Yup, the ultra scene is seeing an unprecedented boom like never before and on one hand, while I love more folks are appreciating all the benefits that come with running on mother nature's playground (from health to the camaraderie), on the other it's becoming increasingly frustrating when your options are so limited as demand continues to rise and supply - dictated by park permit restrictions - remains static.
But I digress.
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| Hello? Is-s-s-s it me you're looking for? |
While almost all local - and yes, even NorCal - options were full, one had a wait list option: the inaugural Cuyamaca 100K. So I signed up not certain if I would get selected or not at the 5th waitlist slot. Long story short, I continued to keep a watchful eye as the list shrunk and shrunk and before I knew it, I was in. Yes! (...?)
Leading up to the big weekend, my confidence was shaky at best. Noble Canyon from a couple of weeks ago didn't go as well as I thought it would and I've been having lingering knee problems post-race reminiscent of two years ago (although not quite as severe). Still I spent the days leading up to it foam rolling, doing quad/hip strengthening exercises, ART sessions, etc.
Race weekend came and I battled So Cal drive time traffic for almost 5 hours to get to the race start/campsite on Friday. I finally pulled up just after dark around 7pm where my friends Chris and Elissa were already set up (she to pace her friend, and he to spectate & hang out) and I quickly pulled out my stove to whip up my pasta dinner and set up my tent. After some chit chat and a beer, we retired to our respective tents for the inevitable early morning wake up call.
Race weekend came and I battled So Cal drive time traffic for almost 5 hours to get to the race start/campsite on Friday. I finally pulled up just after dark around 7pm where my friends Chris and Elissa were already set up (she to pace her friend, and he to spectate & hang out) and I quickly pulled out my stove to whip up my pasta dinner and set up my tent. After some chit chat and a beer, we retired to our respective tents for the inevitable early morning wake up call.
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| At the race start. (Photo by: Chris Price) |
Woke up around 4am to the sound of hustle and bustle of the race start just a few yards away and I finally got out of my warm sleeping bag several minutes later to prep and have breakfast. It was good to see several familiar faces and catch up a bit. After getting some last minute instructions from Scott & Scott the race directors, we were off sharply at 6:30am.
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| A gathering of talent and reflective clothing. |
Loop 1: Mile 0-31.5
I tucked myself near the back in a deliberate attempt to start off slow. Being that this would be the longest distance I've covered in a single day, I treated this more like I would a hundred miler than a fifty. That meant hiking the ups no matter how slight or gradual - at least to start off with. The trail quickly narrowed as it wound around, up and down the park. Don't remember too much about this stretch other than my need to pee a couple of times and my knee acting up less than 30 minutes into the race.
Our first aid station was about 8 miles away and with a portion of it being an out and back, I got to greet several friends running back. I was relying on two handhelds - at least to start - one containing water, the other a 250-300 calorie mix of Infinit. I simply added some water at the aid station and took off. The course got a little more technical but still consisted mostly of rollers with no major climbing yet.
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| Taking it easy early on. (Photo: Nina) |
The next aid was located in a campground and I was pleasantly surprised to see friends Elissa, Chris and Jesse hanging out cheering us on. Still keeping effort very easy, I had an aid refill my bottles while I noshed on some pickles (preventative cramping measures I suppose) and cracked wise with friends before taking off for the longest stretch between aid stations that day: 9 miles.
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| Sending some love Chris' way. (Photo: Chris) |
Shortly after leaving on the first of two minor climbing before the grandaddy of climbs today to Cuyamaca Peak at 6500', I caught up to my friend Andee. After using her phone to snap photos of each other, we stuck together for a couple of miles chatting while I power hiked the ups and gingerly ran the downs on my aching knee. Andee was also kind enough to give me a couple of Tylenol pills and I took one saving the other in case I'd need it later.
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| Minor climbing, still feeling good. (Photo: Andee Torng) |
At the base of our biggest and longest climb, I gestured to Andee to take the lead but she insisted I move ahead so I did. The climbing legs felt good and knowing my left knee would have some relief for awhile from the pounding descent, I charged ahead and started passing some runners. The single-track snaked around the ridge for a bit before going up the mountain in a series of switchbacks covered in some 7-8 feet high brush on either side. Thankfully while it would continue up for the next 9 miles or so, the grade never got too bad and I alternated quick hiking with some easy running.
