler we did in Oregon last (2009) year as a last-replacement for the cancelled AC race.

Slowly the course descends from that early high point, so was feeling slowly a little better.

Ysa Meyers

coming into Islip Saddle mile 25, photo by Ben Jones

Ysa Meyers

Eagle's Roost (mile 30) to Coudburst Summit (mile 37.5) started with a stretch of highway. Yellow ribbons were on the right side, but I sidetracked when I saw a bunch of yellow ribbons on the left. Only after getting close did I figure out they were non-race "DO NOT ENTER" ribbons.

As the course finally went back to trail, I caught up with John Rutherford, and we had good chat, largely about some altitude sensitization device by AltoLab, and his experience on the U.S. National Cycling Team when he was in high school. I told him I was amazed I was running with him, but he told me the biking thing doesn't carry over to running. Maybe. As the course started going back uphill, I suddenly noticed that I had been overexerting myself. John sped off ahead, and I started feeling nauseated and bad. Also, I think the lack of nutritional choices at the aid stations was starting to catch up with me.

The final ascent was on a fire road. I started seeing blue ribbons, and no official yellow race ribbons, which made me nervous. I pulled out a copy of map of that section, and recognized a hairpin turn that wasn't on the course. After some nervous deliberation, I decided to head back down the hill, rather than possibly cut the course. Luckily I hadn't run more than a quarter mile when a couple other runners came up, and one of them knew the course, and assured me we were on. Had these guys not been close behind, it could have been much worse. I thought that whoever was marking the course could've placed a few yellow ribbons to counter whatever the blue ones were there for. I had to spend extra time at the aid station to fuel up. Charles Wickersham (in white shirt below) from Modesto gave me a caffeinated gel, and I started having ice put under my cap.

At Three Points (mile 42.7), I pulled out my spare Garmin Forerunner. Maybe right after leaving did I see race director Hal Winton, and told him I was enjoying myself. Sometime during this split I caught up with and overtook John Rutherford, who might have been behind on his calories.

At Chilao (mile 52.8) I met up with my pacers, Billy and Lori. Billy was going to pace at Cascade Crest, but his friend had to pull out, so he posted a little blurb on facebook asking if anyone doing AC wanted a pacer. Billy's knee had been bothering him though, so in the end he decided to run only 7 miles to Shortcut Saddle (mile 59) and Lori would take me two splits and 16 miles through Newcomb's Saddle to Chantry Flats (mile 74.6).

Both of them admitted to being nervous they wouldn't be able to keep up with me, but of course that wasn't the case. I told them that I needed to not talk on the uphills, a rule I often violated. It was good talking and running, and I enjoyed getting to know them both better.

As the evening approached and we hit some nice views (not as stunning as those at the beginning of the race, but beautiful enough). Billy was extra pained that he had dropped his pocket camera and broke the lens. The scenery shots lost, but really, how many photos do you all really need to see of me?

check out our Moeben sleeves!

Don't tell my wife I am being chased by pretty younger women in shorts!

It helped that Lori had an extra light after it got dark. Pacing is light muling! This time I could benefit for a change, though I was telling her whenever she stumbled if she fell and maimed herself, I would feel bad and have the ethical dilemma of whether to leave her on the trail or stay with her to administer aid.

No crew access from mile 75 to the end, so I had to be sure I had everything I needed. But I was pretty disorganized, not sure what I needed, and had to ask my two pacers to shlep the suitcase they got from Jon's crew. And somewhere there I must have lost my white Marmot running shade hat.

LAST QUARTER

The last 25 miles involved:

two large ascents, including the largest of the race up Mount Wilson
two even longer descents
no crew access
no pacers
the dark

I started to really focus on the split times from a chart in the race booklet for Fabian, who finished one year in 23:55. (I also had splits for Suzanna Bon (22 hour finish), but with the altitude and my two 100 mile runs in the previous six weeks, gave up on staying with her early in the race.) His Chantry Flats (mile 74.6) time was 9:55 pm; I left at 10:03. Being a split chart, I had no idea how he had been feeling, or how smoothly he had been running. I assumed he had been paced, and I was on my own. I was already lagging behind him, and I needed to make up time, as well as build up a cushion.

The split started as rolling ups and downs, but more up than down. I wanted the big ascent, which I felt was my 24-hour make or break stretch, to come. Finally a volunteer doing some last minute course marking told me the turn-off was up ahead. "The signs say four miles, but it's actually three."

I worked that late climb like no other. I could feel the air grow thinner and my head lighter again as I approached 6000 feet, but kept pushing. Finally I summitted. Arrows pointed me at an angle down a very nontechnical, wide fire road.

I loosened up, let gravity pull me down, and started cranking down the road. If the course stayed like this, I calculated I was going to gain at least 15 minutes on Fabian.

