I found it extremely difficult to focus on anything during
the days leading up to the Canyons 100K.
My mind was racing. I was excited,
but I was growing anxious and questioned my capability of finishing this
race. This was going to be my second
attempt; last year I signed up for this race not knowing completely what I had
gotten myself into. After a 14-hour
struggle on the hilly, rugged terrain, I slogged into the Rucky Chucky check
point at mile 47.8 at 7:45 PM. I arrived
45 minutes after the cutoff time and was forced to hand my bib to the
volunteers and drop out of the race.
What exactly happened to me out there? Well, the short version was I
hadn’t trained enough, I stopped too long at the halfway point, and I was
reckless about my eating habits. Friends
and family gave me props for my courageous effort, but I wasn’t satisfied. I learned some valuable lessons and vowed to
return to the course in 2018 to seek redemption. I signed up the day registration opened, and
after a long year of training in the mountains and logging monster distances,
it was suddenly five days before the 2018 Canyons 100K. The last long run I completed was a solo 40
miler on the trails and streets of Altadena.
That was 2 weeks ago, and I had been tapering ever since. I felt that my training had been sufficient,
but the real battle was in my head. I
was well conditioned physically, but now the question was could I keep it
together mentally. The most important
thing I needed to bring along with me to this race was a positive
attitude. If I allowed my spirit to
weaken, things would go to hell quickly, even if I was in good physical shape. I created a race day checklist, reminding
myself to think of this as more of a journey than a race. I loved this course and was looking forward
to running on it again. I also reminded
myself to set realistic timing goals, and to not freak out if I fell
behind. And of course, I was prepared for
some intense pain and expected that I would encounter several highs and lows along
the course. These things are to be
expected in an ultra-marathon. Now, could
I just muster up the grit and determination to break through the mental walls
and contend with the pain? Would my
training be enough that my quads wouldn’t blow out and reduce my pace to a
painfully slow walk? We would see.
I left Los Angeles after a half day at work the day before
the race and made the 7 hour drive up to Auburn. I was craving a pizza, as I often do the
night before a race, and was careful to stop along the way fairly early in the
evening, eating as I drove along the quiet, peaceful highway through the
California countryside. After rolling into
Auburn and checking into my hotel room around 8:30 PM, I immediately laid down
to get as much rest as I could for the epic journey that lay ahead of me the
next day. Friends and family were
wishing me good luck through text message as I laid down to sleep. I awoke the next morning at 3:30 AM after a
surprisingly restful night’s sleep. I changed my clothes and gathered all my supplies while reading my race
day check list one last time, trying to remain calm. As I opened the door to my hotel room, the
cold refreshing air came pouring inside.
The predawn air felt crisp and rejuvenating as I walked across the
street to the gas station to get a cup of coffee. I purchased a blueberry muffin, but I was too
anxious to eat anything. I normally
don’t eat much before long races for fear of my digestive system becoming
unstable. After arriving back at my
hotel, hot cup of brew in hand, I made my final preparations, threw on my pack,
hopped into my car and made the 25-minute drive to the start line. I followed the desolate, twisting road
through the dark woods, thinking about the incredible adventure that lay ahead. The race was a double out and back course
that started and finished in front of the elementary school in Foresthill. The whole race would be run on the Western
States trail with the first half traveling through a series of tough canyons,
turning around at the pit of Deadwood Canyon and heading back. Once back in Foresthill, we would continue in
the opposite direction down to the Rucky Chucky campground near the American
river, turn around, and head back to the elementary school. I was looking at 15,000 feet of elevation
gain over 100 kilometers. Actually, in
this case, about 103 kilometers. The
total length of the course was 63.6 miles.
I guess a standard 100K just isn’t enough for some of these guys. A little side note about this race; This 100K
was a Western States qualifier. The
Western States Endurance run, commonly known as the Western States 100, or
simply Western States, is a 100-mile point to point ultramarathon that runs
along these same trails, starting at the base of the Squaw Valley Ski Resort
and finishing on the Placer High School track in Auburn. Along the way, runners encounter snow, steep
descents and climbs in and out of utterly hot canyons, river crossings, rocks,
roots, mud, pain, despair, joy, and elation.
After reading several accounts on this race by Dean Karnazes, Scott
Jurek, Timothy Olson, and many others, Western States had become my dream race. Earning a spot was no easy feat. First, I had to finish a qualifying race then
enter the lottery. If I could finish
today’s event within 18 hours, I would earn myself a qualifier for the 2019
Western States. As long as I passed through
the last aid station by the cutoff time of 10:45 PM, I would be good to
go. There was no actual cutoff for
reaching the finish line. I could finish
after 18 hours, I just wouldn’t earn the qualifier. Prior to the race I had set timing goals that
would put me right on pace for an 18-hour finish. The question of whether I could stick to that
plan would be answered along the course later on.
Once I arrived in Foresthill, I parked my car down the
street from the school and anxiously walked my way to the start. Several runners were also arriving and making
their way into the school while volunteers directed traffic. The gym was crowded with runners taking
pictures and picking up race bibs. There
was a massive buzz of energy throughout the room and I fed off the enthusiasm
of the volunteers and other runners as I pinned my race bib onto my shorts. After a quick visit to the restroom, it was
5:28 AM, two minutes until race start. I
urgently made my way to the starting area among the crowd of runners. The start was rather anticlimactic. I didn’t hear the announcer call out, and
suddenly the pack started moving forward.
Before I could comprehend what was happening, I found myself running with
the crowd through the start line. The
adventure had begun!
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