You may think 8 hours is a cakewalk for a 50K. I mean, come on, that's 14:20 miles!!! Please, keep in mind that this race is at elevation (7000 ft to 10500 ft), it climbs ~7000 ft (and descends 7000 ft) over the course, and while it's advertised as a 50k, it actually is almost 2 miles long at 33.5 miles. Some describe it as the hardest 50K in the US.
If we ignore the fall I took at 1.5 miles in that resulted in covering me with fine black dust on one side, the first aid station came and went without issue, and I was right on track time-wise. I saw Amy and Sweet Baboo on the course - generally they are faster than me, but the pace felt fine so far. At the top of Guaje ridge, I was 4 minutes behind, but, not to worry, there's a downhill coming. At the Caballo base aid station, though, I was floored to find I had fallen further behind - now 23 minutes!!! I drew consolation on the climb up to the top of Caballo that the time goal for the base was just a guess, while the goal for the top of Caballo was based on last year. I focused, and climbed steadily, pushing a few sections. I caught up to a couple of guys - we were all hiking at this point. As I toyed with the idea of passing them, one guy - in basketball shorts - called over his shoulder in a very 'Bill&Ted's Excellent Adventure' voice, "Hey Kool- Aid, how's it goin'?"
I did look over my shoulder, but there wasn't anyone else he could possibly be addressing. I hoped he'd think the big pause was because I was breathing hard, because I really wasn't sure how to take this new nickname. Was he hoping I'd offer him a fakely fruity sugary beverage from some imaginary pitcher I was hauling up the mounatin? Was I quite a bit more bloated than I thought I was? Was my belly sloshing loudly as I ran? I considered my options....and came up with: "OH YEAAAHHHHHH!"
before passing him and his buddy and wishing them luck. The red shirt and white arm coolers probably inspired this 'duuuude' to come up with the nickname... that or the altitude induced light-headedness....
I hit the top right on time, and took a fig newton as a reward. Excellent - I was thrilled to have caught back up, and I was excited to head downhill: the trail shoes I was wearing were perfect for the loose dry dirt and also the rocky downhills sections of the race. I sailed downhill, passing several more tentative people, and seeing all my friends looking happy and determined. I hit the base now 3 minutes ahead of schedule (!!!) and felt ready to tackle the next big climb. It seemed to take forever, cranking up this climb, but I hiked steadily and thought I was staying on track. At the Pipeline AS at about halfway, my stomach sunk to my shoes when I saw I was again 14 minutes behind. Disappointed and bewildered at how I lost so much time, I grabbed some food and dashed out of the AS.
This low point required a bit of self talk to climb out of. I reminded myself that last year I hit the upcoming Ski Area AS at 5:05. My time goal this year is 4:45. I might not make the goal, but I can still beat last year's time. I must make up some ground here if I'm to break eight. This section is smoooooooth. After the climbing, downhill, and more climbing, the trail through the forest on dirt and grass - not roots and rocks - is heaven. I got a barnacle through here - a guy latched on and followed me. I found myself starting to push - maybe a little too hard? Should I work this hard on this section? at this point in the race? I have several hours to go... He was right on my heels. Maybe if I move over, he'll go past me. hm. Nope. I stopped to let the barnacle go free, and he says, " oh, no come on - you're pace was perfect - keep going!" I begged off, using the excuse that I needed another electrolyte, and sent him off with a "good job."
At the aid station, I was sure that since I'd been pushed from behind I'd have caught up - I almost didn't look at my watch. When I did, I gulped my coke in a hurry and left. No bathroom stop for me, I was still 12 minutes behind the goal, though I was 8 minutes ahead of last year. As I hiked up the trail, I wondered if it was even worth hurrying at this point. I was dehydrated, hot, and tired. My neuroma hurt, my sciatic nerve was killing me, my hamstrings ached, and a nerve in my thumb would occaisonally send shooting pains up my arm. I could run it in not to terribly hard and still PR. It just might not be under 8. And suddenly that line of thinking just pissed me off. When do I think like that? Determined now not to settle for what was easy, I worked steadily into the pipeline AS.
The clock now read 5:38. (If I had thought through the math, I had 2:22 to make ~11 miles. It's mostly downhill. I can do that. But I didn't think that hard.) I only knew I needed ~29 minutes to do the last 1.9 miles out of the canyon. I darted out of the aid station on the heels of a couple I'd played leapfrog with the whole race. While downing a gel and some chips I told them about the two "surprise!" hills coming up and then the technical downhill miles. I passed them and pushed until I reached the single track trail, and then kept drinking and working to keep relaxed. Which sounds dumb, but is accurate nonetheless. I knew I had to keep working and not give up on this section. Last year, I stopped eating 1.5 hours from the finish "because I was close" and then used that as an excuse to not work too hard. After miles of forested somewhat technical downhill, you spill out onto Guaje ridge and hit the Aid station. I was looking for that aid station around every bend so that I could consult my watch, the final arbiter in the measure of my success in this race. At the table, I looked - both resigned and determined - and saw that I was now only 5 minutes behind my time goal. It was 6:25.
