Beautiful Race, Ugly Finish: 2012 Waldo 100k

We lucked out on the weather as race day was the only non-hot, dry day the area saw in a ten day span. However, we did get hit with a forest fire. A small fire started on the Wednesday afternoon before the race. Fire crews quickly got it under control, but it damaged part of the forest the race was supposed to go through, so the race was re-routed. The re-rout added an additional three miles onto the length of the course.

You win some, you lose some.

Start of the Waldo

The pre-dawn start saw us lining up in the dark at the Willamette Ski lodge. At the exact stroke of 5:00am, we took off into the dark. The hard charging lasted about 30 seconds as the course immediately began a steep incline. Most of us slowed to a hike up the dirt road. A lot of people seemed to be in a hurry and I didn’t put up a fight against those who were hiking past me. We had 65 miles to go.

Once that climb peaked, the running began. Running in the dark with your sight only illuminated by a headlamp is a little different. Your depth perception is severely impaired, so you find yourself running a little funny. I run with a “high stepping” stride to keep from tripping over things. Fortunately after only another 20 minutes of running it was light enough to turn off the headlamps.

I ran the second half of this first leg with two guys behind me who chatted away. I never looked back to see if they wanted by, but when we finally hit the campground road leading into the first aid station, I let them run by me. When we got to the aid station, I didn’t stop. I didn’t need anything, so I re-passed those two guys plus another woman and wouldn’t see them again until I fell apart hours later.

Coming up from the aid station we hopped on a road for a few hundred feet to connect to another trail. This was where I got to see Christina for the first time. She and most of the other runners’ support crews had stopped at turn-outs in the road and were waiting to see their runners pass by. She was waving a pom-pom she brought and took a picture of me that I’m sure didn’t turn out. I handed her my headlamp, said thanks and jumped onto the trail across the road.

This next section of the course constituted a slow climb in elevation to the next aid station, which would then have us climb to the top of Oregon’s Mt Fuji. This is where the race really got fun for me and I got into my rhythm. Because part of this section is an out-and-back, you get to see the leaders and also see where you are in the standings. When I saw the first and second place runners coming at me on the single-track trail, I’d jump out of the way to yield the trail to them, but never break my own stride. Just as I was leaving the aid station at the base of Fuji, I came across the runner in third place, Jesse Haynes, a runner I know from Orange County. I was expecting to see him up in the front and glad to see he looked to be doing well.

On my run up to the top of Fuji I counted that I was in about 25th place. When I hit the peak I gave a cheerful hello to the course workers who checked me off and took in the breathtaking view of Waldo Lake and the surrounding forest and mountains. My scenic viewing lasted all of about one second before I took off back down the trail in pursuit of the runners in front of me.

When I arrived back at the Fuji aid station a most peculiar dressed woman, who was also a racer, was doing a little dance and singing a made-up song to the tune of Lady GaGa’s Bad Romance. I tried to not let this distract me, even though it was distracting all the aid station workers and just filled up my water bottle and took off. Bad Romance was stuck in my head for the next several hours, though.

I want your ugly, I want  your disease, I want you to move out of my way.

While I was still in 25th place when I left the Fuji aid station, I had a good run and entered the next aid station in 16th place. This aid station stop was a bit long because Christina gave me my second hand-held which I had to fill up, too, before I could take off. I eventually did and had another great run in this section, posting my fastest per-mile average for any section of the race. As the race course crossed the road, again, Christina was able to post herself at the crossing to cheer me on. I paused to give her a quick kiss and darted up the muddy trail. It had started raining and was a bit cold, which was actually great for me and the runners. I felt a little bad for the aid station volunteers and the chase crews who had to be out in the cold and damp for us, but the ones I asked said they honestly didn’t mind.

I continued to feel great and while I was as high as 14th place for a while, I hit the halfway aid station at Charlton Lake in 15th place. Christina meet me there, too, and jammed jells into the pouches on my shorts while volunteers refilled my water bottles and I ate bites of boiled potato. In just a few moments I was ready to go and waved good-bye to Christina and the aid station volunteers as I ran off around the lake and into the rain.

Running into Chantry AS, still thinking this was a good idea

I ran the next section well, but when I hit the next aid station at mile 37, I started to feel a bit tired. I still blew through the aid station quickly and headed off down the trail. A lot of this course is pretty flat so you’re running fast most of the time. By this point in the race my “running” muscles were getting pretty tired and I was hoping for some climbing so I could go to a hike and use different muscles. My prayers were sort of answered in that climbing I got. This section incorporated the second mountain we climb over, the Twins, named after its twin peaks. We actually don’t climb all the way to either of the peaks, but slide through the “cleavage.”

The climb was a long, shallow one and it was during this hike that I took a break to pee, probably around mile 40. I had had to pee for a while, but not super bad. Usually during a race I pee within the first 15 miles. This was an indicator of the mistake I was making and that I would crash pretty soon. At the next aid station, I didn’t get the pumped-up vibe I normally get while at an aid station that invigorates me and I dawdled a bit. Just as I was leaving a woman and her pacer came into the aid station looking strong. I knew I would be losing my 15th place position pretty soon.

A mile and a half down the trail the course crossed the road again and I met up with Christina. I felt pretty zonked at this point and didn’t act like I was in a rush to replenish my gel supplies and get on the move again. I had her give me my iPod in hopes that music would help take the edge off this funny feeling I was having. Before I got going I did get passed and left Christina now in 16th place.

The music was nice to listen to and I felt good as I ran for a while, but after a few miles I started feeling pretty crappy. I had been keeping up with my caloric intake during this race, but due to an article I recently read about a study done saying people take in too many electrolytes, I hadn’t been popping my electrolyte pills. I normally take two an hour, but at this point in the race I had taken only two total, though at the time I didn’t really realize this was my problem. I thought I just didn’t train well enough for this pace (and I might not have, anyway, but it’s hard to tell). My running slowed to a crawl. I stopped once because I felt like I had to pee, but only a dribble came out. Even when I was finished I still felt like I had to pee. I was falling apart and runners were catching and passing me left and right.

When I finally stumbled into the aid station at mile 50 I wanted to throw in the towel. I also wanted to try to go to the bathroom. Being in a campground they had restrooms so I went in one. While it felt good to sit down, nothing happened and I became frustrated with why I was feeling so strange. Christina was at this aid station and I told her how I was feeling really awful and wanted to drop. I couldn’t immediately bring myself to tell the course workers that I wanted to drop, so Christina got out the folding chair and I sat down to recoup. I drank a lot and nibbled on a lot of things, mostly Cheez-it’s, and watched all these runners who were behind me come through the aid station and leave. A couple of them tried to get me up out of my chair, but I wasn’t budging.

