I entered this race to get revenge - the last ultra I ran (Bulldog 50k) had
its course sabotaged by some jerk, and I went off with the lead pack to run
an extra 4 or 5 miles.
The [censored] Collins Firetrails 50 miler had several things in its favor. It
was up north of L.A., so I could sample the famous running trails above the
San Francisco Bay, and get an introduction to a very tough running
community. Its race director is the legendary Ann Trason, holder of just
about every ultra course record she wants to set. There is an aid station
every 3-4 miles-a one-water-bottle course. And best of all, it is a
challenging race, with 7820 feet of climb on an out-and-back route.
The race started at dawn, under clear skies. Down in LA, I usually finish
in the top 10%, so I tend to go out with about 20% of the field in front of
me, and work my way up throughout the race. Things are different in the bay
area - I found myself somewhere about 35 place after the first mile. Must
be something wrong, all these people can't be faster than me, can they? The
short answer is, as Dorothy said: "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas
anymore."
So I decided to run by effort, and used my new heart rate monitor/altimeter.
My goal was to finish in around 9 hours, which would be my longest race to
date. I had a really tough time keeping my heart rate down to my target of
140. For the first 10 miles I was so fresh that a 150 pulse felt like an
easy cruise. I wished I could bottle that feeling and keep it going for the
next 8 hours!
The race is a constant series of generally mild (200-400 ft/mile) ups and
downs. Although I like to climb, my strategy was to take it easy on the
ascents (where you can burn up all your glycogen if you're not careful), and
make time on the downs, flats and easy inclines. So the gearbox gets quite
a workout: I'd chug up or walk a steep incline at 15 min/mile, then shift
to a 7:00 pace for a mile or two of downhill, then settle back to a 9 or 10
minute per mile jog on a flat section for a bit. Nearly all the course was
on dirt.
Aid station strategy is important. With 14 aid stations, I needed to keep
from dawdling: an unfocused minute or two per station adds up in a hurry.
I decided to carry all my food (a dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies and
a bottle of Ensure). I would eat only when walking up steep hills to save
time. Later I realized that I could munch on a cookie while running on
smooth road or trail without any problem. As I ran up to each aid station,
I unscrewed the cap from my water bottle and had the volunteers quickly
fill it up, a la Nascar. I was in and out in 15 seconds.
I took a Succeed salt cap every hour, or if my stomach was sloshing
(indicating low salt). I drank nothing but Cytomax and Gu2O, at about 30
oz/hour in the cool morning, and about 50 oz/hr toward the end of the race
under the sun. I ate something (half bottle of ensure, or a cookie) every
hour at first, then every half -hour toward the end of the race, when I
became ravenous.
During the first third of the race, several people would race me - working
hard to catch me after my head start out of the aid stations, and trying to
stay ahead of me on the climbs. These guys were all breathing noticeably
harder than me, and I knew it was just a matter of time until I dropped
them. Soon I was alone, and my favorite part of the race began - catching
people ahead of me. A volunteer runner (18:20 at Western States!) was
double checking the markings on the trail, and we ended up running together
and chatting for about 4 miles as he did his job.
I hit the 26 mile turn-around at 4:17. I was starting to get tired, and the
climbs were getting tougher. Hills I could easily jog up in the first 15
miles caused my quads to load up, and I had to jog-walk up. If you don't
listen to your quads, you're going to be dead meat after mile 40. I ran the
next 7 or 8 miles with a couple of guys, and we discussed the world at
large, with many observations on the fair sex. At about 37 miles, I noticed
a couple of guys trying to catch me. Although I was feeling pretty wiped
out by now, it was time to go to work. I picked it up on a long downgrade,
and started feeling good. In fact, I felt the best I felt all race - yes,
folks, the mythical runner's high. Then I started passing people on a long
flat section in a leafy canyon and got a boost from each one. This Xanadu
lasted for about 4 miles. The next long climb brought me out of my reverie,
as I realized that my uphill legs were nearly spent. I needed to conserve
every bit of energy to finish.
It was getting really tough. I entered a kind of tunnel-vision,
echo-chamber state: Count down the miles. Keep running. Sure it hurts,
but you'll feel great when it's over. Yeah, that guy just blasted by you,
but he's 25 and you've passed a dozen folks yourself. Geez, every single
downhill stride hurts. Don't trip - concentrate on the trail.
It was very tough to run up even the slightest grades. And the flats didn't
feel too good either. My legs were getting tighter and tighter. Finally, I
could see the finish a couple of miles around the lake in the glistening
afternoon sun. I passed a fellow 50 year old, then another. Shave the
curves. Run *all* the hills. One mile. One half mile. One quarter mile.
The finish line! I sprinted the last hundred yards and felt instantly
relieved, grateful, and satisfied.
Time, 9:05, 20-something th place, 3rd in the 50's. The Picnic at the
finish had the three B's: Burgers, Beer, and Brownies. Best of all,
dozens of cheerfully burbling runners, many of whom I met on the course. I
made many new acquaintances. I'm coming back up here for the Quad Dipsea,
for sure.