I’m sure I’ll run smaller stuff leading up to these two, but these are my top two races of the year. I’ve still been dealing with an ongoing ankle injury from last year’s Run Rabbit Run 100 but I think I’m slowly turning the corner and should be able to start running lightly again soon.
I can’t wait to get after it this year. Two races in the mountains is just what I need.
Anyone else running Wasatch or Never Summer? If so, I hope to see you there!
Here’s one way to welcome yourself back to the Midwest: run a 100-miler with 19,000+ feet of gain, in December, while snowing, in Iowa.
That’s exactly what I did this past weekend – and wow, what an “experience” it was.
We arrived in Omaha Friday evening, picked up my packet and grabbed a bite to eat before checking in to a nearby hotel for the night. I slept decent-ish, knowing that I was physically under trained but mentally ready.
Before I knew it the alarm went off and were on our way to the Hitchcock Nature Center for the 5am start.
Hitchcock consists of 8 loops, each with somewhere near 2,500 ft. of gain. This was my first time running a loop-style 100-mile course so I knew that was going to add a unique element to the race.
Spirits were high as we took off into the still-dark morning. The profile of the 12.5 mile loop resembles a saw blade, with steep, jagged, constant ups and downs…with some runnable sections sprinkled in along the way. About halfway into the loop it started snowing. So…that was nice.
The first few loops were pretty uneventful. The climbs slowed people down and spread them out, and before I knew It, I had found myself relatively alone. I wasn’t moving great, but I was moving at a pace that I felt comfortable with and that I could sustain.
I got through loop 4 late (8pm) and looped back through the Nature Center to pick up my first pacer, Jason, who re-energized me and kept me moving.
After a few loops together I picked up my second pacer, Charlie, who did wonders on keeping me moving at this point. Slowly but surely, we got through the night.
I arrived back at the Nature Center pretty beat up after 7 loops. I had one loop to go but had little left in the tank. Upon getting back, I picked up my third pacer, Kaleb, and off we went. To be honest, my loop with Kaleb was a highlight of the day for me. He had just driven up to Hitchcock and offered to pace anyone who needed help. Well, I needed help – and he jumped right in.
We talked about running, what lead us both to the sport – and what keeps us both doing it. It was great. It was also a great distraction to the pain I was in as well! We kept moving, and Kaleb was extremely patient with me, even when I was starting to lose patience with myself.
When it was all said and done I crossed the finish line in 33:09. I was the last 100-miler to come in but given the condition and the DNF rate, I didn’t care. I was just glad that I was able to hang on and get it done. I wouldn’t of been able to get it done alone. C did a great job crewing me, and I was lucky to have been supported by three amazing pacers when the miles got deep.
Ultra running often gets billed as a selfish sport by those who view it from the outside, but for those who are involved — be it a spectator, volunteer, runner or crew member — we know that it’s as much of a team sport as any.
And it was because of the team that I had at Hitchcock that I was able to get this one done.
Time to rest up and enjoy the holidays with the family!
After several years out west, C and I made the decision to return to Iowa to raise our daughter, and to start the next chapter of our lives.
Even though we no longer live near the mountains, my love of running trails and exploring the great outdoors still burns bright. In fact, it burns brighter now then ever before.
I’ve covered a lot of miles so far in life, but I have a feeling the best are still yet to come.
Over the past few months training has been replaced with long nights and diaper changes, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Welcome to the world, Norah Grace! I love you.
Welcome to the world, Norah!
Even though training has been minimal, I still wanted to run my friend Carlos’ race before we leave California at the end of the month to start the next chapter back in Iowa, where I am from. So I set out to take on the race that’s affectionately known as “The Beast.”
Race Day
I woke up early and drove up to Blue Jay campground for the start. The drive was a bittersweet one, knowing that this would likely be the last time I run in the Saddleback Mountains for quite some time. When I got to the start I saw several runners I’d come to know over the years, including my friend Pablo.
Before I knew it, Carlos had us off and my dance with The Beast had begun.
The beast is brutal, gaining somewhere between 6-9,000+ feet over the 50K distance (reports vary). The first 12 miles are a long, steady descent to Lazy W aid station. Knowing my legs had very few miles on them, I opted to take it easy and enjoy the descent. I arrived at Lazy W, refueled and then took off for the crux of the course: The Los Pinos Trail.
Quiet morning miles on the San Juan trail.
Today was forecast to be warm, so I made sure I was fueled before I headed up into The Beast. As I started climbing, I begin to come upon runners who were already feeling the effects of the LP trail. I promptly joined them, and we started slogging away together. Up. Down. Up. Down. Summit? Nope. Up. Down. Summit? Nope. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
After what seemed like an eternity, I made it to the Black Hole aid station. Black Hole is set up on the middle of the trail, and all supplies are hiked in by some of the most generous and fun volunteers I had ever come across. And boy was I glad to come across them. I was completely out of water. After I few minutes at Black Hole, I continued on…finally reaching the end of the trail several hours later.
Almost off Los Pinos!
I arrived at Trabuco Aid Station battered and beat down…but I had made it. All that was left was a another descent, then the 1,000-foot climb up Horesthief, another pass through Trabuco, and a few miles to the finish! I can handle that.
Or so I thought.
As I started up Horsethief I realized that climb was going to be tougher than I had given it credit for on paper. After what seemed like ages, I finally got to (what I thought was the halfway point) and realized I was running out of gas. Between the heat, the climb and my nutrition waning, I was tapped out.
So what did I do?
I literally laid down on the side of the trail under the shade of some bushes, put my pack under my head and laid there. Just. Laid there. I was crushed.
I’m not sure how long I was there, but it was awhile – 10-15 minutes, maybe, before another runner came up and convinced me to keep going. It was at this point I realized just how demanding this course is. It had, literally, knocked me off my feet!