The winds started to kick in the higher I climbed but it felt good as did the weather overall: sunny, partly cloudy and with the winds, pretty cool. The scenery below was super stunning and I was content to hum along by my lonesome. While I passed a couple more folks, one person this middle-of-the-packer was surprised to see up ahead near the top of the climb was ultrarunner extraordinaire Keira. I called out to her and while it seemed she too was surprised to see me, she lent some encouraging words and also revealed that her Achilles was hurting her. The last several yards to the peak was on asphalt and it rose sharply up a couple of switchbacks. Thankful to finally get there, I got some ice water in my bottles and took in some watermelon and chips before heading back down.
I saw several runners heading up including Keira and Andee. Given how my knee was aching I knew it was a matter of time before I started getting passed on the downhill. And just to throw more doubt my way, my right hamstring started cramping. So it goes. I ran easy down for several yards before the course quickly veered left back on to trails. The descent consisted of highly technical switchbacks covered in boulders, rocks and red sandstone. Given the cramping and my propensity for tripping lately, I took it very easy concerned far more about footing than pace. The trail dropped onto a fireroad briefly before it cut back left down another narrow path.
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| Mugging. (Photo: Nina) |
I was moving along for a bit down the descent when I lost focus for the briefest of moments and I took - yes again - a spill. I believe my right foot caught a rock and I slid face first into the dirt while the back of my legs simultaneously seized up. Momentarily stunned, I slowly pulled myself up off the ground dusting myself off while assessing for any cuts/injury. It was at this moment that Keira caught back up with me and asked if I was ok. I assured her I was ok and waved her on while started back myself relieved the fall wasn't worse than it was. It took me a while to find my rhythm again but before I knew it, Keira was once again in view several yards ahead. We pulled in almost together at the Paso Picacho aid station at mile 27.5 where we were once again greeted by Elissa and Jesse (sans Chris this time).
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| Pulling into aid dirtied by fall but still in good spirits. (Photo: Elissa Price) |
I sucked down some Coke while grabbing some gels to stuff into my pockets and got out of there passing Keira and Jesse at their car. I yelled out "let's go girl!" and while she gamely smiled back at me, I'd find out back at base camp that she'd drop at this point due to her injury. Bummer.
The remaining 4 miles back to the Start/Finish was unremarkable but I did pull in feeling pretty good considering I'd just completed the longest loop of the day at just over 50K. The race clock read 6:08 and change when I checked in.
The throng of race officials/volunteers/friends cheering me in was pretty awesome as Chris, Elissa and my friend Shacky all came to my aid to see what I'd need. As a volunteer was filling my bottles, I quickly shook out a rogue duct tape that was formerly on my little toe from my sock and changed from my old Brooks PureGrit to a different pair. I also ripped off my dirty shirt as the day was warming up, thanked my friends and volunteers before heading out for the 2nd loop.
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| Changing the tires as my makeshift crew helps out. (Photo: Chris) |
The throng of race officials/volunteers/friends cheering me in was pretty awesome as Chris, Elissa and my friend Shacky all came to my aid to see what I'd need. As a volunteer was filling my bottles, I quickly shook out a rogue duct tape that was formerly on my little toe from my sock and changed from my old Brooks PureGrit to a different pair. I also ripped off my dirty shirt as the day was warming up, thanked my friends and volunteers before heading out for the 2nd loop.
Loop 2: Mile 31.5-44.1
On paper, it looked so easy. 12.6 miles. Two climbs totaling 2800' ft. Boy how wrong I was. And it damn near ended my day prematurely.
As I was beginning to march out, I realized I had no idea how far the next aid station would be. I yelled back to inquire how far it was until the next aid station.
"8 Miles!" someone from base camp shouted back.
My heart sunk a bit and it definitely got things started off on the wrong foot. Especially since I was focused all day on simply running from aid station to aid station. That bite seemed too big a chunk to digest at the time. Still, since I was feeling pretty good I told myself to put my head down and keep plugging along. I quickly passed a girl who had left just before me and I was pleased at how well I was climbing. Near the top, I came across a clusterfuck of scouts backpacking through along with a trio of folks on horseback that impeded my momentum for a minute. I of course yielded admonishing them that more runners were behind me. The lady on horseback kind of sighed and told me she was aware. Always feel kind of bad when there's a race like this and folks are constantly having to step aside for us.
