Audience Participation

Many of my runs are lunchtime jaunts during work, sometimes with co-workers, so in November 2010, I put out the call to the entire company (Audience Inc.) to see if I could assemble a team of 12 for The Relay. The Relay is billed as a 199 mile (the actual mileage is 194.1) footrace that goes from Calistoga to Davenport, held in the first weekend of May. Runners each run three legs of varying difficulty for a total mileage of 12.9 to 18.5 miles depending on their leg assignment.

The roster quickly hits 8 runners, but stalls. I put one more call out in January hoping some of the new employees were runners, and then turned to one of our VC companies for help. I met George, who sits on our board, at California International Marathon recognizing him from a company presentation months before, so I knew he was a runner. He brought along two more recruits, and with one final entry from within Audience, my team was assembled!

The team roster (in signup order) was:
Baldwyn Chieh: "Chronically injured, but hey, it's only 12-19 miles"
Matt Ward: "In."
Scott Warren: "Yeah, I'll do it."
Francis Tiong: "I am interested. I run every week for 3 miles each time."
Mark Every: "Sounds like fun, you can put me down."
Ron Capra: "Ok, I'm in."
Ram Sridharan: "I am very much an 'irregular runner, but I participated in this relay in 2005 and it was a lot of fun. I'd like to give it a try again."
Van Le: "Please add me to the team. I'll deal with the repercussion later. ;-)"
George Pavlov: "HQ has given the ok."
Ted and Kim Neal: "Kim and I would love to participate!!!"
Eric Skup: "I'm not an advanced runner but have been running regularly for 6 months. Nothing crazy but I usually run about 5-7 miles and keep close to a 10 min mile pace."

Three of us were ultra-marathoners. A few more had completed at least one marathon (but most were not active marathoners). And the rest were race newbies.

We also recruited two back up runners, Adam Abed and Clarissa Swihart who would end up being our volunteers (Adam's wife Isabelle also volunteered). One of our runners briefly had a conflict, and they were almost called up to run, but with some rescheduling on his part meant that we retained the original team without substitution. In other words: no one chickened out!!

A bunch of team names were proposed, voted upon, and ultimately we became known as "Aud Men Out."

Being the team captain required figuring out logistics and anticipating roadblocks, but really our team was actually quite low in maintenance. Our company, was also very supportive, and each runner even got a goodie bag complete with essentials, and custom printed tech shirts (two short sleeves and one long sleeve; one per leg!) Thanks again, Kristine! Still, as I was doing last minute shopping for supplies, and trying to make sure we were properly prepared, I started thinking this race was the most complicated way to get 18 miles of running in on a weekend.

The Relay website neatly summarized the different runner slots with ratings of their difficulty. I had printed the elevation profiles and we had a lunch meeting to choose our positions. There was really very little quibbling, and I got my first choice. The hardest leg, of course.

Runner	Leg 1	Miles	Rating	Leg 2	Miles	Rating	Leg 3	Miles	Rating	Total Miles	Difficulty
1 Francis	1	4.8	E	13	6.0	M	25	5.5	E	16.3	12
2 Ram	2	4.7	E	14	5.0	H	26	4.2	E	13.9	10
3 Van	3	4.1	E	15	6.5	H	27	5.6	E	16.2	8
4 Mark	4	7.4	M	16	5.3	E	28	5.1	H	17.8	7
5 Ted	5	5.0	E	17	4.9	E	29	3.0	VH	12.9	9
6 Kim	6	4.5	E	18	5.8	H	30	3.1	VH	13.4	4
7 George	7	4.4	M	19	7.0	H	31	6.2	M	17.6	3
8 Ron	8	6.2	M	20	5.9	H	32	4.7	E	16.8	6
9 Eric	9	4.4	E	21	6.5	M	33	6.3	E	17.2	11
10 Baldwyn	10	8.1	H	22	4.2	E	34	6.2	VH	18.5	1
11 Scott	11	6.9	H	23	3.7	E	35	6.2	VH	16.8	2
12 Matt	12	4.8	H	24	5.9	M	36	6.0	M	16.7	5

E=Easy, M=Moderate, H=Hard, VH=Very Hard

We rented two vans (runners 1-6 in one, 7-12 in the other), and all met in the Audience parking lot at 8:30 on race day. Even Ted and Kim who live near the start, decided to trek it down to Mountain View to make it easier logistically. Scott made me sweat a bit by arriving a few minutes late. Since I'd be spending most of the weekend in Van 2, I decided to ride up with Van 1, and hang out with them for their first leg while Van 2 went wine tasting, or got pedicures or whatever they ended up doing.



Van 1 pulled onto the grassy field, wedged in next to the "Donor Party"; the team my podiatrist was on! I had seen him about a week or two prior to the Relay because I thought I had a metatarsal fracture that had convinced me to DNF at American River 50 mile Endurance Run (where I saw Relay runners Ted and George after I switched to volunteering at Beale's Point since I had time to kill). He said it was more likely tendonitis, and not a fracture, and cleared me for the event. We both knew I was going to run anyways. We started taping signs to the vans after the second one arrived, surrounded by dozens of other teams bustling about with similar activities, the air full of energy yet unspent.

Groups of runners toed the starting line every half hour. The Relay staggers the start time for the teams to have the runners all finish within a similar window. We anxiously await our start time of 12 noon.