I’d never dropped from a race before and didn’t want to start now, but I was having trouble coming up with the motivation to continue. I felt really bad at one point during my San Diego 100 mile race last year, but pushed through so I could finish a 100 miler. This race was only 100k, so finishing it wasn’t some big milestone distance since I had already run further. However, I just couldn’t get myself to officially give up. I don’t have a lot of quit in me. My IT band was a little sore, but it wasn’t like my leg was broke and because I was sitting down for so long, I was starting to feel a bit rejuvenated. So after spending an hour at this aid station and not being able to come up with a good reason to drop, I said fuck it, I’ll just keep moving. A slow finishing time is better than no finishing time.

Last August, when I helped Cale Stubbe run the Leadville Trail 100, the race director said something that stuck with me. He said that if you drop, then when people afterward ask you how the race went, you have to go on this long explanation of why you couldn’t finish. On the other hand, if you finish, then when people ask you how the race went you can just say I finished and that’s it. End of story.

I hate long explanations (ironic since none of my blog posts are short).

Christina walked with me through the camp ground to where we picked up the single-track again. I gave her a hug and a kiss and said I’d see her at the finish line come hell or high water and trudged up the trail. After resting my legs for an hour, they got some power back into them and I ran more than I thought I was going to be able to on the next section. Right before the next aid station it got real steep, but I climbed up to the tables and volunteers in much better spirits than when I entered the last aid station. The final peak I had to climb, Maiden Peak, was only three and a half miles away so I left there thinking no sweat, I totally got this.

I totally didn’t. Volcanos are really steep to climb at the top. Who knew? This trail to the peak was a real bitch of a climb. Jesus H. Christ was it steep. When I finally, finally climbed and stumbled my way to the peak I stood there and asked the course worker why in the hell did they build that trail so steep? He said he asks himself that same question every time he climbs up here. Well, at least I was at the top and it was all downhill from there to the finish, nine miles away. Descending from the peak did suck, too, but at least it was easier climbing down than climbing up.

Step, "Ouch", Step, "Ouch" - the IT band didn't feel good going down this mountain

I didn’t have the ability to run downhill very well and while no one else caught me from the 50 mile aid station to Maiden Peak, people were now starting to run me down and there was nothing I could do about it. I hobbled into the last aid station to super friendly volunteers who gave me a bit of a sponge bath round my neck and head and cleaned up my face. The woman wiping my face clean commented that it looked like I hadn’t been taking in enough salt. My mistake was that obvious.

From the final aid station to the finish was a nice seven and a half miles of negative elevation gain. If I wasn’t a dead man walking, I would have really enjoyed this trail. And I was still getting caught. When a person would catch up to me, I’d step aside to let them pass but then think, okay, I’ll hang onto them and run with them to the finish, but I wouldn’t be able to keep up with even their measly pace. Eventually I stopped having people catch me and I was all alone. That’s not too unusual in an Ultra, but it was getting close to dusk, I didn’t have my headlamp and since I had never stepped foot on these trails before I was a little nervous that I was even going the right way (race direction didn’t feel the need to put up any “confidence ribbons” since in their mind you couldn’t get off trail anywhere here).

I finally came across some hikers who gave me smiles and the obligatory “almost there” which gave me the confidence I needed to ensure I was going in the right direction. With this area being so densely wooded, your sight lines were pretty limited. Quite a few times I saw things through the trees that ended up being just more trees. But when I thought I couldn’t handle any more of this, I rounded a corner and there in front of me was the Willamette Ski Resort and the finish line 200 meters away. I trotted out of the woods and to the finish line in 35th place, 14 ½ hours after I started, thankful to have this one over.

Not really the time I wanted it saying on the clock when I crossed the finish line.

The race itself is really great and I highly recommend the Waldo 100k to anyone, but for me, this race was more of a struggle than any other I have done. I’m definitely going to take some time off from Ultra’s, probably more than a year (except for Molly’s El Moro 50k’s). I’ll train for other types of races just to do something different, but I think I would like to come up to Oregon again and give Waldo another shot and have a pretty finish.

Winning the (first) 2012 El Moro 50k

“That guy must be doing the 25k. Look at his road racing flats and he seems too amped up to be running 50 kilometers,” I said to my girlfriend, Christina, about a guy standing a few feet away from us. The race director, Molly Kirchoff, called all the 50k runners over to the start line and the guy in the road race flats came with us. I turned around to Christina and went “huh, guess he is.”

The El Moro 50k is about my favorite race to run because it’s so close to home and in such a nice area – Newport Coast. It’s an ultra that’s raced within civilization. You also get really nice stuff for entering the race, are fed well after the race and the course is fast, so you get done quicker than most trail 50k’s.

 

Toeing the starting line the two people who had beaten me the previous two years at this race were out with injuries, so did that mean I should win? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t feel like I was in the best shape because my plan of doing several ultras in a short span of time kind of backfired on me because it tired me out so much. I pretty much crushed myself running Old Goat and never really let my body recover because I tried to jump right into training for the next race. 

Before I had much more time to size up the competition, Molly said “GO” and we were off. I lead out with Ryan Yohn, who if this race were five kilometers instead of 50, would have a great shot at winning the whole thing. The guy who looked too amped up to be running a 50k, Matt Robinson went out with us, too. 

I told myself that I wouldn’t go out hard in this race and let it come to me – the smart way to run an ultra, yet a strategy I hadn’t practiced since the San Diego 100. I ran my own pace at the start, a trot, and let Ryan and Matt run side-by-side a little ways in front of me on the trail. I kept at my trot, but pulled right up to them before we hit the first mile. I stayed content to sit on both of them, still not letting their pace dictate mine. At one point, on a little downhill, I accidentally slipped into the lead. When this happened, Matt left Ryan to run side-by-side with me. I wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but kept to my own pace. 

Once we made the turn to start the I-Think-I-Can climb, the first and longest climb of the race, I continued to trudge along not wanting to blow my wad on the first up. Matt went by me almost immediately and Ryan jogged past me a minute later. They ran ahead of me pretty much side-by-side up the climb. I cranked up my iPod and zoned out into my own little world.

Eventually the climbed peaked out and turned into a mostly descending trail for the next few miles. After not too long I made my way onto the back of Ryan and Matt again. Still keeping to my own pace, I made my way down the trail and at some point we dropped Ryan. I didn’t notice where, but eventually I did notice that there were only two of us. 