Anyway, after the climb the single-track trail split down a long, golden meadow. I was taking in the beauty of this field but was also starting to feel sluggish and quite frankly, a bit bored. On the occasion that I'd look back, the next runner was probably about 200 or so yards behind me and not a single person ahead. The trail dipped into a more shady wooded area where I passed some more dayhikers. Some more meandering before it started dropping again down a rocky path. Once again, I eased down conscious of my sore left knee. I was also starting to run low on fluids and because I was only running with a watch, wondered how long it would be before the next aid station showed up.
Just as I noticed the next runner up ahead, the aid station also finally came into view. For whatever reason, it was a Florida Gators themed tent but I was too disengaged to care. I just wanted to quickly get in and get out which I managed to do before the guy before me. But perhaps I should have taken my time here in retrospect as I started to hit a really bad patch not soon after I left. The sandy roller ran by a highway and I just started feeling my energy and attitude wane. Also having not studied the elevation profile ahead of time, the 2nd climb of this loop - while not awful at all and could generally be referred to as douche grade in ultra speak, came as a surprise and sapped any positivity and energy from my body.
It's just a low point - get through it ya puss, I tried convincing myself.
But head to toe, my body was crampy, I was sick of gels and how they were making my teeth hurt, my knee was sore, my hip was sore, I was tired from carrying two handhelds....I just wanted to be done. And at the top of the climb in which I meekly walked up and was subsequently re-passed by the guy I'd gone by earlier at the aid station, I told myself I was going to drop when I reached base camp again.
While that played out in my head, as much as I loathed the thought of it I convinced myself to down a gel and reassess in a bit. Slowly but surely, the funk started to lift a bit while I started trotting again. Encouraged, I threw down another one down about 15 minutes later and minute by minute, the "I want to curl up into a ball and pass out" was replaced by "I think I want to curl up into a ball and pass out..?".
Progress.
I finally rolled into base camp haggard and nearly broken. But now that I'd recovered somewhat, I couldn't think of one good excuse to tap out (or at least one I wouldn't regret later). Instead, I found myself slowly going through the motions of someone who had every intention of going back out while a patient Chris, Elissa and/or anyone else within earshot heard me bitch and moan. A race volunteer assured me that the hardest part was out of the way and that based on an earlier training run, Elissa told me this would be very runnable and manageable.
With that out of the way, I begrudgingly made my way out for the final loop.
Loop 3: Mile 44.1-62.34
I walked out of there with an older runner and we chatted briefly about the race before he trotted out ahead of me and I reluctantly followed suit. We took a flat-ish narrow trail that eventually spilled out perpendicularly to a fire road where I saw eventual leader Fabrice Hardel running towards the Finish area en route to his win. Lucky bastard, I thought. He was finishing up while I was just getting started on this section.
The fire road had minimal gain/loss which carried with it minimal excitement. The older guy was probably about 50 yards ahead walking this and just out of my inability to be a think-for-yourself-er, I found myself doing the same.
This is when a switch went off in my head: how much longer do you want to be out here? Don't you realize the quicker you move, the sooner this will all be over with??
So I started running again. Slowly at first, passing the older guy who shouted out "someone found his energy again!" I yelled back over my shoulder, "I just wanna get shit over with!" He got a good chuckle out of that.
Up ahead was a female runner and her pacer. Beyond them, was another runner. I'd make my way past them both. The trail then cut into a single-track snaking up a rocky ridge where a runner about 2 or so minutes ahead spotted me and I could tell started pushing the pace up the mountain. I eventually passed him too. Then another runner. And another after that. All of a sudden, I found myself running with renewed energy and vigor. And I wasn't consciously trying to overtake runners ahead. The only prevailing thought in my head was to finish. And finish strong.
As I climbed up, I realized just how stunning the scenery was. Green, lush landscape as I ran on beautifully narrow and rocky single-tracks while the sun slowly dipped lower and lower down the horizon...it was then that the quote from Born to Run repeated over and over in my head:
"When you run on the earth, and run with the earth, you can run forever."
