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