Finally, our time comes, and 9 Runner #1s line up to be interviewed by the announcer who reminds us of the charity that the Relay supports; organ donation. Francis is asked what organ he would donate, and he selflessly offers up the team captain's (that would be me) kidneys.



A quick countdown, and we're off and running, with Francis leading the charge! Francis had been battling a knee issue that plagued him since signing up, but he kept hanging in there. He immediately surprises us by running his first leg faster (8:50 m/m) than anything he did in training. That set the bar for the rest of the team. I think most of us came into this thinking we would hold back on our initial leg, to save something for the later runs, but with this precedence, we were inspired.





The weather is spectacular; a perfect Northern California spring day. This race begins in wine country and slowly winds west, towards San Francisco for the first van load of legs. Even though we're pounding on asphalt, you can't complain about the view. The wrist band (that serves as the baton) passes to Ram, who might have been our most consistent runner in training, in terms of pace. He improved gradually as training went on but never got set back by injuries. Perhaps Mr "Suspected 5th Metatarsal Head Stress Fracture" should pay attention, but I only learn the hard way, and rarely the first time. This leg, he cranks out the perfect balance of speed and conservation of effort.



Van (the runner, not the vehicle) follows. He has had issues carving out a period of time to train, but always made an effort. We worried that he wouldn't get enough miles under his belt before the big weekend, but he too surprised us with a fast leg.



Van 1 works well together, stopping mid-leg to check on the active runner, and every exchange goes flawlessly. The exchanges are hopping with activity; many runners having fun, and cheering each other on. And so far everyone is fresh. We're well ahead of schedule, and I check in on Van 2 to find them wine-tasting, and make sure they'll be at the first van exchange on time. Mark gets some friendly competition going by setting the team record pace of 7:42 minute/miles on a 7.4 mile leg! He might not run as much as some of us, but he has youth and clean living on his side. He does strain a calf in the process, but this hardly seems to slow him down later in the race.



Next up is Ted, and I think he really added to the organization of van 1, with a pilot's attention to detail, and an ultra-marathoner's patience. We were entertained in the van ride by stories of the exotic places he has flown to, and plant a seed of an idea for a group trip to Comrades.





The wristband passes to his wife, Kim, who serves as the anchor to van 1, and brings us into Napa for the first van exchange.



We meet as a full team again, at the busiest exchange yet (not just a runner exchange, but a van exchange) and I realize I may have forgotten one detail about jumping onto van 1, and then having to switch to van 2. I'm not going to get to have lunch! We do have things to eat, and I think I end up eating Ron's leftover quesadilla, so don't feel too badly for me. Kim comes through the final chute, and hands over the wristband to George, and finally my half of the team is off and running!



George manages to give van 2 an air of respectability, which is no easy task, given the cast of characters. He is a seasoned ultra-runner, and I'm entertained by stories of his training runs (like running from Woodside to San Francisco and then running the San Francisco marathon). He brings us out of Napa, and hands off to Ron.





Ron's a workhorse, and crushes a moderately hard leg with a 7:50 pace. We flub our first exchange of the race at Vineburg Deli. We're disorganized, and when Ron comes in, Eric is across the street. Precious seconds are lost, but of course, in the end just in the noise, but it contrasts with how smoothly all the exchanges went with van 1.



Eric really stepped up to the challenge of this race for being a newbie runner. He is the most improved of the team, surprising me with how much faster he's gotten since we started. Scott is very diligent in making sure our runners have support and water, and we stop twice for Eric; the last one dangerously close to the exchange. As a result, we don't make it to the exchange point before Eric arrives, and I'm late to pick up the wristband!

My time to run. I take off hard, partially to make up the time lost in the exchange, but mostly because it feels great to finally run. I see another runner up ahead, and think I can catch her, but she loses me as we hit an incline, and some "construction terrain." I'm not on asphalt, but the hard packed dirt is rutted from construction vehicles, which I'm finding oddly more technical than a a trail. A few miles in, and I see our van, and gratefully accept some water. Up until now, I've been thinking these runner stops were superfluous; I mean, I'd expect I could run 8 miles without even needing to carry water, but I find the water stop is very helpful. The second stop wasn't, and I yell at Scott, who is still in street clothes, to get dressed. I run into the exchange just as Scott is putting on a reflective vest.





We are approaching dusk, and required to use reflective gear, and flashlights. We are in the hills and fields of Petaluma, and the roads are familiar as I remember them from numerous motorcycle rides. Scott's running hard (close enough or faster than Mark depending on how good our accounting is), while we start preparing for nightfall. The fading light brings about an air of nervous energy. Running at night is unfamiliar to most of the team, and we start worrying that the easy part is over, and the next leg will be run on tired legs, in the chill of night, with a sleepy brain.

Matt, our anchor, heads out for his first leg, as darkness quickly sets in. Fluorescent dots catch our headlights along the winding Petaluma road, which now feels much too narrow as we negotiate around runners who seem to have only mere inches of space to the right of the fog line. I worry about Matt's safety, but he is enjoying the tranquility night has brought.





The Cheese Factory glows warmly, and is a hive of activity, as buses arrive and depart like worker bees. Every time I enter the parking lot of this place, I'm amused to think of how many times I've been here (maybe a dozen?) and have yet to set foot inside. A lighted chute is lined with runners and spectators as they cheer on the active runners. This is a van exchange, and somehow we find members from Van 1 in the darkness and the crowd. I don't get to see Matt hand the baton off to Francis, but it goes off without a hitch, and after catching up with the other half of our team, we depart to find dinner, and perhaps a nap before we're off and running again.