(Hey shut up - I still love that book.)
It was approximately 7 miles to the first aid station of this loop. As I was inching closer and closer, I surveyed the area and it started to look very familiar. I soon realized that I was coming up onto the Sunrise Aid Station, approximately mile 51 & 80 of the San Diego 100 where I started my pacing duties a couple of years ago. About 100 yards out, I started hearing the whooping and cheering from volunteers and a smile crept up on my face. Here I was in the last several miles of the longest race I've ever been a part of and I felt good. I felt good.
And it was confirmed by one of the male aids who pointed me across the street toward the PCT after I'd refilled the Infinit bottle (I'd switched back from gels after my last home base visit) and picked at some aid station food. He told me, "dang man, you're one of the best looking runner to come through here!" as I made my way toward the historic trail. I yelled back that he should have seen me a couple of hours ago.
This next stretch epitomized what running in the mountains and trails is all about for me. There I was running solo about 5,000 ft above sea level with winds blowing hard enough to keep me cool but not so hard that it was impeding my momentum. To my right was the vast Anza Borrego desert with beautiful mountain ranges silhouetted by the setting sun. At that one perfect moment, the said setting sun shone down right on me just minutes before it dipped behind a mountain off to the west and I experienced a singular spiritual moment that I won't soon forget about.
With the sky darkening and as the trail dipped down into a valley below, the magical moment was gone and it was down to business. I started looking back knowing in my heart that I had put enough of a gap on the runners I'd passed earlier but was wondering why it'd been awhile since I'd come up on or even seen another runner ahead. Also, the longer it took for the next aid station that was only supposed to be about 4.5 miles since Sunrise to show up, the more I began to wonder if they were wrong and it was actually further away.
Alas, the aid finally came into view and once again, I could hear their distant cheering as I came closer. As they refilled my bottle, I tried to eat a boiled potato with salt but immediately spit it back out because it was hard as a rock and I'd swiped too much salt on it. I decided to inquire about the next runner ahead and surprisingly, they told me he'd only left about a minute prior. They told me to go reel him in but honestly, I had no interest in getting any kind of competitive juices going - only wanting to be done. I asked how far to the finish and the volunteer told me "6.7 miles".
After thanking them and taking off, I glanced at my watch to try to do the math in my head: 6.7 miles...a little after 6pm right now...obviously sub-12 was out of the question...but could I finish in sub-13?
No, at that point it seemed near impossible to cover those 6.7 miles in a pedestrian 90 minutes or less. Whatever runner's high, adrenaline, etc that had carried me over the last 11-12 miles was long gone and I was tired, achy and wanted to finish already. I hiked for the next few minutes when I spotted that next runner on a ridge ahead, maybe 75-100 yards ahead. He saw me too and shouted something I couldn't really make out (I later found out he thought I was someone else).
I had resigned myself into thinking that merely finishing at this point would be a victory in of itself. But then the oft quoted quote - especially in our little niche ultra community - by William James entered my groggy dome:
"Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction."
Real original, I know. But when you have hours of being-on-your-feet time, many things go through your head. Some stick, some are more fluid.
I started running again. I vowed I wouldn't stop until I crossed the line.
I also decided to shut my brain off. I did so by audibly repeating the following mantra over and over again from Rocky IV (from 1:12-1:15):
"No. Pain. (breath) (breath) No. Pain. (breath) (breath)..."
I ran like this for the next hour plus. I shit you not.
Eventually I reeled in the next runner. Then another runner after him. It was now dark enough that I needed to turn my headlamp on and my entire world consisted of me, about 5-7 yards of rocky dirt road ahead of me and that ridiculous mantra. But I didn't care who might overhear me. I was deadset focused on the finish. That's all that mattered at that point.
But the road continued. On and on it went. I kicked a rock on the road. Nearly fell over again. Regained composure. Repeated words. Running and running. In the dark. Occasionally coming across a glow stick lying in the middle of the jeep road.
