Great Shasta Rail Trail 50K Part 2: Milk Was A Bad Choice

                                              The race start/finish line at the Bartle trailhead

The pack quickly broke off into smaller groups as we ran into the forest back towards McCloud.  The Great Shasta Rail Trail measures eighty miles total in length and connects McCloud at one end with the town of Burney at the other.  The start of the race was roughly halfway between the two towns.  Unlike most of the other ultramarathons I've run in California, which include single track trail with rocks and tree roots, today's trail was roughly eight feet wide, smooth, and well maintained.  It reminded me a lot of the Badger 50-Miler put on by Ten Junk Miles, which I ran in the summer of 2021.  I had a nice cadence going in the early miles and hung with a small group of two other runners.  They were Alan from Redding and Kari from Klamath Falls, Oregon.  The three of us ran together for a while and talked about all kinds of things.  It almost felt like I was going for a morning run through the wilderness with two new friends I had just met.  After we passed through the first aid station our group broke off.  Kari pulled ahead, Alan was between Kari and I, and I hung back, a hundred or so feet behind Alan.  We had twelve hours to get to the finish line, plenty of time.  It was already starting to get warm out and I didn't want to risk burning myself out, so I kept my pace steady.  

I had gone out shirtless because I knew I was going to warm up quickly, which worked well for me for the first ten miles.  At that point, even though it was still pretty early in the morning, the wilderness was warming up and I could feel the hot sun on my back.  My shoulders began to sting a little, so I decided it was a good time to put my shirt on.  I hopped off to the side of the trail, dropped my handheld water bottles to the ground, unzipped my fanny pack, and pulled out a long sleeve running shirt.  I figured I would need it at some point, so it was strategically folded, rolled up, and tucked away.  I never in a hundred years thought that I would find myself wearing a long sleeve shirt while running an ultra in the middle of the summer, but I also needed to protect my skin from the sun.  Oddly, as soon as I put my shirt on, I felt cooler.  It made sense because the material was shielding my bare skin from the sun, but it still just seemed bizarre to run in heat with long sleeves.  I progressed onward.  The path was pretty straight forward except for a few gradual directional changes here and there.  There were also no major climbs, just gradual inclines and downhills.  Every once in a while, I'd come to an intersection with a remote back country road.  The entire course was lined with tall pine trees on either side and we were treated to a view of Mount Shasta shortly before the turnaround point.  

I stayed within eyesight of Alan and Kari and the three of us reached the aid station at the turnaround point at roughly the same time.  The aid stations were set up in remote areas of the Shasta-Trinity National Forest and were being worked mostly by Jen's family and friends.  They had plenty of provisions and good enthusiasm to keep us going.  After we turned around, Alan and I ran together for a short while again until he pulled ahead.  Now we were running towards the sun, which made things more challenging.  I took my backwards hat off and rotated it forward to shield the sun from my face.  At the halfway point of the race my stride had slowed down, but I was still moving.  I felt tired, but not overheated.  At this point I began seeing the four runners who were behind me coming the other way.  I had only met one of them before the race, Jessica, who was at the back of the pack.  She had also come down from Klamath Falls, Oregon and was looking for redemption after DNFing her first 50K about a month ago.  She looked pretty solid and I offered words of encouragement as I passed by.  When I rolled into the aid station at mile nineteen, my running had become pretty sluggish.  I was glad to have made it to the next milestone.  By the time I had arrived, the same volunteers at the 50K turnaround point six miles back had packed up that aid station and made their way over here, which was impressive.  The temperature was probably around 90 degrees at this point and I was feeling the heat.  I had some food, filled my hat with ice, and placed it back on my head.  That proved to be a good move and I instantly began to cool down.  Even though the ice had put some life back in me, I decided to walk instead of run when I left the aid station.  I needed to regroup a little.  

                                                          The world's prettiest treadmill

The next six miles were a combination of running and walking.  There was now a considerable distance between Alan and I, along with the people behind me.  I didn't see another runner for quite a while.  The trail was completely straight and stretched out in front of me for miles.  It dissected the wilderness like the space between a loaf of bread that had been sliced in half.  Before the race I overheard one of the runners who was from the area, refer to this trail as the world's prettiest treadmill.  I was starting to get that feeling as well.  There was one section with a down tree where we had to veer off course, but other than that, it was very straight forward.  It was repetitive, but also beautiful and majestic.  I was staying hydrated and had peed a couple of times, which was a good sign, but most of the course was pretty exposed except for a few stretches of shade here and there.  It was becoming hard to stay cool.  As I approached the next aid station at the race start line, I saw Jen standing by the trail in the distance waving to me.  I waved back and threw my arms in the air.  Even though by this point the sun had parched the hell out me, I was enjoying myself and tried to convey that message from a distance.  Throwing my arms in the air was the best way I knew how.  When I arrived at the aid station it was 12:20 PM.  I was happy to be there, but I was completely exhausted and overheated.  Even doing a brisk walk at this point was challenging.  When Jen asked me how I was feeling I replied with a chuckle and a smile "I feel like death, but I'm having a lot of fun".  She offered me a seat in a camping chair underneath the canvas tent.  Man, it felt good to finally sit down out of the sun.  Jen poured a bunch of ice down the back of my shirt.  This sounds more like a prank that you'd play on someone at a summer barbeque, but after you've run twenty-five miles in the heat, it feels amazing.  I took some deep breaths, drank some water, and tried to pull myself together.  Talking with the aid station crew helped lift me up as well.  I got the unfortunate news that Jessica had dropped.  She ran out of water, succumbed to the intense heat, and couldn't go on.  She got a ride back to the start line from an aid station volunteer, and I noticed that her car was gone, so she had already hit the road back to Oregon.  I felt bad.  She came out here hoping for redemption, but had to go home with a second DNF.  I hoped that she wouldn't give up and would keep trying.  

After ten minutes in the chair I felt better and I prepared to head out.  The final six mile stretch was an out and back in the opposite direction, which would bring me back here to the finish line.  I walked the whole damn thing solo.  It was all I could do to keep moving forward.  I tried to run a few times, but each time, I would make it about twenty steps before I nearly puked from heat related nausea.  Nobody wants to be vomit boy or vomit girl.  It happens sometimes, and that's totally okay.  But the thought of puking on the trail in this heat just because I wanted to run instead of walk didn't sound too appealing.  When I arrived at the aid station at the turnaround point, Christy was in her truck on the trail side blaring dance music.  When she saw me approaching, she turned the music down, jumped out of her truck, and walked over to the tent.  Christy and Jen's young son Kyle were the only two volunteers working the aid station.  They filled my water bottle with fresh, ice cold water and gave me a healthy dose of psychological motivation while I rested in a camping chair again.  A few minutes later I was back on the trail.  Those last three miles were like a death march.  I laughed to myself as I thought about the infamous scene in Anchorman:  "It's so damn hot!  Milk was a bad choice".  I hear you Ron.  The heat was sweltering and I was moving slowly, but mentally I felt great.  I knew that at this point I had this race in the bag.  All I had to do was keep pushing a little longer.  When the tents at the finish finally came into view I really wanted to run, but my body said "no way dude".  I hiked it in and threw my exhausted arms in the air as I walked briskly across the finish line.  The small crowd clapped, cheered, and rang bells.  My finish time was eight hours and six minutes.  Certainly not the time I wanted when I signed up three months ago, but given today's circumstances, I was happy with it.  Within the next thirty minutes, three more runners finished behind me, so I had come in fifth out of eight 50K finishers.  Kari and Alan had finished long ago and had taken off at this point.  What an awesome day it had been!  Jen put on a great race, especially for a first time and it was really cool to have her family, including her kids out there volunteering.  Christy and the other volunteers took good care of us, and I finally got a chance to meet and chat with the other 50K runners that came in after me as we all sat around recovering at the finish line.  Barbara and Tim, the last two finishers, were both in their seventies.  I can only hope that I'm still doing this when I'm their age.  They were awesome.