After sitting up, getting refocused and fueled on what little water/nutrition I had left, I got to my feet and kept going. But man, It was a slow slog out of Horsethief. Even so, I emerged with a huge grin on my face. I can’t help it- even when things go sideways, there’s few other places I’d rather be than out on the trail.
Trabuco To The Finish
The final few miles were uneventful compared to the day’s events. At 10:56:20 I crossed the finish line and was greeted by my friends Carlos and Pablo. It wasn’t my best race. Far from it, actually. But it was certainly a memorable one.
As I started the drive home, descending out of the mountains, I was happy to have conquered The Beast, but sad to know that I wouldn’t be running out here again anytime soon.
Our plan is to leave for Des Moines at the end of September. While I will certainly continue to run in the Midwest, I will miss the beautiful and plentiful places to train in SoCal.
Our time in San Diego has been amazing. Life-changing, actually, in so many ways. The friends we have made will be friends for a lifetime, and the experiences we had will live within us forever.
Thanks, SoCal. Hopefully we’ll see you again someday.
Going into the San Diego 100 I was well prepared. I’d put in consistent miles and had a good dry run during the Lost Boys 50 in April. But as well prepared as one can be, you’re still never completely ready for what 100 miles will throw at you. Especially when you go at it alone.
Since I’ve recapped this race twice before – once as a DNF and once with minutes to spare – I want to focus more on the uniqueness of running the race solo. In prior races, I often found myself relieved and excited when I would get halfway and get a pacer to help keep me going. I wondered how things would fair if I didn’t have that luxury.
Race Day
The first portion of the race was really enjoyable. The trails of the SD100 had become my primary running trails in San Diego. With this being my third time running the race, they were comfortable and there were little surprises. I took things relatively easy and just tried to soak in as much of the race as I could. There is just something so freeing about running through the great outdoors.
Before I knew it I had reached Sunrise aid station and was in and out quickly. As predicted, it was starting to warm up fast and the next stretch was sure to slow me down, which it did, and by the time I reached Pioneer Mail my time in the bank had started to diminish, and I was starting to feel the effects of the heat.
The descent down to Pine Creek Aid was rough. Real rough. I walked most of it and was out of water. It took me awhile at the bottom to get my head right. After some time at the aid station I started feeling better and ready to head up Noble Canyon.
As I climbed Noble I could tell this was going to be a decision point for a lot of us. While not right up on cutoffs, time was still a concern and the climb was really taking it out of us all.
As I arrived at Penny Pines I had a decision to make. And I chose to push it and keep going. I was in. Out. And on my way. Quickly.
As things got dark I pulled out the headlamp and continued on, before arriving at Red Tail Roost. I saw a few friends there who were rooting me on, which gave me the spark I needed to keep moving forward.
It was at this point I realized that I was still moving, but not picking up any time. The pressure of being up against cutoffs with 50+ miles to go was stressing me out, but I continued on, pushing where I could.
The climb down to Cibbet’s Flat was a killer! It was a new addition to the course and one that really took its toll on everyone. I knew it was going to be another clutch point of the race.
A light up ahead
As I got down to Cibbet’s Flat I was greeted by Matthew – a fellow runner whom I had come to know through various events. His enthusiasm and willingness to help met out was just the spark I needed. I had only come in with 15 minutes to spare. I downed some soup and continued back up the way I had come down.
On my way up I saw people still descending, as well as people climbing up. Their states of mind seem to correlate to the direction they were heading. With cutoffs now a real threat, we were all focused on moving forward as best we could. We’d hit the point where you dig in, or drop. I put my head down and, although my mind was racing, focused on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.
I arrived at Todd’s Cabin with 10 minutes to spare. As I left Todd’s and started heading back towards Penny Pines, the sun started to come up, giving me a sense of rejuvenation I hadn’t experienced since the day before. I’d survived the night, and a new day was about to begin.
Time was of the essence when I arrived at Penny Pines, as I was still very close to the cutoff time. I saw my friend Willy, a friend whom I’d shared the trail with many times. He handed me a breakfast burrito and told me “you can’t stay here!”
Feeling better after eating the burrito, my pace improved and I started moving better than I had in hours. It was now mid-morning and I was some 80 miles in.
Getting back to Sunrise, I knew that I had banked some time and, barring any huge blow-ups, was going to finish. As I left Sunrise I was warned that it was going to get hot, quick.
And it did.
I kept moving. Slowly but surely, I continued to head towards the finish. I linked up with a few other runners who were moving slowly due the heat, but few words were exchanged. We were all pretty deep in our heads.
It was shortly after noon before the lodge came into sight. That was it. I could see it. The finish was literally in sight. I was going to run my first solo 100 miler…and it was going to be one of my strongest finishes yet!
I ended up crossing in 31:08. The day (and night…and subsequent day), felt more like a dream than anything else. I guess that’s expected when you’re running solo; a lot less interaction with others made for some very quiet and introspective miles.
But I learned something equally important in this race. Even though I ran the race solo, I was never really alone out there.
I had a crew with me in my mind and heart the entire time. My wife Christina, our soon to be daughter, my family and friends – many people accompanied me on the run; some of whom only exist in my mind as memories anymore.
Sharing the miles with all of them is how I finished. There’s no doubt about that.
Post Race Thoughts
For a mid-packer, running this race solo was a big deal for me. It was a finish that ranks highly in my mind and will for years to come. While I can’t pinpoint exactly where my mind went for a lot of the race, I do know I spent in an introspective state, revisiting times, people and things from various points in my life, all of which played a role in my being out on the trail alone.
While our past doesn’t dictate our future, it does play a big role in how we approach the present. For me, this run was an opportunity to come face-to-face with some things that I had worked hard to move past and overcome. I’d say progress was made in that regard.