Finally and mercifully, I saw some lights in the distance. But I also heard a noise. Clicked off headlamp and looked back. I made out two runners - a runner and pacer, who were right on my tail. So for those last 1/2 mile or so, I sprinted at what must have been about a 7 minute pace hearing their footsteps right behind me. No way had I worked this hard only to be overtaken at the last several hundred yards of a 100K. So I sprinted. No more mantra. Just sucking in air, running scared. The dirt road turned into asphalt. I sprinted past rows of cars parked on the sides. I saw a blur of stray spectators cheering me on.
And in an official time of 12 hours 53 minutes and 47 seconds, I had completed my first 100K.
In Conclusion...
If you the reader made it this far too, congrats on your ultra reading session. I hope this race report doesn't come across as too blowhard-y and/or negative. I write these things really for me first and foremost so I want to be sure to "keep it real" as the Amish like to say. And given that this was my longest race ever, I did my best to document all of it while it was semi-fresh in my skull.
The good, the bad and especially, the ugly.
I'm very proud of how I ran this race. I started off at 1st aid station/checkpoint in 41st place. I ended up finishing in 17th. I dealt with the low points - not well mind you, but it turned out some simple calories helped me out of it.
I never bothered to turn on the GPS on my watch because it would have drained the battery. And as it turned out, that was a blessing in disguise as I wasn't too obsessed with time or distance for most of the race. The Infinit had a similar effect as the old Malto + Nuun concoctions I used to make back in the day, that is to say that it made me feel bloaty but got the job done in terms of getting calories in. I also dutifully took in my SaltStick about one an hour. My Brooks PureGrits (both pairs) worked great. And the DryMax Socks kept my feet blister free finally.
I want to once again send a shout out to my recovering friend Chris who was there to lend a hand whenever/however and who took 95% of the pics that are on my camera. Hope you recover quick and dominate the So Cal ultra scene again. To his sweet wife Elissa who also helped crew and is always a delight to hang out with (thanks again for the post-race whiskey!). To my buddy Shack who was also there to cheer and help a brother out, all the while volunteering at the race too...thanks to you all. And finally to Scott & Scottie, a big huge thank you for putting on an impeccably marked and well-executed race. It was seriously worth twice the price of admission. A truly memorable event sirs.
Thanks for reading y'all.
Just as I noticed the next runner up ahead, the aid station also finally came into view. For whatever reason, it was a Florida Gators themed tent but I was too disengaged to care. I just wanted to quickly get in and get out which I managed to do before the guy before me. But perhaps I should have taken my time here in retrospect as I started to hit a really bad patch not soon after I left. The sandy roller ran by a highway and I just started feeling my energy and attitude wane. Also having not studied the elevation profile ahead of time, the 2nd climb of this loop - while not awful at all and could generally be referred to as douche grade in ultra speak, came as a surprise and sapped any positivity and energy from my body.
It's just a low point - get through it ya puss, I tried convincing myself.
But head to toe, my body was crampy, I was sick of gels and how they were making my teeth hurt, my knee was sore, my hip was sore, I was tired from carrying two handhelds....I just wanted to be done. And at the top of the climb in which I meekly walked up and was subsequently re-passed by the guy I'd gone by earlier at the aid station, I told myself I was going to drop when I reached base camp again.
While that played out in my head, as much as I loathed the thought of it I convinced myself to down a gel and reassess in a bit. Slowly but surely, the funk started to lift a bit while I started trotting again. Encouraged, I threw down another one down about 15 minutes later and minute by minute, the "I want to curl up into a ball and pass out" was replaced by "I think I want to curl up into a ball and pass out..?".
Progress.
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| Looking absolutely disgusted rolling in after a rough section. (Photo: Chris) |
I finally rolled into base camp haggard and nearly broken. But now that I'd recovered somewhat, I couldn't think of one good excuse to tap out (or at least one I wouldn't regret later). Instead, I found myself slowly going through the motions of someone who had every intention of going back out while a patient Chris, Elissa and/or anyone else within earshot heard me bitch and moan. A race volunteer assured me that the hardest part was out of the way and that based on an earlier training run, Elissa told me this would be very runnable and manageable.
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| Elissa helping me get my shit together. (Photo: Chris) |
With that out of the way, I begrudgingly made my way out for the final loop.
