Rodeo Valley Trail Run – 2nd place

A few weeks ago, I ran the Rodeo Valley Trail 50k, with Inside Trail, one of the racing groups here in San Francisco. We ran up in Marin, just north of San Francisco; Marin is famous for beautiful and challenging single-track trails with arresting ocean views, and many of the races I’ve run have been up there. It was a perfect day – started at 50*F, finished at 70*F, and was the right combination of overcast and sunny.

This one was a little different – due to some previous weather, some of the trails that were part of the course were closed. Our 50k race would actually end up being a little closer to 52k with the adjustments.

The week before the race, I’d planned to take it fairly seriously – I had every intention of tapering my exercise, eating well, and getting lots of sleep. I accomplished zero of those three things, so showed up to the start line with no expectations.

As we lined up to start, I looked at the field of women just to see who was up front – fast women are inspiring. There were a number of women who looked quite speedy.

When the race started, one woman took off – I never saw her again. There were a few of us who clustered together for the first mile or so.

Heading out for the first loop before we hit the first hill. Mallory is right behind me and she immediately passed me when we got to the hill.

However, when we hit the first hill, I let the other women pull ahead. In what is somewhat a superpower, but also a bit of a psychological block, after ten years of ultrarunning I’m really good at judging how fast I can move up a hill without burning out too early. It’s great because it helps me pace, but not as great because in shorter distances, I revert to this slower pace when I could probably push harder. In this case, the pace these other ladies were setting was too fast for me so early in the race. I settled in for the climb.

At some point during this climb, I realized famous ultrarunner Dean Karnazes was right behind me. I had a moment of excitement when I realized that I was running a race faster than Dean Karnazes. He passed me right before one of the aid stations during this stretch, and I thought that he’d be gone – but then I left the aid station before he did, and stayed ahead of him for the rest of the race!

Uphill fun on the first loop.

And after the first aid station, the terrain switched to rolling single-track. I picked up a bit of speed, and caught up to another runner – Jill – who was training for a longer race in the fall. She and I ran several miles of the first lap together.

Following Jill down the hill. Or maybe this is an up.

When we got to the 20-mile aid station at the start-finish, I stopped to refill my water bottle, and Jill kept going. I knew I would probably lose her on the hill again (yes, we had to do that first one twice), so I let her go.

The second time around, the hill was a little harder. I took a few walk breaks, using a Galloway-method-like technique I learned from Badwater Mike. I would run for 100 breaths, then walk for 20, then repeat. If I could run for more than 100 breaths because the terrain wasn’t very steep, I would do that, and if I could walk for less than 20, then I would do that too. I could see Jill and Mallory (who had passed me on the first hill) ahead, but not close enough to try to sprint to catch them.

At the top of the hill was the final aid station, about seven miles from the finish line. Mallory and Jill were both refilling water bottles and grabbing some snacks.

I didn’t know where we fell in the pack – how many women were in front of us or behind us – but it seemed not unreasonable that I might be able to stay ahead of the two of them for the next seven miles, since I’d been slowly catching up on the climb.

I refueled very quickly and headed out for the last 7 miles.

The last 7 miles were a sprint. An old boss of mine – a marathon runner – introduced me to the concept of not leaving anything in the tank during the last part of a race – and these miles were that. I flew down the downhills and charged up the uphills.

I had significant anxiety during this stretch about the actual course, as the second loop had a shortcut that we were supposed to take, and hadn’t taken during the first lap. I was constantly on the lookout for turn instructions. There weren’t a lot of other runners to follow (a lot of runners had done just the 30k), so this part of the course was not busy. At various intersections, I asked several random hikers if they’d seen other people racing, and responses were mixed. This was a little nerve-wracking, because I knew if I missed a turn, one of the other girls would definitely pass me.

Run run!

The last half mile is a downhill to a beach, with great ocean views. I flew down it and headed straight to the finish line. I finished in 5:49ish. Not bad for a very hilly course!

I checked the results table and found out I’d come in 3rd. The first place woman was about an hour ahead of me, and the 2nd place woman was about 30 minutes ahead of me. I was pretty excited – if I hadn’t pushed it in the last few miles, I wouldn’t have placed. I grabbed my trophy and waited for the other girls to roll in.

Mallory arrived first – which was strange, since she had been behind Jill for most of it. A few minutes later Jill showed up – she’d missed a turn (what I had feared!) and added 1-2 miles to the overall length of the course.

The three of us hung out for a bit at the finish line and exchanged numbers before I took off for home.

Finish line with Dean (who I beat by about a half an hour!) and Jill

A few days later, I was checking the results to get my exact time – and found that I’d actually come in 2nd! The woman who was listed as 2nd originally had dropped down to the 30k, but in the moment the results hadn’t updated to reflect that yet. So this was very cool! (I’m still waiting on the 2nd place trophy though – Mallory, if you’re reading this, I’ll send you the 3rd place one! )

Overall, this was a fun day. I ran unexpectedly fast, which felt really good, because I have been training pretty hard for a few upcoming races.

Next up on my calendar: San Francisco Ultra in just under three weeks (discount code: AMBOLISA25 for 25% off all distances) and Burning Man 50k in about seven weeks.

 

Final results – I came in 2nd!

 

Avenue of the Giants Marathon – May the 4th be with you

Ever since visiting Redwood National Park a few years ago, I’ve wanted to run the Avenue of the Giants Marathon. This year, on May 5th, the day after Star Wars day, I finally got to.

If you aren’t familiar with the Avenue of the Giants, it’s a road in Northern California that weaves through some old growth Redwoods – the really big, really old trees that NorCal is famous for. They are beautiful You may also remember them these trees from the Ewok scenes on Endor in Star Wars; they filmed those very close to where this race took place.

I drove up the day before to pick up my packet and get situated. I stayed with my friend Austin at a motel / campsite about 45 minutes south of the race. It was very cute – secluded in the woods between the road and a river (which I definitely took a dip in when I arrived).

Race morning was perfect running conditions – a little chilly but not freezing. The first part of the course was an out-and-back half marathon, and I fell into step with a couple of women who were running about the same pace – Jordan and Karen. Jordan and I ended up running the first half of the race together – it was fun to get to make a new friend on the course.

Jordan and I running amongst Giants

The second half of the race was an out-and-back as well, along a different road. This part of the course was shared with the half marathoners, so I got to see Austin on his way to the finish. I also saw Karen again briefly too! This part of the course is the more famous stretch – if you’ve driven along Avenue of the Giants, you’ve probably seen this part – it’s right near the visitor center.