“There is something primitive about running from the desert to the mountains.” – Ben Hian, Lost Boys 50 course record holder.
Ever since I moved to San Diego and started running ultras, I wanted to run the Lost Boys 50. I had heard so much about this race and its long, checkered history that I knew I had to experience it for myself. Last weekend, I got that chance.
C and I—and my parents—arrived in Julian the Friday before the race. My parents had flown out from Iowa to see me run, so I was extra excited about that. We had a great dinner at Romano’s before retiring to our cabin for the night (Note: If you’re running a race in the Anza Borrego/Cuyamaca/Mt. Laguna area and want a good Italian, pre-race meal, this is the place).
We were up early since I had to be at Lake Cuyamaca to catch the 3:30 a.m. shuttle down to the desert. Once on the bus and heading down I began to hope the weather would hold up for what was sure to be an epic race day.
As the runners piled out of the shuttle, we quickly realized we were going to be in for a windy, WINDY day. But it wasn’t raining, so we had that going for us.
After checking in and hiding from the wind back on the buses, it was time to go. Runners huddled around Race Director Brian Gonzales to get a quick history lesson on the race before heading out into the still-dark desert. Just like that, we were off.
Pinyon Wash to Blair Valley (0 – 17.9)
The race wasted no time accumulating the 9K of elevation gain runners were promised, with the first 10 miles of the course gaining almost 3K. I ran into my friend Carlos, and we took it easy together the first 5 miles, catching up on life and things since we hadn’t seen each other in awhile.
After hitting Boulders Aid (5.1), Carlos took off and I settled in for the day. I was really excited about the first 20 miles of the course, since I’d never ran in that area before. The miles didn’t disappoint. Runners ran through desert canyons, scurried over boulders, came across abandoned mines, and more. It was amazing.
I hit Pinyon Mountain Valley Aid (12.4) right on time. I was in/out of the aid station in less than 3 minutes and was off toward Blair Valley, the first place I’d be able to see C and my parents. The next few miles were a slow steady decline where I just zoned out, enjoyed the desert views and began thinking about how I wanted to tackle Oriflamme Canyon.
Blair Valley to Pedro Fages (17.9 – 29.4)
I got into Blair Valley Aid at about 9:15 a.m., and was met immediately by C and my parents. I could tell my parents were getting into crewing and were having a great time already. I was so glad they were getting the opportunity to experience the sport I love first hand. After refueling, and chatting with them a bit I was off.
Before I knew it I was back at the mouth of Oriflamme Canyon. It had been a few years since I’d ran through the canyon, but I still knew it was going to be brutal. I settled into low gear and started the long grind to the top. On the way up I reflected on just how far I’ve come in my training in only a few short years.
I got out of the canyon with no major issues and after a short run across the meadow, I arrived at Pedro Fages, right on schedule.
Pedro Fages to Cuyamaca Lake (29.4 – 50ish)
Though I was on my goal time, I was tired. The constant battling of the wind and slow steady climbing was really taking it out of me. I took some time to reload my pack, refuel on soup, and get rejuvenated by wiping myself down with a Pro Energy Towel. A few minutes later, I was out and heading toward West Mesa aid station feeling great.
The forecast had called for rain and we’d been lucky enough to dodge it all day … but one look at the sky and I knew it was only a matter of time, so I picked it up a bit.
By the time I got to West Mesa aid (36.1) I was actually ahead of my goal time. There was one climb left, the climb up to Cuyamaca Peak. I wasted no time getting started.
I was pretty wiped out by this point. The more I ascended, the more I was climbing up and into a foggy/cloudy oblivion. By this point runners were very spread out, so at times it almost felt like you were in a dream … or a horror movie.
Regardless, I was in the zone and cruising. Apparently cruising a bit too well, as I blew right by a very well-marked junction and ended up off course for awhile. It was a minor mental blow, but I couldn’t help but laugh when I retraced my steps back to the junction. It was so well marked!
I finally got to Cuyamaca Peak aid station (42.9) dropped my pack, grabbed a grilled cheese and cup of soup and started the short out-and-back climb to the peak, before looping back through CP aid, grabbing my pack, and beginning my descent.
As I started my descent I was mentally prepared to just run it down and into Cuyamaca Lake, but as I started coming down I replayed what one of the aid station volunteers at CP aid had said “you have mostly down left, than just a little up before you get to the finish.”
Immediately it hit me; we’re going up over Middle Peak!
Damn.
The same thing happened in last year’s San Diego 100, where I somehow completely spaced on the fact that both races hit Middle Peak before returning to the start. Needless to say, I got one more “nice little climb” in before I hopped on the Sugar Pine Trail and began my (real) final descent.
I crossed the finish line in 13:28, and couldn’t have been happier. All things considered, it was my strongest ultramarathon finish to date.
Post race thoughts:
This race blew me away on so many levels. Running from the desert (at 1,000 feet), to the mountains (almost 7,000 feet), made for an unforgettable day of constantly changing scenery. The aid stations were so well stocked and staffed it was unbelievable. In fact, I found out later there were about 60 runners who started the race…and almost 60 volunteers helping them out.
That’s how great the ultra community is—especially the San Diego scene.
There was something else that played a significant role in my strongest finish to date, a new training device I have been using called GoMore. Stay tuned for a detailed post on my experience with the product—and how it has helped redefine the way I train.
What’s next?
The Lost Boys 50 was my final tune-up before returning to the San Diego 100 this June. My record with the SD100 is tied at 1-1. Depending on how the final weeks of training go will determine if I take on this year’s race solo or supported.
Last weekend C and I took a mini-trip to Arizona so I could run my first race of the year, Aravaipa’s Black Canyon 100K.
We took Friday off and hit the road early, arriving at the packet pick up/expo by 4:30 p.m. From there we headed up to the cabin we were staying at for the night, which was just a few minutes from the start line.