It was a long rally to get home that night.  I pulled over and took a nap for about forty-five minutes, but I was mostly riding on the energy that this weekend had given off.  It felt incredible to redeem myself after the heat forced me to drop out of Canyons a few months prior.  I found out that the temperature was 103 degrees when I crossed the finish line shortly before 3:00 PM.  And I felt every bit of it the whole way.  It was exactly how I expected it to feel going into the race, but the question I had was could I overcome my weakness and get to the finish line?  I had my answer now and it was the answer I was looking for.  I confronted my weakness for running in heat and gave it a good kick in the nuts.  There was still work to be done, but I felt like it was a big step forward.  The high would stay with me for several more days, but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to just get home and be with Sam and Aidan.       

      

                                                                      Finish line photo

Great Shasta Rail Trail 50K Part 1: Good Vibes In McCloud

Sunrise in McCloud on race morning

It was approaching 10:00 PM when I exited the 5 Freeway and found myself traveling along a dark, winding road through rural Siskiyou County.  I admired the tall pine trees that lined both sides of the road, but all I could see in front of me beyond the beams of my bright headlights was blackness.  This remote road would eventually lead me to my destination of McCloud, California.  Even though I had been on the road for the last five and a half hours, I hardly felt tired.  A sense of excitement was coursing through my veins.  I was happy to be up here.  This is a really beautiful part of California, an area that I feel is somewhat of a hidden gem within the Golden State.  Definitely a pretty awesome place to run an ultra.  I was stoked for tomorrow morning's Great Shasta Rail Trail 50K.  It was going to be great to get back out there in nature once again for another ultramarathon journey and test my physical and psychological strength.  And man, did I have my work cut out for me this time.  Compared to some other races I've done, the course was going to be relatively flat and gentle.  But the high temperature was forecasted to be 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  That's pretty damn hot.  Not an ideal temperature for a race, especially for someone like me who fares better running in cold weather.  If I had a choice between doing a race in 100 degree weather vs. 10 degree weather, I'd take the 10 degrees, no questions asked.  But on race day, all I can do is play the cards I'm dealt and make the best of it.  Attitude is everything.  If the forecast for tomorrow was accurate, this would be the hottest ultramarathon I've ever run.  My weakness for running in heat would be tested like never before, but I was up for the challenge.   

When I rolled into McCloud shortly after 10:15 PM, the town was quiet.  I turned off highway 89, where I found a liquor store, a gas station, and a restaurant, all of which were closed for the night.  I drove past what looked like a community center, and I saw a door open to the building with a bar inside.  I slowed down and noticed about six or seven people at the bar.  I thought it would be fun to go in for a few minutes, have a beer, and chat with some locals before turning in for the night, so I parked my car nearby and walked over.  When I got there, I saw an older guy standing outside having a cigarette.  "Hey, is this place still open, or are they getting ready to close down for the night?" I inquired.  This guy looked like the kind of guy you'd see as an extra in the movie Napoleon Dynamite.  He had the rugged, country guy image, like he'd been living in McCloud for decades.  He seemed intrigued by my presence and exhaled smoke as he answered me.  "Well, it'll probably be open for a little while longer, but it's only for veterans." I noticed a sign on the building and it dawned on me that this was the American Legion Hall of McCloud.  "Ah, okay, cool.  I'm not a veteran, but hats off to you guys, thanks for serving"  I said with a smile.  I started to walk back towards my car when the guy spoke again.  "You know what? Come on in.  I'll sign you in as a guest.  Just be respectful."  I thought that really cool of him to do that.  Here I was, just this guy in his late thirties who rolled into this small town from Silicon Valley wearing sandals, sweatpants, a "Keep Tahoe Blue" T-shirt, and a backwards baseball hat, with no military service to speak of.  The guy could have easily turned me away, but he didn't.  His kind gesture gave me a good feeling inside.     

I spent the next forty-five minutes chatting with local men and women who served our country.  The guy who signed me in had served in Vietnam, along with most of the other folks inside.  The only other guys in there who were even close to my age where the members of the band who were playing earlier in the evening.  I had a good time sipping my Pabst Blue Ribbon and having cool conversations.  Everyone was in awe of what I was going to be doing the next morning.  Needless to say, they had a lot of questions.  "How long will that take?  Where is this happening?  Will you be able to rest? It's going to be 104 degrees tomorrow, you're going to run thirty-one miles?!".  The older folks exchanged some different opinions with each other on the current politics of the United States.  Siskiyou County, although mostly Republican, has a pretty sizable Democrat leaning population.  Having disagreements over our country's current policies was a pretty normal thing, according to the bartender.  The nice thing about it was it didn't get nasty.  I admired the fact that these guys could have these conversations without being insulting and hateful towards each other.  There will be a whole other blog post on this topic at some point, but for now, we'll focus on the Great Shasta Rail Trail 50K.  How did the race go?  Well, I finished.  The heat took a lot out of me, but I made it to the finish line within the cut off time.  That's how it went physically.  Psychologically, it felt exhilarating.  After I left the American Legion Hall, I parked my car on a residential street in McCloud near a school.  I folded down my back seats, rolled out my sleeping pad and sleeping bag, and got a fairly decent night's sleep in the back of my car.  The next morning I was up at 5:00 AM.  The first rays of sunlight were lighting up the eastern skyline, and I admired the view as I stood outside and brushed my teeth.  The faint sunlight was lighting up the slopes of Mount Shasta which towered over McCloud to the North.  As I made the twenty minute drive to the start line, I felt excited and ready, but very at peace.  Even though it was for a short time before I had to go to bed, I had a good time hanging with the locals the night before.  Also the last text that Sam and I exchanged before I fell asleep was that she and Aidan loved me and were wishing me good luck.  It's always good to have my head in the right place before an ultra. 

                                 American Legion Hall where the guys invited me to have a beer

The ride to the start line was a straight shot east on highway 89 for several miles before I made a left onto a remote road and drove about another mile before the start line came into view.  The Bartle trailhead entrance to the Great Shasta Rail Trail was decked out with two porta-potties and a couple of canvas tents.  Only a few cars were there, and I was one of the first runners to arrive.  This was the first year this event was being held and we were looking at a pretty small crowd.  There were going to be eight other people running the 50K with me, six people running the 30K, and about forty people running the 10K.  The 10K course would be a 5K out and back, and the 30K and 50K courses would follow an out and back one way and a shorter out and back the other way.  I liked the idea of having a smaller more intimate race because I felt like I could get to know the race staff, volunteers, and other runners better.  I asked Jen, the race director, how she was feeling as I collected my race bib and finisher's shirt.  She was going on one hour of sleep.  Being a race director is a lot of work, even for a small event.  All of the logistics and coordinating can be very draining, especially when people have families to care for and full time jobs.  It's always important to show thanks and gratitude to race directors.  They go through a lot to make these events happen.  During that first year, most ultramarathons essentially operate at a loss or they're a financial break even at best.  Assuming the race occurs annually, it usually takes a couple of years for the race to build momentum before race directors are making any kind of profit.  They mostly do it because they love the sport, not so much for the financial benefit.  

