San Diego 100 - The Agony of the Feet

June 6th, 2009 5:59am

The morning chill hangs in the air, as I mentally record the temperature knowing full well I'll still be running 24 hours later. One hundred and twenty five runners gather before a banner that marks the start and finish line to the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run at Camp Cuyamaca. This site also serves as a home base, as we pass through at mile 19.3, 50, 69.3 (for simplicity, this will be referred to as 20, 50, and 70). Scott Mills stands to address the participants; blond, tanned, an obvious trail runner. He welcomes us to the race, reminds us to thank our volunteers and gives us the one minute warning.


I'm finally relaxed about this whole damn thing, because there's nothing left to do but run. Undertaking new longer distances can certainly be unsettling, especially for someone with who's simply more persistent than talented. But a 100 miles feels like clobbering "long distances" with a bulldozer. I spent the last month pre-taper wondering if my training would be enough. Ever since Ruth Anderson, or perhaps even American River my long runs weren't easy, weren't as long, and my legs never felt fresh. As a new-ish Ultra-Runner, perhaps I should have allowed myself more recovery after AR. Oh well, I tried to tell myself that I'm simply learning how to run tired without having to do it with a lot of mileage, and just need to make sure the taper does its job. I was still having fun; those long runs included part of the Silver State 50k/50M course in Reno (at higher altitude than SD), a wet romp in the East Bay hills with Kap'n Kirk, and retracing Mark Tanaka's foot commute by pilfering one of his Motionbased runs and by turning it into a course on my Garmin along the Garin trail late at night after work. I was counting on them to give me a taste of what race day(s)/night would be like.

Once the taper hit, my focus shifted more towards preparation. Too late, I soon realized, since any gear/techniques I'm considering won't be properly tested pre-race day. I knew small things, like blisters, or bruised toes, turn into big things, and finally bought Fixing Your Feet. The book stresses to reduce calluses, and even talks about pedicures, so I decide to gave it a go. With my daughter in tow, we hit the nail salon. I figured, since I'm there, I'll go for some colour, with everyone in range thinking I'm crazy. Uh, potential hundred mile runner here, wasn't that evidence enough? Besides, they will probably just fall off anyways.



Early in the race week, the weather report was calling for thunderstorms on race day. I decided I should have a back-up pair of shoes if it gets wet, and maybe some more socks, so I made a run (not on foot) to Zombie Runner. They didn't have my size in my shoe in stock, but I decided to go half a size larger anyways, and keep it on hand, while hoping I won't need them. I grabbed some Drymax socks because of all the praise lavished on them, and a cool demo on the web.

About this time, I had a cold coming on. !!! After running American River with one, I know it was not going to stop me, but it was annoying as hell. I tried to convince myself that this is just psychosomatic reaction to pre-race stress, or perhaps just the taper itself, but the bottom line was any extra sleep I managed went to fighting the cold and not towards feeling more rested.

The day before the race, the geek part of me had me flying into LAX instead of SAN, just so I could integrate a visit to Tony Nowak's factory. I'm a hard-core Indiana Jones geek, and Tony was the maker of the film jackets for the last movie (as well as a host of other movies like GI Joe, Terminator, etc). Not only do his jackets have geek-appeal, but they're phenomenonally constructed, made of some really fine leathers, and I get to see and try on many of his offerings.



Really fun stuff, great to talk to the man himself who is gracious, genuine, and fascinating, and you know, like try on the proto jacket Harrison Ford tried on for fit, or a copy of an actual Raiders of the Lost Ark jacket (Harry's definitely got longer arms than me), but I knew the entire time that I should have been "ten-toes up" and resting up for the big day!


As an aside, my bib number, which was chosen by me happens to coincide with the limited edition number of my Crystal Skull jacket that Tony had made for me last year; #9 (for Kayley's birth month) 8 (Mason's birth month)

I stayed longer than I should have, shorter than I wanted, and with LA traffic, completely missed the chance to check-in for the race the day before. But at least I had scoped out the route to the start. After checking into my hotel, I grabbed my only meal since breakfast from Carl's Jr, and a club sandwich from a deli in a liquor store for breakfast, a gallon of water, and a Guinness.


Not pictured here is the large diet coke that I sucked down because I also didn't drink all day

It was around 8 'o clock, so I ate hurriedly as I organized my gear for the next day, and crawled into bed at 9. It took me about 2.5 hours to fall asleep as I was distracted by the sound of the highway, and the incessant pounding of my heart in my ears from caffeine consumption and eating so much so late. That was further exacerbated by waking up at 1am, and taking another hour and a half to get back to sleep. I was very thankful when 4am arrived and I could let go of the sleep game.

With one minute to go, none of that matters any more, nothing I can do about it now. I think about how we (or is it just me) often come up with excuses before the event to justify a poor showing. But not one of these could justify a DNF. And in a hundred mile race, there is never a poor showing for finishing. Is there?

Scott Mills counts down, the air horn blows, and we take off running. Faster than I expected, but it's comfortable, so I stick with the crowd.

Hints of blue break through the overcast sky as the sun rises, and already the air is warming up. The course begins on a nice fire road that's pretty flat, as it weaves its way towards the hills. I begin to sweat from exertion, and from being overdressed. I'm wearing a t-shirt with Moeben sleeves from Ruth Anderson, and my Sugoi Helium jacket, and think I should have ditched the jacket. Oh well, the thing weighs about 3 ounce, packs up nicely, so I stuff it in my pocket.



I meet Cecilia, Eric and Ric on the trail and we find that we're all first timers to the distance. We're all, of course, hoping for a sub-24 hour finish, but the most important part is finishing. Well, maybe finishing healthy. MAYBE. Ric talks about his previous attempt to hit the 100 mark at SF One Day, where he stopped at 82 miles. He admits that he's not a trail runner and hopes the course will be kind. I silently worry for him. He declares that he doesn't care if he's the last one to cross the finish line, he's not giving up at this race. Cecilia and Eric stop for a walk break, explaining their 25 min run/5 min walk plan. Ric decides to keep running, and while I completely agree with this strategy, I have a schedule to keep through, and soon pull away.


Cecilia (#50), Eric (#51), Ric (#8)

Ah, the schedule. The truth is, I crafted a detailed plan that operated under the premise that I could leave the 50 mile stop 11 hours into the race, and complete the second half in 13 hours. It didn't allow for too much of a slow down, but I couldn't risk going too much faster for the first half. Not only does finishing in 24 hours mean that you ran 100 miles in a single day (cool!), but there's a different finisher's buckle (silver vs. bronze). I figure if I'm going to have a target beyond just finishing, 24 hours should be it. It just seemed like any other time (expect perhaps sub-30) isn't as significant. I might suffer in the second half, but I'm pretty sure I can gut out 30-50 miles if need be, if things go wrong.

Well, a couple miles in, and I'm doing pretty awesome. Eventually, the fire trails turn to single track that gently ascends. The surface turns out to be quite rocky, and I stub my foot at one point rather audibly, but catch myself before I fall. I say something about getting it over with before I have to do this section at night.



The trail has climbed about 1000 feet, and the view is breathtaking. The hill isn't as bad as I expected looking at the elevation profile. I analyzed the elevation profile in great detail before race day, comparing it to familiar runs that I've done, so I could be prepared for the climbs. Not as good as first-hand knowledge of the course, it's still fun playing armchair-ultrarunner. I'm pleasantly surprised to find all the climbs and descents are gentler than I had predicted.





I arrive at the first aid station, Sunrise Highway, 5.9 miles completed, in maybe 65 minutes. The next section starts off really nicely, with some fun downhills, and occasional climbs. I should restrain myself, but decide to have some fun as I tackle the downhills with a little more gusto. It feels like we're skipping along mountaintops, and I guess we are. I soon catch up to Linda McFadden, who lets me pass, but with whom I'll trade the lead with for many miles until she completely drops me.


Linda McFadden



I catch up with Ric again and he takes my favourite photo of the day. He lets me pass, as he is taking the downhills a bit more cautiously.




Ric Munoz

The wind picks up and is frigidly cold. I'm not feeling so bad about having my jacket and sleeves with me now! At one point, we cross through an unsheltered valley, and the wind just hits me in the chest. I declare "This sucks!" to the runner ahead of me, and quickly correct myself; "Actually, it BLOWS." My right knee gets a really strange sudden pain going up a small hill, that worries me. I wonder if it's from the cold. I slow down a bit, never quite taking a real walking break, and eventually it goes away, never to bother me again. Phew. I realize that I'm starting to get really hungry, and I'm surprised, considering that I ate half a large club sandwich for breakfast (man, that deli in that liquor store in Alpine sure knows how to make a good sandwich). I also realize I'm not carrying any gels, or drinking enough water. Once I start drinking water, I can't get enough of the stuff.

I'm thankful to arrive at the Pedro Fages aid station at 12.6 miles, at this point. The aid station has a canopy with a wall that provides us some respite from the wind. The volunteers look even colder, and I'm very grateful for their presence. I eat PB&J sandwiches, chips, potatoes, and various other foods to refuel, and start to feel better. One runner pulls into the aid station and asks for help opening his drop bag, because his fingers don't work any more. I make a mental note to grab my gloves when I get back to Camp Cuyamaca, just in case.

The next section transitions us from rocks:


To sand:


Charred remains of trees scratch the cloudy sky, like a reverse of chalk on a blackboard. California's second largest fire ripped through here in 2003, and it must have been fierce, examining the extent to which some of these trees have been burnt through. This stretch takes us back to Camp Cuyamaca, which is encouraging. A runner, Hannah, catches up to me and starts talking. She asks what my target time is, and I say 24 hours, which takes her aback, "I must be going too fast then!" I mumble something about thinking my target isn't going to happen. She's a young runner, but more experienced than me, and on her second hundred. She says that her favourite race distance is 50 miles, I say mine is the half-marathon, not jokingly, but because it's the truth!