Race Day
Staying close to the start really paid off. I was able to “sleep in” and get to the start with plenty of time to spare. The field was BIG, with more than 200 people starting the 100K—and another 60+ runners in the 60K, which would start an hour after the 100Kers.
As we were all waiting in the high school, I couldn’t help but comment on what a well-organized event this was already turning out to be! Not only were we able to wait in the school—we were treated to flushing toilets, coffee, cinnamon rolls, and more. I ran into a few local San Diego running friends, wished them well, and then headed out to the start.
Off and running
The race starts with a lap around the high school track before runners embark upon their 100K point-to-point journey on the Black Canyon National Recreation Trail. Temps were forecasted to be hot … and they didn’t disappoint.
In my usual fashion I settled in toward the rear and focused on finding that smooth, steady pace for the day. Before I knew it I was through mile 15, things were feeling great, and, for the first time I was well ahead of schedule.
Runners at the startThe course is a Western States Qualifier that features a deceptively challenging elevation profile.Out for a long day (somewhere around mile 6)
Getting ugly
There’s a saying in ultrarunning: “If you start to feel good during an ultra—don’t worry, you’ll get over it.” While I always thought I knew what that meant, it took on an entirely new meaning in this race, and it started around mile 17.
I’ll spare the details, but for the next 15miles I had some of the worst G.I./stomach issues I had ever experienced while running. This slowed me to a crawl, and as temperatures continued to rise, my spirits began to sink.
Things had quickly turned into a hot, miserable day in the desert.
Despite the fact I was well off my goal pace, I kept moving forward, all the while trying to fix my issues on the move. Was it nutrition? There was a bug floating around my office all week that had taken a few people out—was that it? Maybe it was just the heat? I don’t really know, but, eventually—almost 15 miles later—I started to feel like myself again.
… I couldn’t believe it. I’d kept myself moving.
I take it back. There was one good thing during this time. The views.
If there was any benefit to shuffling along the first 30 miles, it would be that my legs were pretty “fresh” for the back half. I came into Black Canyon aid station, quickly refueled, and headed back out.
I’d heard a lot of people talk about the challenges of the back half of the course. I quickly found out their warnings were valid. There were several significant climbs and multiple stream crossings that felt GREAT given the heat, but were a bit much on my feet.
Giant saguaros lined the course most of the way
Back in the saddle
At mile 45, I was back and feeling great much better. Though my initial goal had gone out the window, I realized I still had a shot at finishing under 17 hours, which would give me a Western States qualifier, but I would have to push it. Hard.
This was a defining moment for me. I battled those thoughts that said just getting to the finish would be “good enough” and that I could justify my finish since the first half of my day went so terribly. I said no.
Instead, I decided to push it.
Bringing it home
The last 15-18 miles were a bit of a blur. I had my music going and a goal on my mind. Before I knew it I was crossing the finish in 16:33.
I’d beaten my stomach issues.
I’d beaten the heat.
But most importantly, I beaten the cruel voice of complacency that can sneak into your head when the day doesn’t go your way.
What just happened?With my better half at the finish
Post-race thoughts
Though I don’t know exactly what caused my stomach issues, I do have a few ideas that I’m looking into. Regardless, this still ranks as one of my more memorable races.
Ultras are such a journey. They’re a journey of the body, the mind, and even the soul. And just like any journey, there will be ups and downs, with the real test being how you manage them. For me, I could have given up and said “Meh, not my day. Stomach problems got the best of me.” But that’s not in my nature. Instead, I chose to stick it out—to stay in the fight. I’m glad I did, because I learned much more about myself by doing so.
Thoughts on the race: This was my first Aravaipa Running race and it was fantastic. Everything—from the packet pick up expo, to pre-race amenities, aid stations, course markings, and the finish line party were all top notch. I can’t wait to come back and run another one of their events.
I was so excited to get back up to Big Bear. If you remember last year, I had planned on running the Kodiak 100 to avenge my DNF at the San Diego 100. Well, a year later (and WISER!), I realized how glad I was that didn’t happen, because Kodiak would have eaten me alive.
The facts are the Kodiak races are incredibly challenging – and in looking back, I can honestly say I wouldn’t have been ready. I needed another year of experience under my belt. And now I had it.
Kodiak 50-Mile Course Profile
Arriving in Big Bear
I went to Big Bear last year to train for a weekend, but this was going to be C’s first time up here. I was excited for her to experience the mountains.
We arrived early Friday afternoon, checked in at the race headquarters and walked around talking to several of the vendors who were there at the expo. CarboPro, Altra, Orange Mud, Clif Bar, Feed the Machine, and more were all in attendance – as well as members of the Tarahumara who were selling homemade items to help raise money for their families and to cover race expenses. I spent some time talking with a few of them and ended up buying a pair of authentic, homemade running sandals from them. They are amazing and I have them displayed on my “running wall” at home.
Race Day
The 50-mile race started on the north side of the lake at the Hana Flats aid station. C drove me around the lake to the start, and after hanging around for about 20 minutes, we were off. I knew even before the race started that the elevation would be a factor for me (the majority of the race is run at 7,000 feet or higher). Knowing this, I planned to settle into a consistent, controlled pace and pay close attention to how I was feeling. As we ran, runners were greeted by an unbelievable sunrise over Big Bear Lake.
I knew right then that the race was going to be a good one.
Sunrise over Big Bear LakeTrail leading into Snow Valley
Settling in
The first 15 miles went very smooth. I stayed conscious of my breathing and settled in to enjoy the views. By the time I got to Snow Valley Aid Station, I was feeling still feeling good and a bit ahead of schedule. Having CarboPro at all of the aid stations was a huge win, since that is what I normally train with.