Van 1 will take us through Marin County across the Golden Gate Bridge to San Francisco. At some point, I've totally lost my bearings, and I'm glad Scott knows what he's doing as he drives us southwesterly. We pull into Corte Madera and look for an open restaurant. It's only around 9pm, but feels much later. Benissimo looks good enough, and six unwashed runners (this is why Van 2 is known as the Stinky Van) sit at tables with white cloths making full use of the complementary bread. The food is great and we're not too tired to talk about the day's events, while occasionally we can see brightly garbed runners with blinking lights pass right by the window.





We drive to the next van exchange and try to sleep. Scott was right on the money when he said we shouldn't try to do this in a minivan, and the more seats the better. I'm trying to sleep upright in the passenger seat up front, and somewhat succeed. I get notification of a new record being set by Mark (7:32 m/m average for his leg). Matt gives up on the idea of sleeping while sitting, and pulls a sleeping bag beside our parking spot. I get updates via text message from Ted, and get notification that Kim will be coming across the Golden Gate sometime after 12:30.


Ted's Second Leg



We slowly start moving about the van, joints rusty, eyes blinking away the sleep. I make my way to the volunteer table where they are out of coffee, but at least they have some soup. The air is cold, and so is the soup. This van exchange is more subdued than the others. Teams are starting to stretch out over time, and there's a hush that comes with the darkness. The exchange chute is lit up, and there's rock and roll music playing but everyone seems to be conserving energy instead of spending it needlessly bopping to the beat. Kim is breathless as she comes in from a gorgeous run across the Golden Gate bridge, and George is off to make his way to the Great Highway.





We catch up with the Van 1 runners, who are soon on their way to George's house near the next van exchange, which I'm sure will prove to be more comfortable than sleeping in the parking lot.



I've never seen San Francisco like this before. I guess if I see San Francisco at night, it's usually in an area more populated with bars. Of course, George tells me that he runs past a couple of inebriated fellows who are astonished by the presence of a runner. The ocean is calm and stretches behind us into inky blackness, and a single bonfire marks the land's end.




Ron's second leg

I have run over 160 miles in San Francisco so far, and each time it surprises me how small the city actually is. Maybe because it takes so long to drive across it. It only takes us a runner or two before we're out of the city, and winding southward along Skyline Blvd. When it comes to my run, I'm shivering just stepping out of the van, and pondering whether to add a jacket to my long sleeve earSmart shirt. Scott convinces me otherwise. I'm really looking forward to this, because this is my easy leg!



The initial rolling hills seem to take something out of my legs. How did I get so bad at running hills? I'm running with a guy in Vibram FiveFingers, and mention that I'm glad I didn't use mine for the first leg with all the construction terrain (I might be more hardcore about minimalist shoes now). We hit a downhill, and he's doing some weird skipping thing, probably because he's finding it hard on his joints. I'm not quite as fast as I hoped, but manage a 7:20 average pace. Enough to beat Mark! :) But then much confusion, because there's no Scott waiting for me. Instead, I'm being waved into the van. I never did understand the description of the "van bridge" but it becomes clear now. We have to drive to the next point to avoid running through some messy construction, and Scott shoots out of the van. He definitely sets a new record on the shortest leg of the race (1.8 miles) but our accounting has to include the driving and exchange time, which slows him down! It is in the midst of this confusion that we lose the wristband we've carried for over 100 miles.

Matt, who brought us into the darkness, now brings us out. The sun rises during his run, and we're in full light by the time he arrives at Canada college to high five (this is our new passing of the wristband) Francis for Van 1's final legs. This is actually the last time the team is fully together, as some of their runners will depart after they finish.



We head to George's house, not far from the College, and raid his kitchen. Some runners go to sleep immediately. Some shower first. For me, the sun brings about new energy and it takes awhile before I can finally fall asleep.





I get a call from Ted, and van 1 runners are just flying! I know that Ted and Kim have a large climb for their last runs, but they're tackling those hills hard. Matt goes to pick up his girlfriend for the last section, and I'm stressing a bit that he won't make it back before we should leave, but I always underestimate his driving abilities. We rouse the team (some are harder to wake than others), and head out for the home stretch. We get to meet one of George's daughters and his wife over breakfast.

It's mid morning by the time we arrive at Skyline and Highway 9 for the last van exchange. Van 1's spirits are high, but only a few will be meeting us at the finish, so we say our final goodbyes (I haven't seen Ted or Kim since), proud to have shared in the adventure so far.





We seem so far from the vineyards where we started the day before. It's warmer for one thing, despite the fact that we're running through forest lined roads. We start with two downhill legs, and George and Ron hold nothing back. George's pace sets the final race record for our team: 6:55, but Ron isn't far behind with a 7:09. Eric struggles a bit on his leg, as the temperature has crossed over from warm to hot, and finally it's my turn with what's supposed to be the hardest leg of the race.


Ron's 3rd Leg







My leg leads through Felton, and then up through the Granite Construction Quarry. Three miles of sort of flat, followed by 3 miles of climb. My legs are pretty tired, and I'm surprised when I start to really feel the heat going through Felton. I greedily consume a Gatorade when the van stops for me, grabbing one to go, and turn uphill.

