The predawn road became dark and desolate as I proceeded further into the wilderness towards Foresthill. When I arrived in the small town some twenty minutes later, cars were parked all over the main road and volunteers waved cars in the direction of available parking. I parked on a dark, pine tree lined side street in front of a dark house and made my way to the start line at the elementary school. Upon arrival, four hundred energized runners weaved in and out of the check in area in the school's gymnasium. I checked in with a volunteer, used the restroom one final time, and left my drop bag in a pile on the lawn for easy access during the halfway point. After a quick race briefing over a megaphone, the gun went off, and the race began. The pack of runners charged forward and I clapped my hands in excitement as I crossed over the start line. The 2019 Canyons 100K was now underway. We progressed as a large herd up Foresthill road before heading right onto Bath road, and eventually picking up the single track trail. The sun was beginning to crack the eastern skyline as we made our way down into Volcano canyon to the first river crossing. The conditions during this year's race, though not overwhelmingly so, were going to be more extreme than usual. It was going to be a warm day with temperatures in Foresthill forecasted to peak in the high seventies. This meant that it would likely be in the low to mid eighties in the canyons sections of the course. Contrary to the former, it had been a very snowy winter here in the Sierra foothills. There was so much snow on the trail from Devil's Thumb to the swinging bridge, that the course had been rerouted. Instead of descending down into Deadwood Canyon and turning around at the swinging bridge, we would be following a winding dirt road three and a half miles to the aid station where we would turn around and head back the way we came, eventually proceeding towards Michigan Bluff and into El Dorado Canyon. I chatted with other runners and exchanged laughs as we followed this rerouted section of the course to the aid station. I had a strong section on the return trip to Michigan Bluff, chatting with runners from San Diego and the Bay Area. Some of these guys had done the Tahoe Rim Trail 100, the race that I was training for, and they were briefing me on the course and what to expect this summer in Tahoe as we made our way down the switchbacks into El Dorado Canyon. The descent was followed inevitably by a 2,600-foot four-mile climb from the aid station at the gorge. Because we had taken a detour on the rerouted course, we would be turning around at the crest of this lengthy climb. After hitting the turnaround mark, I was able to throw down some faster miles during the plunge back into El Dorado Canyon. The distraction of chatting with a runner named Nick from Chico served me well during this descent, but we parted ways at the bottom of the canyon as I took the first steps up one of the climbs of this race that I dreaded the most. This merciless 1,800-foot climb back up to Michigan Bluff over a two-and-a-half mile stretch never seems to get any easier, no matter how many times I do it. Along the ascent, I passed by a tiny middle aged lady with red hair who was peppy and chirpy, despite the fact that the heat had been wearing her down. It had dawned on me that it was getting very warm outside and I too was now covered in a layer of sweat. I wasn't overly concerned that the heat would crumble me, but throughout the race I had been careful, drinking frequently from my hand held water bottles to keep hydrated. I finally made it to the crest of the hill some time later and was feeling pretty good, mentally and physically, when I pulled back into the Michigan Bluff aid station. I paused there only long enough to refill my water bottles and have a few snacks before continuing up the winding dirt road towards Volcano Canyon. During this stretch, I passed by a safety runner who gave me kudos and told me that I was looking strong. Her words were a powerful tonic. The climb from El Dorado Canyon to Michigan Bluff had not been as daunting as I anticipated, and I was running comfortably. It seemed so far that all of the changes I made had been working out. I reminded myself not to take this feeling for granted. I was still only a third of the way into the race and a lot of things could happen. There was plenty of race left to make or break me. Roughly an hour later, I ran down the trail along the side of Foresthill road and soon arrived back at the elementary school, at the half way point. I sat down in a camping chair near the aid station to stretch out my legs and have some time off my feet. While running ultramarathons, athletes often spend much more time on their feet than they would in their everyday lives. This was the first time I had sat down in a little over seven hours. I soon headed over to my drop bag, took my items that I needed for the second half, replenished at the aid station, and headed back onto the course. "Do you want an ice soak before heading back out?" a volunteer asked. I walked up to the water bucket, grabbed a sponge, and squeezed it over my head. The frigid water shocked me at first, but it felt refreshing since I was already getting hot. As I headed out to tackle the second half of the race, I was trying not to take my energy for granted, but I hoped that my strong momentum would continue throughout the second half. I was on pace to have a pretty strong finish. But the afternoon was only going to get warmer and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Would I be able to hold it together for the second half? I didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.