I refueled and headed out from Snow Valley and toward what I had heard over and over was the crux of the course: Siberia Creek Canyon. Needless to say, it lived up to the hype.
At the top of Siberia Creek
After descending into the canyon and reaching the bottom, runners passed through an aid station before beginning the long, 3,000-foot climb up the other side.
Aid station at the bottom of the canyon
Siberia Creek was beautifully brutal.
As beautiful as it was, the climb out WENT. ON. FORVER!
Climbing out of Siberia Canyon
Once out of the canyon, I arrived at Champion Aid. My climbing had been efficient and controlled, so I was still feeling strong. But things were about to get even better because we were about to run on one of my favorite sections of single track: The Skyline Trail.
As the sun fades away
The views from the Skyline Trail were absolutely unreal. And the fact that it was sunset made for some views that will be with me for a lifetime. My phone was dead by this point so I didn’t get any pictures – but in retrospect, it was better that way. I ran in silence and just took it all in. And it was perfect.
As darkness settled in, so did an increased level of pain and discomfort … but that was a small price to pay for an incredibly scenic race.
I crossed the finish line in 14:58 (38/54) and felt great about it. This was my first time running a true “mountain ultra” … and I must admit, I loved it. The prolonged altitude and steep climbs were the price of admission to experience the picturesque views and run on the alpine-infused single track. A price that I’d happily pay again for a similar experience.
Kodiak 50-Mile finisher!
Definitely a top-notch race and memorable weekend in the mountains.
The San Diego 100 was my first 100-mile attempt last year. Though I dropped at mile 64, I vowed to return in 2015 and avenge my DNF … and this past weekend, I did just that.
After finishing the Zion 100 in April, I knew the name of the game would be to take it easy between the two races and focus on cross training and short, hilly runs. From Zion to SD I bet I only put in 50 miles on the trails. While my legs were still tired, my mind was ready to go. I’d been thinking about coming back to the SD100 ever since last year, where I found myself in the back of a pickup truck at 2 a.m., being driven out of Pine Creek (mile 64) with a truckload of others who had dropped.
Fast forward to 6/5/2015. C and I were once again on our way back out to Julian to get checked into our hotel before the pre-race brief. Once again, Race Director Scott Mills outdid himself. Check-in was smooth, and all runners were greeted by an incredibly kind army of volunteers, not to mention one of the best swag bags I’d ever seen at an ultra. But while all the swag was great, I wanted to come home with one thing: a buckle.
After the race brief, a few of us went out to dinner before calling it a night. Though I’d slept well all week, the only thing I could think about the night before was that I was back … at the San Diego 100 and that I desperately wanted to cross that finish line.
Race Day
Us at the start
231 runners showed up to test their mettle against the challenging-yet-beautiful course. The race has 13,000+ feet of gain, a 32-hour cutoff and takes runners through Lake Cuyamaca, Mount Laguna, the Pacific Crest Trail and Noble Canyon, before returning to the start line. Exposure, wind, challenging terrain and almost always unpredictable weather add another layer of difficulty to an already demanding course. According to the forecast, we were in for some of the best weather the race had ever seen. So, we had that going for us.
Elevation profile of the San Diego 100
At 6 a.m., we were off … and I quickly settled in toward the back. I knew if I wanted any shot at finishing this thing I needed to be honest with myself about my pace, nutrition and the fact that I still had “Zion Fatigue” in my legs.
This Looks Familiar
Runners were faced with a long, steady climb up Middle Peak right out of the gate. I fell in line with my good buddy Mark and we talked about our strategies for managing the day (note: both “strategies” would be blown up by mile 40). Once atop Middle Peak, I took some time to take in the view before running down the back side and right into and through Paso Picacho aid, mile 7.1. I was right on pace with last year.
From Paso it was up and over Stonewall Peak, and then a nice stretch through the meadow to Chambers 1. By now the party of the conga line had all but disappeared and runners were beginning to settle in for the journey ahead. I left the pirate-themed and ever-so-gracious Chambers aid station and headed across some rolling fire road and single track before arriving at Pedro Fages (mile 18.6). With about an hour in the bank, I was feeling good and continued on. Before I knew it, I was running into Sunrise 1, AKA “The Dog Pound”.
The pound is awesome. When you come in there it’s hard to tell who is having more fun, the runners or the crew and volunteers! This is the first spot where I could see C and she had everything ready that I needed, so my time here was brief.
Leaving Sunrise 1, runners head out on an unbelievably scenic stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail that overlooks the Anza Borrego Desert, nearly 5,000-6,000 feet below. It’s quite the site. It’s also the stretch that can crush unsuspecting runners with a brutal mix of elevation, wind and exposure. Last year I remembered seeing a lot of runners struggling through this stretch and adjusted my pace/nutrition accordingly. Before I knew it, I’d made it to Pioneer Mail (mile 30) and was more than an hour ahead of the cutoff. All was well.
View from atop the PCT
The next point for crew access was Red Tail Roost (mile 44), so I made sure I loaded up on food/water and hit the trail, sneaking in and out of Penny Pines before making my way to Todd’s Cabin. I was proud of how I’d managed myself on this stretch of the course, as it ate several of my friends. I left Todd’s knowing that the worst was behind me (in terms of exposure), and cruised to Red Tail Roost with not a care in the world … except for the debilitating blisters that had formed over the last 10-15 miles.
Crap.
I let C know that my feet were in pretty bad shape and she and our co-crewing friend Willie wasted no time locating one of the members of the Ultra Medical Team to help me patch my feet. The gentleman’s name was Jim, and he no doubt saved my race by lancing some pretty nasty blood blisters that had formed on my feet.
Sidenote: The runners of the SD100 (and many other races) are so, SO lucky to have this fine crew of professionals out on the course. They do an AMAZING job watching out for the safety and well-being of all the runners. Hats off to you, Ultra Medical Team!