I'm starting to feel tired, with 80 miles left to go. I admit as much when an aid station worker asks how I'm feeling when I get to the Camp (mile 19.3). He looks worried, and says some words of encouragement.

I proceed to mishandle this aid station. I drop the camera off in the car (it didn't work in my pocket, so I actually carried it in my hand the whole time), and start to leave without changing out my GPS watch (I had borrowed my brother's watch, along with mine, and would charge one while using the other). And then as I leave, I remember I wanted to eat the second half of my sandwich from breakfast. Then when I get to my car, I remembered I threw the sandwich out. I remember how cold it was coming into Pedro Fages, so I grab some gloves. I think I spent 8 minutes at this station, and certainly didn't need to. Anyways, eventually I get my crap together, and I finally head out for the next loop.


Motionbased Report for the 1st lap (0-20 miles)

June 6th, 2009 9:55am (3:55 since race start)

The 30 mile loop starts with a 1000 foot climb up to Paso Picacho. It's over 4 miles; steep but not too crazy, and winds through some vegetation so we're not too exposed to sun or wind. It's warm, and I think I'm totally stupid for grabbing gloves and not ditching my jacket. My schedule calls for 15 minute miles in this section, and that's pretty challenging to do in this section during a hundred mile run, but I manage ok.

I pull into Paso Picacho, get my bottles refilled, and some food. I'm relieved to see other runners hit this aid station looking pretty wiped out. Cecilia and Eric arrive at the aid station just as I check out.

The next section to Big Bend is the easiest of the course, with a nice downhill cruise, without too many rocks. A nice break between the two hilliest sections of the course. Somewhere along the course, I come across a pair of rangers riding horses towards me. As it's happened before, if you throw something a little unfamiliar into the scene while I'm running, I somehow get distracted, and am prone to catching my feet on rocks. This is what happened here, my little toe catches a rock and I do a spectacular fall, but manage to catch myself before hitting the ground, but do drop my water bottle. I recover it, and continue, after letting the horses pass. My bottle is filthy.

Big Bend is a friendly aid station, and I drink extra water before refilling my bottles for the steepest, and longest climb that's about to come. It's not that bad, as I find out, but it is tedious. It's misty, cool, and it feels like we're climbing into the clouds. I pass a few runners hiking up the hill, and I'm glad when we get some flats so I can run again. Once I hit the peak, I ride gravity down. It's still a ways before the next aid station, and I love the sign that indicates there's just 0.4 miles to Milk Ranch aid station (keep on mooving!) Milk Ranch volunteers are awesome, and one of them actually runs back and forth to grab runner's bottles to get them filled. The electrolyte drink varies from aid station to aid station; Heed, Gatorade, and Accelerade. I've made myself electrolyte drink agnostic because I don't want to be high maintenance (similarly with Gels, heck, all aid station food) but I think it's here where I have my 2/3 empty bottle of Gatorade filled with Accelerade. Accelerade is my least favourite offering, and I'll tell you right now, it doesn't improve with a splash of Gatorade.

The next section looks like it should be a nice downhill cruise all the way to Sweetwater aid station according to the profile chart. I'm chasing Linda McFadden again, but for the last time. The miles and time on my feet are taking their toll, and I'm definitely slowing down.

This trail is rocky, and I'm not really used to it. I realize I'm extremely spoiled in the Bay Area to almost exclusively run on well groomed, lovely trails. Or at least the same well groomed trails over and over again, maybe I should branch out more. I have a little trouble navigating the terrain, when I start getting a sharp pain in my left knee. It eases up but continues to bother me, unlike the one on the right knee that went away. Damn, my knees were doing so well during training too.

I come across another runner, Andi, and I strike up a conversation. Andi's seems to be struggling here, and we stick together for the next section. Her Tennessee accent (although she now lives in Southern California) and her tendency to drop F-bombs help to pass the time. She remarks that she'd hate to fall and have to deal with all the red ants on the trail, which cracks me up because I had thought of the same thing earlier. A very talented athlete (certainly faster than me, across all distances), Andi had even done a sub-10 hour 50 mile finish on this same course, a couple of months previous (the PCT50 mile run was diverted to the San Diego 100 course because of a tragic helicopter crash). I remark that that's a bit of a puzzle when it comes to ultras. Hitting the marathon mark on a 50 miler, or a 100 miler, and I feel almost as tired as I do doing a marathon, about 45 minutes faster. I guess sometimes it's just the distance. I say something about just hitting the 50 mile mark, and then seeing how fast we can extend our mileage PR.

We reach Sweetwater, Andi's husband is there crewing for her, and she needs a some time to regroup. I fuel up for the next section (the longest on the course, 7.6 miles), with gusto. Man, the watermelon really hits the spot. I'm done refueling, but Andi's not quite ready, so I head up the hill alone. My knee continues to degrade, and I struggle to find a running form that will save it. I also notice my stubbed toe is getting rather painful, and assume that it's swollen and turned into a blister. I know I'm slipping from my schedule, a sub 11 hour 50 mile split is in danger but I start realizing a 13 hour second 50 miler is highly unlikely. I begin to hear voices. Soon, Cecilia and Eric come through, with Andi in tow, who is in much better spirits. I join the fun, and we're making great progress, following the 25/5 plan. My knee and feet aren't doing great, but it helps to have company so I stay with the group. At one point, I stop for a bio break, and I decide to crank the pace (like low 7 min/miles) catching up. I usually find running fast is less stress on my joints because my form is better, which is true, but it is hell on blisters (and can't be sustained, at least by me)! My toe starts to go numb, and I'm really looking forward to seeing if my blisters can be drained, and patched. And maybe see if my size 11 shoes will work wonders. These 10.5's are certainly feeling too small right now. Cecilia and Eric have pacers joining them for the last 50 miles, and Andi says she and I should stick together if we can, but I'm wondering if I can keep up. Finally, we come across signs Camp Cuyamaca, and pull into the 50 mile mark at around 11:20 (5:20 pm).

I go to the car to do a full change. I switch from shorts to tights, put on a long-sleeved shirt, and grab three jackets (a nylon shell, the Sugoi Helium jacket I've had all day, and some clearance track-jacket from Target) and change out my water bottles for a hydration pack. I pull off my shoes, to examine my toes, and notice that my feet are just filthy. I'm thinking the whole lube on the feet thing doesn't work for me. It just attracts dirt and allows it to grind into my skin; didn't I learn anything at American River (I thought using a DIFFERENT lube would solve the problem)? My little toe on my right foot is swollen, and blistered, but it looks like I may have popped it in my mini-sprint on the last section. I grab a clean pair of socks, my size 11 shoes, and head to the Search and Rescue table to get patched up. It feels rather risky trying brand new shoes, with 50 miles to go, but my toes enjoy the extra space, and the old pair is definitely not working for me.



They clean off my blisters, and duct tape my little toes, and my big toes, which haven't blistered yet, but are experiencing hot spots. They feel much much better, and I thank them profusely before heading out. Andi is long gone, but as I'm about to leave, I see Ric drop into a chair, seeming out of breath. He says that the last section was really difficult, but he's going out for more. I say something about the second half being easier; "We know what to expect and don't have to go as fast any more." I doubt I'm encouraging, but I seriously hope he manages to pull this feat off. I head out as he starts gathering up warmer clothes. I leave shortly after the 12 hour mark, I can't believe this stop took me 40-50 minutes!, but having my feet in better shape is worth it.


Motionbased Report for the 2nd lap (20-30 miles)

June 6th, 2009 6:12 pm (12:12 since race start)

It's still bright out, so I leave my light packed. Suzanna Bon is returning from the 20 mile loop as I'm heading out. Wow! She goes on to finish in 19:32, and sets the female course record!

My feet are holding together pretty well, and I'm enjoying the peaceful twilight. I've done a few night runs, but this feels different, because I know now that I'm going to run all the way through to daylight. It gives me a real feeling of adventure, and that's why I'm out here. When I reach the Sunrise Highway aid station, there's wonderful campfire going. They have hot dogs here, and man is it good! You don't get food this good without building up an appetite.

I try not to dawdle, thank the volunteers, and then head out for a section that I anticipate to be windy, based on the morning's experience. Boy, is it ever. The wind is cold, fierce, and probably the hardest I've experienced in my short running career (Ruth Anderson '08 was notable for it, but this is up a few notches). Wow. Eventually, the light fades enough that I need my headlamp. The trail is now marked with chem-lights as well as ribbons, and I spot other headlights bobbing up and down further up the trail. I begin thinking of the chem-lights as lanterns, and the headlights as torches, and I think of us as questers on a journey in an inhospitable landscape. I feel like Frodo marching to Mordor, thinking man, he had to do that all without shoes, I can do this race!

I begin writing off my knee. I can sort of run on it, but I wonder if I'll harm it by forcing the issue. I notice that my walk with purpose is well under 15 minute/miles, so I decide to stick with it.

The way to Pedro Fages is about as cold as I expected, but at least I'm prepared. I'm offered coffee, and chicken soup, and take both as I pause to warm up a bit. Then it's time to head back out.

The wind is calmer on this section back to Camp Cuyamaca, and actually seems to go by fairly quickly. My feet are holding up ok, so I just grab a spare pair of socks for later, some food, and exchange my dying headlamp (brand new batteries, but they didn't last long), and grab a working one. I try to keep this stop short, and get my butt back onto the trail before I get comfortable.