Trees everywhere

I finished in 3:47 – not bad, considering the rolling hills on the course, and that I’d had a pretty rough and sleep-deprived couple of weeks at work leading up to the race. Karen, Jordan, and I had a quick celebration before parting ways.

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Karen and I at the finish

I didn’t bring my phone, so I don’t have useful splits to share. I had my watch but wasn’t really watching the time. It was nice to run without a phone – those monsters are getting bigger and bigger.

Hardware

Tall trees

Overall, this course was probably top five for me for scenery, and I loved how intimate it felt. Couldn’t have asked for a better race day.

 

 

 

Austin and I at the finish

 

Austin and I headed back to the hotel to shower, then grabbed some pizza on the way back to civilization. It’s so amazing to live so close to such a gorgeous part of the world – a very fun weekend jaunt.

Tree huggers. Pretty sure we walked into poison oak for this photo.

As a reminder, I have a discount code for the San Francisco Marathon – use “AMBOLISA25” at https://www.thesfmarathon.com/ for 25% off. 

Oakland Marathon – Running with Pacers

I ran Oakland Marathon back in March – about a week after my birthday. I signed up for it because I was looking for some fast, local courses to tackle. This one ended up being super fun.

A quick side note: ever since I ran the Lake Tahoe Relay a few years ago, I’ve wanted to run around the lake solo – it’s 72 miles. It’s always been in the back of my mind as something exciting I wanted to do. So, when I was at the Expo for Oakland, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that, in fact, a race like this does exist – The Lake Tahoe Midnight 72 Mile Express. I immediately signed up and was rewarded with a Lake Tahoe bottle of Vodka (pictures on request).

The morning of the race, I took an Uber across the bridge to the start line. It was pretty chilly without any heat lamps, but I found a generator and stood next to that before the start.

Today wasn’t going to be a PR race, but I was feeling pretty well-rested. I decided I’d try to stick with the 3:40 pace group for as long as I felt like it, so I found them at the start.

The first few miles were pretty easy. Around the first or second mile, I noticed some guy – also running with us – taking selfies with him and the pace group. At first I was somewhat grumpy about it – very few people look good running, and who was this guy? But then I recognized him as an ultrarunning friend of mine – Peter! And he was taking pictures of his son, Garrett, who was one of the pacers for the 3:40 group! It was really fun to see them both, and a reminder that running is such a small community.

Who is this guy taking all these selfies?! Oh, it’s Peter!

Flying in the early miles (Photo credit: Peter)

The gang’s all here

Around mile 7 or 8, one of my toes started hurting fairly badly – like I had pinched a nerve. I tried a few different gaits, but none of them really worked, so I just powered through it. It ended up being fine later, but was a weird pain that I hadn’t experienced before.

This arch was on fire – with literal fire!

The draw for this particular race is the opportunity to run across the new portion of the Bay Bridge to Yerba Buena Island. The miles leading up to that, though, were … very industrial. Lots of old train tracks embedded in asphalt, and some very uneven concrete, required us to be careful with our steps.

The bridge was very fun, but definitely a challenge. The whole out-and-back portion of the race on the bridge was a couple of miles. The “out” portion of the bridge was a slow, but inexorably steady, climb.

I was still with Garrett, and decided I’d try to stick with the pace group until bridge turnaround point, which was around mile 16 or so. We slowed down a bit going up the bridge, but still kept a pretty solid pace, and I kept up with the group. When we turned around, the downhill was very rewarding, and we were able to pick up our pace a bit. These were some of the fastest miles of the race for me, which is surprising, because they are usually some of the hardest!

Run da bridge

Coming on down (Photo credit: Peter)

Garrett killing it with his pace sign

Leaving the bridge, we were about 19 miles into the race. At this point, I figured I could probably gut it out with Garret & the other runners in the pace group for the next seven miles. So, that’s what I did.

Running under some bridge 

 

Home stretch – working hard

We picked up the pace a bit at the end, and I ended up finishing in 3:38:56 – not a bad time for a pretty hilly course, and 4th in my age group. Also my 3rd fastest marathon time.

Crossing the finish line

I was very pleased with this outcome. The best part was sticking to a pretty consistent pace throughout – I have never started and finished a race with a pace group before! Even more exciting was getting to do it with folks I knew.

The pace crew at the finish line

 

Finished!

Overall, super fun day. Very cool to get to run across the bridge and see some new streets near my home city!

Splits, for the nerds

Hardware

As a reminder, I have a discount code for the San Francisco Marathon – use “AMBOLISA25” at https://www.thesfmarathon.com/ for 25% off.

 

Golden Gate 50K (and a little extra) – Race #4 of 2019

Last weekend was the Golden Gate 50k, with my favorite Coastal Trail Runs. I ran it with my friend Ingrid, who you may remember from Lake Chabot last year (where we tied for third!). We decided to run this race together – she is currently training for a 100-mile race, and I was recovering from my Surf City Marathon six days earlier, so neither of us were planning to go fast for this race (which ended up being a good thing, since it was a hard course!).

The course consisted of a half-marathon loop, which we did twice. On the first loop, we would add on another, smaller loop for an extra 4.9 miles, which theoretically would bring a total of 31 miles (or 50k). It has about 7,000 feet of climbing.

Lap 1

Climbing up the first hill – we are so happy!

The first lap was good – we started slow up the first major hill, then descended into Tennessee Valley before starting on the 4.9 mile loop. This 4.9 miles was probably the most beautiful part of the course – running south on single-track trail along the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. The light was beautiful as well, with the rain clouds holding their distance and the sun streaming through them.

We hit the Tennessee Valley aid station again at the end of our 4.9 mile loop, then started up the second major climb – a slow ascent of about 1.5-2 miles, which we mostly walked.

The weather in NorCal had been pretty bad the last few weeks – lots of rain. I was optimistically banking on having a brief respite during this race. Which we did, for the first three hours or so. It was around this time that it started hailing. Hail hurts on skin, I learned, but sounds cool on hats.

We reached an intersection at some point on this loop – a fairly significant decision juncture, we’d learn later. It was super clearly marked to go to the left. This surprised Ingrid, who has run these trails a bunch of times – most of the races she’s done have gone to the right at this intersection. So, without even thinking about it, she had veered off to the right. We paused for a moment and looked at the markings together, and decided left was correct – and another runner behind us agreed, so we headed left.