I thought I'd hammer the uphill, but I'm definitely tired now. More tired than doing the final 6 of an 18 mile run, I think. I'm a little frustrated, I mean, I'm supposed to be an ultrarunner! Van 2 stops mid-hill to cheer me on, and it helps. I start watching the mileage on my watch, to make one last surge, and can finally see my finish line. One last charge, and I tag Scott who takes off flying.



Scott's leg is the second hardest of the race. But he's boosted by some friendly competition that gives him a strong finish (he beats the other guy).



One last passing of the baton. Six more miles.



Matt takes us from forest to ocean, as he runs down Bonny Doon Rd, and turns on highway one. The ocean air is cooler, and feels and smells great. We stop once to give him water, and then head to the finish at Swanton Berry Farm.

We're met by Ram and Mark, and anxiously peer down towards the ocean for Matt. Finally, he appears, and the team quickly joins him for the final push to the finish line. Scott grabs my video camera, I'm running backwards, shooting photos!







And just like that it's over. 194 miles done. I think it's less than a minute before we have beers cracked for our toast.



Final stats:
194 miles in 27:29:19 (8.5 m/m average), to place 63 out of 226 teams!

We beat our volunteers to the finish, but they're a welcoming sight when they arrive. We're required to provide volunteers in order to run, and I'm incredibly grateful to them to take up this less glorious task.



I turn in our time sheet, and collect our medals. There's a TV crew who asks us about whether we know any organ donors or recipients, and George mentions that his wife is a living donor to his daughter (both of whom we got to meet). Suddenly, the whole race comes into a sharper focus for us. The symbolism of passing the baton, the charity we've been working to help, the importance of every member to our team.

George and I discuss the run through an ultra-runners' lens, and are surprised to find the event to be a unique experience. Despite not even running a marathon distance, the night sections, and the lack of sleep, different conditions certainly make it feel like an ultra. But beyond that, we're runners, we're crew, we're aid station volunteers. And finally in the end, we're all much better friends.

The vans might never smell the same.



Full picture albums:

2011 The Relay

2011 The Relay, Day 2

Crazy Loves Company

"Did I tell you that Western States was televised?" Adam asked me as we run two warmup miles before doing our two one mile repeat workout.

Adam has been my regular running partner at work since I first recruited him to be a backup runner for our Relay team (which I really should blog about). Despite my youthful appearance, Adam is actually a lot younger than me, and was a solid cross country runner in high school. So of course I had to try to run him into the ground when he first showed up to a Relay team workout (10k, that was perhaps the longest he had ever run). He held on pretty good, caught the running bug, and continued stretching the distance, and started getting really quite speedy. He had been training for his first half marathon, coming up on October 23 (Morgan Hill Marathon).

Meanwhile, I was battling achilles tendonitis (first thought it was a stress fracture), knee issues again, dropped a motorcycle on my heel, and broke my left arm...again.

In fact, I'm still in the splint, and this is the second week back to running post-break.

"Yeah, you told me about it," I reply. After a pause. "I guess I'm going another year without qualifying for that race." I was a little bummed about admitting it, but I haven't run much since Tahoe Rim Trail 50 (another blog entry I need to write), so it'd be crazy, right?

"What do you have to do qualify?"

"Run 50 miles in under 11 hours. By November." (This was the last week of September; not many 5 week training schedules for 50 mile runs out there).

"What 50 mile races are there between now and then," he asks.

"Firetrails 50. That might be tough to go sub-11. Rock 'n River, probably not too hard, that's in 3 weeks. Of course, there's always Last Chance 50, on the last day to qualify for Western States. Easy course too. Maybe first, second week of November?"

"I'll do it with you," Adam says.

"What? Like pace me? Or the whole 50?"

"The whole 50. Let's do it."

"Dude, it'd be so cool if you just skipped the marathon and went straight to ultras. And not just a 50k, but a 50 mile run."

We hit the point where we're going to start the first mile repeat, so we don't talk anymore. I'm ready to turn around. Two miles of warmup is just stupid. He takes of flying, and I can't catch him. My knee hurts, my lungs gasp for air, and I'm feeling out of shape. I probably didn't even break 8 minute miles. I meet him as he's finishing his recovery interval.

"Eleven hours, that's like 13 minutes per mile right? That just doesn't seem that hard," he says.

I nod, knowing this is the kind of math that inspires people to sign up for things.

"Yeah, no problem. Let's do this. 50 miles," he says confidently.

"I'm game!" I say. "You go ahead and run the second repeat. I'm going to recover more."

I slug out the next mile, my legs feeling dead. I am tired. I take walk breaks. It's hot, and I think I'm hungry. Adam comes running back to meet me, and we both break into a walk. He had strained his calf, and is finding it too painful to continue running.

We talk 50 mile race strategy as we proceed to walk in the last 2 miles of our 7 mile run.

2011 Running Goals

It finally occurred to me, 3 weeks into the new year, to actually record what my 2011 goals are, especially since I'm nicely on track.

In 2010:
Number of Runs: 89
Miles Run: 514.09
Races: 3, Bay to Breakers 12k, Run to the Lake 10k, Firetrails 50M
Longest Run: 50M
Barefoot Miles: 43.83

My goal for 2011 is simple; I'm doubling what I did in 2010! So, to do the math:
Number of Runs: 178
Miles Runs: 1028.18
Races: 6
Longest Run: 100M
Barefoot Miles: heck, let's round to 100

Let's see how it goes!