Motionbased Report for the 3rd lap (50-70 miles)

June 6th, 2009 11:35pm (17:35 since race start)

The climb up to Paso Picacho is definitely harder the second time. My legs are fatigued, it feels not so much for running, but just being on them all day. I think about all the other 100 mile runs I want to do, and how much hillier most of them are. I've got to train better, get stronger, and plan better for those! But there's still this race to finish.

I reach the Paso Picacho aid station, and I look to refuel. They have pasta, it's cold, and not all that satisfying, but I'm not one to complain. I down a cup of strong instant coffee, use the rest room (woo, electric hand dryer!), and get back on the course.

I try to enjoy the cruise downhill to Big Bend, but downhills are tough on tired legs, especially with a sore knee. Time starts moving really differently; seconds feel like minutes, but a couple of hours passes quickly. I think it's just the effort to keep moving is significant, but with darkness, landmarks and other things that would mark the passage of time are difficult to observe. I expected the night portion to feel lonely, but it's not so bad. Nocturnal toads, black beetles, and spotted owls keep me company.



My feet are starting to feel like hamburger. In addition to the blisters I've had for hours, I'm developing new ones. As I hobble along at what I think is a good pace, another runner passes me walking faster. It isn't until afterwards that I realize that he's my Facebook friend, Jakob Herrmann. He mentions that he hurt his knee at mile 75. I say something about walking since mile 55. I catch up to him again at the Big Bend aid station, as he's changing in his car (he leaves Big Bend before I do, however).


My little toe happens to be oozing through the fabric of my brand new shoe (not the spot at the front of the shoe though, that'd be really freaky, that's just water or something). I don't think I can return the shoes.

I plop into a chair, as someone gets me a hot chocolate. I ask if they have duct tape, and they retrieve some from a volunteer's truck. I get to work covering my hot spots, as they tell me that the next section is very windy, and that at the next aid station it's about 20 degree colder. They tell me I've run 80.4 miles, and ask if I really want to finish the race. I'm bewildered, and say of course I am! My feet don't look as bad as they feel, but I think that's because they're covered in dirt. One of the volunteers goes so far to say she can't find any blisters, and perhaps I'm just being a big baby. I admit that it's a possibility. They have the grace to acknowledge that I'm looking alert and coherent, which feels like a good thing. I ask if they have anything to help heartburn, and ginger snap cookies are suggested. The volunteer points to a container on the table, and I proceed to take cookies out from an adjacent container. The statement of me being alert and coherent is quickly retracted. I say, "I'm sorry, but those are Oreo cookies you're pointed to!" Vindicated! (Although I forgot the cookies in the end!) After being patched up, I put on all the clothes I'm carrying and head up the hill in the blustery wind. I look back, and see cars stopping and leaving the aid station, and start wondering if they've manage to convince those behind me that their race is done.

The weather is not so bad (I'm sure it was earlier, my slowness has timed the weather just right), but the climb is long, and I start feeling extremely tired and sleepy. Rick Gaston had given me a bunch of caffeine pills and I take a couple now. Man, did I mention I'm suddenly extremely tired? I begin not walking straight, and I start looking for rocks, or hollowed out logs or other cozy looking shelters to take a nap. Actually, it doesn't have to be cozy. On top of that, my mouth feels like it's packed with cotton, and I'm getting heartburn whenever I drink or eat. But then darkness gives way to dawn, and with the rising sun, I start feeling better, and more awake. Finally I make the summit, and try to pick up speed on the downhill.

I'm so glad to see the friendly volunteers at Milk Ranch. I get a quesadilla here, and get my hydration pack refilled. Only it's pointed out to me, I don't need it. I'm lectured on drinking water, and I say it's because of my heartburn. I'm given a stack of pretzels, and instructed to keep drinking, and munch on the pretzels, and get my butt out of the aid station as I do. It sounds like good advice so I do it.

I'm trudging along now, it's not quite a death march yet, but I know I'm going slow. The sun continues to rise, and it feels fantastic. I shed some of my night time gear, and bask the warmth. I don't see another runner on this stretch, and I start thinking that I'm DFL. I swear, everyone behind me has dropped. My GPS watch dies on the way to Sweetwater (I had charged it when I dropped it off at mile 50, but left it on the whole time it was charging), and I think that I must be getting close, then I realize I don't recognize the trail at all. I also don't see any ribbons. I drop some F-bombs of my own, but continue on the trail in the hopes that I'm overreacting. I'm not lost at all, overreacted, F-bombs recanted. This race is really starting to feel long, but at the same time, I know I'll make it to the last aid station, and then it'll be obvious to me that I will finish.


Motionbased Report for the 4th lap (50-90.8 miles at which point the GPS died, my 24 hour distance was 86.6 miles)

Finally, Sweetwater appears, and as I walk into the aid station, I find Andi in a chair, with her shoes off. She's so glad to see me still in the race, and says she was worried about me after we parted at 50 miles. She's suffering from blisters, and the helpful volunteers are trying to figure out how to get her back on the road. I refuel, and get my empty hydration pack (see, I was listening) refilled. I tell Andi to get it together, and to finish this race with me, but she says her husband's going to pace her for the last section and to go ahead.

So I head out for the last stretch, and it sure is a bear. Long, tedious, I just want this race over!! The temperature continues to rise, but I don't mind. I'm hiking it when Andi comes with her husband, and she's running. I'm amazed, and impressed as I let her by, and continue my long march to the end. Eventually, I catch up to her again, and we joke about stuff, like I want her to pull ahead so I won't have to run through the last "river" crossing before the finish, like I said I would 50 miles ago. She pulls aside to rest a bit, but I've got new marching legs so I press on. Man, it's a long way. With my GPS watch out, I keep thinking I'm making more progress than I actually am, and I try to figure out ways to break down the distance. I meet a people who tell me it's about 4 miles away...hmmm...4 miles, that's probably the shortest training run I've done for this race. One person tells me it's 3 miles away, and I think about the 5K that Kayley and I did in April. Shortly after that point, I really slow to a crawl. All the walking finally takes its toll. My right gluteus medius is thrashed, I think because while it might be used to running, it's not used to this much walking. I can usually move through pain, but at this point, my muscles feel done too. The next person tells me it's 1.75 miles, and it's all downhill. But the downhill doesn't help, it's just painful.

One mile away, and I start getting passed by a pile of runners, including Catra Corbett and Andy Kumeda. I try to rally for the finish, but I've got nothing. I try to tell myself, one mile that's like walk around the neighbourhood, and imagine myself doing just that. It's so hard to imagine. Finally, I see the finish line, and I cross that creek, soaking one of my shoes because I can't navigate it cleanly. I pop off the trail for the final, what 50 yards, and there's shouts and screams, as I approach. Everyone eventually stops as they realize there's still a significant portion of time for me to travel that final distance, and they have voices to save for other finishers. I see Scott chuckle, as I inch towards him. I say something about not having a need to go any faster at this point.

June 7th, 2009 11:00am

I finally cross the finish line in 29:00:51, and I immediately thank Scott for putting on such a great race. He hugs me, laughs and hands me my buckle. I'm so glad it's over. Scott gives me a bottle of water, and I don't bother to sit, but make my way to the car before I can't any more. I climb into the driver's seat, and it feels sooo good. I take my shoes and socks off, and I'm rather surprised at the extent of my blisters.



Kind of blown out with the flash, but maybe you get the idea

I hear cheers at the finish line, and I try to get up to see if it's Andi, but the sitting still feels soooo good. It's coming upon noon, and I have about 4 hour drive to LAX still, a plane to catch at 8pm. I decide to try to get ready to go, before my energy completely peters out. This include a shower, and packing, and after hanging out talking to Jakob for a bit, I head out.

I stop for two 20 minute naps on the way to the airport. I'm offered a wheel chair when I make it to the ticket counter, which I scoff at. I see Simon Pegg, he's moving so fast (I still need to see that marathon movie he did). The final stretch after landing in Oakland to the baggage claim is long and difficult. I wish I had a wheel chair for it. It takes two more days before I'm able to walk without looking completely wounded.

A hundred miles is a heck of a distance! As it's often said, it's paradoxically difficult and easy at the same time. A long ways to go, but in the end, it's just one foot in front of the other. It's incredible how far you can go after expending about 90% of your energy. Or even 101% of your energy.

There's also a whole "you run the first 50 miles with your legs, the second 50 miles with your mind" or maybe it's "50 with your legs, 40 with your mind, 10 with your heart." Whatever it is, nope, I still had to cover 100 miles with my legs. The outcome was never in doubt, in my mind. All my chips were in, this was my one big race for the year, and like Kap'n Kirk's rule of DNF's says, I have to be seriously broken, or simply pulled on time. One of the funny things that kept me going: in our goodie bags we have two race shirts; short sleeved and long sleeved, and I kept thinking there's no way I'm going to have two awesome shirts that I can't wear because I didn't finish the race.



I made some comment to another runner with about 5 miles left to go, after he declared that this would be his last 100 miler, that I'm not particularly enamored with the distance, but maybe that's because I don't have my buckle yet. Hmm, no, it's not the buckle either. But finding out you can do what sounds so impossible when you first hear about it is a heck of thing. It's like you've blown the lid off of all those containers in your mind trying to keep yourself in a box. Just try it, you'll see what I mean.