The small crowd of 30K and 50K runners gathered in a circle while Jen gave us a pre-race briefing.  The 10K wouldn't be starting for another hour, so for now it was just the fifteen or so of us.  The 50K runners would be heading out with the 30K runners on the same path, we would turn around at the aid station at the twelve and a half mile mark, make our way back here, then do the 10K out and back in the other direction.  The weather felt nice at the moment, a cool 57 degrees, with a sunny, cloudless sky.  But it was going to get brutally hot.  The forecast was still triple digit heat, it hadn't changed since yesterday.  Not that I expected it to change, but I was kind of hoping that by some miracle, the weather forecast from yesterday would be way off and it would actually only be 85 degrees today.  Dream on.  I didn't, however, allow the intimidating weather forecast to break my spirit.  I had good vibes in my head and I was enjoying this mini weekend running trip to McCloud so far.  However hot the weather would be today, I would embrace the conditions.  I really had no other choice except for a DNS (Did Not Start), which wasn't an option.  I would simply do my best today and enjoy every minute of this adventure that I could.  With two minutes left until the start of the race, I ran over to my car, took my shirt off, and showered myself with sunscreen.  We gathered in front of the trail entrance and Christy, one of the aid station captains, counted backwards from ten.  When she reached zero, she sounded a toy siren over a megaphone, and the race was on.  I clapped my hands in excitement, and us runners dashed down the trail, into the wild. 

Onward And Upward

Whenever I drop out of a race I try to give myself some compassion and understanding.  It's happened three times since I've started running ultramarathons, and ironically, all three of my DNFs have been the same race, just different years: The Canyons 100K in 2017, 2019, and 2023.  The first time was hard to digest.  I took it hard because it was the first time, and only my second ultra.  The last two have been easier to wrap my head around because I have more of a running resume these days.  No matter the circumstances or how many times it happens, it's important to not beat myself up over it.  After all, even elite ultramarathon runners drop out of races.  Camille Herron, who holds the world record for the fastest one-hundred mile run, dropped out of Western States this year just beyond the halfway point.  Hayden Hawks, the guy who won Western States in 2022 also dropped this year.  Brittany Peterson, another elite runner, dropped out of Canyons in 2022.  It's part of the sport.  But anyone who has DNFed a race knows the feeling of not being truly satisfied.  I don't want to speak for everyone, but even when I gave it my best effort and there were factors beyond my control, there's always that subtle gloomy feeling that I was robbed of having that magical moment of crossing the finish line and celebrating the journey.  

The days and weeks after Canyons 2023 I thought about things a lot.  Not only did I not get the satisfaction of crossing the finish line, but I was faced with the reality that I was not going to be able to enter into the Western States lottery for the second year in a row.  Sure, there was the opportunity to run another qualifier between now and November 5th, but I wouldn't be able to fit it into my schedule.  Canyons was my one and only chance and unfortunately, now Western States 2024 is off the table.  I felt that I had trained well and my head was in the right place but the brutal heat on race day brought me to a dead end at mile forty.  I thought a lot about whether or not I should continue my dream of running Western States.  The race is held in the third weekend of June every year and the thirty plus mile "canyons" section of the course typically brings temperatures in the mid to high nineties, even spiking into triple digits some years.  I thought, how the hell am I supposed to survive thirty miles of running into and climbing out of steep canyons in those kinds of temperatures when I was forced to drop out of a 100K in eighty-eight degree heat?  Maybe running Western States isn't meant to happen for me and I should focus on other races.  I run great in cold temperatures and I had an absolute blast at the St. Croix Winter Ultra in Minnesota in 2020.  Maybe instead of Western States I should try to get into some of these big time Winter ultras like the White Mountains 100 or the Arrowhead 135.  I would probably fare better at those races than the brutal heat at Western States.

These were the thoughts circulating through my head for a couple of weeks after Canyons.  I was seriously considering abandoning my dream of running Western States that I've had since 2017.  But then I started thinking about something else.  I'm not good at running in heat.  I know that and I've accepted it.  Heat is my weakness.  That being said, I have two options:  Either stick with the mindset that running in heat just isn't my thing and therefore put my attention towards other races instead of Western States.  Or I could stick with my dream of running Western States, and find ways to become better at running in heat.  That doesn't necessary mean becoming an expert at it, just finding ways to do better when getting through it.  After about a month or so of contemplating things I decided to go with the latter option and keep the Western States dream alive.  I'm sure as hell going to be heading back to Auburn for Canyons in 2024 and hopefully qualifying for Western States in 2025.  I just need to keep trying.  I still have three tickets in the hat, and even if it takes seven more years, I'll get in eventually.  And when I do get in, heat training will need to be part of the regimen.  I'll need to get creative, but I can do it.  I can find ways to cope with the heat so I can finish Western States.  And maybe it wouldn't hurt to do some Winter ultras again, those are a lot of fun.

Every time I've DNFed a race it's always made me more excited and hungry for the next one.  When I dropped out of Canyons in 2019, I ran the Bishop High Sierra 100K a month later because I wanted redemption.  I was hungry.  I feel the same way about the upcoming 50K that I'm doing on Saturday July 15th.  That would be the Great Shasta Rail Trail 50K up in McCloud, California.  I've been looking forward to this race for quite a while now.  I heard about it on Ten Junk Miles so I decided to check it out on Ultrasignup.com.  When I saw that it was originally scheduled for May 6th I thought tough break, that's right after Canyons.  But maybe next year.  But when I saw that it was postponed to July 15th because of all the snow, I decided to sign up.  The town of McCloud is located in Siskiyou County, about an hour south of the Oregon border, right near Mount Shasta.  It's a really beautiful part of California with lots of alpine forest and breathtaking mountain scenery.  The Great Shasta Rail Trail is an eighty mile path through the Shasta-Trinity National Forest that connects McCloud to the town of Burney.  It's relatively flat, well maintained, and wide, which is an ideal setting for an out and back 50K course.  With this kind of course, we get the beauty of nature without the brutality of climbing up challenging mountain trails.  

My plan is to do this race dirt bag style.  Meaning I'll be driving up to McCloud from Sunnyvale next Friday afternoon and parking my car in the area where the race starts.  I'll be sleeping in the back of my car, waking up on Saturday morning, running the race, then heading back home.  I'll be doing this trip alone without Sam and Aidan, so this seemed like the way to go.  It also makes things a little more fun and interesting.  It's also the first year the race is happening and based on what I've seen so far, it looks like there's only going to be about thirty runners.  We'll see.  But that would be cool to have a more intimate, casual race.  I'm really excited, except for one caveat:  it's going to be hot as hell on race day.  Every time I check the forecast, the friggin' temperature keeps spiking up.  As of today, six days from race day, the forecast for McCloud on race day is sunny skies with a high of 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  That's hot.  I'm not a super religious guy, but I feel like God is trying to prepare me for when I eventually do get into Western States by giving me really hot temperatures on my race days in 2023.  I still have some psychological scar tissue after the heat at Canyons this year.  The race starts at 6:45 AM and I'll do my best to take advantage of the cooler morning temperatures, but if this forecast stands, running in triple digit heat will be inevitable.  I will have no choice but to face it head on.  But it's good to confront our fears and weaknesses.  I don't want the fear of failure to hold me back.  After all, this is a relatively flat 50K, and as far as I know, there isn't a cutoff time.  Even if everything that can go wrong does go wrong, I will finish eventually.  Even if it takes me eleven hours and I'm having a puking rally, every muscle is cramping up, and I'm so pissed that I want to beat everyone up, none of that will matter if I don't have to worry about a cutoff time and I can cross the finish line.  But that's just one way this could all go.  Who knows what the experience will be like.  I can't wait to find out next Saturday.  In the meantime, speaking of heat, congratulations to all the 2023 Badwater Ultramarathon finishers!     