No Expectations

Well, after my last blog entry, I learnt that 2010 is the last year ultrarunning legend Ann Trason would be directing Firetrails 50M. That pretty much sealed the deal. I had worked the race, but I had never run it under her care. I had to do that, at least once, even if I didn't finish. So with a mere 8 days to go, I signed up for my first ultra marathon of the year. Of course, once I confirmed payment, I was hit with a sense of dread over what I was about to do. Ultras are pretty tough on a good day, but with no training and a questionable knee, I figured I pretty much signed up for hours of pain and suffering with a slim chance of a finish to make it truly satisfying.

But then my dread turned to excitement. Friends were posting on Facebook about gearing up for race day, and I looked forward to seeing them. I started to play in my mind the scenes of dark redwoods, the gorgeous views of the Bay, the dust in the air, sun on my skin. Adventure awaited!

My old race morning breakfast of almond butter and jam on whole wheat toast was replaced with a large fruit smoothie, added chia gel and liquid pectin. Almond milk and turmeric chaser. Also new to the pre-race routine was Rock Taping (similar to Kinesotape, but this stuff I could buy at Sports Basement, and apparently is supposed to stick better than KT) the knee to encourage the knee cap to track more medially, so it doesn't rub against the area missing cartilage. I had only tried this once before (2010 Bay To Breakers), and figured it was worth a try. The tape would come off easily if it started to give me trouble.

Which was reminiscent of a very unrestful evening the day before, where as I shifted my motorcycle into neutral, a shifter linkage snapped, and I had to MacGuyver it with wire, tie-wraps and electrical tape.

Lake Chabot was 10, maybe 15 minutes away, and I treated my future self by parking in the lot close to the finish line for $5. Mine was the last bib at will-call. In the pre-dawn darkness, I got to meet and greet Mark Tanaka, Sean Lang, Brad Fenner, and Hao Liu. Mark returned my spare Garmin so I could try to record the entire run on two watches (my 405 and the 305).

The race started off in darkness, and everyone was chattering about what the day was going to bring. I concentrated on my form, especially since the first stretch was on pavement. I ran the gentle downhills very timidly; my body instinctively protecting the knee. I knew the knee can handle it if I did it right, but hadn't been doing hills enough to have the confidence. The Marceil Road aid station came pretty quickly and I just got a slight top off on one of my water bottles before continuing. This was one of the longer stretches between aid stations on the course. I ran with Clement Choy, and Mike Palmer. I told Mike that the last time I saw him (when I went to the Fremont Fat Ass 50k to hang out), he told me surgery was a last result, and I had to thank him for that advice. The next aid station was Bort Meadows, where I worked last year with Stan Jensen. Stan was there again as expected, but I was surprised to find Nattu Natraj taking our bib numbers as we approach. Nattu made a heroic effort at Spartathlon this year, and I congratulated him as he asked about my knee. I was starting to get hungry and Ann's homemade cookies really hit the spot. The table was a little light on other goodies, but the Big Bear was a short 2.6 miles away.

I was surprised to find Nattu, again, at Big Bear, and asked "Are you crewing for me today, Nattu?" Immediately a woman I recognized from various races says, "No! He's mine!" I laughed and ate cookies and on the next stretch she introduced herself as Nattu's girlfriend, Karen Bonnett. We talked about what a rock star Nattu is, ultras and other crazy pursuits (triathlons and super-long bike rides), and agreed to try to stick together to encourage each other on the run. About half way through this section (12 miles on the course), I had to announce to her that I had surpassed my mileage PR for the year. Man, this was crazy. I did an inventory of how I was was feeling. Legs were feeling capable but a little tired. Knee was fine. Feet were fine. I recognized Stream Trail, and I was reminded of the Epiphany 2009. That was another tough race for me, where a knee had gone out at mile 9, and hiked the last 18 miles of that race, including this section. Well, this day, I was doing much better, but I'm starting to feel the miles.

I focused on refueling at Skyline Gate at mile 15. I was getting tired, but maybe it was because I was running low on calories. Peanut butter sandwiches, potatoes with salt, and I left knowing Karen would catch up. I enjoyed the rollercoater nature of the trail, for a little while, until my legs start cramping on the uphills. Karen caught up, and soon Leigh Moser joined us as well. The hills started to get steeper, or at least felt steeper; I hadn't been running hills at all, and lost much of my climbing ability. I lost Karen and Leigh, by the time I pulled into Sibley Park at mile 18.4. My feet were no longer fine. I could feel my left pinkie toe blistering. The top of my left foot was hurting too, and I finally stopped at one point to retie my shoe, which helps a little bit.

A co-worker had made a bet (case of Racer 5 IPA) with me that I would DNF before entering Sibley Park for the second time (mile 33.6), so even though this was the first time I entered that aid station, and I still had 15.2 miles before returning, it was still a nice milestone. I pulled in around the same time as Marilyn Oberhardt, who was having a gravity challenged day. Two falls so far, she was making a blood sacrifice to this run for the finish. But she ran with a contagious spirit.

After a downhill section, the course climbed and climbed, and I reminded myself that there will be a downhill after all this. I started to hear the whistle of a train, and I knew the Steam Trains aid station was near. I started to think of my son, Mason, because we had gone on the train last year for his birthday. I wondered what it was like growing up with an ultra-running father, and what memories both my kids would retain. I hoped it would inspire them to reach beyond the norm, and live spectacularly. I was also hoping he would be kind to me the next day, and not jump on my legs.