Reading the race results is like a skimming a collection stories! Rick Gaston finished 6th in 20:00:25 (that's got to hurt a little bit, but it looks like he got over it). Linda McFadden finished in 26:30:41. Cecilia and Eric were amazing first timers, and finished in 26:40:09. Hannah is the youngest finisher at 28:19:23. Catra and Andy apparently were about 9 minutes faster in the last 0.75 miles, and finished in 28:51:58. There were 125 starters, and 85 finishers, and I placed 66th. I was so glad to see Ric's name at the bottom of the list, as the dead f---ing last finisher in 30:38:00. That right there looks like an epic tale to be told. All this from reading race results, I think. Or maybe you had to be there.

Thank you, to Scott Mills, and all the incredible volunteers who made the race possible. The course marking was top notch; for someone who often gets lost, everything was easy to follow, and the chem-lights were amazing! Beautiful course, and I enjoyed the format and having a home base (I didn't bother with any drop bags). I kept thinking that it's nice doing loops twice. The first time is cool, because it's the first time, and new and everything. The last time is cool because it's the last time!

Self-Portrait Progressive Photos


mile 0, race start


approximately mile 8?


mile 20


mile 50


mile 70


mile 100


What worked
- being prepared for the weather with Moeben sleeves, Sugoi Helium jacket - these two items really work well in varying temperatures. The sleeves pull down when it gets warmer, and the jacket is light and packs away nicely
- gaiters. A number of other runners ran without, and I think it's insanity!
- switching to a hydration pack for the night: I enjoyed the extra storage, and having my hands free after 12 hours of lugging bottles around. I'm not saying I'd do this for all 100's, but it was a welcome change for this race
- carrying spare socks!
- Honey stingers: they had 'em at one aid station, and I picked 'em up. I LOVE THEM. Kept searching through the gels at the AS after that!
- Duct tape, well everywhere I had a hot spot, it did turn into a blister, despite mid-run taping, but having them taped up definitely helped. I definitely will learn how to tape pre-race.

What didn't work
- Drymax socks. Not convinced they DON'T work, but they didn't work for me, unproven that weekend. I definitely had blisters earlier than I normally do. It just goes to show, what works for other people doesn't necessarily work for you. But my tried and true socks that I switched into felt awesome when I did (didn't stop blisters though, it was probably too late)
- lube on the feet! No more of this. I don't know why I keep thinking it'll be ok. Lube on the toes maybe, but no more on the underside of my feet
- pedicure? I'm not convinced. I think a reasonable layer of calluses might be better than silky smooth feet. And the nail polish just added weight to me feet.
- Not having a defined schedule for walking/drinking/eating. I did these things when I felt like it, and I think it would have helped to force myself to walk/drink/eat earlier
- taking too much time at aid stations. I had it all planned out ahead of time, but in the moment, I wasted a lot of time forgetting stuff. I think this will improve with experience, but all of you out there who have crews and/or pacers, be very grateful!

Links
My Race Day Photos
Combined Motionbased Report up to mile 90.8
Official Race Website
Rick Gaston's Race Report
Catra Corbett's Race Report

Mission City 5K: Kayley's first 5K!

I was flipping through a local newspaper while waiting for an offsite meeting, when I noticed an ad for the Mission City 5K, put on by Keypoint Credit Union at Great America. It sounded really low-key, with no-timing (just placement in the chute), free admission into the park, sounds like an awesome event for the whole family, and a nice first non-kids race for Kayley. For $35 per adult, and $15 per kid (Mason gets in free), it's waayyy cheaper than admission into Great America, so there's definite frugal appeal there for me. Great America and I have a history of running. Every time Kayley and Trish go (I think it's always been on a weekday), I have them pick me up so I can run into work. So this was actually going to be my first time at the Park. The race includes a 5K and a 1 mile. I convince Kayley to give the 5K a try, and Trish opts for the 1 mile walk.

Race morning starts really early for us. The alarm goes off at 5:30 but there were a couple of snooze button hits, and extended "But I'm tiirrrreed" protests. We grab breakfast and coffee at Starbucks, traffic is light, and we arrive in plenty of time. Parking is free for us, and we drive right into the VIP parking lot. Yeah!

We grab our bibs, but have to wait awhile for goodie bags and shirts. Trish and the stroller is like a rolling aid station, and we put our drop bags into the basket. I bump into my friend Eric, who was my regular running partner lifetimes ago. He convinced me to run my very first race, the Mercury Press Run 10k, way back in 2001, so it's good to see him there with his son Hagen.


Baldwyn, Mason and Kayley

Kayley, Mason and Trish

Hagen and Eric

We gather in front of the carousel at the start, somewhere mid-pack, and Miss Santa Clara 2009 sings the National Anthem. The airhorn blows at around 7:45, and we're off.



The way is crowded, but that's ok. Kayley dashes off when the way is clear, and I follow. Her pace is inconsistent, but she's having fun.



We weave our way through the park, which is pretty cool, and Kayley's doing awesome. But she starts getting tired, hoping that the end is near, when we reach the 1 mile mark. We start taking some walking breaks, and leave the park, to head out into the parking lot. Kayley starts asking how far we have to go quite frequently at this point. And is quite thirsty. There's no aid on this course, and I regret not bringing some water. The second half of the course is really uninspiring as it circumvents parking lots. Kayley tells me about her blisters, and her aching calves, and asks me to carry her but I tell her she'll finish just fine without it coming to that. I tell her it's ok to walk, just run the finish in case there are cameras.



She asks me what this distance is like after a 50 miler, and I do admit that my short run is longer than this race. But way back when I ran with Eric, my bread-and-butter run was 2.5 miles. I struggled with the concept of his mid-week long run of 8 miles.



The 3 mile mark is a big one, and we return to running for the finish which is just around the corner. I speed up to take photos of Kayley running, and she protests, she wants to cross the finish line first! We cross the line in something like 45 minutes. I'm very proud of Kayley guttin' through her first big race! She's a real trooper.

We're awarded with some nice copper medals, and grab some water and finish line food, and hang out until the park opens at 10am.

Mason gets to go on his first ride, which is that two level carousel from the start.




The excitement is too much

We end the day with another first. Kayley decides to go on her first upside roller coaster!



I ask Kayley if she wants to guest-blog about the race, and we decide just to do an interview. So without further ado:

How did you feel about the race before you ran it?
I felt very nervous.

Did you do anything special to get ready for the race?
No, I just woke up at 5:30.

What did you think about the distance, before you ran it?
It sounded pretty hard to me. But I thought I could do it.

What did you think about the course?
I kind of liked it. I've seen much nicer places where you can run, but it's Great America, so...

What was hard about the race?
The distance. It became hard after the first mile.

When you crossed the finish line, how did you feel?
Really really really tired. My toes were sore. I was proud.

What was your favourite part about racing today?
Spending time with my family.

Any future plans in running?
Pace myself more. I would like to do another race.

Ruth Anderson '09: Targets Vs Goals

Recovery from American River was rather painful for me; my first run back the first three days later was one of the hardest runs I've ever done (4 miles at a 10 minute/mile pace!). On top of that, two Mondays after AR, I was headed to a Leonard Cohen concert with a friend who works in Santa Clara, and decided to do an alternate commute into work so we could carpool togther. Not feeling up for it on foot, I took the bicycle, and it was a long hard ride in. I remember how a Monday bike commute made Silicon Valley Marathon difficult last year, and wondered if something similar would happen. Follow that up with a fairly aggressive hill run on Wednesday, and well...I have a bunch of excuses.

I'm pretty new at this whole ultra thing. All these talented runners around me routinely do back to back ultras, sometimes even strings of hundreds. I'm not there yet, but I figure I can follow American River with Ruth Anderson, two weeks away, no problem. The question is what distance to target.

Ruth Anderson has a unique format, because you can choose one of three distances to do when you're at the distance; 50km, 50 miles, 100km. If you go beyond a distance, then you're entered into the next distance, and stopping before is a DNF. I did my debut 50 mile run last year, and that race report was my debut blog. This year, my plan was 50km, but then I thought it'd be nice to do two 50 miles close together cto give me onfidence for my first 100 miler. Of course, then if I'm doing 50 miles, a PR might be nice. Maybe an age group placing again?

Mark Tanaka, Joe Swenson and commuted together to the run, and it was a great way to meet some Ultraholics. This year, Mark is trying some non-PAUSATF races for a change, and just finished a 150 miler last weekend, not to mention had an overnight before RA. So I contacted Joe to see if he wanted to carpool. We set a time (4:50), and the THURSDAY before I got my stuff together for a Saturday race. What a difference! I'm usually stressed the night before, and it's really cool to relax knowing I'm prepared ahead of time. Ruth Anderson is a loop course, and the nice part of that is being able to set up your own aid. This was especially comforting on my first 50 miler, but now with a point-to-point under my belt, I'm not so concerned. Still, I've got extra shirts, jackets, socks, gels, tylenol, body glide in a bag just in case.

I'm up by 3:50, and ready to go when Joe arrives. He offers to drive since his stuff is already packed up in his truck, and we head to SF together. We get to the start by Lake Merced with lots of time to spare, and pick up our packets and goody bags. I'm totally blown away when we're given Moeben sleeves. I've been wanting a pair of these! Add to that, Vespa, Fluid (recovery powder), cool hanteen bottle, goodies from Zombie Runner, all in a reusable bag from lululemon athletica, and you've got some nice shwag for a $40 race fee ($45 for first-time RAers). It is COLD, and little foggy. I meet Adam Blum, Sean Lang, Anil Rao, Nattu Natraj, Martin Casado at the start. To spice up the loop course, I suggested we play poker, and we agreed 2 cards at the start, one card per lap, $10 buy-in.