The trail to the left took us down to a road, then up that road a ways (if you’re familiar with SF, it’s the road you’d take to get to Hawk Hill). The course was really well marked the whole way along this stretch, and all other runners had taken this same route. When we got to a roundabout (by Slacker Hill), we crossed the street, hit the aid station, and ran back down to finish off the loop. So far, so good.

As we hit another road, the course took two not-super-fun side trips up steep, very muddy trails to the left. There was … a lot of mud. Going down these hills felt almost more like skiing than like running. We took it slow.

 

Coming down these muddy hills was no joke!

Runners who were just finishing shorter distances (e.g. 30k) were pretty grumpy about this side trip, and kept saying “just one mile to go!” I knew that, from where we were on the trail, they definitely more than just one mile – maybe like 2.5 or 3 more. However, there’s a lot of sensitivity in ultras around talking about distances. While racing, thinking about distances is such a psychological game – one that people approach very differently. Giving wrong information (or right information at the wrong time) can be very demoralizing for a runner. So, I didn’t correct them.

End of the first lap

As we passed by Ingrid’s car, I picked up my rain jacket. This is the second time ever I needed my rain jacket during a race (the first being this awesome race in Philly). It was pretty cold, and still raining intermittently, so I was glad to have it on the second lap. I was also glad to have an aid station attendant just up ahead, as my fingers were to cold to operate the zipper. Thanks, aid station guy!

Lap 2

We climbed up the first hill again, then down into Tennessee Valley. The folks at the aid station made a very jokingly-serious attempt to get us to head out on the 4.9-mile loop (not required for the second lap), and we jokingly considered doing it.

It was raining on and off for pretty much the rest of the race, at this point.

Up the second big hill, then along the ridge again. Then we got to that turnoff that had caused us to pause last time around – remember the one, where we all went left? This time, it was clearly marked to the right. Like, no ambiguity here – go to the right.

So we shrugged and headed to the right, coming up to that next aid station much more quickly than on the first lap.

Ingrid had a GPS watch and was kind of looking at it periodically, but not saying anything. Remember how knowing distance is a bit of a psychological game? We have an agreement that she doesn’t tell me the total distance we’ve run – I don’t like to know during ultras, usually, since the hills just throw off the pacing, which makes thinking about the total distance very depressing at times. She finally said, laughingly, that she wouldn’t tell me the distance – but we were definitely going to be doing a little extra today.

We headed up the two little hills on our way to the finish. During this stretch, we saw a little rainbow – a bit of recompense for the not-great weather that this day had provided.

We finished the race in just under 7 hours – definitely towards the slower end for both of us, but right in the middle of the pack for this race. It was a hard day on a hard course.

We done and we cold!

Afterwards

We immediately headed to the car and pumped the heat up as high as possible. Neither of us could really feel our extremities, so we sat in the car and held our hands to the vents for a few minutes before heading out.

Ingrid uploaded her watch data to Garmin, and you can see it here. I’ll give you a preview, though – this was not a 31 mile race. We ended up running 33 and some change.

Remember that left vs right intersection? My theory is that they mismarked the course at this point. See below for the route that we ran (and you can see on her Garmin). The first lap is a takes this detour, adding … just about two miles.

Just to be clear, Ingrid and I are pretty great at following trail markings – this was not a case of runners misreading the signs. We both have run a lot of races and did not misinterpret the course markings. Also, all the other runners went this way, too! So this is a mystery that may forever remain unsolved.

You can see the different routes – specifically, on Lap 1, we definitely ran an extra two miles.

 

We wrapped up the day with some sweet, sweet, post-race Mexican food at Tacko in San Francisco (where Cyndi took me after we ran New Year’s One Day!)

This wraps up my early 2019 racing season – four races this year so far. It’s been a lot of work, but I feel like I’m in really good shape, and running faster than ever. My target race is still about 7 months away, so as long as I stay injury free, there’s a lot of opportunity to get even faster.

As a reminder, I’m also an ambassador for the San Francisco Marathon (Sunday, June 28). I’ll be running the ultra again, which I really enjoyed three years ago. I also have a discount code for the race (all distances!) so let me know if you’re planning to sign up and I can share it!

Zion 100 – Race Report

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Tl;dr: ran 100 miles in Zion. Course was gorgeous, challengingly vertical, and extremely muddy. They pulled us off the course at the end due to weather and mud, shortening the official race to ~90 miles, so I ran another 10 on my own in Zion National Park. I’m feeling great today, and proud of my effort on this very difficult course.

This Friday, Will and I ran the Zion 100 mile race, just outside of Zion National Park in Utah. This felt like my first “real” ultra hundred, because it was deep in nature and on punishing terrain. Featuring four massive climbs, here’s what the course profile looked like:

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Four major climbs

Leading up to the race, we received a series of very scary emails from the race director.

There is a high likelihood that we will be receiving rain during the race this weekend. Of all the races that we put on, this one has always been my biggest worry of inclimate weather due to the potential safety hazards and nasty trail conditions that would accompany it. Approximately 80% of the course is run on soil with a high clay content that turns slippery and sticks to the bottom of your shoes when a sustained, heavy rain ensues.

The race director even allowed runners to defer their entry to next year’s race, which is an option that is generally only offered in cases of very extreme weather.

Understand that there is a chance you will be running in a muddy slimy mess with 5 pounds of clay stuck to the bottom of your shoes and slipping all over the place and you could be putting your life in danger on the steep climbs. If you are not up for this challenge, please consider NOT starting the race so that we are not left with a large number of runners stranded at remote aid stations waiting for rides. Due to the conditions, we are offering a full rollover towards any Ultra Adventures race through next year’s Zion event

As you agreed to when you signed the waiver during the registration process, you are running at your own risk- And we could see extremely risky conditions this weekend.

I was already paralyzed with anxiety about this race due to the amount of vertical climbing we’d have to do. These emails from the race director did not help allay my fears, and in the week prior to the race, I was very nervous.

A couple of friends helped me work through these pre-race nerves, saying things like “It’s not like you’ve never run in the rain before” and “what about [your strategy of] not checking the weather until [they day of] and then making a game time decision?”

It wasn’t until a day before the race, when Will and I were in Zion and driving around in the beautiful scenery, that that anxiety finally translated to excitement. In Adam Grant’s new book, Originals, he explains that reframing anxiety as excitement will improve performance, for example, on math exams or in public speaking engagements, so I also employed this technique for my own nerves. As Adam summarizes, “labeling an emotion as anxiety reduced [singing] accuracy to 53 percent [off of a baseline of 69 percent]. Calling [the emotion] excitement was enough to spike accuracy to 80 percent.”