Matt stuck with me and continued to insist on running side-by-side with me. I concluded at this point that Matt’s strategy was instead of running his own race was to run with whoever the lead runner was, in hopes of outlasting them in the end. He was also doing a lot of looking around – not at the scenery but behind him to see how close other runners were. He also wasn’t carrying a water bottle. All this lead me to believe he doesn’t have experience running this type of race. 

We hit single track and I let Matt go in front. He scurried down the first big slope really fast. Everyone has different strategies on how to best run a course and different personal strengths and weaknesses, but, damn, he got down that rugged, steep slope faster than I think I would try even in a five mile race. We ran along the single track until we hit the first aid station just past the 5 mile mark. I never stop at this aid station because I never need to. I think Matt was a little surprised by this. He had to stop and grab a drink since he wasn’t carrying water. 

I waved to the volunteers and kept going on down the trail. After a little while, Matt caught back up to me again for some more side-by-side running. We continued in this fashion and hit the first steep climb – one that makes more sense to hike than try to run. We hiked and jogged our way up to the second aid station. It seemed like I was making Matt struggle to hike at my pace so I thought that if I put a push on, now, I could break free of him. When we peaked the climb I continued running past the aid station table instead of stopping to refill my bottle (it didn’t need filling anyway). Just as I started to drop down the trail on the other side of the hill I heard Matt say to someone “I’m going to have to let him go.” 

The climb up Rattle Snake trail out of the canyon is a bit of a bitch, but if you don’t try to knock it out of the park on this climb, it’s not too bad. I was taking it slow and steady and Matt caught up to me. I was expecting this so didn’t think much of it and lead the way down the single track on Red Tail. It was on this trail that I started hitting people running the 25k, who started at my turn-around point so were running the course in the opposite direction from me at this point in my race. I made room for all of them so we could both squeeze by and said hi to a few of them that I knew. 

Once I broke out of the brush that surrounds you on the single track and was on the double track I noticed that I was alone. I didn’t bother to look behind me, but I didn’t hear Matt’s breathing right over my shoulder so realized he had dropped back a bit. When I came round to the big Ridge Park aid station, I finally stopped and refilled my water bottle. I felt good, smiled to my parents and my girlfriend and took off for the turnaround aid station.

When I hit the turnaround aid station I stopped and refilled my bottle, again. I hadn’t stopped at this aid station before, though I think it’s because the previous two years the weather was cooler. Climbing back up from the turnaround is tough, but what was exciting was that it gave me the chance to judge my lead on the rest of the field, and it was good. I was pretty tired, but if I just pushed myself a little, the race was mine. 

Three hours into the race it was getting pretty hot and I was starting to wish I had two hand-helds instead of just the one. At least I wasn’t having pain in my IT band like I did for the last 10 miles of the 2011 race. However, my new injury was making running the final five miles really tough. I strained my lower abdominal muscle during the Leona Divide 50 Miler I had run two weeks before, so now just lifting my legs with each stride hurt like hell. The long downhill toward the end of the race that is normally so pleasant was only pleasant for the first half of it. By the lower half my shortened stride was causing a serious pounding in my lower back and that sucked. The final mile is flat, but it hurt so much to drive my legs I almost came to a stop and started walking. 

I finally hit the finish line and painfully hobbled to a stop. My parents and girlfriend were super proud of me, as was race director Molly, though Molly’s always concerned with how pale I look when I finish these races. I did plop down under a canopy and started rehydrating with some coconut water. It may taste like piss, but it does a body good. The best was after I was fed, Molly rewarded me with a whole slew of Oakley apparel, including a pair of their ridiculously expensive sunglasses. The stuff Oakley sponsors the race with is always pretty awesome. 

I was greatly looking forward to doing the El Moro 50k again next year in 2013, but learned that I don’t have to wait that long. Molly has changed the date of the race to October, so will be running a second Who’s in El Moro 50k/25k in 2012, on Saturday, October 20^th. I’m signed up!

How Much the 2012 Old Goat 50 Hurt

The start of spring and the start of another ultra season.

With my lovely winter travel schedule I wasn't able to do as many short trail races in December, January and February like I like to do and race myself into shape. I ended 2011 with a good race - November's Saddleback Marathon where I improved my time by 20 minutes and finished on the overall podium. So I was in good shape then, but I was pretty nervous if I were carrying over that fitness through the winter. So even though I couldn't run a lot of weekends due to the J-O-B, I seemed to log a lot more miles during the week than I had in years past. Hopefully that was going to be enough.

The end of March meant the Old Goat 50 Miler. My first year I ran this race I didn't really know what I was getting into and ran something like a 9:50. Last year I had a blast running the race and felt incredible the whole time, improving my time by 45 minutes to finish in 9:05. Because I felt so awesome running it last year, I was nervous that I'd be able to top last year's performance. Also, the field was stacked this year so I was going to have to run my skinny ass off just to finish inside the top 10.

Race day came and I felt pretty good. I really like how the race is so well run. It makes you feel like this must be a big deal because it looks so professionally done. The Old Goat who manages it has his ducks in a row. It's too bad he's not allowed by the national forestry service to get a larger permit for the race that would allow more than 150 entrants.

Photo by: Deborah Acosta

Anyway, 3, 2 1 and we go. The top four runners blasted off the start line like they're running Boston. My thought was to run the race with Tom Nielsen and try to soak up some of his ultra running wisdom, but the 52 year old took off like a shot, too, and spoiled my plans.

The First 21 Miles

Once on the trail I loped along and settled in to an enjoyable pace. I followed Harold Zundel from a bit of a distance running out to the Candy Store. I'd only first met Harold two weeks prior at Baz's 30k race where he ran me down and blasted past me. The gap between us yo-yoed a bit, that's always interesting in a race - how people will run the same trail differently. The view from the ridge was spectacular and we both commented on it.

Photo by: Victor Tello

Once we made it to the bottom of the decent, we chatted a bit what was in store for us and I told him about the conditions last year - stream crossings, snow levels, etc. A little before we got to the first aid station I moved past Harold thinking I could lead us for a while. I ended up putting a gap on him right away. Didn't mean to do that.

Photo by: Susy Gutierrez

Coming into an aid station is always the funnest thing because there's people around and cheering and food. The Candy Store aid station was a little full when I got to it with people who started at 5:30am (instead of 6:30am). I handed my water bottle to a volunteer and asked for it to be refilled with water. I like fast aid station stops and consider it a good strategy, so when the volunteer had to wait for one of the 5:30 starters to finish filling her hydration pack with water before she could fill my water bottle, I started to have a little panic attack. This probably held me up all of 10 seconds at the most, but waiting for 2 seconds seems like an eternity to me.