Canyons 2023 Part 2: Tapped Out

Arjun and I ran together through the crowd feeding off the energy of the cheering spectators.  Even though it was 5:00 AM and most of Auburn was still sleeping, people were going wild and recording with their phones.  Drones buzzed overhead.  It was a powerful and uplifting send off.  We charged in a pack up the hill of a dark residential street and headed for Robie Point.  Along the way a couple of the hundred mile runners passed us coming the other way.  They looked pretty wrecked, but they were less than a half a mile from the finish line, on the home stretch.  I can only imagine how brutal it must have been for those guys in the heat.  Once we reached Robie Point, we began a descent down the Western States Trail towards No Hands Bridge.  Arjun and I were chatting as we ran down the switchbacks but we broke off from each other about two miles into the race.  Our approach was we would run together until one of us needed to either drop back or felt like pushing ahead, similar to what we did at FOURmidable.  Even though we only shared a couple of miles together, I wished him the best.  This was his first 100K and it was really cool to see him out here jumping into unknown territory and testing his limits.  All of us were from different walks of life and hailed not just from California, or even the United States, but from all over the world.  We all had our own lives and our own shit going on.  But today we all shared one common goal that connected us all: getting to the finish line.  

I ran across No Hands Bridge and before long, I found myself climbing up Training Hill, which is notorious in the Auburn area for being a real ass kicker.  I was beginning to realize that this course was going to essentially be a combination of the FOURmidable 50K and the Way To Cool 50K courses.  This year marked the third time the Canyons 100K course had changed since I first started running in 2017.  A new course was conceived in 2021 post pandemic and slightly modified in 2022.  This brand new course that we were following this year was mainly created due to damage to the Western States Trail from the Mosquito Fire in September and October of 2022.  Additionally, it had been a huge winter in California with record snowfall, and a good chunk of the old course was still buried in snow.  Despite the setbacks, I was thankful that Chaz, the race director, and his team were able to jump through hoops to make sure this year's race could still happen.  By the time I reached the crest of Training Hill, the sun had risen.  The views of the foothills from the top were breathtaking and several runners were stopping to take pictures and admire the scenery.  As I made my way downhill into the meadow I could feel myself beginning to sweat.  The air felt crisp and pleasant, but I could tell we had a hot day ahead of us.  I prefer to travel as light as possible when I run, so I didn't have a backpack.  I ran with a small fanny pack and two handheld water bottles with pouches to store the supplies I needed.  Having a backpack not only would add extra weight but it would also generate more body heat.  At least I wouldn't have to worry about having my back drenched in sweat.  

So far things had been working out pretty well.  I was drinking water out of one water bottle, and electrolyte sports drink out of the other.  I was consuming salt tablets early on, and eating at the aid stations.  I passed through the first aid station in Cool (yes, there actually is a town in California named "Cool") at about mile eight.  This was one of the aid stations where spectators and crew could see runners.  As I was walked up I noticed another runner kneel down and open his arms.  His kid was running towards him and they hugged.  The kid looked to be maybe three years old.  After a few seconds the dad stood up and headed for the food table.  The kid ran after him.  "Wait, Daddy, where are you going?" "I'll see you later!" the dad called back.  The kid began to cry, but the mom picked them up and said they'd see him again later.  A year ago, I would have barely noticed this interaction and thought nothing of it.  But now that I had a son of my own I had an entirely different perspective on these types of encounters.  I knew that would be me in a couple of years.  I would never force running on Aidan as a child, but I definitely plan on exposing him to it.  As long as I'm able to keep running ultras, he's going to have a front row for the "Daddy gets his ass kicked on the trail" show.  Although it was a reflective moment, I shifted my focus, refilled my water bottles and continued onward.  The course followed a trail loop that I had previously ran at FOURmidable a couple of months prior.  Only this time it was much more comfortable because I was wearing my trail running shoes instead of my five fingers.  I ran down a stretch of rocky fire road towards the American River and then back up the switch backs.  There was a stretch of back country road before the course led us back to Cool.  As hours passed and miles were covered, the day warmed up and my condition slowly deteriorated.  Even though I was eating and drinking, and peeing regularly, the heat was wearing me down.  The volunteers at the races are always total rock stars and today their support was a powerful tonic.  Over the years of doing races in the Auburn area, I've recognized and formed friendships with other runners and volunteers who have kept coming back year after year, just like me.  Even though we only see each other a couple of times a year, it almost feels like we're old friends when we encounter each other on the trail.  Volunteers and other runners often witness each other during their highest and lowest moments during these races.  We get good look the best and the worst of one another and we provide support when we can.  These moments are what create such strong and deep connections within the ultrarunning community.

I ran with a couple of runners from Houston and Utah for a little while as we traversed along the rolling hills in the mounting heat.  The terrain was beautiful.  Mostly single track trails with the occasional stream crossing and consistent switchbacks.  The forest was lush and green thanks for all the rain that we had gotten.  I don't think I've ever seen this area quite so vibrant with colors.  If the temperature could have just been twenty degrees cooler, it would have been perfect.  Nevertheless, I enjoyed the surroundings.  I needed to sit down and rest when I arrived at Browns Bar at the halfway point of the race.  By then, the temperature had risen to the low eighties.  There was little air movement in the canyon and the enveloping heat was sucking the energy out of me.  When I sat down in a camping chair at the aid station, a volunteer had me lean forward.  He put a giant bag of ice behind me and had me sit back.  It felt nice and provided some relief after baking for the last ten miles.  It was 12:15 PM when I left Brown's Bar and I headed down the trail for the next aid station at No Hands Bridge.  About halfway between these two aid stations I encountered my first major low.  I had contended with a beastly climb for as long as I could before my movement was reduced to my feet barely clearing the ground and my head hanging down, staring at the dirt.  The heat was engulfing me and there was little shade to hide in.  Finally, I decided to stop and sit on a rock on the trail side to try to pull myself together.  Other runners hiked past me and offered words of encouragement.  I had the energy to smile and say thanks but other than that, I was pretty spent.  Eventually I made it to the top of the climb, but the terrain didn't feel much easier even though it was more level and downhill at times.  "Just get to No Hands Bridge" I kept telling myself.  "You can rest again when you get there".  Sometimes in ultras when I'm struggling, it helps to not think about getting to the finish line and instead focus on simply getting to the next aid station.  Breaking a big goal into small goals helps when I'm feeling overwhelmed.  And the thought of going another twenty-nine miles in these conditions felt very overwhelming to me in that moment.