My parents came to crew me for this race, too, which I was very much looking forward to. We had dinner with them the night before, and they joined us at the start line.

The start line was one part expo, one part camp site. Fire pits dotted the area. I found a chair and moved it as close as I could to one of the fire pits to stay warm.

The start of the race was delayed for five minutes to allow a few late shuttles to arrive. Then the race director counted down and said “Go!”- no gun, no timer, literally just when he felt like it. We all wandered through the chute and onto the trail.

Unlike shorter races, there are very few people who take off at a gallop at the start of a 100. There’s a long way to go, so there’s no reason to expend extra energy. We hit a small hill about 300 yards after the start. Most of us walked it.

The cadence of the race was unlike others that I’ve run. Specifically, the terrain would be flat or rolling, then we’d shoot up a vertical trail on the side of a mesa, run around the flat part of the mesa for a bunch of miles, descend the same steep hill, and be back on the flat or rolling areas. We’d repeat that pattern several times.

Flying Monkey – the first big climb

Within the first few miles of the race, the trail narrowed to single-track, and we started up the side of our first mesa on an ascent called Flying Monkey. We could see the trail of headlamps behind us making the climb in the blue pre-dawn light.

This climb was the first of four major ascents, and nobody was running. It wasn’t a challenging climb, because we were full of energy and it was early in the race.

Partway up the hill, everyone slowed to an even slower walk due to a traffic jam at a particularly tricky and rocky section of the trail. A rope had been installed here to help runners ascend a ten foot sheer rock face. I gripped my water bottle with my teeth and, feeling like a pirate, scrambled up the rock, pulling myself hand-over-hand up the rope and mentally appreciating the weight lifting I’d been doing prior to the race.

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Runners heading up the rope. Photo credit: Will Mroz

Once we reached the top of the mesa, we hit an aid station – our first – and started on a loop around the top. The sun had mostly risen, and the reds of the mesa’s sandstone were vibrant.

I was waiting for my body to ‘wake up’ properly – I still felt sluggish. Everything just seemed to be moving a little slower. I wasn’t too worried – there was a long ways to go – but I did notice it.

Until about five miles in, I’d been ahead of Will – a rare phenomenon! He stopped to say hi before passing me here.

We headed back down the same way we came and started towards our next climb.

Guacamole

At mile 15, we crossed a river and arrived at Dalton aid station for the first time. I saw Will coming out of it, just a few minutes ahead of me – that was the last time I’d see him on the course until about mile 80.

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Runners crossing the river before Dalton. Photo credit: Will Mroz

After leaving the aid station, I found my parents at an intersection not too far away, making a surprise appearance. Mom had co-opted a bunch of random spectators to cheer for me, which was energizing. When I talked to runners in the next few miles and introduced myself, they’d say “Oh, you’re the person they were cheering for!” I had to explain that I didn’t know most of those people – just my two parents.

Dad took some great pictures here. This is one of them:

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Cruising a downhill! Photo credit: Andrew Donchak

The trail widened, becoming a dirt service road that wound between horse paddocks on its way to the next mesa. This climb, retrospectively, also didn’t seem too tough, although we did see a few runners coming back down, which meant they were about ten miles ahead of us.

The circle around the top of Guacamole Mesa was beautiful, and one of my favorite parts of the course. The views were stunning, featuring sweeping vistas of the valley below and more mesas in the distance. The trail itself was rocky, and very close to the edge of the mesa, so our views of the mesas and valleys were unimpeded.

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This was our trail and view. Photo credit: Will Mroz

This was our first introduction to the “white dot” trail tracking system, which was polarizing amongst the athletes. We’d been following pink and silver reflective ribbons to this point, and those ribbons were much more sparsely spaced at the top of this mesa. Instead, runners had to intuit that we would follow spray-painted white dots on the rocks, which were not always easy to find, and did not always coincide with the trail that the pink ribbons suggested. Trail finding was a big challenge in this part of the course, and continued to be later on.

After this loop, we headed back down to Dalton aid station, hitting it for the second time. We’d done 30 miles and were about a third done with the race.

Goosebump

After leaving Dalton, we began a very long, straight run to our next mesa. I started running with a woman from Sacramento for a bit, and we shared stories about our training and the running trails there. After about a mile, we were in a wide-open field with huge mesas looming in the distance. They seemed very far away. It turned out that we were heading towards the massive one directly ahead of us. It seemed really, really far. Once I realized that we also had to climb it once we got there, I sunk into a tough period of demotivation, and let the woman from Sacramento run ahead.

I still wasn’t feeling physically great. The mesa was really far away. We were only a third of the way done with the race. And, to top it off, I was questioning my training; I wasn’t sure that it had prepared me for the race. Naturally, I spent the next several miles mulling over my (perceived) poor training choices in the past few months.

In previous hundred-mile races, I’d done a lot of my training runs as trail races, which were fun and had the added benefit of introducing technical terrain for speed. For this hundred, I’d followed a specific training plan, which didn’t involve racing, and I spent a lot of training time running far on flat concrete. Now that I was out on these rolling hills, approaching our third climb, I was frustrated at what I perceived to be a terrible, urban, training plan, since it didn’t give me nearly enough preparation for hills or trails. I was angry at myself because these concrete 30s now felt like “junk” miles, or useless training, which had done nothing other than waste time and make me tired.

(In reality, as part of my training, I’d done 30 miles of hilly altitude in Tahoe, 26 miles of trail hills in Big Sur, and a fast trail 50k, so the demotivation was partly in my head here. But no less real and difficult in the moment.)

Also, I usually added in some longer races – like 50 milers – but this training plan didn’t call for any of those. The longest I’d run in the last four months was 70 miles, and that was in early January – about three months ago, so in my mind, it didn’t count. My training runs since then had all been about 30 miles. Now that I was running miles 31, 32, and 33 of the race, I had run farther than I had in the last several months, which was tough to handle mentally so early in the race.

In short, I was grumpy.

When I arrived at the base of the toughest climb on the course, I realized I had to do something to fix my mental funk. Although I’d promised myself no music until mile 40, I knew I had to get up this hill somehow. I picked a song – one that had motivated me on my first 50-miler – and set it to play on repeat. And started charging up the hill.

The music helped a lot. It set me into a rhythm of climbing – one foot, another foot – and it felt like I was flying up the hill.

To top it off, there was a beautiful red and pink striated rock formation on our right. I got to see it from many different angles during this climb. It was in this moment of the race, more than any other, that I felt that I was appreciating the uniqueness of the environment as it should be appreciated.