Once I got my bottle filled I was off and running down the trail. Coming around the loop that takes you back to the (dry) stream crossing I passed two runners who were coming at me. I kind of went *huh*, then yelled back to them that they're going the wrong way; they were going counter-clockwise around the loop instead of clockwise. Sucks for them.

After the stream crossing you're back on the trail you came out on so I started coming across other racers. That's sorta fun because I can see some friends from the Trail Headz like Theresa Avocado (Apodaca), Matt Brabeck & Marisa Willment. I could also hear people talking to the racer in front of me when he'd pass, meaning I wasn't too far behind Tommy, now.

Sure enough, I eventually started to see peaks of the blue Bad Rats shirt down the trail in front of me. Not too much longer and I ran up right behind Tommy and he seemed to be running a little funny, like he was injured. Apparently he wasn't injured, that's just how he runs. As soon as the trail started to climb, again, Tommy stepped over to let me by. I put a bit of a gap on him, but never too big of one. I was running comfortably and wanted to keep my rhythm. I don't know if slowing down a tiny bit to keep just in front of Tommy would have helped me later in the race, or not. I kind of don't think it would have. 

A little while later and I ran down another runner whom I originally assumed was a 5:30 starter. When I got up behind him I noticed his shoes (NB 110) and he didn't step aside to let me pass. After running behind him for a few minutes, I noticed that he was running really well, especially over the rocks in those tiny shoes, so I concluded that Michael Chamoun was a 6:30 starter as well.

After the Chiquita Falls aid station, I took the lead in front of Michael and lead him back to Blue Jay campground. Running through the campground I stopped at my car to grab a second water bottle and more gels. At the aid station I handed over my empty water bottle to a volunteer to fill, but when she went to fill it, the water jug appeared to be empty! She dashed around behind the table to find a full water bottle while I stood there having another panic attack because Michael was coming down the road to the aid station and I knew Tommy would appear shortly, too. An agonizing eight seconds later and I was off down Falcon Trail.


Miles 22 through 34ish

Last year when I got to Main Divide Truck Trail I was shocked by how well I felt climbing it. This year my shock at Main Divide was seeing a small caravan of minivans trying to climb up the mountain. When I approached the first car a little woman ran out and through a thick accent asked if I could give them directions (it was pretty obvious they were lost). I felt like a dick not stopping to talk to her, but I was in a race and just sort of grunted at her. When I got to the lead car another guy popped out and asked if I could take a minute to give them directions. This time I told him I'm running a race meaning no, I couldn't take a minute. He quickly asked me which way was the camp ground. When I pointed back behind me down the hill, I heard all the little kids in the van grown. I'm not sure how they got themselves turned around and back down the mountain, but they weren't there when I was running back down to Blue Jay three hours later.

As I continued to climb up Main Divide, I could tell that Michael was gaining on me and I wasn't going to be able to hold him off. With a polite, hello, he marched past me and up the hill. Looking back over my shoulder some more, I could see Tommy in the distance, too. Shit.

I'm not a big fan of running down Trabuco Trail, but it was nice to run downhill since, apparently, my uphill climbing was going to suck today. I didn't blast down the trail too hard because I didn't want my legs to be shot at the bottom, but when I got to the stream crossing at the base of the decent I caught a glimpse of Michael. I was very surprised to see that I caught back up to him.

A little further down the trail I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Tommy come flying at me. I jumped out of the way so he wouldn't plow me over and watched as the grizzled veteran dropped out of sight. About a 1/4 mile later I trotted past Michael joking that I'd see him again going up Holy Jim where he'd re-pass me.

I enjoyed the rest of the flat run to the Holy Jim aid station. When I rolled into that aid station Tommy was still there and Baz was chatting it up with him. I handed a water bottle to a volunteer, but they were blocked by Baz who's back was to us as he continued to BS to everyone. Finally a volunteer said "Baz, we have runners" and I threw in "Baz, pay attention!"

When the old fart turned around to see who it was, his reaction went something like: "who's . . . oh &%#@ you, you mother @#%&ing #&@* $*#&er, etc., etc."

Ah, Baz.

I got my bottle filled and headed up Holy Jim. Being late morning by this point and a beautiful day, there were a lot of hikers on the trail and it got a little congested at the water crossings a couple of times. At one crossing I didn't want to wait for the hikers to stumble across the rocks so I trounced through the water. I may have splashed more than they would have appreciated.

I took the Holy Jim climb as best I could - hiking quite a bit of it, but forcing myself to run for as long as I could when it wasn't too steep and try to haul ass anytime it flattened out. I was having a dull pain coming from my sciatica on my left side and my lower back on my right side when going uphill. I can't really say this slowed me down, but it definitely wasn't comfortable.

When I finally made it to the top I was surprised to find no aid station. Crap. Due to the water at Bear Springs right there, the area can be pretty heavy with flies. I remember this being the case with the 2010 Chimera 100 and they moved the aid station further up the hill to a nice look-out. Thankfully that turned out to be the case this time, too.

Miles 34ish through 47
Larry Goodard and Co. greeted me at the aid station and refilled my bottles with Heed. They offered to put ice in my bottles and that was SO nice - ice-cold refreshment.

Because I felt I climbed Holy Jim so slow, I kept waiting for Michael to catch me, but he never did. However, just as I was leaving the aid station, he came trotting in. I hiked away, but knew I wasn't going to stay ahead of him for long.

In a few minutes he caught up to me and I commented how I was surprised we hadn't seen the leaders coming down from the peak, yet. I'm used to being so far behind them that I never see Jorge Pacheco running down from the peak because he'd already gone by where Holy Jim meets Main Divide. A few more minutes went by and we finally spotted the leader coming down the mountain and not surprisingly it was Chris Price. The guy took up running just a few years ago, apparently never realizing what he is capable of. He gave Michael and I high fives as he blasted down the mountain, all smiles on his way to victory and a new course record.

I continued the slog up the mountain counting the runners as they came back past to figure out what place I was in overall. Next I saw Dominic Grossman, then Fabrice Hardel and Eric Wickland coming down the mountain together, then finally Jorge Pacheco. As I rounded the last switchback leading to the peak I saw Tommy come scrambling down the hill and right before I got to the aid station Michael came past me on his decent.

At the aid station I got my refills, crammed a handful of goldfish in my mouth and started my own decent from the peak. Each time I've run this race, around mile 37 or 38 I start to get all emotional and choked up. It's probably because at this point you're well on your way back down from the peak and you've conquered the toughest part of this course and definitely one of the tougher climbs in all of ultra racing in the U.S, giving you this invincible feeling. Plus when you're exhausted, your body does funny things. 