With new feet and a full stomach, I felt like a million bucks and left Red Tail Roost slightly ahead of where I was last year at that same time. While I felt great physically, memories of the same stretch last year started to creep into my mind. This is where things started to go wrong last year.
I couldn’t let it happen again.
I ran some of the most “conscious” miles of my life from Red Tail Roost (mile 44) through Meadows (mile 52) and on to Penny Pines 2 (mile 56.2), where I knew C would be waiting to start her pacing duties. As runners, we can often vividly recall some of our most profound sections of a run. This was definitely one of those for me. With a renewed spirit, I flew shuffled into Penny Pines 2 … grinning from ear to ear.
Into the Night
C and I took off from Penny Pines about 45 minutes ahead of the cutoffs. With C pacing it out we were able to get down Noble Canyon in a hurry and into Pine Creek with no real issues (other than an eye on the clock). I was so thankful to have her accompany me on this stretch, as it helped keep my mind off my DNF at Pine Creek Aid (mile 64 last year).
When we got to Pine Creek I saw Jim, the Ultra Medic who helped put my feet back together at Red Tail Roost. I told him thanks again and that they were holding up well. He said “That’s great. Now all you’ve got is a long climb up Pine Creek Road before getting on the Indian Creek Trail, where you’ll have another long climb up to Pioneer Mail 2.” My response?
O___O
In all truthfulness I knew what was coming. I was just dreading it. I’d hiked this section on an overnight training run last year and knew it would cost me a lot of time. After refueling, we were on our way up from the lowest point on the course. It was 1:15 a.m.
“Dlaaainggg” my Garmin ticked off a final mile before dying. It read 25-something minutes. Not good. With 8 miles to go and a 4:30 a.m. cutoff at Pioneer Mail, I knew it would be close. But C was all over it, and by pushing the pace (and keeping me distracted) we got to Pioneer Mail with 30 minutes to spare. She did an amazing job.
At Pioneer Mail, Mark’s friend Stephen said he’d jump in with me for the next stretch. With C acting as a 1-person crew/pacer, I knew she had been working super hard all day and could use the rest.
After thanking Stephen profusely for the kind gesture we were off … headed toward Sunrise 2.
Just Another Day
As we ran back towars Sunrise 2 on the PCT, we were greeted with one of the most amazing sunrises I’d ever seen. As the sun continued to rise, so did my spirit and before I knew it we were moving at a pretty good pace.
Coming into Sunrise 2
We got to Sunrise ahead of schedule, ate some food and then Stephen said he’d go with me again. I couldn’t believe it, but took him up on the offer to run the 8-mile stretch to Chambers 2. By now it was morning and the sun was out in full force, which forced us to slow down a bit.
As we approached Chambers 2, I couldn’t help but think of being there almost a day ago on my way out. Now I was returning … only in a little worse shape.
The Home Stretch
After about 20 minutes at Chambers 2, C and I took off for the final 12- mile stretch. The final miles send runners BACK over Stonewall Peak at mile 92-ish. I’d heard my friends who finished last year talk about how brutal this was … and I can now agree with them. It was killer.
But the surprises weren’t over yet. As I stumbled into Paso Pichaco 2, I was greeted by my friend, Ultra Medic Nick, who had some “unplanned” news for me.
Nick: “So, you’ve got an easy few miles through the meadow, then a mile, mile-and-a-half climb back up Middle Peak before you run down the mountain to the finish.”
Me: “Sooo, you’re telling me we’re not running a lap around the lake this year?”
Wow. Shame on me for not checking the map closer. It turned out that they had changed the end of the course and added the substantial climb up Middle Peak in lieu of the lap around the lake.
My 45-minute buffer seemed a lot less comfortable now, so C and I high-tailed it out of the aid station with all hopes of making it to the finish in time.
The Final Push
As we started the final climb, it was pretty apparent I had nothing left. We were moving at a snail’s pace and the mental blow of not anticipating the final climb was stinging pretty bad. As we climbed up (and up and up and up), we ran into a few other people who were experiencing the same unplanned joy that we were. We had another thing in common … we were all growing more and more worried about time.
As we continued climbing, I became convinced that we were going the wrong way (the course had been subject to vandalism in prior years, in the form of people moving ribbons and mismarking the route). I didn’t think we were supposed to go all the way to the top. After confirming with a few other runners, we all agreed the way we were going HAD to be right. After what seemed like an eternity, we FINALLY saw the junction for the final descent.
Normally I’d be happy, but instead all I could think was, “Tick tock. Tick tock.”
It was 1:20 p.m. The course closed at 2 p.m. We still had a little more than 2 miles to go.
All I’ve Got
The final two miles were a big blur. C and I descended the Sugar Pine trail in a hurry, before looping around and putting the finish line in our sights.
Thanks to C’s ability to keep calm, run hard, and stay positive, we crossed the finish in 31 hours, 48 minutes … 12-minutes before the course closed.
I couldn’t believe it. We’d done it. Finished the San Diego 100!
Sitting in a folding chair, watching the last few runners come in, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day (and night … and subsequent day). C paced me for nearly 30 miles … almost all of which were unplanned. Mark’s friend Stephen was kind enough to jump in and pace a complete stranger. Ultra Medical Team gave me the feet I needed to have a fighting chance … and all the runners gave each other the strength and encouragement to keep moving forward.
What. A. Journey.
Finally
Post-Race Thoughts
I’ve had people ask me which finish mattered more, Zion or San Diego. The truth is they both are two of the most important and memorable days of my life, but for very different reasons. Zion for being my first buckle, and for truly showing myself that I have the grit it takes to finish … and San Diego, for having the guts to go back and try again after dropping the year prior. My SD100 finish was also almost 2 hours FASTER than my finish at Zion, which I ran just 8 weeks prior.