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My favorite rock formation. Photo credit: Will Mroz

This section also reminded me of a particularly difficult stretch of the Inca Trail Marathon. During a tough ascent in that race, I used the “take twenty steps, appreciate the view for twenty seconds” approach. At Zion, give myself permission to stop for a few seconds when I needed to – between repeats of my song – to appreciate the view.

Once at the top of this climb, I was feeling energized again. Three of the four big hills were behind me, and the immediately upcoming sections were flat, similar in nature to what we’d experienced at Guacamole.

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Runners on top of the mesa. Photo credit Ryan Weidert

I switched audio gears to podcasts. I’d preloaded two in particular that I wanted to listen to, both from TED Radio Hour. One was about courage, and one was about endurance. Listening to both helped me realize the ridiculousness of my particular endeavor, and how it paled in comparison to the impact that others were having out in the world and the challenges they were facing. Perversely, this minimization of my own efforts was motivating. If other people could do incredible things like fly into warzones or save hundreds of community members from asbestos poisoning, surely I could trot around, selfishly fulfilling a personal goal that benefited nobody else, for another 60 miles.

Onward.

Grafton – I’ll stay until I’m fired

After hitting the Goosebump aid station a second time, we left for a lollipop loop – we’d come back to Goosebump again after another 20 miles.

This stretch, to Grafton aid station at mile 52, was tough, for several reasons.

First, we were back on flat service road, which is boring and uninspiring. Will likes these because he can run fast. I dislike them because they are not technically or visually inspiring.

Second, it had started to drizzle, so the mud was beginning to get tricky, just like our race director had predicted. I started playing through all of the worst-outcome weather scenarios in my head, which did not help.

Third, it was becoming increasingly clear that I was far behind the estimated pace I’d given my parents. I was worried that they would be worried, and also that they’d be waiting unnecessarily for me at aid stations. Prior to the race, my mom had reassured me that it wouldn’t be a problem if she had to wait for me at Virgin (mile 76), where she’d be pacing me, but I was still anxious, because she was going to have to wait a while. Also, I was looking forward to possibly seeing my dad at Grafton, at mile 52, but I would be at least two hours behind the time I’d given him.

As part of that, I also started thinking that I was going to get pulled off the course because I was going to miss a cutoff. In races like this, runners need to reach certain aid stations before certain times to ensure they’re on track to finish before the total time expires. In my mind, during this stretch, I somehow was convinced that I was really close to missing a cutoff and was going to be stopped from continuing.

I addressed the possibility of this negative outcome by remembering something that someone had said at a recent work training: “I’ll stay until I’m fired.” At the time, this philosophy resonated with me. I interpreted it to mean that my colleague was going to stay at the company as long as he could, putting in his best effort and learning everything he could, and not leave until he was kicked out. I resolved to do the same with this race. I’d stay until they kicked me off the course.

Fourth and lastly, it was getting dark. I’d been on the course for 13 or 14 hours, and the sun was very much setting. I wanted to get to Grafton before the sun set, and I also thought there was a chance my dad would be there, so I kicked my pace up for the last two miles of this stretch to get to the aid station.

On my first of two passes through Grafton, an aid station volunteer assured me that I was far ahead of the cutoff time, and was kind enough to let me text my parents and Will with a quick update. This helped alleviate a lot of my tension. Dad wasn’t there, which was initially disappointing. I found out later that the mud was so bad on the road to this aid station that he couldn’t get his car up, and that other cars had actually gotten stuck in the mud there, so I was glad he decided to skip that aid station.

There were a number of runners sitting in this aid station tent looking pretty demotivated. I checked in on my body, and despite the tough prior stretch, I realized it was mostly mental, and physically I felt pretty good. My spirits buoyed, I left the aid station and started the steep descend to Cemetery.

The next ten miles would take us down to Cemetery aid station, then right back up to Grafton, on our last of the four big climbs. On the way down, I fell into step behind a runner named Mindy, and her pacer, Rick, who were generous enough to let me tag along for a while. Both ultra veterans, they had fun stories to share, and it was great to have some companionship as it got dark and we descended together down a steep, rocky grade.

At the bottom of the hill, an aid station volunteer gave me a note – from Dad! I was excited to have a special delivery – a message of encouragement – and kept it in my backpack for the rest of the run.

The climb back up to Grafton was challenging, although I was energized again by this point. I put another song on loop and charged up the hill. I passed a bunch of runners, most of whom would pass me back later. I didn’t want to let this burst of energy go un-utilized.

Another runner tucked in behind me, and together we did some extraordinary trail finding on this section. This section was longer than anticipated and not well-marked. We didn’t speak much – a true runner camaraderie, I thought at the time. I found out later he as from Slovakia and didn’t speak English. Once we reached out second pass through Grafton, we gave each other a high-five and parted ways for the time being.

I didn’t spend long at Grafton – I was excited that the last big climb of the course was over. I headed out into the darkness – along the flat service road – again, back to Goosebump.

The darkest hour

It had started raining again. The next few miles were the hardest of the race for me. In these darkest hours, I learned a lot about myself.

I found myself becoming increasingly delirious, and recognized the symptoms of exhaustion that I’d experienced at Pine Creek 100 two years ago. On the trail, I saw a fluffy white and orange cat (a.k.a. a rock – I was hallucinating) and a purple bedazzled skull and crossbones (a.k.a. a bush). I also saw two people creepily standing off-trail (a.k.a. two trees).

All I wanted to do was lie down and take a nap, so I started investigating nearby trees that looked sheltered from the drizzle. I sat down under two or three of them for a minute or so at a time, wishing I didn’t have to and knowing it was a bad choice to do so. But I was really exhausted.

I literally had no idea how I was going to make it back to Goosebump aid station for our third pass through. While I wasn’t as exhausted as I had been at Pine Creek, I was still really, really tired, and the next several miles seemed insurmountable.

I’d read an article a while ago that extreme distance runners often experience brain shrinkage after lots of distance running. One possible explanation proposed for this is that the scenery is so dull and visually not stimulating that the brain has nothing to process. I found this to be particularly true on this flat, featureless stretch of service road, especially now that it was dark. All I could see was flat gravel, just in my circle of light. It was mind-numbing.

To solve this problem of severe lack of stimulation, I’d point my headlamp at the side of the road to look at bushes, and that helped a bit. I also switched from music back to podcasts, hypothesizing that the intellectual storylines would give my mind something to focus on and rally around. This helped a bit as well.

Ultimately, I was still weaving on the road and had a ways to go.