I had made a conscious effort to make sure I was well fueled before leaving Steam Trains, with full bottles, since Lone Oak was 4.3 miles away. It wasn't immediately downhill, as I thought looking at the course profile, and the trail was really rocky. When we did have a downhill section, I ran with trepidation because of the knee and rocks. However, it was great to see my faster ultra-running friends, already past the turnaround at this point. I enjoyed surprising a couple, like Joe Swenson and Chihping Fu, who knew I was still recovering, and didn't expect me to be back in 50 mile shape. Well, heck, I wasn't expecting me to be in 50 mile shape. Diane Forrest knew I was running, but I think I still surprised her making it so far.

Photo Courtesy Chihping Fu

There was a beautiful stretch, almost 2 miles long, of runnable downhill to the Loan Oak aid station at mile 26. My legs started to feel renewed, and was even cranking out a single digit minute/mile pace. As I ran into the aid station, I saw two of my favourite running ambassadors, our sweeps for the event, Rajeev Patel and Anil Rao. They gave me a huge welcome, and were very encouraging. This point was my short goal for the day, and I was feeling great! I knew I had some of the biggest climbs of the day to face, but I had all day to do it. I sampled my usual ultra-fare; chips, peanut butter sandwiches, but I was getting tired of stuff. Then just as I was about to leave, someone mentioned they had grilled cheese sandwich. YEAH!! Boy, that hit the spot.

After I left, I went to call my wife to tell her how I was doing. She had promised to rescue my ass if I got myself in a bad spot, bless her, and I figured I should check in if I had cell service. Trish said I sounded strong, and I think we both knew at that point that I was going to finish. But the climb back to Steam Trains was long and relentless. I wanted to take a break and rest, but what good would that do?! I started to watch my pace, simply because I wanted to get to the point where I could walk the finish in and still make the final cutoff. That steam whistle sounded so good, and few minutes later, I hit the 30.3 mile mark at the Steam Trains aid station.

Wait, 30.3 miles? I've finished several 50k (31 miles) runs feeling much worse. This wasn't too bad at all! Ok feet (especially the left) hurt, but heck, I was used to it. Blisters, while they can be very painful, rarely turn into long term injuries. Beer (Sibley Park bet) was in sight, but a finish felt completely in reach. And I was having FUN. The next section went quicker, thanks to being downhill, and I won the bet (my winnings have YET to bee delivered, however) when I pulled into Sibley Park.

There was no question of continuing at this point. Skyline gate would mark just a mere half-marathon (although some part of mind tried to remind me that a half-marathon was still longer than my longest run for the year...until this run) to the finish. It was work, but completely manageable. But I was starving, and it was affecting progress.

I came into Skyline Gate to be greeted by Miki Higuchi, who was waiting to pace her runner Todd Wong. I immediately got busy trying to refuel with cookies, and then discovered that the watermelon was much more satisfying. Miki was pretty impressed I made it so far, and hell, so was I. Dennis Connor was still working the aid station, and asked me how things were going. I declared that I had this run in the bag. He turned to another runner who was trying to drop out, and recommend that we run together. The other runner left before me as I scarfed down more watermelon, at which point Dennis declared that my time was up.

I caught up with the other runner and tried to find out how he was doing. He really didn't want me to run with him. This run was his first 50 mile attempt, although he was quite experienced with 50k's. I mentioned that by the next aid station, he will have run over 40 miles, and if he gives up then, he'll have to run over 40 miles just to get to the same point. He had already thought of that.

He stopped to walk and told me to go ahead. It was a long 3.4 miles to Big Bear Gate at 41.5 miles. But now I had single digit miles to the finish. Amazing!!!!

Bort Meadows was a mere 2.6 miles away, but these miles were tough. The last gasp of major climbs seemed to completely sap what remains of my "speed." I hadn't been going very fast for the day, but this was the point where I felt like I started to struggle.

Stan Jensen was still manning the aid station, of course. Another aid station worker was interested in my taped knee, and I explained the situation. I mentioned that my knee felt great, it was more my feet that were taking a beating; blisters and the top of my left foot. The worker mentioned that my shoes might be too tight in the toe box which oddly was a bit of a revelation for me. He later introduced himself as John Vonhof, the author of Fix Your Feet!

I left Bort Meadows, with 5.8 more miles to go. This was a nice gradual downhill section, but the life had left me legs. It was late afternoon, and the air was starting to cool off.

I spent as little time in Bass Cove as I could. I had about 1/3 left in each bottle, so I didn't bother to refill, but did eat a lot of watermelon to refuel. Just 2.9 miles to go!!! I could smell the barn, but my legs were not getting a resurrection. I didn't resort to a death march, but could still ultra-shuffle it, so I did. I was passed by a few runner all the same. This section was familiar; I've hiked it, I've run it; it was the home stretch for the Lake Chabot Trail challenge as well. I stopped doing math in my head to predict finish times. Darkness was setting in quickly, but it only made that finish line clock glow brighter. I choked up as I saw it. I toed the starting line with no expectation of a finish, but here I was!!

I crossed the line to find that the official photographer had gone, a my friend, Joe Swenson, was snapping pics instead! Official finishing time: 12:35:05.