From this point to the finish the course again allows you to run most of the way. There's one good climb on Main Divide after you descend from the peak, but it's not bad considering what you climbed already. A lot of people don't care for this part of the course because it's a dirt truck trail, but because it's rolling hills instead of steep ups and downs, I like it. I like to get into a good rhythm with my stride and just run.

While my legs were tired, they weren't trashed, but I was hindered by blisters that had formed on both of my feet. I do a good job of taping up hot-spots on my feet to prevent blisters and NEVER get them during a race. Not sure why I did this time. Maybe my socks I was wearing were worn out? My shoes had about 50 miles of running in them, so they should have been broken in, enough. Whatever caused them this time, they sucked, but not enough to get me to stop.

Miles 47 through the Finish Line

So I ran and I ran, thanking volunteers at aid stations and waving to Eric Kosters as he road by on his dirt bike - the race's roving HAM radio operator. I made the little hike up to the Trabuco Trail head ad station and waved off any further support from the volunteers. With less than three miles to the finish and it all being downhill, I was good to go.

Photo by: Deborah Acosta

While it's nice this race has a downhill finish, part of it is a really steep downhill and I hate it. It's hard to run it fast when you're legs are this tired. I kept telling myself - keep falling, keep falling, meaning fall forward and stop trying to put on the brakes. You're better off rolling downhill as fast as your legs can carry you than trying to fight gravity. The blisters hurt running downhill, too, but I was so tired of those damn things by this point that I hoped thay had all popped and were bloody messes in my socks.

Finally the steep downhill gave way to gradual downhill and I could open up my stride again and enjoy running. I ran down the pavement pretty hard and saw my dad waiting for me at the Falcon Trail head. He commented how much faster I ran the course this year and I commented on how much more it hurt, because god damn was I tired. At least now I was on Falcon with less than a 1/2 mile to go, I was home free. Falcon is a narrow single track and as I rounded one of the final bends I came across a big group of little kids hiking on the trail. They looked like they were from the lost minivans. My initial instinct was to kick them all out of my way down into the ravine, but before I could wind up they all jumped out of my way.

From there I made my way to the finish line unabated, crossing in 8:35:50 - 30 minutes faster than I ran it last year. With the field of runners I predicted that I was going to have to run my ass off to finish in the top 10 and I was right. My 30 minute PR put me eighth overall in the standings.

Jesus that was tough. 

The 2011 San Diego 100 in 22:31

The adventure of it all was what drew me to the challenge of running a 100 mile race. 100 is a good round number and a 100 miles sounds like an insurmountable distance to cover on foot in less than a day, so running a 100 mile race was about the most bad-ass sounding thing I thought I could do at this time in my life.

On the starting line with friends

So months of training, warm-up races and planning put me on the start line of the 2011 San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run. Race director Scott Mills hollered out a “go” and myself and 164 other idiots took off out of the Al Bahr campground in the Laguna Mountains. About 20 seconds into the race I heard a loud, deep “go Kurt” and thought that’s not my dad’s voice. I looked over at the crowd and to my surprise saw that two of my friends, Cody and Simi Johnson, had made a spur of the moment decision and decided to drive all the way down from Huntington Beach early that morning to join my parents in crewing me on the race. I saw my mom in the crowd a few seconds later and told her they were there and I’d see them all at the first aid station in a little over an hour. 

As the field wound its way through the trees and onto the meadow I found myself thoroughly enjoying myself and my predicament.  I looked back over my shoulder at the meadow I just ran through and at the long line of racers behind me. I started to think about how awesome this all was but got interrupted by a root I tripped over that almost sent me to the ground two miles into the damn race. Stupid root.

I kept my ridiculously leisurely pace through the first aid station. Lorraine Gersitz and Steve Harvey had both told me you can never go out too slow in a 100, so I was happy to run at a trot. There was a short out and back that lead into the first aid station. As I hit this I saw Pam Everet coming out. We said hi, but she seemed a little panicked that she was ahead of me. At the aid station I gave my mom my arm sleeves and put some more sunblock on. Heading out of the aid station I heard my name yelled by someone and saw Deborah Acosta coming down the trail and into the aid station. It’s fun knowing a lot of people in a race you’re in.

Often after I go through the first aid station in a race, I pick my pace up, even if ever so slightly. I was catching people, but not really concerned with making passes, they just sort of happen. I was more concerned with keeping a nice rhythm to my running. At one point a young guy ran past the group I was running in and was charging all the water crossings hard (the rest of us made sure to keep our feet dry – he ran through them like he was at a mud run). I figured I’d see him again in a while, totally spent. Right behind this guy was a tiny little woman who ran past me as well. Her Nathan pack was almost as big as she was. She was running at a decent clip along the flats, but because of her short, little legs, she wasn’t much of a climber. I bet it took her a long time to hike out of Noble Canyon.

I hit the second aid station at Red Tail Rooster still having a lot of fun and thinking this 100 was a good idea. I refilled one of my bottles, said hi to my crew, and my buddy Cody helped me figure out which way I was supposed to go to leave the station (I got a little turned around once I got in there). I left the aid station running with a guy in Hookah pontoons shoes. He said they were his favorite trail shoes in 20 years of trail running. I’m still not convinced about those things. 

A little further along I saw the guy who was charging the water crossings just three miles earlier. He was staggering back and forth across the trail, then BLAH! He threw up like he’d been taking tequila shots for an hour. I’m not sure what you do to make yourself that sick 13 miles into a 100 mile race, but this guy figured it out.  Next I had to rescue Sam Bosworth from himself. The course took a hard left off the fire road onto a single track and Sam was continuing to run down the fire road. I yelled for him and he got back on track. 

From aid station 3, Todd’s Cabin, it was a nice downhill to Penny Pines where I met my crew again. I got my Camel Pack to wear for the Noble Canyon portion of the course, Simi reminded me that they had oranges at the aid station (one of the few things I’ll take at an aid station) and quickly headed out for another nice downhill run. Even in a 100, quick aid station stops help.

Oranges are one of the few things I'll eat from an aid station

It was an easy run into the canyon and to the next aid station. Our family friend who lives in Pine Valley, Wes Borland, was volunteering at the aid station, too. Wes is a three-time Western States 100 finisher. He’s kind of a goofy looking old guy, but he was wearing his silver WS belt buckle from his 22hr finish in ’87 to show everyone what’s up. 