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| Left foot...right foot...left foot... (Photo: Chris) |
Loop 3: Mile 44.1-62.34
I walked out of there with an older runner and we chatted briefly about the race before he trotted out ahead of me and I reluctantly followed suit. We took a flat-ish narrow trail that eventually spilled out perpendicularly to a fire road where I saw eventual leader Fabrice Hardel running towards the Finish area en route to his win. Lucky bastard, I thought. He was finishing up while I was just getting started on this section.
The fire road had minimal gain/loss which carried with it minimal excitement. The older guy was probably about 50 yards ahead walking this and just out of my inability to be a think-for-yourself-er, I found myself doing the same.
This is when a switch went off in my head: how much longer do you want to be out here? Don't you realize the quicker you move, the sooner this will all be over with??
So I started running again. Slowly at first, passing the older guy who shouted out "someone found his energy again!" I yelled back over my shoulder, "I just wanna get shit over with!" He got a good chuckle out of that.
Up ahead was a female runner and her pacer. Beyond them, was another runner. I'd make my way past them both. The trail then cut into a single-track snaking up a rocky ridge where a runner about 2 or so minutes ahead spotted me and I could tell started pushing the pace up the mountain. I eventually passed him too. Then another runner. And another after that. All of a sudden, I found myself running with renewed energy and vigor. And I wasn't consciously trying to overtake runners ahead. The only prevailing thought in my head was to finish. And finish strong.
As I climbed up, I realized just how stunning the scenery was. Green, lush landscape as I ran on beautifully narrow and rocky single-tracks while the sun slowly dipped lower and lower down the horizon...it was then that the quote from Born to Run repeated over and over in my head:
"When you run on the earth, and run with the earth, you can run forever."
(Hey shut up - I still love that book.)
It was approximately 7 miles to the first aid station of this loop. As I was inching closer and closer, I surveyed the area and it started to look very familiar. I soon realized that I was coming up onto the Sunrise Aid Station, approximately mile 51 & 80 of the San Diego 100 where I started my pacing duties a couple of years ago. About 100 yards out, I started hearing the whooping and cheering from volunteers and a smile crept up on my face. Here I was in the last several miles of the longest race I've ever been a part of and I felt good. I felt good.
And it was confirmed by one of the male aids who pointed me across the street toward the PCT after I'd refilled the Infinit bottle (I'd switched back from gels after my last home base visit) and picked at some aid station food. He told me, "dang man, you're one of the best looking runner to come through here!" as I made my way toward the historic trail. I yelled back that he should have seen me a couple of hours ago.
This next stretch epitomized what running in the mountains and trails is all about for me. There I was running solo about 5,000 ft above sea level with winds blowing hard enough to keep me cool but not so hard that it was impeding my momentum. To my right was the vast Anza Borrego desert with beautiful mountain ranges silhouetted by the setting sun. At that one perfect moment, the said setting sun shone down right on me just minutes before it dipped behind a mountain off to the west and I experienced a singular spiritual moment that I won't soon forget about.
With the sky darkening and as the trail dipped down into a valley below, the magical moment was gone and it was down to business. I started looking back knowing in my heart that I had put enough of a gap on the runners I'd passed earlier but was wondering why it'd been awhile since I'd come up on or even seen another runner ahead. Also, the longer it took for the next aid station that was only supposed to be about 4.5 miles since Sunrise to show up, the more I began to wonder if they were wrong and it was actually further away.
 |
| Arriving at last aid station mile 55.5 just before dark. (Photo: Nina) |
Alas, the aid finally came into view and once again, I could hear their distant cheering as I came closer. As they refilled my bottle, I tried to eat a boiled potato with salt but immediately spit it back out because it was hard as a rock and I'd swiped too much salt on it. I decided to inquire about the next runner ahead and surprisingly, they told me he'd only left about a minute prior. They told me to go reel him in but honestly, I had no interest in getting any kind of competitive juices going - only wanting to be done. I asked how far to the finish and the volunteer told me "6.7 miles".