The sun comes up, and we're at the start around 6:40. Rajeev (Ultraholic and Race Director) delayed the start by 10 minutes to accommodate those in the porta-potty line. He then says a few words, thanking our sponsors, paying homage to Ruth Anderson, and then a count down and we're off. I run solo for awhile, trying to maintain an even pace, but I'm all over the map for the first couple of miles. Chihping catches up to me, and we talk, and soon pick up Bob Gilbert. I get to watch Chihping's photographing and running in action!

Photo by Chihping

Right off the bat, I know it's not going to be an easy day. My quads are tight, tired and sore, possibly from AR, but I'm guessing more from bicycling. The front of my ankles are sore, something that's been plaguing me since December. I'm maintaining a sub-10 minute pace alright, which puts me on target to sub-9 hours, but I have to work up front. The air is cool, so I skip the first aid station, and when we complete the first loop, ditch my jacket. I have to hit the porta potty, while Chihping and Bob head off.

The second lap is more of the same, but I do grab some Gu2O at the satellite aid station. I grab a gel at the main aid station, and I'm completely flabbergasted to watch the two 50k leaders come in, lapping me.

By lap 3, I'm starving. But oddly, I don't FEEL like eating. I grab sandwich bites, but mostly eat potato chips. I try to remember to take in salt, but perhaps not as diligently as I should. I start getting lapped by the likes of Scott Dunlap, Jean Pommier. Michael Kanning, who's gunning for the 100k Junior record, passes me with an easy, relaxed stride.

By lap 4, I catch up to Chihping again, and he's struggling with his plantar fasciitis as he did at American River. We walk a bit (he tells me not to walk like him) and at the next aid station, I grab some Tylenol. I see those two 50k speedsters walking back to the starting area, and guess that they dropped rather than finished.

Lap 5 is slightly better. I'm not fast, but I'm pretty even and running the distance. I start having an internal debate about whether to just finish 50k, or move onto the 50 miles. It suddenly occurs to me that my next race (not counting a 5k the next weekend) is Quicksilver 50 miler. If I'm having this much trouble two weeks after AR, three weeks of recovery before my first _hilly_ 50 miler might not be enough. I decide to wait for the last lap before deciding. I realize that my target for this race was to do 50 miles, but my goal for the race was simply to get a good training run in. I feel like I've met my goal, and I'm ok about letting the target go. Adam laps me on this lap, and tells me to straighten up, and gives me a little pep talk. He says he's listening to Kid Rock in my honor (Cowboy). Dude, yeah, give a toast to the sun, drink with the stars.

Lap 6 is like the last part of a marathon. I'm running slow, but I am running. Completing it gives me a cumulative mileage of 26.356. I do it in 4:32. About 12 minutes slower than my slowest marathon time (and 48 minutes slower than my fastest). I generally feel like I've expended 80% of my energy at the marathon mark, even if I've gone slow. Today it's more like 90%. I make the call, and head out for my last lap.

I can't push my pace much, but I am running. I thank the volunteers at the satellite aid station, telling them I'm not sure but I think it's the last time I'm seeing them. I pass through the finish line area, and pick it up on the way to the 50k finish. I cross the line, as Carol Cuminale takes my time, and catch my breath. My time is 5:27:22. As I walk by to the finish area, Anil Rao passes me and tries to pull me on to do 50 miles. I'm momentarily tempted, but I made my call.

The fog has rolled in and it's cold. I put on a long sleeved shirt, and a couple of jackets. I see Joe at some point and tell him I've dropped back to 50k. He says things are tough out there and he's thinking of stopping early too. I hope not. I suddenly remember poker, and draw all my cards at once. Sorting them out, the best 5 is a full house, Aces of Queens. Not bad. It's great hanging out at the finish area, and I get to meet Diane Forrest and Darshan Thaker, fellow ultraholics, and watch Rajeev in action as he greets each finisher, and breaks out age group awards.

Jean Suyenaga comes in and asks about the 50k finish. At some point, it's pointed out to her that she's done one extra lap, and is now in the 50 mile race. She tries to protest, but Rajeev is firm and sends her out for 3 more laps.

Michael Kanning pulls in with a foot full of blisters, and drops at 40 miles or so. He was running so well, and says his legs are fine, but his feet are too battered. It's a real shame, but he might manage to get a 50k Junior record out the deal, which is cool!

Sean Lang decides to stop at 50 miles placing first with 7:24, given that he has Miwok in 2 weeks, and team RhoQuick isn't in the running for points any longer (unfortunately, Jean had asthma issues again and dropped back to 50k). I grab Joe's truck and pick him up from the finish line. Even though I've run the course 7 times that day, I somehow get lost. Sean draws his cards, but doesn't have a better hand.

Anil and Martin come in at 9:12! Stellar job on both their parts! Martin, Nattu draw their cards, and although Martin has a full house, it doesn't beat mine. The whole situation looks suspicious! Next time maybe we'll all draw our cards at the end with WITNESSES, sheesh :) Thanks for playing guys, I hope it was fun.

Rajeev starts hunting for a rope or string for Joe to break when he comes in. I call out that they better move quick because he's just turned the corner! They get it set up in time, and Joe wins the 100k with a 9:21 time!

Jean Suyenaga finishes her 50 mile race a few minutes later, and wins women's first place!

Joe and I end out not too long after his finish. He lets me drive, since he's stiffer than I am. Traffic is heavy all the way home, but the racing is over anyways, and Joe is always great company (and subsequently introduced me to mochas from Peets).

Thanks to Rajeev and all the fantastic volunteers and sponsors for a great event!

Epilogue

So get this. Had I continued, I probably would have won my age group in the 50 mile race. But I felt pretty good about the decision to stop, given that I had Quicksilver 50m coming up in three weeks. I'm checking out the calendar and I finally notice that Quicksilver is my nephew's birthday party, and I'll be in Reno that weekend! I can't make the race!!


Splits
My Motionbased Report

Other Race Reports/Photos
Race Director Rajeev
Jean Pommier
Scott Dunlap
Chihping's photos

American River 50M

It finally clicked in after my run into work that American River 50M was not only my first official race of the year, it was my first race since Silicon Valley Marathon in October! At first, I was considering it a training run, but it was starting to feel like a real race as it came closer. My target time kept changing; I wanted to make sure I had enough time to recover for 100 miler in May or June, in fact, what about doing the 50 miler at 100 mile pace? But no, a PR sounds kind of nice too. I tapered for the race, and the week before, just couldn't wait until race day. I kept visualizing the run, and was feeling eager.

American River 50M is an Ultra institution. 2009 marks the thirtieth running of the race, and it's been noted that Gloria Takagishi is going for her 30th finish. American River is the second largest Ultra in the US, after the JFK 50K. This year, Julie Fingar takes over the reins of race director from Greg Soderlund.

Ron Duncan contacted me before the race, and we decided to carpool and split a hotel room. The Tuesday before, I ran six miles with a co-worker. Not too fast, it felt good, even saw Ron on the trail. But when I got back to the office, my lungs and throat started hurting, and I knew I was getting sick. I stopped off at Trader Joe's on the way home to get some Airborne, and tried everything I could think of to head off the cold. I was already going to try and sleep more, but now I really needed it. I manage to get 8 hours in to my usual 6.5, but I'm achy, tired, sniffly, have a sore throat and a cough. Thursday is even worse, as the bug settles in my lungs, and I sound like Dr. John. I take Friday off, with the intent of napping in the morning after dropping my daughter off at school, but end up packing the whole time. I feel a little better, but still generally tired, heart-rate high with activity, and even though I'm not coughing a lot, when I do it's painful. My wife, Trish, first asks if this is a good idea, and why I would run 50 miles while sick. I try to explain that it'll at least be good late-miles in a 100 miler training if I feel crappy. Or maybe it'll be like running at altitude, not being able to breathe. Not entirely convincing arguments.

Ron's delayed at work, so we don't head to Sacramento until around 2:30. We're stuck in traffic repeatedly, and don't make it to the Fleet Feet store to pick up our packets until around 5:30. We have to buy sodas at Mountain Mikes Pizza nearby to use the rest room, but it's worth it. There are some good bargain bins, but neither of us partake, and we head over to the banquet.

We're arriving just as the American River trivia questions are winding down. Ron gets a Trail Running magazine subscription for yelling out the right answer on the final climb distance (3 miles). Tim Twietmeyer, Greg Soderlund, and Julie Fingar then go through the course, turn by turn, giving us pointers on what to expect. I come away with: don't run the bike trail too hard, leave Granite Bay with plenty of liquids, and leave Last Gasp without too much liquid. After it wraps up, we head to our hotel in Auburn. We drive to the finish line so we know what to do at 4am, grab some more food from Marie Callendar's, go through pre-race rituals and turn in for the night.

We're both up before our wake-up call. It's cold (around 38-40 degrees), so I decide to bring a torn windbreaker with the intent to throw it away at some point. I pop some 12-hour cough medicine and Tylenol, have some cough syrup in the hopes that it'll make me feel semi-decent. We leave the hotel at 4am. One wrong turn on the way to the bus proves to be shorter route. There we find Rajeev, who had started driving at midnight, to arrive at the bus by 4. Once it gets going, we're all silent, as we try to sleep, or just conserve energy. I'm feeling really awful. Nausea, headachy, and when I cough, I feel like I'm going to throw up. I envision starting the race, finding I can't run, and DNFing before I even hit mile 1.

We disembark at around 5:30, with just half an hour before the start. First thing, porta-potty. Ron still has to check his sweats too. I'm freezing, but get to see Chihping, Jose, and Marissa. Some quality time in the porta-potty actually helps out with the nausea, and by the time I'm out, it's almost time for the race. I walk to the start, and the horn goes off, and we're off and moving.