I was looking forward to the Noble Canyon loop because I actually knew those trails really well from when my parent’s lived in Pine Valley. It was hot, but that didn’t bother me. The flies were annoying and I got bit a few times, but lived. I was all smiles coming back into the aid station after the loop and ready for the hardest part of the course – the hike out of Noble Canyon. I was feeling great so I hiked like the finish line was at Pioneer Mail. That ended up being a bad strategy, though not as bad a strategy as running with only one 20oz water bottle. I passed a guy who had just one bottle. He didn’t look so good and I figured he eventually just curled up under a tree waiting to die. 

I shocked my parents with how fast I got up to Pioneer Mail. They just beat me there. It became pretty obvious that my charge out of the canyon was useless because a group of people I passed were re-passing me on the hike out of the aid station. I did hang onto this group throughout the next section, but it was a struggle. It’s funny how you’ll rubber band with people.  I did end up re-passing two of the five before the Sunrise aid station. 

Taking with the crew at Sunrise

I felt good coming into the aid station. I think because I knew that’s where I’d pick up Cale and that it was a big aid station. However, a few minutes out from Sunrise aid station and I felt pretty crappy. I was just really weak. I’d fallen off my schedule of taking down gels during the last segment. I wasn’t feeling sick to my stomach, but I was so exhausted  and spent that nothing sounded good to eat and I just didn’t want to bother ingesting anything. I told Cale I felt like someone who was just getting into running – a person who can only run a mile at a time, even when it’s flat, then they have to take a walking break. I could barely speak. 

Pepto Bismol - a race saver

At Stonewall Mine aid station the first thing I went for was the Pepto Bismol (I have to thank David Christof for the tip of packing this stuff just in case). I sat down on the ground as my crew refilled my water bottles and Cale got our headlamps out. Cody later told me I looked like hell at this point. Leaving the aid station, Cale made me try eating a piece of potato and salt. I’d never tried this before, but he insisted because it would be easy on my stomach, wasn’t sweet and give me some much needed calories and sodium. He was right, it wasn’t bad and easy on my stomach. 

The sun was going down and I was running better, but once we started to climb over this big hill for the next section, I was feeling light headed and like I couldn’t catch my breath. It was a weird sensation, like I was at altitude, but our altitude at that point wasn’t any higher than the majority of the rest of the course. I don’t know what it was. Maybe because my blood sugar was so low it was giving me this weird sensation. 

At Paso Picacho I plopped down on a bench and ate another piece of potato and sipped some broth as my water bottles were being refilled. My mom had told Lorraine about my not eating. Lorraine gave me a ginger chew (I was carrying one, already, but didn’t want to put the effort into putting it in my mouth) and talked to me about other ways to take in calories that could maybe work around my not wanting to eat. She didn’t lecture me, but made it really apparent that I had to start taking in serious calories or I was done. 

It was dark leaving the aid station and the lower temperatures were making me feel better. I seem to be able to handle colder temperatures than the average runner and really like it when it’s cold. With that I was able to get myself back onto my regularly scheduled program of two gels and two electrolyte capsules per hour. The footing was pretty tricky on this part of the course and Cale and I were careful, but when the footing was decent, Cale lead us on a pretty solid pace. It didn’t seem like we were going that fast, but we did catch two sets of runners on our way to the Sweetwater aid station. I could definitely tell things were getting better for me as I had to pee again. I hadn’t peed since about mile 14 and we were now on mile 70. Peeing’s good. 

With the crew at Sweetwater

At Sweetwater I apparently looked a lot better and was talking like a normal person. I had some tomato bisque and a big cup of water while my crew did its thing and Dorene took care of Cale. He felt like he was getting a caffeine headache. We saw the lights of the last runner and her pacer we passed start to come into the aid station, so Cale and I wrapped up our stop and took off.

The first third of this next section was across a flat open meadow that we knew had good footing.  We took advantage of this and put a push on to put distance between ourselves and the runners behind us and make time on runners in front of us. It felt like we were running pretty damn fast, but it probably wasn’t faster than an 8 ½ minute mile. Cale led the charge and he’s pretty easy to follow. At 6’4” and 200lbs, I undoubtedly had the biggest pacer in the race. It was like having Sasquatch leading me through the woods. When he’d go crashing through the underbrush on an overgrown trail, I sort of felt like I was chasing a bull through a china shop.

It’s funny how there are cold and warm patches in the wilderness. During some of the climb we had to take back to the Sunrise aid station, we hit a patch were the temperature immediately dropped at least 15 degrees from what it was a few feet before. This was the first time I’d felt cold the whole race. The cold patch passed and we got back to the normal brisk temperature. I don’t know what the average temperature really was, but everyone I saw not running was bundled up like they were on a ski trip.

Photo Op with the parents at Sunrise2

We could see the lights from the Sunrise aid station from pretty far out. Apparently the people in the aid station could see the runners from pretty far out, too. I was surprised when I heard my crew (namely my mother) yelling for us as we came up the trail ‘cause we were kind of far out when they started yelling. 

Cale and I had decided to make this an extra-long stop to get ourselves gathered for the final 20 miles. I handed off my water bottles to an aid station worker and plopped down in the dirt to stretch my hamstrings a little. I also asked for a cup of chicken broth and cup of water. I learned that the cup of water is good because it helps you drink down the hot broth faster. One gulp of hot broth, then one gulp of water to cool that broth down in your stomach and repeat until the broth is gone. Without the water, you gotta kind of stand around and wait for the broth to cool off. Time waster.

When the woman brought me my broth she pointed out that I was sitting in what was essentially a wind tunnel and she led me somewhere else out of the wind. I didn’t know her, but she became kind of like me personal pink-haired concierge at the aid station. I had thrown on my long sleeve running shirt to help warm up a bit and was enjoying the broth. My concierge took a picture of me with my parents and I felt like I was ready to go and started to take the long sleeve shirt off. My concierge stopped me and said she wouldn’t let me leave unless I was wearing that long sleeve shirt. People had apparently been dropping because they were getting too cold. She insisted that if I did indeed got too warm with that shirt on, I could always take it off and tie it around my waste, but if I got cold, I couldn’t really come back for it. I ended up wearing that shirt through the finish of the race. 

Cale getting ready to head out of Sunrise2

I wasn’t sure what Cale was doing, I later found out he wasn’t feeling so good, but I was ready to go and started to head out. I knew I couldn’t outrun Cale so he’d catch up in just a minute.

This next section had an overall negative elevation gain, but it was rather undulating. We were either running pretty good on the downhill, or hiking some uphill. This part of the course is on the Pacific Crest Trail and is a pretty narrow single track. Cale fell at one point and almost rolled down the hill off the trail. Fortunately he didn’t fall into the abyss as running the rest of the race by myself would have been rather lonely. 