This was my proudest finish to date. I started the year off barely able to do a two miles at a time to this, a 50 miler, on training which was probably more suitable for a half-marathon. Not just any 50 miler, but the most challenging course I've done. I have chickened out of races in the past (Lake Sonoma 50M last year for example), and this experience has left me more courageous.

I really enjoyed seeing friends all day, but it was very precious at the finish line. Darshan Thaker was there, Diane's pacer for the last 13 miles, and he graciously held my finish-line swag as I grabbed a burger from the Firetrails Cafe. Hao showed me where the keg was. Mark Tanaka was still there with his kids, despite finishing hours before me, excited that I made it the entire distance. Leigh and her husband were there cheering on finishers.The runner I had left after Skyline Gate came up to me to announce that he had finished! Diane joined us, after a quick change. Todd Wong, with Miki pacing, squeaked in under 13 hours to adoring fans, completing his first 50 mile race.

I wanted to hang out longer, but didn't want to hold up Joe who was expected at home. I had a pile of Canadian confectionaries for him in my truck. I started searching all my pockets, to find my truck key missing, which I suspect I lost the key when I called my wife. That was over 20 miles ago; that key was GONE. Joe waited, while my wife came to my rescue, packed up the kids and delivered a key.

I got home, and finally pulled off my shoes and socks to find a mangled toe that had blistered on both sides, and a toenail that wouldn't survive another week. Will not be using those shoes for such a distance again (I'll probably try MT101's in the same size or larger). The top of my foot was swollen, and an angry red. Quads burned hotly, and my hamstrings were very sore. Heck, even my shoulders ached from carrying water bottles which I haven't really done in almost a year. It was all good. My muscles earned the break they would get, and I wouldn't stress the recover. I thanked them for carrying me further than expected of them.





Thank you, Ann and Carl, and the multitude of volunteers who put on this fantastic event. It truly was an all day trail party, and an appropriate venue to return to ultra-running. Thanks to Stu Kershner, my physical therapist, for putting me on the path to recovery.

Negotiations

My body catches on quick to what's happening. I'm trying to be all nonchalant about it.

"Hey, we're only out for a nice casual 12 mile run, don't worry, we can even go slow."

"TWELVE MILES IS ONE AND A HALF MILES LONGER THAN YOU'VE DONE ALL YEAR."

"Yeah, I know, but we're not even at mile 5 yet. We usually do at least 6 each time we go out, and you don't have a problem with it."

"WHAT DID I HEAR YOU SAY EARLIER? IF THIS GOES WELL, YOU'LL SIGN UP FOR FIRETRAILS. YOU DO KNOW THAT'S IN A WEEK AND A HALF."

"C'mon, it'll be fine."

"LOOK, YOU'VE BEEN EASY ON ME, I'VE BEEN EASY ON YOU, WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT TO CHANGE THAT?"

"It'll be a good time, isn't it always?"

"A GOOD TIME? DON'T YOU REMEMBER THE DEATH MARCH ON OUR FIRST 50K???"

"Hey, we got to see the sunrise and the sunset in the Headlands. That was nice, no?"

"OUR LAST MARATHON, WE WERE REDUCED TO A SHUFFLING PILE OF INFLAMMED JOINTS AND QUIVERING MUSCLE."

"4:45 wasn't that bad of time, considering how slow we were. Hey, if we do that twice, we can get a sub 11 hour 50 mile finish, easy."

"DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHAT IT'S LIKE NOT TO HAVE CARTILAGE UNDER THAT KNEE CAP????"

"Owwww! Geeze stop that. You haven't done that in months, what's going on?"

"AND HOW ABOUT THIS? REMEMBER WHAT DEAD QUADS FEEL LIKE? OR CRAMPING CALVES???"

"Yeow! Ok, but it's almost 90 degrees, and we haven't eaten anything today. We probably just need calories and electrolytes. Thanks for the reminder, I'll be better at it on race day."

"HAHA! NO YOU'RE GOING TO WALK THIS RUN IN."

"No, we can do this, stop being silly. Ok, I promise we'll take a break tomorrow. An easy short run? And next week, just casual runs, ok? We'll walk to the water fountain and then run."

"DON'T BE STUPID, YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN DO 40 MORE MILES OF THIS?"

"Look at SD100. We shuffled a good 55 miles of that after the knee went early."

"BUT WHY DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS?"

"Look, we've been rather comfortable, don't you miss that sense of adventure? Saying what the hell, and doing something unreasonable, knowing there's not going to be any shame in failure, but hoping that with perseverance we can end the day heroically?"

"WHY NOT JUST DO THE MARATHON. THAT'LL BE HARD ENOUGH. MORE THAN TWICE THIS RUN."

"Yeah, what if I get to the finish line and realize, hey we could have done this twice, easy!"

"YOU'RE CRAZY. YOU'RE GOING TO DESTROY THE KNEE."

"We don't need another shirt. And that wine glass will probably just be dropped some day. It's only $15 more to sign up for the 50 miler. Look, just get me to Lone Oak, and we'll plan on DNFing with dignity there. Maybe we'll feel ok, and decide to make an ultra of it."

"LONE OAK? THAT'S IT?"

"That's all I expect, everything else is bonus. Lone Oak."

"ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?"

"No. Let's decide tomorrow. We're almost done."

"I LIKE HOW YOU'VE NOT BEEN RUNNING ANY HILLS."