I instantly feel better. The slow pace lets me breath lightly, so I'm not coughing much. The morning is dark and we head away from Guy West Bridge to a turnaround. After the turnaround, I catch up to Jose, Marissa and Rajeev. I consider running with them, but my legs are feeling great, so I slowly pull away.

The sun is beginning to rise, and the movement makes me feel warm enough to ditch my outer jacket when I come to the first aid station at Watt Ave (5.3 miles in), but I keep it just in case. My bottles are still full, and the next aid station isn't far. I keep to the dirt shoulders as much as possible, and my pace hovers between 9:30 and 10 minute miles.

I refill at the William Pond (8.46 miles) aid station, and ditch the outer jacket. After the half-marathon mark, I notice my pinkie toe on the right may have already started to blister. Feels a little early in the game, but eh, got to get used to it.

I've heard many complaints about the bike trail, but found it quite easy going, with some gorgeous scenery. Things get a little more difficult after Negro Bar, and I try to remember that I should reach Beals Point feeling pretty fresh.

Some guy on the trail starts turning around and yuking it up. He points his water bottle at runners and threatens "What if I....? What if I?!" I reply with "I'll chase you down." "Hey, I've already been chicked once tonight." We talk a bit, he asks how my run is going and of course I complain about my cold. "Run a cold, sprint a fever", he says. It's entertaining at fist, but eventually his humour falls flat after awhile, and his walk breaks leaves him behind.

I pull into Beals Point (26.7 miles) in 4:49. I stop to pee, and call my wife, to let her know I'm doing ok, and over half-way. The aid station is huge and rich with activity. People are met by family and crew. Knees being iced, sunblock being applied, etc. I decide it's too early to lolly-gag, and try to push to Granite Bay. I figure if I'm going to walk, it might as well be uphill.

My feet are really starting to bother me. I start picturing cherry-tomato blisters on toes, and on the ball of my foot. I decide once I get to Granite Bay, I'll see what's going on. The Granite Bay aid station at mile 31.67 is sizeable, but has a real trail vibe to it. I pull up to a log, and check out my feet. The blister on my small toe isn't that bad, and what I thought was a large blister on the ball of my foot is just dirt grinding into my skin. I was trying out Aquaphor instead of Body-Glide as a lubricant, and thought it'd be good on my feet. But with airy road shoes, sand was easily getting in. The Aquaphor just let the sand stick. Oh well, I figure I can deal. It's a valuable lesson to learn on a "short" run.

The sandy trail isn't too challenging, and the lightly undulating hills feel great. My legs are loving this stretch, and I pick up the pace. This is definitely my favorite stretch. It doesn't take too long (about 47 minutes), before I come to Buzzard's Cove. This aid station at mile 40.94 is only accessible by water or by foot. It's water only, and I hold up my hydration bottle to be topped off a couple of ounces. The aid station worker points out I'm probably not drinking enough. It's hot, but I'm not feeling it because of my cold. I know I'm sweating, but I haven't really been thirsty yet. As I leave, a kid sitting by a cooler asks if I want an ice cream. Heck yes. It's a full on vanilla ice cream in a cone, and it's delicious. I eat it on the trail.

The trail gets a bit gnarlier after that. There are huge rocks to climb at times, and the leg lifts are high when your legs are tired. At one point, I almost fall; the runner behind me prevents me from hitting the ground. My hydration bottle takes the brunt of any impact. I'm tired, and not eager to pass runners who stop to let me go. I'm leap-frogging with a couple as we go. I continually snag my toes on rocks, but never fall, thank goodness. I start suspecting that my 12 hour cough medicine is wearing off, as my lungs start feeling a bit raw. It takes an hour to travel the 3.25 miles to Horseshoe bar at the 38.14 mile mark. I try to get my salt on, mostly through boiled potatoes.

My Garmin's battery gives up the ghost soon after, with 7 hours, 44 minutes of recording. I've gone 38.28 miles. It doesn't take long to get to Rattlesnake Bar (mile 40.94). Greg had mentioned at the banquet that this is a psychologically important aid station, and he's right. It's less than 10 miles to the finish, and broken down with a mere 2 more aid stations. It's go time!

Well, it's not that easy. I start walking the flats a bit more, and it takes time to get to Manhattan Bar. It's obvious at this point that a sub-10 hour time is out of my reach. But I should be able to go sub-11 and qualify for Western States. Progress feels extremely slow.

I hit the 47 mile mark before I hit the last aid station. I thought it'd be the other way around. It's very uplifting, and I start the final charge. I have a fair amount still saved up, so I decide to run the hills. As I round one corner, there are kids waiting to take our hydration bottles ahead to the aid station and refill them. I tell the guy waiting for me to only fill them half way, Gu2O in one, water in the other. They're waiting for me when I get to the aid station, but he's filled 'em all the way. Oh well. I blow though this aid station quickly, this race is almost over!

I notice that the water bottles are heavy as I run. But not when I walk! A quick march, swinging them as I go seems to help my pace. I drink to lighten my load, and walk, and then break into a run. The hill is actually not as steep as I thought it'd be. I'm starting to have fun pinging off the other runners, and start picking up some speed. The miles count down, and I can see the canopy of the finish area, hear the announcer. I come to a sign that says there's just one last hill. Steep, but runnable, I charge up, and cross the finish line in 10:34.

I'm handed a bottle of water and my finisher's jacket as the chip is cut off of my shoe. The jacket is awesome. I pause a bit, and Brad Fenner comes up to greet me. He had contacted me before the race looking for someone to help him go sub-9. I direct him to the Ultraholics mailing list, and so he hooked up with Bill Cotton. Brad ran an amazing 8:22, in his third ultra, first 50 miler!

I find Ron and Bill in the center of the finish area, and we catch up on finishing times, and how the run was for everyone. Ron debuted in his first 50 miler in 8:29. He mentions he had a great 40 mile run, and a harder 50 mile run. Bill stuck to the original sub-9 plan, and finished in 8:53. Bill mentions that the shower will make me feel like a million bucks, and that sounds like a great idea.

I get the cold shower, but it's good to get some of the salt off of me. I grab a beer from the trunk, and a finish-line hamburger. We chill for awhile, and Chihping finds us, and joins us for a ride to Sacramento.

I arrive home to a house full of kids. Our friends Alison and Rory are at a Shark's game, so we have their two children. It's actually awesome to come home to such energy. My daughter tells me she really missed me. The evening winds down and every one is camped out in front of the TV for Bedtime Stories to close out the day.

This run exceeded my expectations. The course was beautiful, and the trails were fun. The aid stations were top notch (although they didn't carry salt-tabs, so I'll have to remember that next year), and the finisher's jacket terrific. Way to go Julie, on your debut as American River race director! It's always disappointing to not run as well as you think you should. I had some blisters, but could ignore them. My knees, ankles felt pretty solid through the whole thing. Felt tired, but never really death marched. Not sure how much I can attribute to my cold, since I didn't necessarily feel that crappy once I got going. I guess there's one way to find out...

I had my wife take this picture at a birthday party the next day. She said, "You just want a picture of your jacket!" I say "Yeah, well, for my blog!"

Motionbased Report on what was recorded

Other Reports:

Sean Lang ran an incredible 6:50
Jean Pommier was shut down by asthma, and turned into a race photog
Bill Cotton's amusing report

Ultracommute

After my string of Fat Asses, I made several attempts at 20-30 mile runs, but always found a good reason to cut them short. There was the "wife will be mad at me if I show up 30 minutes before the party I instigated starts with mopping, vacuuming, and general tidying up left to do" excuse. There was the "wow, my legs are beat, and I'm back at the car" run. Don't forget the "I've been out for over an hour, it's 1am in the morning, and my trail is flooded, I do have to get up at 6:30, maybe I should call it a night." And finally there's the "ok, so I just jumped a locked gate, and now I'm face to face with a bull with rather long horns, maybe I should turn around" gem. What can I say, there are days where unless you run out 10-15 miles, and run back, it's just too hard to say run a 5 mile circle near your house after an 18 mile run. I know, not exactly flexing my mental fortitude muscle here. I will say that I've been pretty successful following up my 15-18 mile runs with a 10 mile run the next day so I'm not a complete flake. But it does make me understand why some people elect to pack a race calendar instead of a training schedule!

So, my first thought is, when I get an email from an old boss organizing an annual get-together of coworkers after work, is I bet I can get a ride home from a friend who lives not too far away and run into work that day! A quick email to my friend confirms it, and I start mapping out routes.

Kap'n Kirk had pointed out to me during the Fremont Fat Ass 50k that there was a pedestrian bridge over the toll boths of the Dumbarton bridge. I was going to take full advantage of that pearl of knowledge, because I always found it tedious and frustrating to have to traverse around to get across the highway. I come up with a route that according to Google maps will be 31.8 miles. Perfect!

Now I've run into work before, when it was a scant 22 miles away. Those made up the bulk of my long runs while training for my first and second marathons. Just before my first 50 miler last year, I attempted to run into my new work location (slightly different from now since we've moved, but still Mountain View), and ended up calling a friend to pick me up in East Palo Alto, 24 miles into the run (my loyal reader(s) will remember this story from my debut blog). I've biked in a few times, and even biked in and out once (also blogged here. I know I have better endurance these days, but at least don't keep up the illusion that I can bust out a 50k in less than 5 hours at the drop of the hat any more (I've haven't gone sub-5 yet). I figure an arrival time between 10-11 is ok, which means trying to leave the house before 5am.