I was able to run at a slow pace during a downhill section that ran near highway 49 which brought a small sense of optimism.  At the aid station I squeezed a sponge of ice water over my head, refilled my water bottles, had some chips and watermelon, and the volunteers sent me on my way.  It was about four miles until the next aid station at Mammoth Bar.  I focused on my next target of getting to there as I slowly walked along the side of the highway to the intersection.  The two mile climb up Old Foresthill Road was sheer hell.  It was now eighty-eight degrees, the hot afternoon sun shined directly above me, there was no shade, and the uphill climb on the remote mountainside road seemed endless.  I sat on the guardrail to rest midway up this climb, wanting nothing more than to evaporate into thin air and get myself the hell out of there.  But the only way I was getting out was by walking out.  I grunted forward, step by painful step until the course finally diverted onto the Confluence Trail off the roadside.  The two mile stretch to Mammoth Bar from there was a net loss in elevation, but there were still hills to contend with.  Finally the aid station emerged in the distance at the bottom of the hill.  I wobbled down the rocky trail and walked across the gravel parking lot to the aid station.  The final steps depleted all of my remaining energy and I sat down as quickly as I was could.  Looking down at my watch, I still had an hour and ten minutes before the cutoff to be out of Mammoth Bar, which was assuring, but I wasn't sure if I could go any further.  I sipped on a Coke, which helped perk me up a little, but after the volunteer told me what I could expect ahead of me, there was about a seventy percent chance that I was going to call it a day.  The last four miles had drop kicked me repeatedly and I was on my last thread.  Between here and the next aid station at mile forty-eight I was looking at a 2,000 foot exposed three-mile climb up the trail before I was even halfway to the aid station.  And from there, I still had fourteen miles to the finish.  To add to that, the heat wasn't going to be letting up anytime soon.  It didn't sound doable.  More runners hobbled into the aid station.  Some were sitting down next to me, others were making their way to the exit.  Volunteers enthusiastically helped cater to all of us.  There was a lot going on around me, but I was completely in my own world, contemplating what I should do next.

About twenty minutes passed before I made the decision to drop out of the race at Mammoth Bar.  I took inventory of my condition.  It wasn't good.  The heat had really done a number on me and my energy levels were low, borderline completely gone.  Next, I thought about what lied ahead of me.  That 2,000 foot climb over the next three miles in the sun would most likely do me in.  I did trail math and calculated how quickly I would need to move in order to make the cut off times.  I didn't see it working out.  I knew that I would either miss the cutoffs, or worse, I could be hauled off to the hospital with heat exhaustion.  It wasn't worth it.  After I informed the volunteers of my decision, I stepped into a van with five other runners who had dropped and we were hauled out of the canyon to the finish line.  During the ride I traded some texts with Arjun.  He dropped out at the half way point and walked to No Hands Bridge.  From there, the volunteers gave him a ride to the finish line.  When I was dropped off, the volunteer gave me a hug and commended my efforts.  I was sitting on the curb when Sam and Aidan walked over.  I stood up and gave them both a tearful hug.  The tears were soon replaced with laughter as I told them about my day and made jokes about how the race had punted me in right in the ass and left me face down in the mud.  

This was my third time earning myself a DNF at Canyons.  The first two times were tough to accept but this time, I was pretty okay with it.  I used to suck at accepting DNFs.  I took them to heart and I would rag on myself and get upset.  In the last couple of years I've come to realize that DNFs are part of the sport and just because I didn't finish a race doesn't mean I'm a bad runner.  I also felt like I made a smart decision to not continue in the condition that I was in.  That's another way that having a kid has changed my life.  I needed to think about my family.  I didn't want to risk a trip to the hospital, leaving Sam to care for both Aidan and I while I recovered.  I'm not saying that'll never happen, but if I feel like I can avoid it, I'm going to.  Still, it stung a little.  I was really looking forward to this race.  I trained well and had high hopes.  I tried various psychological techniques throughout the day to pull myself out of the low points, including the "flying babies" trick I used at FOURmidable, but nothing worked.  I just couldn't hold myself together long enough to make it to the finish line.  That's life.  Sometimes things don't play out the way we want or expect them to, despite our best efforts.  All things considered having to quit at mile forty of a sixty-two mile race was nothing to blow an emotional gasket over.  Things could have been so much worse.  Was I planning on coming back and doing Canyons next year? Absolutely.  I never doubted that for a second.  But we'll discuss that later.  It was time to get back to the hotel, take a shower, and spend some time with Sam, Aidan, and Arjun.  

 

     

 

Canyons 2023 Part 1: Up Against The Elements

Okay, spoiler alert: I didn't finish Canyons this year.  Things started out pretty good on race day and I had high hopes.  But once the heat kicked in, my condition steadily declined.  That's how it goes sometimes in ultramarathons.  Sometimes  I feel good throughout most of, or all of the race.  Most of the time it's a series of ups and downs.  And there are also instances like Canyons 2023, when I start off feeling good and I slowly deteriorate.  That's okay, as long as I can hold myself together until I get to the finish line, which I've done numerous times in the past.  Unfortunately that didn't happen this time and I tapped out at mile forty.  When I left the aid station at No Hands Bridge at mile thirty-six, I was convinced that I could still finish.  I was falling apart, but I was ahead of the cutoff times and all I had to do was keep moving forward.  I made a right at the intersection of highway 49 and Old Foresthill Road and began a horrendous two-mile walk up the winding mountain road.  It was completely exposed, the sun was shining right above me, and it was eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.  I was dying.  Eventually the course diverted off the road and onto the Confluence trail.  From there, it was two miles to the next aid station at Mammoth Bar.  When I arrived I was greeted enthusiastically by volunteers, which was uplifting, but I felt like shit.  I was completely miserable during that climb up Old Foresthill Road, and my mood only slightly improved when the course dumped me out on to the Confluence trail.  As I sat down and sipped on an ice cold Coke, the volunteer briefed me on what I could expect between here and the next aid station at Driver's Flat Road.  "It's eight miles to the next aid station.  The next three miles are all uphill, and it's exposed."  Those three points made by the volunteer were the final three nails in the coffin for me.  After hearing the first point about the eight miles, I thought "okay, maybe I can do this".  When I heard "three miles uphill" I thought "oh man, I might not be able to do this".  But when I heard "and it's exposed" I thought "okay, nope, I'm done".  I still decided to think it over.  It took twenty minutes of sitting in a camping chair deliberating my next move, and trying to regroup, but I ultimately decided to call it a day.  I only saw things getting even more ugly from there on out.

Up until about mile thirty-seven it had been a good day.  In fact, aside from the weather, it seemed like just about every factor that would contribute to the outcome of this race was working in my favor.  It had been a turbulent week leading up to the race.  All three of us, Sam, Aidan, and myself all had Covid.  This was the little dude's first time getting sick.  He had a good eight-and-a-half month run, but all babies get sick at some point, and his time had come.  Thankfully it didn't hit him too hard.  The previous Friday, eight days before the race, he had a fever and was pretty cranky, but his fever broke within twenty-four hours.  He had a few coughs after that, but was otherwise feeling much better.  Sam and I both managed to get through it relatively easily.  I had a few sniffles and some congestion, but that was it.  The thought of going to Canyons while being Covid positive irked me.  Even though all three of us were virtually symptom free the Thursday before the race, I still had a positive test.  I wrestled with conscience.  I just wanted to have a negative test so I could be in the clear and I wouldn't have to worry about anything.  After we arrived in Auburn on Friday evening, Sam and I both took a test and both tested negative.  If we were negative, then Aidan definitely was.  I was relieved and delighted.  I really felt like the gods were smiling on me.  As we had dinner at Public Station that night, I was feeling cautiously optimistic about Saturday.  I no longer had Covid, my training had been pretty solid, I had good vibes in my head, and I felt ready.  There was only one problem:  the ridiculous heat wave that Auburn was having that weekend.  Temperatures on Saturday were forecasted to be in the high eighties with lots of sunshine.  These conditions were rare, but not unheard of in April.  I don't do well running in heat, but I tried to not let it deter me.  I could still have a good race, I would just have to contend with the weather.  It wouldn't be ideal, but I had ran in heat before and knew what I needed to do.