I was saved by Mindy and Rick, my buddies from the Cemetery descent. They caught up to me (I’d passed them on my charging climb) and let me jump in with them. I have no idea how I would have gotten through this stretch otherwise.

The three of us made it to Goosebump – our third pass through. Mindy loaned me a long-sleeved thermal – again, saving the day, as I was freezing (I later repaid the favor in ibuprofen and a flashlight. Runners have a weird exchange rates).

Virgin

The next eight miles would feature a steep descent in the dark and in the rain. This was the reverse of the climb we’d done around mile 35, with the ropes and the pretty white and pink rock feature. Except now it was dark, and we were going downhill, and it was wet.

One of the podcasts I’d listened to earlier that day provided a statistic that, on Mount Everest, eight times more climbers die on the descent than on the ascent. With that in mind, we took our time down this very steep hill, and I made sure to stay with Mindy and Rick.

Two notable wildlife encounters occurred during this section. The first was a very large black cow standing just off the trail. We didn’t notice it until it was directly to our left. Mindy saw it first, and thought she was hallucinating until Rick and I confirmed that it was there.

The second wildlife encounter was a huge black snake, which turned out to be a 20-foot long hose and not a real snake.

Physically, I was still feeling fine. I had some sand in my shoes and one of my toes hurt, but otherwise, everything was still moving and I was in good shape.

Psychologically, I was anchoring my entire mental state on the fact that my mom would be at the next aid station, which was just a few miles away. She’d stick with me for about 18 miles, the sun would come up, and I’d be on my way to the finish line after that. If I could just get to Virgin, mentally, I’d be as good as done, even though I would have nearly a marathon left to run at that point. If I could get there, I knew I would finish.

This stretch of trail was demotivating for many. It was the longest stretch without aid, at eight miles. Rick’s GPS ended up saying it was at least a mile longer than the eight miles advertised. Also, it was dark and the path was winding, so there was no way of knowing how far away from the aid station we really were. Later, Will also told me he really struggled with this stretch, and considered dropping out because of it (he didn’t).

During this part, Mindy, Rick, and I lay down at one point and looked at the stars, trying to regather some energy and enthusiasm. At one point, later on Mindy was angling for another mini nap; I remembered that when I was tired, I liked to talk, so I started asking her questions to get her to talk. That seemed to get us both over the hump, and the three of us made it to the last aid station at Virgin.

End of the line

When I arrived, I asked the volunteer checking bibs if he’d seen my mom. This sounds like a dumb question, and he clearly thought so, because he responded “No, I haven’t seen your mom,” somewhat bemused. I thought maybe my mom had been talking to people at the aid station and they’d know there was a mother-daughter pacer-racer pair, and where to direct me to find her.

Since my first attempt clearly didn’t work, I instead just shouted “Mom?” into the aid station. Hilariously, this worked, as she materialized from around the fire pit. I was really excited to see her and have a buddy for the next 18 miles.

I emptied out my shoes of sand again, got some food, and mom and I took off.

We’d pass Virgin four times, completing three loops in the area, before heading to the finish line. She’d stay with me for those three loops, then let me finish the last six alone and meet me at the finish.

The second loop ended where the first loop began, so we ran into Will finishing his second loop as we set out on our first loop. He didn’t recognize us at first, but after he realized who we were, we said hi quickly then continued on our way.

Mom and I were moving quickly at the beginning, and I passed a few people. I led to set the pace and find the trail. Finding the trail was really challenging, still, and that unfortunately distracted me from our conversation (or I was exhausted an unable to coherently have a conversation. Both are possible.) In my mind, because I had done so much trail finding already, I was well-equipped to recognize the ribbons. In reality, mom may have been better at finding the trail, because she was fresh, she still let me lead.

The end of the loop retraced the same last 1.5 miles from that eight mile stretch, which was disheartening. I was also hungry, and the sun was coming up, so I slowed down a bit here. I knew once I got food, I’d be ready for the second loop.

As we approached Virgin for the second time, I briefly noticed that there seemed to be far fewer people there than on our first pass. I didn’t think too hard about it, because it could have just been my perception, and it didn’t really affect my race plan.

When we checked in, I was ready to grab food and head out again quickly, but we were stopped before we got into the aid station. At first I thought I’d missed a cutoff, but I knew I was in very good shape in that regard.

What we found: they’d closed the last two loops of the course due to weather and mud. All runners were to proceed straight to the finish line. We wouldn’t be running 100 miles that day.

I was stunned for a moment, then I was frustrated.

I *knew* at this point that I was going to finish the race. It was in the bag (proverbially – it would still be hard). I was being robbed of a 100-mile finish, instead running something like 88 or 90 miles. Which was not the goal.

Also, I’d only gotten a measly 4.7 miles with my mom. I was really looking forward to more than that.

At the aid station, Mindy and Rick were just about to leave to head to the finish. With no other choice than to run to the finish line, I followed them out, saying goodbye to my mom.

The last six miles (which, again, ended up being closer to eight) were just terrible. The trail was rolling, muddy, and gross, which is a demoralizing way to finish a race.

While we understood the rationale for the shortened course, we complained that the race committee hadn’t found a workaround to let us get our miles in. For example, they could have measured out a few out-and-back miles on a less-muddy road for us to finish on.

To make matters worse, a few other races were starting that morning, and those runners were about two miles into their runs. They looked fresh, fast, and excited. We looked like wet dogs. They kept telling us how amazing and incredible our accomplishment was. We kept staring ahead like zombies. They galloped up the rolling hills. We slide down them, sometimes falling in the mud.

Mostly, I felt like a failure for not finishing my hundred. 90 miles was not 100. All of their congratulations – of which there were many – seemed like salt in the wound.

Even though we wouldn’t get all the miles in, officially, we’d still receive all the trappings of finishing a race. We’d get the buckle, we’d avoid a DNF, and the race was still a qualifier race for other, harder races, even though it ended up being shorter than advertised. Still, that didn’t make any of it better.

We got to the finish line, and I was grumpy and mean to my parents, which I regretted. They gave us hugs and began their drive back to Orange County.

A few minutes later, after I was in the car, I called them and apologized and said thanks. It really was cool that they came out to support Will and I, and I wanted to make sure they knew that.

Zion National Park

Will didn’t get to finish all 100 miles either – he was cut off before the third loop, so just a few moments after we saw each other. He’d had a challenging race and was glad that it was cut short. A lot of other runners felt the same way.