Seven miles later, the heat soared as the sun beat down on the trail. I struggled along as my legs began to cramp up from lack of sodium. I gobbled down nuts, chips, pickles, and other salty snacks along with a few salt tablets at the Cal2 aid station, mile forty. It seemed to help a little as I hobbled down the switchbacks towards the Rucky Chucky check point. Climbing up another steep slope near Ford's Bar, the leg cramps returned with a vengeance. I was cramped up, overheated, nauseated, and barely moving forward. Finally, about halfway up the climb, I sat on a rock on the side of the trail to try to regroup. That's when the dry heaving started. I leaved over to my right to vomit on the trail side, but nothing came out. I was a hot, dry heaving, cramped up mess. I felt embarrassed and defeated. How much worse could things get? The answer, unfortunately, was "much". My nausea lessened after the dry heaving and I managed to make it over the top of the hill, but on the way down I had to stop yet again, this time to stretch away the excruciating leg cramps. Runners passed by and offered me salt tablets and words of encouragement. I was determined to make it to the Rucky Chucky aid station, where I could sit down, have some food, hydrate, and hopefully muster enough energy to made it sixteen miles back to the finish before the cut off time. Despite my grim situation, I kept moving forward as best as I could.
Making the decision to drop was painful. I managed to make it to the check point where I sipped some soda, threw down a 5-hour energy, had some hot soup broth, ate more snacks, and attempted to regain my energy while sitting down and stretching out my cramped legs. When I resumed progress, the cramps and nausea returned half a mile up the trail as I scaled the first of many uphill climbs to the finish line. Barely able to move forward once again, I looked at my watch. I had an hour and forty-five minutes to go seven miles before hitting the cut off time. That was a fifteen minute per mile pace, something I could normally do easily. But in my weakened, overheated state, I would be lucky if I could knock off an eighteen minute mile. Besides, as dismal as things were at the moment, this was only the beginning of how bad things could have gotten. When running in heat, consuming adequate amounts of sodium, water, and electrolytes even before it gets hot, and even during the days leading up to the race can help you maintain your composure and energy even as the heat and sun wear you down. Failing to follow this process, as I found out, could easily throw your system into disarray. My body had been able to go strong in the heat during the first forty or so miles, but I didn't have enough "money in the bank" so to speak, and my body had depleted all of its reserves, and then some. No matter how much I hydrated, no matter how many salty snacks and salt tablets I swallowed, nothing seemed to work. There was no going back at this point; I was too far gone. My race was over. "Fuck!" I exclaimed as I kicked some dirt across the trail. How could I be so foolish? How could I allow this to happen? I grudgingly made my way back to Rucky Chucky, handed my race bib to a volunteer, and was escorted in a pickup truck back to Foresthill along with several other runners who had dropped out. During the drive back, I began to feel a little better as I chatted with the other runners. We gave each other kudos for making it forty-eight miles and exchanged stories of the experiences we had along the way. One of the runners, Greg, had successfully finished Tahoe Rim Trail 100 twice prior. When I told him I was running it that summer, he gave me some pointers on how to prepare and some words of encouragement. After hearing his works and assessing my situation, I had decided that the Tahoe Rim Trail 100 was still on my calendar, despite my disappointing DNF at this race.
That night, sitting on my bed in my motel room, I eased up on myself. I reminded myself that yes, I had failed, but failure presents new lessons and new opportunities for improvement. I had learned something very important during this race; how to properly maintain my composure while running ultras in the heat. I would later find out that when preparing for a race that will likely be hot, it's important to load up on electrolyte drinks such as Pedialyte or Gatorade, along with high sodium foods during the days leading up to the race and in the early stages of the race before it gets hot. I had failed to follow these steps, only consuming large amounts of sodium and electrolytes after I had already gotten too hot. As is the case with most real life situations, I had gotten the test and then the lesson. That's the way it goes sometimes. Maybe this had to happen for me to realize that I needed to ramp up my heat training for Tahoe Rim Trail 100. Time would only tell. Yes, I was disappointed, but it made little sense to needlessly beat myself up over a DNF at a 100K race that I had already finished the year prior. All I could was learn from my mistakes, stay positive, and keep moving forward. Because I still have many more races to run, and as long as I'm physically capable, I won't be giving up ultrarunning any time soon!
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