On Saturday morning at 3:15 AM, my alarm broke the silence in our motel room at Super 8.  Sam and Aidan were good sports about waking up in the middle of the night to give me ride to the start line in downtown Auburn.  I was super thankful that they had both joined me on this journey.  Aidan was my biggest inspiration when I ran FOURmidable two and a half months prior and he continues to inspire me every day.  Sam has been nothing short of one-hundred percent supportive and encouraging.  I fumbled around getting myself ready, and after having some coffee, courtesy of the tiny coffee machine in our room, we headed for downtown.  I arrived at the start line around 4:25 AM, thirty-five minutes before race start.  I quickly located Arjun, who had also arrived in town the night before.  We had both run FOURmidable together and it was cool to be back in Auburn running with him again.  This was going to be his first 100K, and man, he sure knew how to pick them.  But then again, Canyons was also my first 100K, so it takes one to know one.  We hung out for a little while in the pre-dawn darkness checking out the scene.  It was cool to see how much this race had evolved over the last few years since it became part of the UTMB series.  There was a big banner stretched out over the start line, an elaborate "village" with several sponsor booths, and more runners than I had ever seen at Canyons.  This was also the first year that they had the 100-mile distance.  With approximately three-hundred runners signed up, the 100-mile runners had began running at 9:00 AM on Friday morning, so most of them were still out there.  Friday was pretty hot and today was going to be roasting as well.  I wondered how well the runners were carrying themselves in the heat.  As much as I disliked running in hot weather, today I wouldn't have much of a choice.  My only choice was to deal with it, so that's what I planned to do.  At one point, Alice Dowdin Calvillo, the mayor of Auburn, approached Arjun and I.  We chatted for a few minutes and she thanked us for being part of the race.  It was an uplifting start to what was going to be a long day.  We packed it in, and after the national anthem and a few announcements, the race emcee began counting down from ten.  "And, go!".  Five hundred and seventy eight runners charged forward through the streets of downtown Auburn.  Canyons 2023 was officially on.

        

If It's April, It Must Be Canyons

I don't know for sure, but I think the Saw movie franchise is up to eleven or twelve films at this point.  I stopped paying attention after the third one.  Saw III was one of the most disturbing movies I had ever seen and I couldn't imagine how Leigh Whannell and James Wan could top themselves after the events of that movie.  But the franchise kept going, and they were coming out with a new Saw film every year in the mid to late 2000s.  Since the films were always released for theatrical runs around Halloween time, the tagline for each new film was always "If it's Halloween, it must be Saw".  Well, I have a similar tagline that applies to April of every year in my world: If it's April, it must be Canyons.

On April 29th this year I'll be toeing the start line of the Canyons 100K in Auburn for the sixth consecutive year.  There are several reasons why I keep showing up to this race.  The event is very well run.  Chaz Sheya, the race director, does a great job of making sure everyone is taken care of.  I would recommend any of his races because I've done quite a few of them, and I've always had a great time.  The aid stations and volunteers are top notch.  The course is beautiful, fun, and brutally challenging.  A lot of people, including me, run Canyons to qualify or train for Western States, and the race attracts a cool crowd of runners as well as some top talent in the ultramarathon community.  Additionally, this race holds a special place in my world.  These trails have seen me at my best and my worst.  When I ran for the first time in 2017 and DNF'ed at mile forty-eight, I took it to heart.  I trained harder, found more inspiration, and when I finished the race in 2018, it was a major turning point in my life.  Although it was the second ultramarathon I finished, it was when I successfully finished Canyons in 2018 that I really felt like a true ultrarunner.  

Let's talk about life leading up to Canyons this year.  Well, first, there's fatherhood and family life.  There is also my life working in accounting for a technology company in Silicon Valley.  There's also the daily blog posts I've been writing about what it's like to raise an infant in the San Francisco Bay Area in 2023.  Then there's going to the gym, running, snow sports, hiking, and then some.  Being a dad has been so much cooler than I imagined.  I remember last year when I ran Canyons, Sam was five months pregnant and I had a lot on my mind.  I had no idea how the rest of the pregnancy would go, how the birth would go, or what kind of dad I would be.  The lack of hill training and overwhelming psychological effects slowed me down in the race.  During the last three miles I found myself trudging through a snowy, slushy, and muddy landslide in the dead of night.  I finally arrived at the finish line at the China Wall Staging Area in Foresthill with fifty-five minutes to spare before the race cutoff.  Even though I had finished, I missed the Western States qualifying cutoff time by five minutes.  I just couldn't get there in time.  It was a bummer, but I was happy for the finish.  Three weeks later at the Bishop High Sierra 50-Miler, my mind was completely elsewhere.  I tried to enjoy the race and the weekend in Bishop, but I had a really tough time being in the present.  The anxiety that loomed over my head at Canyons followed me during the Bishop High Sierra 50-miler.  I finished, but I wasn't at my best.  I had a lot of time to think about everything during the seven hour drive back to Sunnyvale from Bishop.  When I arrived home my mind was clearer and I was more at ease.  It's funny what a long drive through the mountains alone can do to a guy's attitude.

Aidan is now eight and a half months old.  That eight and a half months has gone by quickly, but a lot has happened.  I've had so much fun being a dad to him.  He's now crawling and yesterday when we were at the park, he crawled around on the grass for the first time.  I'm pretty sure his mind was blown.  Sam and I are also doing well and trying to figure out the logistics of when we're going to get married.  We've been together for just under three years and have a baby, so we should probably get going on this whole marriage thing.  Her business has been doing well, and I've been taking a few pet sitting gigs here and there.  Work has been going pretty well for me too.  I was recently promoted to Accounting Supervisor and I work with some pretty cool people.  Yes, I'm a numbers guy, I work with spreadsheets all day, and I'm more or less a problem solver, but my favorite part of my job is rallying my team, coming together with them, and making things happen.  It's always a great feeling to see the reactions from our Controller and CFO when we execute.  Even though this past Fall and Winter have been very wet here in California, I haven't gotten to get out to the snow as much as I would have liked.  Most of the ski resorts will be open in May and even into June, so hopefully after Canyons I'll be able to get a little time on the slopes.  I'd love to go snowboarding in June, I've never done that before.  

Now let's talk training.  Even though I run consistently throughout the year, the training for Canyons always begins in January.  Last year I wasn't able to train as much as I would have liked, and I relied on psychological strength, ambition, and optimism to get me to the finish line.  It ultimately got me there, but more physical strength would have been helpful.  I like to think that my training for this year's race has been more sufficient.  I ran the FOURmidable 50K in mid-February, a course in Auburn with 6,000 feet of climbing.  I also did my annual traditional through-the-night solo 50K in Tahoe on April Fools Day.  That run went better this year than it did last year.  I left the Bay Area at 9:00 PM on Friday night, arrived in Tahoe City at 1:00 AM, and began running shortly after.  It was a fun night running through Tahoe under the stars along highway 89 on the west shore.  At one point a dead coyote emerged in the beam of my flashlight, startling me.  He was lying on the side of the road next to a snowbank.  The poor guy must have gotten hit by a car.  He stared straight at me, eyes open and everything.  It was spooky.  When I saw him, Rihanna's "Disturbia" was playing in my headphones.  It seemed like the right song for this kind of encounter.  Eventually the sunrise filled the morning with vivid color and I completed the fifty kilometers feeling really good.  Tahoe was beautiful thanks to record snowfall.  In addition to the long runs, I've been doing lots of hiking, and hitting the gym doing weight training.  Hopefully the climbing and strength training will help when I'm hauling my ass up those steep climbs this weekend.