After thanking them and taking off, I glanced at my watch to try to do the math in my head: 6.7 miles...a little after 6pm right now...obviously sub-12 was out of the question...but could I finish in sub-13?
 |
| Leaving and bracing myself for the last 6.7 miles. (Photo: Nina) |
No, at that point it seemed near impossible to cover those 6.7 miles in a pedestrian 90 minutes or less. Whatever runner's high, adrenaline, etc that had carried me over the last 11-12 miles was long gone and I was tired, achy and wanted to finish already. I hiked for the next few minutes when I spotted that next runner on a ridge ahead, maybe 75-100 yards ahead. He saw me too and shouted something I couldn't really make out (I later found out he thought I was someone else).
I had resigned myself into thinking that merely finishing at this point would be a victory in of itself. But then the oft quoted quote - especially in our little niche ultra community - by William James entered my groggy dome:
"Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction."
Real original, I know. But when you have hours of being-on-your-feet time, many things go through your head. Some stick, some are more fluid.
I started running again. I vowed I wouldn't stop until I crossed the line.
I also decided to shut my brain off. I did so by audibly repeating the following mantra over and over again from Rocky IV (from 1:12-1:15):
"No. Pain. (breath) (breath) No. Pain. (breath) (breath)..."
I ran like this for the next hour plus. I shit you not.
Eventually I reeled in the next runner. Then another runner after him. It was now dark enough that I needed to turn my headlamp on and my entire world consisted of me, about 5-7 yards of rocky dirt road ahead of me and that ridiculous mantra. But I didn't care who might overhear me. I was deadset focused on the finish. That's all that mattered at that point.
But the road continued. On and on it went. I kicked a rock on the road. Nearly fell over again. Regained composure. Repeated words. Running and running. In the dark. Occasionally coming across a glow stick lying in the middle of the jeep road.
Finally and mercifully, I saw some lights in the distance. But I also heard a noise. Clicked off headlamp and looked back. I made out two runners - a runner and pacer, who were right on my tail. So for those last 1/2 mile or so, I sprinted at what must have been about a 7 minute pace hearing their footsteps right behind me. No way had I worked this hard only to be overtaken at the last several hundred yards of a 100K. So I sprinted. No more mantra. Just sucking in air, running scared. The dirt road turned into asphalt. I sprinted past rows of cars parked on the sides. I saw a blur of stray spectators cheering me on.
 |
| At long last, the FINISH. (Photo: Chris) |
And in an official time of 12 hours 53 minutes and 47 seconds, I had completed my first 100K.
In Conclusion...
If you the reader made it this far too, congrats on your ultra reading session. I hope this race report doesn't come across as too blowhard-y and/or negative. I write these things really for me first and foremost so I want to be sure to "keep it real" as the Amish like to say. And given that this was my longest race ever, I did my best to document all of it while it was semi-fresh in my skull.
The good, the bad and especially, the ugly.
I'm very proud of how I ran this race. I started off at 1st aid station/checkpoint in 41st place. I ended up finishing in 17th. I dealt with the low points - not well mind you, but it turned out some simple calories helped me out of it.
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| Movin' on up. |
I want to once again send a shout out to my recovering friend Chris who was there to lend a hand whenever/however and who took 95% of the pics that are on my camera. Hope you recover quick and dominate the So Cal ultra scene again. To his sweet wife Elissa who also helped crew and is always a delight to hang out with (thanks again for the post-race whiskey!). To my buddy Shack who was also there to cheer and help a brother out, all the while volunteering at the race too...thanks to you all. And finally to Scott & Scottie, a big huge thank you for putting on an impeccably marked and well-executed race. It was seriously worth twice the price of admission. A truly memorable event sirs.
Thanks for reading y'all.
6 comments:
You kicked major butt out there; I loved reading how you picked it up so much at the end and your mantras. So freakin' proud of you! You ran one hell of a race and that is an awesome time on that course.
Congrats on finishing your longest race to date, and in a very respectable time!
Had a great time hanging out/camping with you down there.
Hope to see you again soon,
Chris
Great job Billy! Very impressive. And you finished with hours to spare for that WS qualifier.
I'm going to stop listening from now on when you mention that you're injured...
Fantastic! Well done and congratulations! 100k is a great distance but never easy. You did very well. Thanks for the awesome report! Enjoy some good rest!
Nice work Billy! Love the mantra part of the post, hilarious and effective. Recover well my friend.
Awesome race report. You're a good writer.
Congratulations on the sub-13 on your first 100k.
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