At some places on the trail, we could see a pair of headlamps ahead of us. It makes you feel good when you’re catching someone, but this section of the course still seemed to take forever to finish. I was really glad when we finally hit the downhill run to the Pioneer Mail aid station. Once at the aid station Cale disappeared with Dorene and I plopped down in the dirt again and chatted with my crew. When we went to leave I was given the pleasant news that it was only 4.7 miles to the Penny Pines aid station and mile 92 of the race. For some reason I was thinking it was further to Penny Pines. 

Loading up with gels at Pioneer Mail

With the section being fairly flat and short, we ran it pretty hard. We caught a runner and her pacer along the way. The runner moved over to let us by, but her pacer didn’t realize it and her runner didn’t say anything to her (probably because she was too exhausted to speak). Cale and I ran along behind the other pacer for a bit as I noticed over my shoulder the runner kept dropping further and further back. Eventually I yelled to the pacer that we were leaving her runner behind. She stopped and seemed rather surprised we were there and not her runner. 

Quicker than we had even hopped we came into the Penny Pines aid station. About 80 yards out we came upon another runner and pacer combo. Cale and I both figured we’d just follow these guys into the aid station, but as soon as Cale got up behind them, they both jumped out of the way, almost like they were startled. I guess when you look over your shoulder and see a headlamp way higher off the ground than yours, it can spook you. 

At Penny Pines I felt great, mentally, because I knew I had only eight miles to go, even if most of it was uphill. I had a water bottle refilled and grabbed another gel or two and was ready to go, but apparently Cale wasn’t. He was feeling really sick and wasn’t sure if he could go on. Dorene had running cloths and shoes on in case she needed to jump in as a substitute pacer. I told them I’d be fine to go it alone and that I was feeling great, but Cale didn’t want me to wonder out into the darkness on my own and sucked it up and went with me. 

Team meeting at Penny Pines 2

We followed a runner and her pacer out of the aid station, but they immediately moved aside and let us past. I learned later that this runner was at one point 30 minutes ahead of me, but was struggling with the cold. After another few minutes of running, we saw another pair of lights ahead of us on the trail. This must have been like blood in the water to Cale ‘cause he seemed to pick up the pace to a point that I could barely keep. We ran down the next pair and quickly put them out of sight. We didn’t want the glow of our lamps to motivate them to push on after us. 

It was a long slog up the climb from Penny Pines. Even once we finally reached the top of the climb, we still had a ways to go to get to the final aid station – the Rat Hole. We were both anxious to get to this aid station because that signaled the race being almost over, but the trail just kept going on and on. In frustration I yelled to Cale “where the fuck is this aid station?!?” Another mile. Damn it. 

We finally came down a slope and saw the Rat Hole aid station – the last aid station in the race. I didn’t feel like hanging out here too long since it wasn’t crew accessible and the team were all waiting for us at the finish line.  I did my usual plop down in the dirt routine while my water bottle was being refilled and for the first time Cale sat down, too. I stretched briefly and got back up when I was handed my bottle. I looked back at Cale and said I was ready to go, but he wasn’t getting up.

“I was hanging on by a thread just to get here, dude. I’m done,” Cale said. He was moving pretty god damn fast to me, so I had no clue as to his predicament. There were only four and a half easy miles left in the race and I was content to go it alone the rest of the way. I left my pacer at the Rat Hole in good hands after his valiant effort to drag me long at a hard pace for 45 miles and ventured out into the wilderness. 

The sun was just starting to rise as I made my way through the woods and back to a meadow we ran through that previous morning. I turned my headlamp off as soon as I could see without it and enjoyed the colors of dawn. It was actually kind of nice that I was now running on my own again. It enabled me to reflect on what I had done and bask in the thrill of conquering the challenge. 

Finished

I kept looking back over my shoulder to see if anyone was catching me, but they weren’t. I eventually tumbled into the campground and ran on what felt like the hardest asphalt on earth. A few twists and turns aside and the finish line came into view. I picked up my pace to a real stride like I was running like that the whole time and crossed the line, dropping my bottles in exhaustion. Scott Mills gave me a handshake and a congratulations as my crew ran down from the lodge. Simi gave me a big hug. Dorene gave me one of her fist bumps, then came my mom, crying and proud. I even hugged my dad. Not something we usually do. Cody put his camera down long enough to shake my hand, then it was back to taking pictures of how dirty Kurt was.

In the warmth of the lodge, I plopped down on the floor (I had decided I didn’t like chairs anymore, apparently) and took off my socks, thrilled to not have any blisters. Cale showed up a few minutes later. He was given a ride by an aid station worker back to start/finish. The post celebration was brief as the crew was about as tired as I was. After a quick round of congratulations and thanks, we all went our separate ways. 

It was a relief to have it over.  It was tough. The hardest thing about the race wasn’t how tired I got, but managing my stomach and calorie intake. 100’s really are eating competitions with some running thrown in. I don’t know if I’ll do another one, but I wouldn’t trade anything for this experience. 

Finishing time: 22:31:20

Finishing place: 11^th overall

It was a team effort though, and I couldn’t have done it without Dorene Nathan, Cale Stubbe, Cody and Simi Johnson and my mom and dad.

Chick'd Again at the 2011 El Moro 50K

The second annual El Moro 50k was something I was greatly looking forward to. I really enjoyed running the race last year, partly because I know the park so well and partly because I finished third overall in the race. My shot at a second straight podium finish in this race was in serious doubt due to the IT band issue I developed during the Leona Divide 50 two weeks prior. The weekend between the two races I tried running with a group in El Moro, but could only stand 6 miles before the pain in my knee was too great and had to give up.

I rested my leg the week leading up to the race and spent a lot of time on the foam roller trying to get this IT band back into shape. Just walking around didn’t bother it and neither did light jogging. I wouldn’t know if I was good to go or not unless I ran hard on it, so I was just going to have to wait until the race to find out how it was going to feel.

The weather the morning of the race was perfect – over cast and cool, just like last year. I was nervous about how my leg was going to hold up. Dean Dobberteen and I were talking about our injuries. He was kind of in the same boat as I was – we were either both going to do really well, or we would DNF if our injuries flared up, but we wouldn’t know until about an hour into the race.

Starting Line for the El Moro 50K. Mike Kennedy in his starting stance.

Molly the race director yelled go and we were off. Dean shot away from the starting line like he was running a 10K. Typical. Michelle Barton followed close behind trailed by another pack of runners. I loafed along in no real hurry. I was nervous of the IT band flaring up and wanted to really ease into it.