After he and I took a nap and got food, I was still feeling frustrated about the whole situation. Including getting lost and some longer-than-advertised stretches, I’d run about 90 miles. I was ten miles short of a full century. And it seemed dumb to just let it go. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life saying “Yeah, I *almost* ran 100 miles.”

So after we got back to the hotel, I laced up my shoes, put on my still-dirty race clothes, attached my bib to my Camelbak, and hit the road for ten more miles.

In high school, each student got to customize a small section of our senior yearbook. Most of my peers mushed in collages of pictures, of memories from school and times they wanted to remember.

I left my section Jobsian-white, and included only this quote: “You cannot control the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”

I could not control the course or the weather at this race, and I couldn’t control the final judgement to shorten the course. But I was still going to get this run done. They may have pulled me off the course, but I wasn’t finished yet.

Our hotel was close to Zion National Park, so I thought it was only appropriate to finish the run by going through the park.

The last ten miles of my personal 100-mile run were peaceful and calm. I ran as much as I could and walked the rest. I saw a beautiful rainbow, a turkey with its feathers all out, and a pair of deer. And it rained, and it grew dark, and I was happy, because I finished 100 miles.

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Rainbow on my last ten miles.

Epilogue

Immediately after we finished the official race, Will was furious and forcefully declared that he never wanted to run a 100 mile race again. I agreed immediately, relieved. Training for something like this takes over your life. Mentally, it’s anxiety-inducing for weeks leading up to it. The race itself is really bad for your body and it can take weeks to recover. Parts of the race are miserable and challenging. Afterwards, you don’t feel energized – you feel emaciated and exhausted. I’ve never felt proud or accomplished immediately after finishing a 100-mile race. Just glad that it was over.

A few days later, we’re feeling less forceful about our decision. Maybe we’ll run another. But this was a really hard race, and we’re not going to run headlong into another one without some serious consideration.

Physically, though, I feel phenomenal. I don’t have any muscle or joint pains other than one toe hurting. I attribute this to the variety of terrain –Rocky and Pine Creek were fairly flat, and it took quite a while to recover from those because the same muscles were used. But I feel great after this race, probably because of the climbing we did.

Overall, I’m really glad I ran this race. A long race like this is mostly about troubleshooting, and I felt like I did that well. I was able to manage myself mentally, and I gave myself permission to go slow and walk without beating myself up about it. I encountered difficult situations and knew how to handle them.

And the course was just amazing. Being out in nature like that is a very rare opportunity.

To summarize:

  • It’s okay to walk.
  • Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
  • Stay until you’re fired.
  • You cannot control the wind, but you can adjust your sails.

Until next time.

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Will and I at the finish line (after a shower and a nap)

Getting past the burnout – 2nd place at Redtail Ridge

This is a race report about the Redtail Ridge 50k at Lake Chabot, put on by the illustrious Inside Trail Running.

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On Saturday, at 8:05 a.m., I was sitting in a car in the parking lot of a park. My race started at 8:30. I hadn’t put on my shoes, and I hadn’t picked up my bib. I was not motivated or excited to run this race. I was feeling burnt out.

Last week, I posted a depressing call for help on a running message board. Here it is:

Hi runners,

I’m training for my 3rd 100-miler. Race is in early April. I’m running 28-30-milers almost every Saturday, plus whatever the training plan says for the other days. Between work and training for this race, I feel really burnt out – if I’m not working, I’m running, and there’s no time for anything else. I’m starting to dread my workouts [even non long-run days], and that hasn’t really happened before.

I haven’t felt this way when training for my past races, which I did primarily by running some 50s and 50ks [fun!] and then just running the race. This time around, training seems like an inescapable slog. I’m wondering if a) I’ve hit my limit of interest for the sport b) I’ve been overtraining or c) training is hard and I wasn’t doing it right before.

Help me out, guys – another four weekends of 30-mile Saturdays just seems daunting, miserable, and not worth it, but not doing the training seems like a bad option too.

Suffice to say, the last few weeks have been rough. I was tired, overwhelmed, and not excited to run. And in the car on Saturday morning, I wasn’t excited at the prospect of another run. It just seemed like so much work.

I thought about my options. I could either get out of the car and run the race. Or I could let Will run and go do literally anything else for five hours. Anything. I could go read a book or visit with friends or just wander around and explore the area. I was really grasping at any reason to not run this race.

But, ultimately, I was basically at the start line already, and I’d already paid. Two really uninspired reasons to run. So I got out of the car, picked up my bib, and started the race.

I’d run a couple of races in this park before, so the trails were familiar. The first few miles were along a lake – flat and forested, before we started a steep climb to the first aid station.

I wasn’t pushing it too hard at this point in the race. I’d gotten food poisoning on Thursday, so wasn’t sure how much energy I had in the tank. This race was also supposed to be a training run, so it was more about the miles and less about the speed. As such, I hadn’t tapered at all, and had run back-to-back ten-milers on Tuesday and Wednesday. I was moving slow, and I was okay with that, because I wasn’t motivated to run anyway.

That said, I was watching the color of the bibs around me. The 30k race had started at the same time as we had. They had green bibs instead of our yellow ones. Even though I wasn’t going for speed, I definitely looked at a racer’s bib color any time one passed me, which happened frequently, and hoped their bib was green. Runners going shorter distances should be running faster, so it doesn’t feel completely devastating when someone running a shorter distance scoots ahead. For a while, I didn’t see many yellow bibs at all, which was motivating.

After the second aid station, we ran along a rolling, wide dirt road in verdant green pastures. The trail was sloppy with mud from recent rain, made worse by the … generous … presents that grazing cows had left us along the way.

I took a quick pit-stop in the bushes and retied my shoes before the trail plunged back into the forest.

I hadn’t brought my watch on this race. Sometimes, looking at your distance during a race can be more depressing than helpful. At the beginning of the race, I felt like I had so much going against me mentally already. It didn’t seem worth it to add to the misery by knowing how many millions of miles I had left to go.

So, I’m guessing when I say it was somewhere around mile 10 when I picked up the pace a bit, for no reason other than it seemed like a good idea. At some point, I caught up to another runner, and fully intended to pass her, but she opened a conversation as we rounded a corner and stuck with me.

I’m really glad she did. We spent the next six or eight miles together. I learned about her running past [she used to live in Hopkinton, where the Boston Marathon starts!] and we chatted away a few hours of running.

I felt like I could have gone a little faster at this point, but I was more excited to have company and someone to talk to. Finding kindred spirits is one of my favorite parts of long races.