We'll be running a different course this year.  Originally, the course was going to be nearly identical to last year, except this time we would be running past Devil's Thumb and down to Deadwood Canyon, turning around at the Swinging Bridge and heading back up.  That's a pretty intense climb.  But because of the record snowfall, most of the course ended up having to be re-routed this year.  The original course was going to feature 16,000 feet of climbing.  This new one will have 10,500 feet.  Still tough, but not as brutal as it could have been.  This new course is making me feel cautiously optimistic, but I don't want to get ahead of myself.  This upcoming week I'm mostly going to be lying low.  I'll be focusing on strength training and will probably only go for one trail run before race day.  Sam and the little dude will be accompanying me this year.  The race starts and ends in downtown Auburn, so it'll be easy for them to come meet me at the finish line.  I'm definitely looking forward to seeing them after I finish.  There's still always the possibility of a DNF or things going sideways.  I need to be ready for that, but I'm also keeping my eye on the prize.  The prize being a successful finish, having a good time, and getting a Western States lotto ticket for 2024.  Let's hope for the best.  See you after the race!

FOURmidable 50K: Flying Babies On The Trail

As Aidan, our six month old little dude progresses through his infancy, Sam and I have been finding more and more creative ways to play with him and keep him entertained.  My favorite thing to do during playtime is what I call the "flying baby".  This involves me sitting the little dude upright on my lap facing me and putting me hands around his chest just below his arms.  Then I ask him if he wants to be a flying baby.  Every time I say that he smiles.  I lift him up over my head, hold him parallel to the floor, and slowly move him around so it looks like he's flying like an airplane or floating through space like a baby astronaut.  Think of it as him laying on his tummy, but in mid air.  He's developed quite a bit of strength over the last few months so he's able to hold his body in that position if I have my hands wrapped around his chest.  In an excitable tone I say "look, it's a flying baby! Watch out for flying babies, they'll kill you with cuteness".  If Sam is sitting next to me sometimes I'll "float" him over to her and she'll kiss him.  This routine is a sure way to get the little dude to smile and laugh.  He loves every second of it.  These are great moments of joy that I share with Aidan.  But I never expected those moments would get me through low points during a 50K.

My drive from Sunnyvale to Auburn on that Saturday morning was pretty fast and uneventful.  I wanted to get some food in my system before today's FOURmidable 50K, so I pulled over at Flying J's in Lodi and bought a bag of Hostess mini-donuts.  Eating at 6:00 AM was not a normal activity for me and I had some butterflies going in anticipation of the race, but I was still able to wolf down several donuts during my drive.  The sun had just finished rising as I arrived in Auburn.  My buddy Arjun, whom I was friends with through Bay Area Runners, was also going to be running this race.  He had arrived in town the evening before and gotten a hotel room at the Red Lion.  This was the first time I was going to be running an ultra with someone from that circle.  I started running with Bay Area Runners shortly after I moved to Silicon Valley from Los Angeles in early 2019 and I've met some really great people.  I would never have met Sam if I hadn't joined Bay Area Runners.  I first met her in May of 2019, and we became closer as friends as we spent more time together at group runs and social events.  In December of that year I began liking her as more than a friend, but I wasn't ready to be with anyone at that point.  I still needed to improve myself before that could happen.  Finally, in June of 2020, after months of wondering if it was a good idea or not, I asked her out on a date.  The rest is history.  

The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I walked into Depoe Bay Coffee Roasters on High Street.  I picked up two cups of piping hot drip coffee and headed for Overlook Park, the start line of the race.  I had some time to kill when I arrived, so I headed over to pick up my race packet and planned to return to my car to get ready afterwards.  Arjun arrived just after I got my stuff and as I was heading back to my car.  I made my final preparations i.e. pinning my bib to my shorts, applying lube and sunscreen, grabbing my hat, water bottle, and sunglasses, and changing into my running shoes before heading back to the start line.  I handed Arjun his coffee when I returned.  We had just enough time to engage in idle chatter and take a quick picture before the race started promptly at 8:00 AM.  Arjun drank down the last of his coffee and we were off.  Today's event was a single loop course and featured three races; a 50K, a 35K, and a half marathon.  Each of the distances started fifteen minutes apart and we were the first to go.  Two hundred and eight 50K runners made their way across the parking area before heading down into the canyon on a wide fire road.  Arjun and I ran along side each other and discussed our plan.  We would stay together for as long as we felt like and if one of us felt like pulling ahead or needed to drop back, we would part ways and plan to see each other at the finish line.  Less than a week prior, on Super Bowl Sunday morning, Arjun took a nasty fall while running through a mud puddle on the Bay Trail.  He suffered a few scrapes on his elbow and couple of bruised ribs.  Not serious injuries, but very painful ones.  Most people don't realize the impact that ribs have on our bodies until they're injured.  If a rib injury is bad enough, sometimes even breathing can be painful.  His condition improved the last few days before the race, although it still hurt when he got up from a lying down position or coughed.  Nevertheless, he felt well enough to attempt today's race.  He later referred to that decision as "probably an exercise in stubbornness bordering on stupidity."  He expressed his concerns to me as we made our way down into the canyon.  "Dude, honestly, is running a 50K ever really a 'good' idea?" I asked.  He laughed in agreement.  I urged him to simply do his best.  If he had to slow down or even drop, it was totally okay.  DNF's are part of the sport.

Before long, we arrived at the bottom of the gorge and began the first climb of the race up Cardiac Hill.  The single track trail followed several switch backs, and we made our way upwards with a small pack of runners.  As we hiked along, we talked about all kinds of stuff.  Me becoming a dad, ultrarunners we like, and our reasons for getting into the sport.  Normally I'm pretty quiet in the early miles of ultramarathons, but having a buddy there to chat and share stories with was helping the time and miles pass by quickly.  As we approached the first aid station about six miles in, Arjun was having doubts regarding whether or not he could finish.  Taking deep breaths was still a bit painful for him.  I told him to do what he had to do, and again, no shame in dropping if need be.  We parted ways shortly after the aid station and I pulled ahead.  Now on my own, I followed the trail along the American River.  When I stopped to take a picture of the landscape I noticed two women out of the corner of my eye running the opposite way.  "Liam!" one of them called out.  It was my friend Julie who had moved to the Sacramento area from Palo Alto a couple of years prior.  She was also a member of Bay Area Runners when she was living in Silicon Valley.  Her and her friend weren't running the race, they just happened to be out for a morning trail run.  I was surprised and happy to see her, it had been quite a while.  We spent a minute or so chatting and I told her to be on the lookout for Arjun, who was probably about a mile or so back at this point.  