The RESET Button Part I

Ok, , it's been over one year since I've posted. It's not because I've been completely inactive, I suppose I've done a 50k (2009 Hunter S Thompson Fear and Loathing), a marathon (2009 California International Marathon), a half-marathon (2009 Rock and Roll San Jose Half Marathon) and a 12k (2010 Bay to Breakers) since then. But all along I felt a rapid, and depressing decline in running ability. It started off with back of the knee pain when I wasn't running, and then felt like I just couldn't recover from runs, even with rest, decrease in intensity or mileage. Finally at California International Marathon, it became painfully apparent that something was wrong. My Rock and Roll Half marathon performance was ok, I eeked out a 1:40, which is much slower than my PR the year before of 1:33, but a time I still consider respectable, since I had been battling sprained or torn calves all summer. My CIM first half split was 2 hours, and I felt nowhere as good as I did after R&R, just a couple of months before! After that it was a surprising and frustrating grind just to finish in 4:45, my worst time ever, and an hour longer than I predicted I would take. I stubbornly continued to run after that, but it's only a mile or two at a time as my knee fights back. Finally one day, I bind it with an Ace bandage, and churn out what used to be my a regular mid-week run of 7.5 miles.

My knee was a swollen mess, with chunky bits. When I put weight on it, skin bulges around it as fluid shifts around. This isn't right. I finally relent, and see my doctor who recommends a MRI, and the resulting report reads like retirement.

Exam Date: 01/18/2010
Examination: MRI OF THE RIGHT KNEE
Indication: Knee pain. Rule out meniscal tear.
Comparison: Radiographs dated 01/13/2010.
Technique: 4 mm sagittal proton density, 4 mm sagittal
T2, 4 mm coronal T1, 4 mm coronal, T2 fat-sat, 5 mm axial proton
density, 5 mm axial T2 fat-sat.
Report: The anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments
appear intact. There is mild sprain of the medial collateral
ligament. The lateral collateral ligament appears intact. There
is an irregular predominantly radial tear present involving the
posterior horn of the medial meniscus near the free edge.
Lateral meniscus appears intact. Medial and lateral patellar
retinacula and quadriceps and patellar tendons also appear
intact. There is advanced grade 4 chondromalacia at the
patellofemoral joint as well as mild to moderate chondromalacia
at the medial joint compartment. Large knee joint effusion and
small Baker’s cyst is noted.

IMPRESSION:
1. Focal tear of the posterior horn of the medial meniscus.
2. Mild sprain of the medial collateral ligament.
3. Advanced grade 4 chondromalacia of the patellofemoral joint
compartment as well as mild to moderate chondromalacia of the
medial joint compartment.
4. Large knee joint effusion and small Baker’s cyst.

Man, a search on "grade 4 chondromalacia" just depressed me. Grade 4 is where the cartilage is completely worn away. I was referred to an orthapedic surgeon, and get to see my MRI first hand. One section of my knee cap looked like I had torn a flap of cartilage off and it was just hanging there. Other sections had no cartilage,and cysts had formed on the knee cap (looks like little craters that have formed in the bone). The surgeon recommended orthoscopic surgery to clean the surfaces. To address the chondromalacia, a lateral release could be performed, where the tissue on one side could be cut to move the knee cap over and give it more space. A non surgical alternative would by synovial (artificial joint fluid) injections. He said physical therapy wasn't really an option, obviously I was in shape already. He declared that if he could get me to running twice a week, it would be a victory.

Yikes. My wife thought there was too much unanswered, and after talking to people (including Catra and Mike Palmer when I showed up to spectate at the Fremont Fat Ass 50k instead of run it), I decided to get a second opinion. This time with Warren King, who is the orthapedic surgeon to the Oakland Raiders as part of his impressive resume. The appointment is extremely fast, as I'm mostly handled by his nurse practitioner. Again, orthoscopy is highly recommended, this time, he says most of my pain is probably due to the torn meniscus. Again, the lateral release is recommended. I ask about the synovial injections, and he says it's not really a solution. I ask about the reason for the condition, and he says it's probably lifelong maltracking. Mentally, I begin to to prepare for surgery.

Catra and Mike at FFA50k

Rajeev Patel turned 50 in February, and his friends threw together a surprise birthday party and 50k run! I had to show up and support this person I consider one amazing running ambassador. He talks to me about my lack of running, and is supportive, relates his own tales of lameness, and how he supports exhausting non-surgical options first. A very common perspective, also shared by Catra and Mike when I talked to them a couple of weeks previous.

Now I got to say, even though I've only been an ultra runner for a short period of time, it's definitely become a big part of my identity. To suddenly find the ability to run taken from me so suddenly is incredibly depressing. I'm able to fill the social aspect of it by crashing local runs, or even better, volunteering. But I miss that crunching sound of shoes against dirt, the smells of a trail, the physical exertion, and pleasant exhaustion. Meanwhile, I'm gaining weight, and I feel terribly out of shape. A snowboarding trip confirms that I'm not the same as I was a year ago. I can't even bounce back from falls like I used to. I've gotten soft. Somewhere in the middle of the mess, Tahoe Rim Trail began to sell out, and TRT100 was my back-up hundred to Western States, so almost at the last minute I sign up for the 50 miler (there's the possibility to upgrade to the 100 later). How do I address my knee and still have time to trail for a July 50M/100M?

Eventually, I come to a decision. Physical therapy first. Surgery only if it fails.

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