I had to get to the Rendija canyon aid station 5.3 miles away of very technical rocky uneven downhill trail before 7:30. I can do this. Now, if ever, is the time to work, run hard and steady, save a little for the last 1.9 miles of uphill. More coke, more chips, more gel, more water. I was on the clock, and I needed to make every minute count. On the exposed, burnt out ridge, the trail twists and turns over sunbaked slickrock with loose sand, rubble, boulders, and tree stumps interspersed. It's tricky, this section - I downhill best when I can turn off my active brain, and just ~~~go~~~ but at this point, after more than 6 hours of running, I felt the absolute necessity of not putting a foot wrong, of plotting out every step. The feet hurt, the ankles ache, the quads are tired - I felt like I couldn't afford to fall or stumble. Which is exactly the wrong way to go downhill fast. It's about trusting yourself and knowing that you'll absorb a small mistake (and not thinking about the consequences of a large mistake). The fine line of keeping your eyes on the trail and being watchful, but not watching every rock that you pass is tough to negotiate late in a race.
While focusing on the race car feeling that helps me smooth out, I heard approaching footsteps behind me. "let me know if you need to pass" I say. A loud moan comes from behind, "Oh, don't say that, nooooooo. Don't.. Don't do thaaaat to meeeee..." And the footsteps stop to a walk as I continue running. A little bemused, I run on thinking and not thinking, keeping the effort high. Ten minutes later, I hear more footsteps: "let me know if you need to pass," I say. And the voice comes again, "uhhhgh, no, don't... "
"oh, you again. Ok. we'll get there. Hope that jeep road comes soon, huh?"
*crickets and thudding footsteps of the whiny barnacle*
We twist and turn on down the ridge. As the slope shallows out, it's harder to keep pushing but I do anyway, knowing that I might just get my goal if I can keep working, for crying out loud. The footsteps behind sound a little erratic and heavy. Just before the jeep road, the footsteps fall back and I attack the jeep road alone. I'd forgotten how uneven, grooved, and steep the short jeep road section is. When I glance at my watch I see it's already after 7. I need to hustle to that aid station - where did the time go? As the route diverts us back to trail, I pick up the pace. Gotta fly. I run the short uphills, all of them. I run over the boulders and ledges. I desperately think only of running forward and not on how my quads almost gave out going up on that boulder. Not on the skidding as I round a switchback. No shuffling, we're running. Pick the knees up, use your glutes. Everything is tired, but I'm proud of how hard I'm working. The few people I pass give encouragement, and I return it - although a little breathlessly.
I see a sign. No, not one in the sky - a cardboard sign, with sharpie writing... oh I've got to be close to that aid station... yes! there it is. As my water bottle is being filled and the aid station people are trying to assess if I am in my right mind (or at least in control of enough of my faculties to keep moving), I steel myself and look at my watch. What is to be the outcome? Under 8 or over?
7:20
I turn back to the volunteers, suddenly very excited, thank them for helping, and say, " I've gotta go, I'm trying to break eight!" They must have been runners themselves, because they all knew exactly what I was talking about. They shouted, "it's less than 30 minutes to the finish if you keep moving - you can do it!" (I <3 those aid station volunteers!)
I'd love to say I bounded up the slope - but at least I was running. I was sure I would break 8 hours - I was happy, satisfied, and relieved.... After the tunnel, it occurred to me slowly that if I didn't dawdle I'd actually break 8 by more than a little bit. Cuz, you see, 7:20 plus 30 minutes is 7:50. I double checked the math a couple of times. Hey, that'd be nice. Really nice. ummmm, so, I guess I better RUN the rest of this. How much under will I get? no, strike that, how much under will I earn? Only one way to find out. I picked it up, tried to empty the tank over the last mile. The stone staircase 1/4 mi from the end showed that I was not that stable on my feet anymore as I lurched up it grabbing on to the rocks. The finish line appeared, a party in full swing with the aroma of hamburgers, and I ran nearly all out to get there. And stopped my watch: 7:47.
7:47 - I feel like a real runner with that time. That's good! Good for 11th woman overall, too. A PR by 28 minutes.
I worked hard for that. It was hard, and it was easy, and hot, cold, smooth, rough, high and low all at once. But it was always fun. I think I should give this racing thing a few more tries!