I kept following the course and eventually No Hand Bridge came into view.  I had run across it several times in several races in the Auburn area and the views never disappoint.  I stopped at the aid station on the other end of the bridge, refilled my water bottle, thanked the volunteers, stuffed a corner of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my mouth and grabbed a few Oreos.  In terms of food, I stuck with peanut butter and jelly and Oreos throughout the entire race.  I stuffed a couple of Oreos into my mouth as I climbed up the trail towards K2.  An oncoming 35K runner approached.  I nodded and attempted to give him kudos but the partially chewed Oreos reduced my words to a mumble.  It came out something like "hey bwow, gwood jwowb".  Fun times.  A short time later, about eleven miles in, I began the climb up the infamous K2 Trail, also known as Training hill.  This steep and technical ascent is widely known in the Auburn area as a real ass kicker.  As the nickname implies, lots of people come out here and use it as their training ground for endurance events.  Just so people know what they're in for, the sign on the trail at the bottom of the climb reads "Training Hill Trail (steep)".  The uphill was savage, but I climbed step by step up the trail through the lush forest.  It's been quite a wet winter in California and the recent rain made the wilderness quite colorful and vibrant.  One thing that was working in our favor today was the weather.  February in Northern California can be unpredictable, but today we had partly cloudy skies.  The temperature had been forty degrees Fahrenheit at the start line, which was prefect for me, and we were looking at a high of around sixty degrees.  I really couldn't complain too much about those conditions, but I could feel the warm sun as I labored up the trail.  

After I survived Training Hill, the trail followed a gradual downhill through a more open area with green fields and fewer trees.  The trail was smooth and the distant green slopes of the Sierra foothills surrounded the grassy hillside.  At times, the white, snow covered mountain tops of Lake Tahoe were visible on the horizon.  Things were going pretty pleasantly as I exited the trail and headed down a remote backcountry road towards the next aid station at Knickerbocker.  After departing the aid station things took a plunge, literally and metaphorically.  The trail descended down a rocky fire road towards the river.  Theoretically a downhill traverse would feel good mid-way through a 50K, but the problem was my feet.  I had opted to wear my Vibram 5-fingers instead of my Hoke One One Speedgoats.  I really like my Hokas but they're just so big.  I prefer minimal footwear.  I had done trail races in the past with Vibrams and decided to give it a try again.  In retrospect, that was probably a bad choice.  I think it slowed me down in this race.  By the time I arrived at the bottom of the gorge I had stepped on a sharp rock at least a dozen times.  Each time, the impact sent a lightning bolt of pain up  through my body.  No matter how hard I tried to avoid stepping on the sharp rocks, it kept happening.  That really sucked.  But what goes down must go back up.  The descent was followed by another climb back up to the road and to the Knickerbocker aid station.  The incline was more gentle on my feet, much to my relief and delight.

After passing through Knickerbocker for a second time I now had about thirteen miles left.  It had been a good day overall.  I was feeling good, having something to eat at all the aid stations, I was staying hydrated, and peeing consistently.  "Don't get reckless" I told myself.  "Just hold it together for twelve more miles, and you're good".  I mostly ran alone for the next hour or so.  The pack had thinned out quite a bit and only I saw a couple of runners for the next several miles.  The terrain gave way to rolling hills along the countryside and I was able to cruise and let my mind wander.  I thought a lot about Sam and Aidan.  I thought about how wild it was that I was now a dad.  It felt so cool to be out here running my first ultra since becoming a father.  I began to have visions of doing the flying baby routine with the little dude.  I visualized him floating around in front of me on the trail as I ran along.  He was smiling and laughing just like he always does when we do the flying baby.  Only in my vision, I wasn't holding him.  He was just floating all around me as I ran.  It made me smile.  "I love you, little dude" I said to myself out loud.  I thought about how great of a mom Sam is to him and how much I love her too.  When you're twenty miles into an ultra and you're all alone on the trail, sometimes your mind goes into some wild places.  Being an ultrarunner dad is so dope!

At around mile twenty-one I crossed a creek through shin deep water.  The cold water sure felt great on my aching feet.  At mile twenty-seven I found myself plodding along the rolling trail with highway 49 through the trees and down the slope to my right.  I was starting to get frustrated because I was supposed to be approaching the final aid station at No Hands Bridge soon, but the trail just kept going.  And going.  It seemed like it was taking way too long.  "Where the hell is No Hands Bridge?" I asked myself out loud.  Finally, the trail began a descent, and the canvas tent of the aid station came into view.  I got what I needed, thanked the volunteers and slowly crossed the bridge once again.  From here, I had less than four miles to go.  The problem was most of that remaining distance was going to be uphill with a really brutal climb at the very end.  But I knew how I was going to get through it.  The visions I had of flying babies on the trail earlier in the race carried me along pleasantly and my running felt effortless at times.  I knew it was going to get tough these last few miles.  My secret weapon to getting through it this time around was flying babies on the trail.  Shortly after crossing the bridge a woman I had met earlier in the race came up behind me.  Her name was Betty, and we leap frogged each other for the second half of the race, exchanging small talk and words of encouragement.  "How's it going Betty?" I asked as she passed by.  "I'm tired" she replied.  "It's time for me to unleash my inner David Goggins".  That made me laugh.  Anyone who follows Goggins knows exactly what she means.  I've gained more of a sense of appreciation for him recently.  He may be overly intense, but he's got one hell of a story and he's very motivating.  I definitely like him more now than I used to.  Betty and I continued leapfrogging each other for the last couple of miles and chatted, which helped keep me going. 

They weren't kidding when they said the last climb up to the finish line at Overlook Park was hard.  It was a beast.  With less than a mile to go, I was so close, but the elements were forcing me to move very slowly.  I visualized my little dude floating around me smiling and laughing throughout most of the final ascent.  And man, did it help.  There are very few things in this world that make me happier than Aidan's smile and laugh.  I could be having a really shitty day but if I see him look at me and smile, it just makes everything better.  I knew that this race was going to be unlike any other ultramarathon I've ever run.  And indeed, it was.  I never thought that I would visualize my infant son floating around me with a big smile on his face as a means of motivating me during a race.  I'm sure it won't be the last time I use that method and I'm sure Aidan (and his potential little sibling, if we can make that happen) will be a big inspiration to me for the rest of my life.  I finally heard the sweet sounds of the finish line close by.  Everyone who runs races knows those sounds.  The sound of the race announcer on the PA system, the sound of music playing, and the sound of cheering.  It means you're almost there and you're going to make it.  It's always a welcoming sound.  I crested the top of the hill and the last fifty feet was a flat stretch.  I crossed the finish line seven hours and twenty-five minutes after departing the start line that morning.  I clapped my hands in celebration and thanked the volunteer who handed me my finishers prize, a FOURMidable race themed canteen.  I walked over to a tent where another volunteer filled my canteen with beer and congratulated me.  

About thirty minutes after I finished Arjun emerged from the top of the final climb.  I cheered and ran the last flat section with him just before the finish line.  We then embraced and congratulated each other on finishing today's race.  We shared stories of the journey as we chowed down on some burgers and fries, courtesy of FOURmidable's awesome finish line accommodations.  I was super stoked that he was able to push through the pain in his ribs, overcome his doubt, and cross the finish line.  He knew what it took to get the job done and I was proud of him.  We saw Betty and congratulated her on her finish as well.  As we walked back to our cars I said to Arjun semi-jokingly "okay dude, Canyons is just two of that.  No problem, right?".  He gave me a look as if he was telling me to shut up with his eyes.  We both laughed.  We would also both be attempting The Canyons 100K together at the end of April.  Today was good preparation for it, but both of us had training to do before that day came.  After we parted ways and I got back to my car, I pushed Canyons aside in my head.  Not that I didn't want to think about it, but all I really cared about at that moment was getting back home to be with Sam and my little dude.  Oh yeah, and a nice hot shower too.