Once we got into the first big climb of the race up I Think I Can, most of that first chase pack died away. Once at the top I was following the 2nd and 3rd place women, Holly Anderton and Allison Wenster. They were fun to watch in an early race duel. Allison doesn’t charge the up hills very hard, but runs the flats and down hills really fast. Holly takes more of an even keel approach, more like myself, where you work a little harder on the up hills, but don’t run as hard downhill. Different strokes for different folks.

I put a pass on the two of them just before we turned off Moro Ridge for the Missing Link single track. At that point I was pretty much on my own. I waved to the people at the first aid station as I made the hard right to go down Slow and Easy and just cruised along. Thankfully my IT band wasn’t acting up and I was feeling pretty good, just running my own pace.

As I crested the top of the hill on Bommer Ridge Road, I could see a tiny person in black out in front of me, just getting to the Ridge Park aid station. That had to have been Michelle. Once I got to the aid station, I waved hi to my parents where were there to watch and had my friend, Dorene Nathan, refill my water bottle. That took all of 5 seconds and I was off again.

On the run from the Ridge Park aid station to the turn-around point, I was consistently gaining ground on Michelle, though once we started our decent down No Dogs, she put some time on me, again. Michelle’s another slow-up-fast-down kind of runner. Once we hit the turn around, we had to then run back up No Dogs. I made ground back up on Michelle rather quickly and passed her about 2/3rds the way back up the climb. When I caught her and said our hello’s, she didn’t seem like she was ready to run hard and I thought maybe this was the optimum time to put a push on and build a gap.

Behind Michelle running up No Dogs

 
The run back from the turn around to Ridge Park is the toughest part of the course and I worked it hard. My push worked in the sense that I put a gap on Michelle of, probably, two minutes, and was five minutes behind Dean at the aid station. Once I left the next aid station at West Cut Across, it looked like my push had backfired. Michelle was gaining ground on me and my legs felt pretty tired. I was still running hard, but I could start to feel my IT band get sore. Shit.

The IT band was causing some pain when I ran, but I found that hiking the steep ups made things worse. When I stopped running and started hiking the steep sections, my IT band would tighten up, like it was cramping up. The pain from my knee all the way up to my sciatic nerves in my hip made running again almost feel debilitating. After the steepest climb, I stopped to stretch my IT. I looked back and saw Michelle rounding the top of the hill and new she’d be on me in less than a quarter mile. I hobbled along as best as I could, but getting caught was inevitable. Besides the pain in my left leg, my legs were just pretty tired.

Michelle passed me a little before we started the Slow and Easy climb and when I saw that she wasn’t chugging up the hill very fast, I tried running again to try to keep with her, but the tightness in the IT band and pain shooting from the sciatica made me abandon that hope. I had to let her go. I was able to do some run/walking up the hill and noticed the IT loosening up when I forced myself to run. I was thankful for that because once I made it to the top of Slow and Easy, the climbing for this race was over.

I stopped at the aid station for water and to stretch. My friend, Michelle Mechem, told me Michelle only had two minutes on me and encouraged me to try to go after her, but I was done. I knew I had 3rd place locked up and resigned myself to that position. I was too tired and in too much discomfort to want to push the last five miles, which were mostly downhill, Michelle’s strength.

I was able to run a pretty decent pace the rest of the way and crossed the finish line happy that I could then stop running, as standing or walking didn’t hurt my IT. I was also happy that I didn’t feel like I had to throw up, which was an improvement over last year. I also improved my finishing time by 14 minutes over last year.

So all-in-all it was a pretty good race. Still having the IT pain was disappointing as I need it to go away before the San Diego 100, but I still ran a faster time than last year. Just maybe next year I won’t get chick’d.

2011 Leona Divide 50

The 2011 Leona Divide 50 was supposed to be my “easy” 50 miler on my run up to the San Diego 100. I had already done the Old Goat 50, which is considered a tougher course and blazed it with a 46 minute PR, so this one should be a breeze.

Ah, the over confidence of youth and exuberance. 

The Leona Divide races are allowed a large cap for entrants, so with this race’s long and positive history, plus an actual purse payout, there were almost 300 people starting the race. Plus another 75 or so in the 50k that started at the same time. So there was going to be a lot more people out running this race than your average ultra. 

Starting Line for the 2011 Leona Divide 50

Even though I spent the night in a nice room in Palmdale, 25 minutes from the starting line, I still only got six hours of sleep because I woke up an hour before my alarm was to go off. I hate it when that happens. 

The race started and we all tore up the hill with the wind howling through the passes. My years of racing motorcycles at Willow Springs north of Palmdale/Lancaster taught me to HATE the wind that plagues the Antelope Valley. Thankfully running in the wind isn’t as bad as trying to race a motorcycle in the wind. Sometimes we were sheltered from the gusts by the hill sides and trees, but even when we were running straight into the wind, it wasn’t that big of a deal because when you’re running a 50 mile race, you’re not trying to run that fast. 

With the field being so large, I knew a lot of people in the race. I ran with Greg Hardesty for a while. I ran with Michelle Barton for a while. However, both were having problems from nagging injuries and I felt bad for them as I left them behind. Glad I felt fine, but too bad for them.

Or so I thought.

I was starting to get a feeling as I went through the 20 to 25 mile mark that I might be developing a problem of my own. I was taking in a lot of gels, like I felt I should have – 2 per hour, but they weren’t the normal Hammer Nutrition brand gels that I’m used to. Also, my dinner the night before from Panera Bread wasn’t a “normal” dinner for me and was a little greasy. All this was starting to add up to an uncomfortable feeling.

I was running well, though, and as we approached the big turnaround point at mile 30 I was holding down 7^th place overall. But when I left that aid station to climb back up out of the canyon, I knew I had a problem. So thank god the aid stations in this race are well manned with experienced volunteers who think of everything. You never know when you’re going to need toilet paper in an ultra.

And that was essentially my race. I couldn’t run as hard for fear of making a mess in my shorts, plus by mile 40, I developed a very sore IT band outside of my left knee, I assume because of my non-normal running style. So that sucked, too. 

I normally blow through aid stations like I’m being chased by the police, but when I reached the major aid station at mile 42, I sat down and recouped for about 10 minutes. It was aggravating sitting there and watching people go by because I wasn’t tired or dehydrated, I just had a stomach problem and now a sore knee. At least the aid station people were great. I still finished the race, but dropped way down the order to 28^th and crossed the line in 8:35. Probably a good 45 to 50 minutes slower than I would had I not run into issues. 

Bummer, but you learn from your bad races, and like I told the race director, it’s good that I had a bad race at a good race, otherwise I might not have been able to finish. 

I’ll take these lessons learned with me onto next weekend’s El Moro 50k and the San Diego 100 in June.