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My new friend and motivation for the middle stretch of the race

When we reached a downhill stretch, she and I parted ways; I’m a strong downhill runner and was feeling good.

The 50k course included all of the 30k course; we headed back to the start line with the 30k runners, then turned around and went out for another 12 miles after that.  As I headed back to the start line, I was feeling pretty good, energized by running with my new friend and excited by the prospect of running another 12 miles on the course. I would see her one more time on the course as I headed back out and she reached her finish line.

I like courses that have little stretches of out-and-back. Some runners don’t, because it can be demotivating to run in the opposite direction of where you’re ultimately headed, especially when part of that is at the start/finish line. However, I think  it’s fun to see the other runners on the course who are ahead or behind. It’s also an easy way to figure out how well you’re doing relative to other runners, because you can count who’s ahead of you. I hadn’t seen that many women with yellow bibs, and none that had passed me.

With just a few miles to the turn-around at the start, I started looking out for runners coming the other way. I saw one – she was moving pretty fast, and she was about 2-2.5 miles ahead of me. I saw one more, but she had made a wrong turn and wasn’t running the 50k anymore. And then … I reached the turnaround.  There weren’t any other women ahead of me.

I was in 2nd place.

And, even better, I was feeling good, both physically and mentally.

Neat. I turned around and took off, trying to widen the gap between myself and whoever was behind me. I quickly saw two women neck-in-neck, both 50k runners, about a mile behind me. So that meant I had to not lose a minute per mile to them, approximately, over the next 12 miles. It was 2nd place or 4th place.

I was glad I had left some gas in the tank, because the next few miles were back up that first hill again. I paced myself, running the hill where I could and taking walk breaks on the steep parts where I needed to, and made it to the first aid station in good shape.

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Cruising up a hill

There were three aid stations in this stretch, and I knew that if I made it to the 2nd one without getting passed, I could defend my position and sprint the last six miles to the finish. So the next few miles were somewhat anxiety-filled. Every walk-break, I was second-guessing whether or not I was wasting time by walking. This strategizing was kind of fun, too – not something I normally did in races, because normally I don’t compete for any meaningful prizes in races.

I made it to the 2nd aid station – another out-and-back – and hadn’t been passed yet. As I left the aid station, I saw one of the other women behind me. She was still about ten minutes back. I was pretty confident that she wouldn’t catch me, but I didn’t want to take any risks.

The last six miles were great. My legs had started to fatigue a little bit, but I knew I could go this last stretch without hitting the wall. These were the miles where I could feel my long runs paying off. I felt strong and prepared for the distance.

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Flying

After the last aid station, it was all downhill, and I flew all the way down to the lake. The last mile or so was little rolling hills along the lake, and I really pushed hard. At this point, it wasn’t because I was worried about getting passed, but because I was feeling good and I wanted to leave it all on the course. Will came back and ran with me for the last couple of minutes too, which was motivating and fun.

I crossed the finish line at 5:41, which was my 3rd fasted trail 50k time. And – I came in 2nd!

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Will pacing me to the finish

 

I had a really great time out on the course. I had been feeling really burnt out on running. A fun race – which turned into a competitive race – ended up being just the thing to get me back on track. Training for a 100-mile race is hard work, and it was nice to take a mental break and see some of that training pay dividends.

Sometimes we forget why we do the things we do, and it’s hard to get over the hump. This race helped to remind me about the reasons I run.

Running is a very multifaceted activity, and it draws people in for a variety of reasons. Some people love structured training, getting lost in the wilderness, racing competitively, or breaking PRs. As for me, I’ve always loved showing up to a race with no agenda, knowing that the time doesn’t matter, and also knowing that all I have to do is have a good time in nature. I don’t have to worry about the distance or about getting lost or about making sure I get home in time for something. All of that is taken care of, and all I have to do is relax into the trail, maybe make some friends, and appreciate being outdoors in a body I’ve worked hard to make strong.

 

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Swag. Bottom middle is the 1st-place age group medal, which is what they were giving out instead of 1st-2nd-3rd prizes. Also, what a great bib number.

 

Quick reminder: I’m still fundraising for the SF double marathon. Check it out: https://www.crowdrise.com/sanfranciscodoublema/fundraiser/brbrunning 

North Face 50m, round II

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More speed, less grace than four years ago. I’ll take that trade off. Still running happy.

On Saturday, I broke a personal rule: I ran the same race a second time. The last time I ran it, I had gotten stitches out of my leg the day before. It was a brutal, 12-hour slog, beginning and ending in the dark. This time, I was hoping for a slightly better performance.

This was the North Face 50 mile championship race, in the Marin Headlands of San Francisco. Long story short, I’m proud of the race I ran on Saturday. I finished in 10:40, which is much faster than my time in 2011. I felt very strong, and my spirits were high the entire time. Overall, a good day.

Here are some pictures.

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Crossing the start line at 5:03 a.m. They started us in waves, with each one going off a minute after the previous one. I was technically in wave 4, but they didn’t seem to be aggressively checking our bibs, so I started with 3.

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Running in the dark, before the sun came up. The trail here was pretty easy to navigate, in that it was wider fire roads and not extremely steep. That said, the rains earlier in the week had shaken a lot of debris off of the trees, so there were leaves, branches, and twigs dotting some of the downhill portions. My headlamp’s light was insufficiently bright for the task, so I trusted my night vision and the much more useful headlamps of my fellow runners.

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Sunrise photo, courtesy of Will. The pre-dawn light was welcome – no more headlamp! And the sunrise was gorgeous.

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Heading downhill early in the race. Not actually sure where on the trail this was.

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Charging up some single track.

The course featured lots of hills, and many of this hills were on single track. This meant that you got into place between a couple of runners and were pretty much stuck there until the trail got wider again. This was actually a blessing in disguise; the single-file nature of these hills meant I had to keep pace with the runners around me. No slacking off! This kept me moving at a very brisk pace. Early in the race, I thought I’d regret the speed up these hills, but it turned out I was up for the task.

This dynamic also meant more of an opportunity to get to know other runners, and there were some very cool people out there! They kept me motivated, even as we leapfrogged ahead of each other on different parts of the course.

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Will joining me at the finish line. He came in at 9:18 – a 50-mile PR for him!

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Me at the finish. There was actually a heel click here, but the photographer missed it!

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More finish line joy.

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Will got me a present!
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And here are some of my favorite people on the day after the race. Several Antarctica marathon buddies came out to CA to participate in the weekend running fun as well. It was fantastic to be able to hang out with them, especially during this post-race karaoke session.