Proof you can do anything if you want it bad enough.
Looking forward, my plan is to ease back into things and focus on putting in some high-quality, purposeful training. With a few races left in the year I’m hoping to make some improvements in my speed, and transition from a goal of just finishing to more time-based goals.
Some memories have a significant impact on you and your future. For me, last year’s DNF at the San Diego 100 was one of those memories. It humbled me and forced me to be honest with myself and my abilities. But it also lit a fire within me and became the catalyst for a rematch with the 100-mile distance, and I chose the Zion 100.
Ever since Monument Valley, I’d been experience some significant hip pain that had derailed my last 3-4 weeks of training. I’d gotten a few massages and met with a running doctor to help diagnose and fix the issue. I was physically feeling about 75-80%, however, mentally I was at 110-120%, so I figured I could hit the start line of Zion at 100% (of sorts).
Zion bound
C and I left San Diego early Thursday morning and arrived in Springdale, Utah, around 2:30 p.m. We checked in at the Pioneer Lodge then went into Zion National Park for a while to do some exploring before heading to packet pick-up which was at the start line in Virgin. We didn’t hang around too long. My nerves were kicking in and I just wanted to get some dinner and get some rest. I knew the next day was going to be a long one.
C and I in the park the day before the race.Zion 100 Course MapZion 100 Elevation Map
Race day
There’s an energy at the start of a 100-miler that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and the Zion 100 was no different. Both the 100-milers and 100K runners took off at 6 a.m., and just like that it was on. My second attempt at a 100-miler was underway.
As I approached the first big climb, Flying Monkey, the sun was just beginning to rise. I got up FM with no issues, hit the aid station up top and set out on the 6-mile loop atop the mesa.
The scenery up on top of the mesa was amazing – a completely different landscape than the land below. Oh, and the views from above were jaw-dropping.
Beautiful sunrise as we were going up Flying Monkey
I descended Flying Monkey with no issues and hit a nice stretch of Jeep road and was able to run most of it, before hopping on some single track and working my way to Dalton Wash Aid (mile 15).
C was anxiously waiting for me at Dalton. She knew that by now I’d know how the day was going to go. Once I got there she asked how I was doing – my response was simply “I made it to here.” I knew if I wanted to have ANY shot of staying in this thing, I had to focus exclusively on running from aid station to aid station.
After a quick pit stop I began the climb up to the Guacamole Loop, where runners would be treated to nearly 8 miles of challenging slick rock. It was impossible for me to get a rhythm going up there, so I just enjoyed the views and tried to keep moving as best I could. I finally made it off the mesa and back down to Dalton Aid 2.
View from the Guacamole Loop.
Once I got there, I noticed my pacer and good friend Tony from San Diego had arrived and immediately jumped in to help C out in crewing me. I wanted to take a few extra minutes to rest up – my hip already wasn’t feeling great and I wanted to recharge for a minute.
Neither of them let me, and before I knew it was back on the trail.
Going up
After crossing the highway I headed toward the infamous Gooseberry mesa. In my research of the race, I knew this climb was going to be a beast. The climb gains 1,500 feet. Fast. Sprinkle on some serious exposure to the sun and a subpar hip, and 1,500-foot climb felt like I was climbing Whitney.
Me coming up Goosberry. What. A. Climb.
Once up to the top I came into Goosebump Aid, refueled, and then set out on my last solo loop across more slickrock to Gooseberry Point and back to Goosebump #2. I got back a little before 8 p.m., but not before taking in one of the most amazing sunsets I’d ever seen.
Unreal sunset from atop Goosberry Mesa. One of my last photos before my phone died.
By this time I was only an hour ahead of the cutoffs. Definitely not where I wanted to be. I picked up my pacer, Tony, and we headed out into the darkness toward Grafton Mesa. Running with him was a huge breath of fresh air and though we weren’t moving fast, we were still moving. We arrived at Grafton Mesa, downed some soup and headed on through. Grafton was a breaking point for a lot of runners, many of whom were still sitting around waiting to get picked up.
I’d be lying if I said the thought of dropping didn’t cross my mind. I hurt from the start, I had yet to get into a rhythm, and now I was furiously chasing cutoffs … all with 45 more miles to go.
Before I could turn that thought into any more than just that (a thought), Tony said “You ready, G? We gotta go.” And just like that, we were back on the trail and off toward Cemetery Aid Station (mile 57.5).
After a mix of single track, slick rock, climbing, and then a huge descent off the mesa, we arrived at Cemetery Aid with 45 minutes to spare. After another quick in/out we were on our way back up. The climb up was the hardest and most challenging part of the day night for me (so far), but Tony did a fantastic job of keeping me moving.
This was also about the point in the race where I DNF’d in my 100-mile attempt last year (around mile 60). Tony knew this – and though we weren’t saying much at this point, he did say this:
“You’re about to be on the other side of what you know you’re capable of. It’s all new after this.”
In a weird way, hearing that gave me a spark that I hadn’t had most of the day. It was true; I was now further into a race than I’d ever been. What a rush.
The way back was a serious grind, and making cutoffs was still a top priority (talk about a feeling of added stress!). We were in and out of Grafton Mesa #2 within 5 minutes and got back to Goosebump Aid #3 by 4:45 a.m.
By this point all I could think about was how bad I wanted off the mesa. Upon leaving Goosebump I got my wish – in the form of a 1,500-foot, pitch-black descent down Gooseberry.
I’ll leave most of the details of it, but just know that I was in a dark place (both literally and figuratively) by this point.
A change of scenery
After getting off the mesa, we had to get to the Virgin Desert Aid station by 8:30 a.m. The stretch was tough, but we got there by 7:45 a.m. My hour buffer was fading.
Fast.