It's been a cold week, so I pull out the tights, and my running jacket for the morning. I turn early the night before, something like 10pm, and wake up at 3:45. I found it remarkably easy, and I'm pretty energetic as I make some coffee, take a quick hot shower to loosen up a bit, and eat breakfast. Then I notice, naw, really am a little tired. I take a hydration pack, because I'll need the water, and know there aren't a lot of water fountains on the way. I leave the house at 4:45, and I'm surprised to find it kind of warm.

The street lamps eliminate the need for a light, but I have a headlamp with me anyways. I make my way out of Castro Valley, and take a different route than I do on a bicycle. Usually, I find the trek to Hesperian to be tedious and ugly on the bike. But this route is nicer, since I'm going more through neighbourhoods than the streets of Hayward, and I end up on Hesperian sooner (Winton/Hesperian vs Tennyson/Hesperian). Thanks for the idea, Google Maps.

I run by one of Mark Tanaka's places of work, and think about when I commented on his Facebook page that "man, does he ever run slow?" to have him misinterpret that as me thinking he runs slow, and him commenting him that it took less than an hour which doesn't seem that slow...anyways, I think I passed his place of work in about an hour and a half. Man, do I ever run slow.

Still, I'm thinking I'm making ok time, and chugging comfortably along as Hayward makes way to Union City. I'm waiting for that brilliant sunrise that you only see when you're up and facing the day before it appears. I wonder what city I'll be in when it happens, and I'm thinking it might actually be Fremont. Maybe I'll see it coming over Mission Peak or something. I pass by a field, and unexpectedly find cows and goats staring at me. Since I'm packing a camera, I stop to take picture.

Nice huh? Pompeo Posar I am not

The day gets brighter and brighter, when it dawns (haha) on me that I'm being robbed of my sunrise. The overcast skies merely go from black to grey, skipping the entire range of reds, oranges and yellows. Oh well, at least it isn't cold (although it doesn't really warm up either)!

I'm still feeling really good and consistent, about 14 miles in, and I pass Alameda Creek trail. I think a little bit on heading towards Coyote hills, and ending up the Dumbarton that way, but it is a work day, so I continue with the plan of record. Hesperian, which goes through three name changes as I go through three cities, and I part ways at Paseo Padre (where Hesperian will take on a fourth name), and I can feel the bridge getting close. My legs start to feel the run at this point, and I know that it feels like my journey is about to end when I'm really only half way through. I start multiplying my current time by 2, and think about sub 5-hour 50ks.

I get a little confused with some trailheads/driveways that appear off to the right. I know I'm expecting something like "Quarry Rd" to take me to the pedestrian bridge, and the quarry is to the right, but everything I want to take is no-trespassers. Eventually, it becomes obvious that none of those are Quarry Rd, and I find it, and continue parallel to Hwy 84, separated by a chainlink fence that does a decent job of accumulating trash.

Quarry Rd leads into the parking lot of a visitor's center? Or maybe that's where the toll booth workers park? In any case, I feel like I'm backstage at a theater, getting to see what the audience doesn't.

I can't find an official path to the pedestrian bridge, but there does seem to be an informal one, up the slope. So I climb it, and I find myself on the south end of Coyote Hills. Neat.

I furtively take pictures of the audience from my unique standpoint. And I pour out some water out of my hydration pack to Kap'n Kirk for his part in this endeavor, hoping he's doing well, that his daughters are fine, and that he finds a cool new job soon.

Back on the other side, I run the long, slow miles to the bridge itself. Bike or on foot, it feels like you're going slow on this stretch. My legs are officially tired, and I promise them a walking break when I make it to the bridge.

I'd like to say that the sensation of having cars driving at you at high speeds is one that fills you with adrenaline, but it's really just unnerving. I notice the water is shallower than I expected, and think this is a crappy bridge to BASE jump from, and the faster I get across the less likely I'll have to deal with the shallowness of the water if an earthquake strikes. Don't know why I'm having such cheery thoughts.

I try to rally at the top and gain some speed, but it's not happening, so I try for slow consistency instead.

By the time I'm in East Palo Alto, I've run out of water, so I think about some Gatorade from that one convenience store on University. Or maybe it's a liquor store. Anyways, as it turns out, it's closed. Rather than cross the street to McDonalds, I decide to keep going, and I notice a street where I can see the blue garage of Ikea. So instead of continuing on University, I head towards that beacon of hope.

The Ikea leads to a McDonalds, and I pop in for a medium soft drink at 8am in the morning. It's coca cola, the nectar of ultra-runner. I never thought I'd understand its place in the sport, until I tried it. I hydrate, get some sugar and caffeine and cut through a Home Depot parking lot, which is packed with labourers looking for work.

I'm now running parallel to 101, and it becomes apparent that a sub-5 hour 50k isn't going to happen this morning. The landmarks seem to come slowly. First Embarcadero. Then San Antonio. Then I do a little diverging from the plan of record, as I see the Shoreline Golf course. I'm looking for some soft trails to run on. The trails on the golf course lead me to fences, and I'm having to jump some to get back on a road. I'm running through Google's campus now, forgetting to thank them for their help earlier on the run for suggesting the route through Castro Valley/Hayward. Instead, I'm eyeing their bike racks full of company owned bikes that probably aren't even locked.

Cutting through some more driveways, I come to the nursery that lies right by Stevens Creek Trail. I run through fields of bark or mulch that's really quite fun to run on. I climb up the embankment, and then head south, on familiar asphalt, as I end up on this trail about 3 times a week running at lunch at work.

One foot in front of the other, I finally make it to work, five hours, 48 minutes after I started. My final mileage tally is 32.8 miles.


View Larger Map

I immediately revise my plan for a sub 9 hour American River, to be a sub 10 hour American River.

The work day goes fine, but I am stiff and sore. It just makes the wine at that ex-company get together go down even nicer. My friend drops me off at home, and gets to meet the whole family, including my son for the first time, so it's cool. I don't manage a run the next day because make a point of getting it in that weekend. It doesn't happen until Sunday night, around midnight. Luckily, a 9 mile hilly run that ends at 1:30am when you're tired feels like I'm finally working out a bit of that mental fortitude muscle.

Los Gatos Overgrown Fatass Trail Marathon

I'm still riding the Fat Ass train for long runs! Fellow ultraholics Adam Blum and Sean Lang organized this second running of the Los Gatos Overgrown Fatass Trail Marathon. Adam promised some burly elevation gains with the course, and solidly delivered.

My alarm goes off at 5:55, and in a rare move for race morning, I hit snooze. I eventually drag myself out of bed, and have my traditional breakfast of toast with almond butter and jam. I'm very disorganized this morning, and it takes awhile to get my stuff in order. Even then, I run back and forth from the car to grab last minute items, such as my GPS watch, and the directions.

Race time is 8am, and I might have made it, except I miss a turn (Jones Rd) and spend some time hunting for the street. I still waste time deciding on using my aftermarket footbed inserts instead of the ones that came with my shoes...and then I'm haunted by thinking that I left my car unlocked. Three trips back and forth, and I finally make my way to the start at Novitiate Park in Los Gatos, about 8 minutes late. Of course, everyone's gone, but there's a stash of water, and supplies there. I realize I didn't really study the course, and didn't bring a map. The person Adam has managing the start/finish realizes she doesn't really know the way either. I figure I sort of know what I'm looking for and head off. Adam gave good details on his website, and the path is very simple, I just didn't do my homework. All I could remember was Limekiln to Mount Sombrosa, and the fact that he had two different maps; one showing the start trail. I interpreted that as being the start trail is complicated enough to warrant a separate map. Even if I get lost, I kind of wanted to do an ultra instead of a marathon, anyways.

As I come to a T, I see hikers coming up both trail choices. I ask the guy on the left if he's seen any runners, and he says no. I ask the people on the right, and they say yes. So to the right I go. I soon find myself making my way back to the start, so I ask other hikers, and they say the runners were headed in the other direction, and something about carrying beer. Sounds like my crew, so I turn around. This trail is full of runners and walkers on this damp morning.

Jones trail ends at a Alma Bridge road, and again I'm not sure what direction to go in, so I backtrack up the hill I've just come down, to a map I had passed. Another runner passes me, and turns out to be Toshi, who's also running the marathon. I figure out my way, and head up the road.

Jones trail is nicely groomed, and well used. Limekiln trail is nicely rugged. It's not majorly technical, but rocky enough you have to be paying attention. I think I see a few of the half-marathoners returning to the start at this point. I meet Carol returning from the her aid station, thinking that all the runners have passed through. That's what I get for showing up late! I'm running with just one water bottle and missed any stashes of water, so I get a little worried about running out. I'm rearing a technical t-shirt with a Pearl Izumi windbreaker, and I'm finding myself drenched on the arms, which I don't like, and unzip the sleeves to use it just as a vest.

The trail transitions from cutting through forest, to ridge like as it hugs the hills. I catch a glimpse of a runner up ahead. The hillside seems more exposed, and the wind is cold. The route is full of false summits, and I come across Cynthia and David, a couple that I had met at the Fremont Fat Ass 50k. We climb the hill together, and I start blasting down the downhill. I pass couple more runners at this point, and at around 10 miles, I start encountering the front runners. Pierre's looking fast and strong. I stop off to remove pebbles from my shoes, when Adam finds me sitting on a stump. Soon after, it's Sean and his dog Gordy. I'm getting tired, and thankful to pull into the Hick's Road aid station. It's fantastic to be cheered in, and something you kind of miss in trail running from street races. I drink an entire bottle of water before refilling with Powerade and grab a handful of peanut butter sandwiches.