After a few minutes, I noticed I wasn't seeing any yellow ribbons-- just reflective strips that were part of the road. Some doubt. Was I paying close enough attention at the top? Did I miss a turnoff? Oh, shit. The thought of stopping to make my way back up was already unappealing, and each stride further downhill made it smell even more so. I saw an isolated randon pink ribbon. Great! .... Or not. Crap! Finally, I thought to pull out the map. I reached in my shorts pockets. Then my black Sportiva black pockets. Then my mostly empty pack. No luck.

Finally, I made the call. Shouldn't I see the next peak or the next aid station? I decided to stop and go back up, saying bye to that 24-hour buckle. Sigh. That one's out, I'll cut my losses. At least there's a 2nd Sunrise buckle, which was still well within my reach-- as long as I didn't get off course again.

During this bonus/punishment climb, I couldn't keep up the intense pace of my original climb. Despite trying to keep a positive attitude, I was inevitably dejected. Also, the already long 9 mile split was going to be 10.5 to 11, and my body was anticipating the nutritional penalty, my bottle already dry.

I didn't have to kill myself to make that fall-back buckle. I reflected on the race so far-- I ran well, and this mishap really wasn't my fault-- the markings really were too sparse quite often-- though having that map would have allowed me to figure out if I was on course or not. I enjoyed beautiful scenery. I met some cool people. No one really cares if I sub-24ed all my 100 mile races this year, or missed this one.

Almost back to the summit, I ran into a runner and his pacer coming down and asked them, "Is this the course?" Most definitely yes was their definitive reply. They obviously knew the course. Relief and remorse. I ended up tagging along with them all the way down the non-technical fire road to the Idle Hour aid station. In contrast to all the chatting I did with Billy and Lori, they never talked to each other, so I wasn't about to try to talk with them. Appreciated my Nano.

At Idle Hour (mile 83.75, though I had already run well over 85 miles), the runner and pacer I never formally met took off pretty fast. I went wussy, and in response to a volunteer's "you're looking great!" replied something like "thanks, but I just added at least a mile and a half bonus thinking I was off course when I wasn't.... which sucks because I had a great shot at sub-24ing." To which they replied that there was plenty of time. I countered with 100% certainty "No, I've been following the splits of this guy who finished in 24 hours, and I've been struggling to keep up with him. There's NO WAY." After which I spent a couple more minutes waiting for a more reliable answer to my question regarding when sunrise was scheduled in Pasadena. We decided I was good for that Second Sunrise buckle. I finally went on my way, 9 minutes after coming in.

It was hard to push the final ascent (1960' in 3.77 miles) to Sam Merrill aid station, but figuring I shouldn't jeopardize my consolation buckle, wasn't too lazy. I noted that without really trying I had gained 5 minutes on Fabian coming in at 2:35 (he came in at 2:22).

Oops, guess I wussied out prematurely. Big time. Crap, maybe I CAN make this. I was out of Merrill in 2 minutes.

And ran like hell. Some parts were a little technical, but twisting an ankle or falling off a cliff seemed like reasonably risks for the resuscitated goal of finishing under 24 hours.

Was getting hot, but didn't want to waste time taking off my jacket. So I was not only crazed, but really sweaty too.

Ran into another runner going the opposite way, lost, who didn't seem to trust me when I told him definitively the way I was heading was the right way.

Unchicked myself by passing 1st place woman Keira Henninger, who had passed me when I was running with Lori. She did more bonus miles that I had, so in reality, she still chicked me.

Billy met me shortly before I left the woods. He and Lori could see my splits from the finish, and they had been convinced I wouldn't make it under 24. Little had they known that my pace was great, it's just that I was running bonus miles. So Billy was surprised to see me this soon. As he guided me, he kept telling me I would make 24 hours easily, but aside from suspecting I was 10th place overall, regarding the more important 24-hour goal, decided that I would not trust him, and wanted to punish myself for being such a wussy earlier, so I kept pushing it hard as I could, my sweat capture by Billy's photos.

I could not believe I made it!

No, sitting in this chair, I wasn't feeling like I had to throw up.

This is just how dorky I look when I get emotional and cry.

See, I'm really feeling good and happy when Larry Gassan asked me to step aside so he could take my pic. Have seen these awesome finishers photos before--finally I was getting one!

Although David La Duc beat me soundly without my detours (5th overall, and our age group award trophy), apparently he was lying in the recovery tent not feeling nearly as good. Had I known I wouldn't taken another action photo of him.

After napping at Billy's house somewhere in LA, we had brunch, and then he drove me to Burbank Airport, for my flight to Sac and vacation with my family and friends.

A happy ending, with a valuable lesson about adjusting expectations.

finishers photos by Larry Gassan

race results
race results with splits
race website

shorter race report ("NOW he tells me!") on the La Sportiva Mountain Running Team blog, 2nd half narrating great recovery runs I did around Donner Lake northwest of Lake Tahoe