Once you hit Virgin Desert Aid, the style of the race changes. Runners were now faced with a series of challenging desert loops. In prepping for this race, I had thought that if I could just “get to Virgin Aid” that I could spend some time getting re-energized before hammering the loops out, but being up against cutoffs, I didn’t have that luxury.
C was waiting for me at Virgin Aid and would be responsible for pacing me out the rest of the way (25 miles). Tony had done a phenomenal job keeping me moving overnight, knowing that I was hurting and not in a good spot. He was able to keep me on pace, and focused just on the next aid station. It was a night I never thought would end – but, like all things, it did.
For the record, Tony wasn’t unaware of what was going on at all, either. He knew we were crunched for time, had a long way to go, and that I was starting to fall apart. (He had dug deep and finished the SD 100 last year, so he knew what it took to get to the finish – and what I had yet to go through).
The red, white, and blue
By now my mental state had gotten a lot worse, and I was seriously rationalizing a second DNF in my head.
“Well G, you made it 76.5, farther than you’d ever gone – but it’s just not going to be your day. You weren’t 100% when you started … and you’re paying for it now.”
This “inner monologue” slowly started to leave my head and now C and Tony were hearing it … but they weren’t having it. They both knew me well and weren’t ready to have a repeat of last year.
And just like that, they switched roles. C was ready to go and after 5 minutes we were out on the Red Loop, a 4.7 stretch of rolling desert single track … with a cutoff of 9:15 a.m.
A snail’s pace is probably an adequate comparison to what I was churning out at this point. I asked C every 3-5 minutes “how much distance have we covered? Do you think we’ll make the cutoff?”
C, being the ever-positive person she is, assured me we were doing great and that we could make it.
I apparently thought otherwise. I began walking, saying I had “given it my best effort, but it just wasn’t going to happen.” We came in at 9:10 a.m, the cutoff was 9:15 a.m – and I didn’t think I could go back out.
I thought it was 9:15 a.m.
An aid station worker who had taken notice of me when I first came into Virgin Desert Aid came over and said “Don’t get too comfortable buddy, the cutoff is 9:30 a.m. You have to get back out there. You’ve come this far. You’ve got to keep going.”
He took my red bracelet and replaced it with a white one, to signify I was about to start the second loop.
And again, just like that, we were off.
The white loop (mile 81), was a bit longer with more rolling hills … and it was getting hot. I was kicking out salt bad and knew I was on the verge of losing control of my nutrition, but we slugged it out. All thanks to C.
It gets a bit overwhelming when you start to think that you’re within 20-30 minutes of not being able to continue on, which is exactly where we were at when we returned from the white loop.
Mile 87.1
Time in/out: 11:10a.m./11:22 a.m.
Cutoff: 11:30 a.m
The same aid station worker that had kept me on course earlier found me again and offered me more words of encouragement and advice. His support, along with C and Tony’s was hitting me hard, but I was falling apart. I hadn’t stopped for more than 5-10 minutes since mile 47.5. My hip was on fire, my feet were all blistered, and my nutrition was in the tank. I was a mess.
Even with all the support I was ready for a DNF in my head. But my crew didn’t let me act on that thought and sent me back out. I had more than 3 hours to go 7 or so miles. But like I said, I had fallen apart. I was walking/shuffling along at a dismal pace, and things were looking bleak.
The blue loop was also the most exposed (and challenging) of the loops, and the sun was just roasting us. We had caught up with a few other people who were in the same boat, wished them well and continued to shuffle along.
A view from the blue loop
C did an unreal job pacing me, knowing just when to talk and when to let it ride. When to let me vent and when to tell me to man-up. It was a delicate balance and she managed it well.
In my head I thought that IF I could somehow get back to Virgin Aid for the last time by 1:30 p.m. that would give me 2.5 hours to finish, and at the pace I was moving at, I thought I MIGHT have a shot.
But 1:30 p.m. quickly passed, and I was still out there. I watched 1:45 and 2 p.m. tick by as well, before getting returning to Virgin Aid for the last time at 2:18 p.m.
Mile 94.
That was it. I came into that aid station to drop. I was dehydrated and distraught. I thought I had left it all out there and came up short. There was no way I could go 6 miles in less than 1 hour 45 minutes based on how I had been performing for the last 12 hours.
It wasn’t possible. Not to me.
I walked in and sat down, ready to make my announcement, but before I could, the aid station volunteer dumped an entire cooler of ice water over my head, and said “Hey buddy, you look like hell, I know you feel like hell – but YOU. CAN’T. STOP. YOU GO FINISH THIS THING! YOU’VE COME TOO FAR TO QUIT!”
His statement was matched with Tony handing me two new water bottles and C pulling me back out on the course.
This was it. We were going for it.
The ice bath was reinvigorating – and the support from my crew and the aid station worker helped stoke a fire deep within me. I was 94 miles in. I had 1 hour 35 minutes to give it everything I had.
And so I did.
For the first time since miles 10-20 I started running. As hard as I could. I’d tell C to “Go” and we’d run as hard as we could, walk and repeat. Tony had parked near mile 97 and was stressed to the max, he knew I had fallen apart and my pace was bad.
Until he saw C and I come around the corner. 3 miles down in 35 minutes. Some of the fastest miles of the day for me were miles 94-96. I had 3 miles to go – and more than an hour to get there.
I gave the next few miles all I had as well, and came across the finish line in 33:25, side by side with C, Tony, and my friend Corina, who had hung around to watch me finish.
Finishing my first 100-milerHandcrafted buckles were awarded to all finishers. After two years, I finally got mine.
I couldn’t have done it without the support of C, Tony, Corina, the aid station worker, and my fellow runners. It truly was a life-changing experience. I learned more about myself during this race than I ever thought possible, but most importantly, I learned to never give up – in running or in life.
The gang at the finish. I wouldn’t have finished without them.
Life Through the Miles 