I've been trying to adopt the Pose technique of running, and I'm finding it's really saving my knees. It also turns out to work well on uphills. I'm not walking as many of the uphills as I usually do, but I'm still having to walk some portions. The downhills are thrashing my quads though, and sometimes I have to walk the flats after a blast downhill to give my muscles a break. The air has gotten colder, and the fog rolls over the summits. At one point I put the sleeves back onto my jacket.

I make it to Carol's aid station and she's bundled against the cold. She's brought her own cowbell and her enthusiasm is fantastic. I'm thirsty again, and grateful for the water.

The trail back seems longer. I had glimpsed a runner before the aid station but there's no sign of him at this point. I hit the road again, and at one point, I'm confronted by a bicyclist and a car with no place for me to go. Thankfully, the car slows down to let us work it out. The hill up Jones trail is more intimidating than when I had climbed it backwards to check the trail map, but I can smell the barn, and I start picking up some speed. My shoelaces are unravelling but I can see the finish line, and I pull in to cheers. Some are amused that then I stop to tie my shoes :)

There's beer, chips, cookies, and Adam's chiropractor is there for assisted stretches. Real classy. I recognize him from the Almaden 10k a couple years back. He stretches me out and says I'm not as inflexible as I think I am.

A couple more runners make it in, but Cynthia and David are missing in action. Heidi reports that Cynthia was having some issues and they had intended to turn the return trip into a hike instead of a run. Adam drives to the road, and heads onto the trail to look for them, but a few minutes pass and our last runners make it in to the finish.

Eventually, conversation winds down, we close up the finish the line. Thanks to Adam and Sean for putting on the event, and all the fantastic volunteers for their support!

My Motionbased report

The Aftermath

The next day, I decide to do a "back to back" run, and head out for an 8 mile run on sore legs. It goes well, and I'm feeling more confident about tackling Lake Sonoma. I'm still wrestling with the hills on the LS50 course, so I launch into an elevation analysis of the Los Gatos Overgrown profile. GPS watches are notorious for their over-estimation of elevation. Going from a Garmin 305 to a Garmin 405, I notice that Garmin Connect is less accurate than Motionbased. Motionbased has an option to dump the GPS elevation recorded data, and use actual geographic data instead. But I'm still not satisfied, and after a couple of posts on the Ultraholics group, Steve Ansell points me to SportTracks. SportTracks with their elevation correction, and ability to modify the averaging window starts yielding some satisfactory results. I arrive at an estimate of 6500 feet of climb/descent for the course.

I manage to find a few Motionbased reports for Lake Sonoma last year, and determine that it's elevation is around 9000 when imported into SportTracks with the same settings. This makes me feel more capable about attacking that course, so I decide to attack the hills in earnest.

After a rest day, and then a short run day (5 miles), I head to Rhus Ridge for some hill repeats. Rhus Ridge is a trail in a quieter portion of Rancho San Antonio and provides a fantastic hill workout as it climbs about 600 feet within 3/4 of a mile. I usually run there one a week, typically heading up along Black Mountain trail. This day, I decide to run three repeats on the hill. The first one is the hardest, probably because I'm not warmed up. I'm pleased that the repeats are very even, in fact the ascents are within 15 seconds of each other.

Motionbased report of hill repeat

My good running streak sadly comes to an end, as I hit the hills at Fremont Older the next day too, and I'm troubled with calf/achilles pain the entire run. I take it easy, and try to figure out how to run without aggravating the issue, but it persists beyond this run as well. I worry again about Lake Sonoma, and realize that my key race this year is my first 100 miler at Sulphur Springs. Sulphur Springs, while not being a flat run, isn't nearly as hilly as Lake Sonoma (the accumulated elevation is around 13000 over 100 miles, vs 10500 over 50 miles). Sulphur Springs is less than 2 months after LS, which isn't necessarily enough time to recover if I get injured. So I finally chicken out, and registered for American River (the week after, but much less hilly) instead.

Fremont Fat Ass 50k

Thanks to a missent email on Chihping's part, I was reminded midweek about the Fremont Fat Ass 50k on Saturday Jan, 24th, 2009. I was planning to do a long training run, maybe 20 miles the same day as I was ramping up my mileage. But I'm a on a Fat Ass roll, so the timing is perfect! This one is put on by Catra Corbett and Mike Palmer, and goes from Quarry Lakes in Fremont, to Coyote hills, with a couple of loops, and back. Mostly flat, with the exception of some of Coyote hills, it might help me snap out of my running funk, and help convince me that I can still churn out some miles at a decent pace.

I take a rest day on Friday, but throw caution to the wind and have Thai for dinner. I've been thinking that my running hasn't been all that stellar because I'm not getting enough sleep. I still don't manage to get to sleep before midnight, with my alarm set for 6am, and a run time of 8am.

The dog wakes me up at 5:55, so I get up, and make a breakfast of almond butter and jam on toast, and I'm pretty much ready at half an hour later. Hmm. I could have slept in about 30 minutes longer. Oh well, I leave the house at 7, and I'm at the start at 7:30. I could have slept a whole hour longer! I'm guess I'm still used to a longer morning pre-race ritual, which has steadily been cut down as I gain experience.

The weather has been rainy, and temperatures cool. We've had a mild winter so far, so a little rain can't hurt. The morning is overcast, but no rain. It's a little chilly though, but I'm sure everything will be once we get going. Because the course is mostly on asphalt or crushed gravel trails, I wear my under-used road shoes. I've been struggling with my current selection of trail shoes, and relieved to have the chance to use a set of shoes that have served me reliably. I discover new pockets in my running jacket so I pack about 5 gels, an almond butter and jelly sandwich, and salt pills. For hydration I take a single water bottle. This is a departure to my usual hydration pak, but I'm thinking I'll enjoy traveling light.

We gather in the parking lot, and I get to greet faces that I know more through Facebook or the Ultraholic group than actual runs. I get to finally meet Catra, who is like a force of nature in the ultra-community, talk to Steve Ansell who is planning to run very easy for 2-3 hours as he returns from a Javelina Jundred calf injury and Ron Duncan, who's crazy fast race times I've read about on the Ultraholic list. Eight o clock comes around, so we gather for a group photo.


Once it's done, Catra calls the start at 8:08, and we head off as a group. Chihping is almost sprinting towards us as he's running from the aid station he set up on the course.

My goal for the day is to finish between 6 and 7 hours. I only have two previous 50k finishes (the fastest being 6:18 or so, although I did a 5:22 at 50k on the way to 50 miles at Ruth Anderson), and my last two Fat Ass runs have been extremely slow. Somehow, I fall in with leaders though. Catra leads our way through Quarry Lakes, but a number of people pause to de-jacket, before continuing on. I fall in with Ron Duncan, and we briefly take the lead, but definitely need a navigator. Kap'n Kirk Boisseree and Dennis Connor come to the rescue. We run to turnaround at the start of the Alameda Creek trail.

The pace is feeling great, and left to my own devices, I'm pretty sure I'd be running faster, which would be a mistake. We pick up Lindsay along the way, and the air is full of conversations about pyrotechnics, the Bears and how the colour of last year's American River 50m finishers' jackets were the wrong colour. Ron falls back a bit to keep Lindsay company as Dennis and Kirk and I press forward. We come across Chihping's awesome aid station, to find someone making off with a couple of sodas. The Kap sets him straight and we head towards Coyote Hills.

I've never run any of these trails before, and the ones in Coyote Hills are a treat. The hill is a welcome change of pace, but not too steep. The green hills frame us on one side, and bring thoughts of Ireland to my mind (I've never been to Ireland), and the Bay is on the other side. Kirk and I leave Dennis as he takes an extended aid station stop at Dairy Glen, but at some point gain Ron again. Lindsay was only planning on 20 miles, so Ron sprinted to catch up with us. He mentions that Dennis is feeling a bit gimpy and heading back directly. We head into the reeds, and pass by an honest to goodness archaeological dig site before returning to Alameda Creek trail. I'm feeling tired, and expecting to be falling back, as Ron and Kirk talk about 5 hour finishes. Ron says he's thinking about pizza, and wonders if someone will deliver to the parking lot. He's already formulating a welcome plan.

We find Dennis at Chihping's aid station, and he's having stomach trouble. Kirk gives him some ginger to settle his stomach, and we head off again. At our next walking break, Ron puts the after burners on and blasts ahead. I'm having a great time running with Kirk. He shares some fantastic war stories, and his advice on ultras is very welcome. Getting to see a veteran at work is even better. His walking breaks are disciplined and his walk has purpose. Again, left up to my own devices, I'd take these more often, with a slow, shuffling gait.

We hit Quarry Lakes, and can see and smell the barn. But it's deceptive, and the one and half miles to the back entrance is a long ways to run at this point. Once we reach the gate, we have 2 minutes to run a mile to break 5 hours. Thankfully, we don't have what it takes.

We reach the finish at 5:14, which is a 50k PR for me! Ron's heading off to pick up pizza (they wouldn't deliver) but waits long enough to give me a beer and an orange. Ron Duncan is one of the smartest, most generous person out there, and a true man of action. While others might think a beer might be nice at the finish of a race, he actually implements the plan.

Mike and Catra aren't too far behind, and pretty soon Ron's back with pizza. It is truly awesome pizza. We watch the other runners come in, as the weather turns a bit colder. The conversation and company makes it difficult to leave, and I get to watch everyone make it in. Steve Ansell is a real bulldog as his plan to run 2-3 hours turns to 6:37.

Thanks to Steve for the ride back to my car, Ron for the company on the run, the pizza, beer and other refreshments, Kirk for taking me all the way, and Catra and Mike for putting the whole thing together!