As I pulled off the 80 freeway, I got that feeling of nervous excitement that I always get when I arrive in Auburn, California. It may be just a small town in the Sierra foothills to most people, but to me it's much more than that. Almost every time I go to Auburn it's because I'm about to embark on some kind of adventure on the Western States trail. The euphoria and excitement kick in, as well as bits of nervousness due to the fact that this trail can be very daunting and it's kicked my butt in the past. Despite, or perhaps because of this, the Western States trail holds lots of great memories and is one of my favorite stomping grounds. Today I would expect it to be no different. As I exited the freeway, I made a right turn onto Auburn Ravine Road and proceeded into the wilderness towards Foresthill. Driving down the grade, the clear blue sky and olive green foothills dominated the horizon. About twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Foresthill Elementary School and chose a parking spot in the shade. The wilderness air was crisp and cool when I stepped out of my car and stretched my body out after the three hour drive. As I looked around, I saw two other cars nearby, one with another guy getting ready for a run, and another with a guy preparing for a bike ride. Once I completed the meticulous process of preparing for the journey ahead, I threw my pack onto my shoulders and began jogging up Foresthill Road towards the intersection of Bath Road. Bath Road was a twisting descent towards the entrance to the Western States trail, and now that I had more privacy away from the main road, I wandered into the trees off the roadside to relieve myself. While doing so, I heard footsteps from the road and saw the other runner from the parking lot gliding by through the trees. The trail leaving Bath Road began with a steep downhill towards Volcano Canyon. Most sections of the Western States trail are well maintained, but this particular section was littered with rocks and natural debris. Because of this, it required heightened attention going down this descent to avoid stumbling or falling. As I came around a bend, the other runner emerged on the side of the trail. He was from Grass Valley and had come out to run from Foresthill to Michigan Bluff and back, calling it an "easy day". When he inquired about what I was doing, I chuckled, thinking he would think I was crazy for doing a virtual 50K on my own, but he actually thought it was really cool. The opinions among members of the running community with regards to virtual races have been very polarized. Some runners love the idea and see it as a way of helping to keep races in business and maintain a sense of togetherness during quarantine, while others view them as a rip off, asserting the position that paying money to run alone is a load of nonsense. This particular virtual race was put on by Beast Pacing, an organization made up entirely of volunteers who pace runners through marathons and half marathons all over the country. I love pacing my friends during ultras, so I thought it would be cool to pace at road races also. I joined the organization in January and was planning to pace the two hour group at a half marathon for the first time in April, but the race ended up getting pushed to October. Due to the high number of cancelled races, the founder of the organization created the virtual race, which offered any distance from a half marathon up to a 200-miler. Eager to help the organization during these tough times, I signed up for the 50K in early May.
After parting ways with the guy from Grass Valley, I continued down the trail, which led me to a creek in the pit of the canyon. The descent was followed inevitably by a steep uphill climb, which slowed my pace. When the trail eventually leveled out, I encountered an older man and woman who were out for a hike. They introduced themselves as Dave and Carol. They were a friendly couple and lived in one of the houses in Michigan Bluff along the course. My plan was to do an out and back style course from Foresthill to Deadwood Canyon and back. During this run I would also be passing through Michigan Bluff, so when I told them what I was doing, they told me that if I needed anything during the return trip to come find their house and knock on the door. I thanked them for their generous offer, and pressed onward. Eventually I arrived at the junction where the trail continued onto a fire road that would take me into Michigan Bluff. When I arrived about fifteen minutes later, I ran a short stretch down Gorman Ranch Road before picking the trail back up again. The trail descended two-and-a-half miles into another canyon, which was followed by a long, 2,600-foot, 4-mile climb up to Devil's Thumb. Although the climb was lengthy and time consuming, I was occasionally treated to a beautiful vista of the mountains in the distance, and as I got closer to Devil's Thumb, I admired the gorgeous surroundings. Towering pine trees lined the trail, pine cones were strewn about, and sawed up tree logs lined the trail sides in some areas. I would periodically hear a soft crashing noise in the forest. This trail was known for bear and mountain lion sightings even under normal circumstances, and I wondered if I would have a higher chance of encountering wildlife due to the lower volume of human traffic on the trail over the last few months. It was important to stay alert so I could act accordingly if needed. From Devil's Thumb, the trail again began a sharp, twisting downhill into Deadwood Canyon. During this descent, I was quickly made aware that the trail had not been maintained in quite some time. I slowed down as I approached a stretch of trail full of overgrown shrubs that stood about five feet high, making the trail nearly invisible. I carefully made my way through, hoping to not disturb the bees who were pollinating in the flowers that lined the sides of the narrow trail. After descending about 1,700 feet in two miles, I arrived at the swinging bridge at the gorge of Deadwood Canyon and took a seat on a rock. The bridge crossed the American River, and on the other side was another uphill climb to Last Chance, but I had reached the turnaround point, and would now go back the way I came. Which of course meant that I would need to climb back up to Devil's Thumb.
After taking a break and snacking on some trail mix, I began powering up the climb. Within minutes I started to feel as if there were weights attached to my shoes. I had been doing virtual utras during quarantine, but they had all been on paved, more gentle courses that had very little elevation gain. I hadn't done any runs or hikes with significant climbing in the last three or four months. I drank from my hydration pack, but I began to feel concerned that I would run out of water. Since my body was working much harder than it was used to, I was sweating quite a bit, much more than I would have if I were better conditioned. Temperatures in the canyons section of the trail can be very hot at this time of year, but it was unseasonably cool today, for which I was thankful. Still, I continued to sweat and drink from my pack as I made my way up the ascent, one step at a time. The climb was a 50-minute long struggle that left me huffing and puffing as I approached Devil's Thumb. Passing through the two sections of overgrown shrubs on the ascent, which stretched along the trail for about a hundred feet, my pace was much slower and there were more bees. I was surprised I made it through without getting stung. Even though the trail was now following a gentle downhill grade, I walked, trying to regain my energy after the climb. I was carrying Nuun with me, an electrolyte supplement that came in the form of a solid tab that is designed to be dissolved in water. Because I was concerned about my electrolyte levels, I instead took a shortcut, and popped the tab into my mouth, chewed it up, and immediately washed it down with water as it fizzed up and expanded inside my mouth. The flavor was strong, and I could feel the contents of the tab expanding in my stomach, but it seemed like an effective way to pump electrolytes into my system quickly. As I ran downhill back into El Dorado Canyon, I heard the sound of a shotgun being fired in the distance. This was a popular area for gun activity, and many of the signs along the trail were riddled with bullet holes. After crossing the bridge at the pit of the canyon, I again took a seat on a rock to try to regroup. At this point, even running downhill was becoming exhausting and I knew what was next. I stood up and began the harsh, 2,000-foot climb back up to Michigan Bluff. It was agonizing. I wasn't hurting or cramping up, but I was so exhausted, I was barely able to lift my feet off the ground and my steps were short and labored. My head hung down, facing the dirt, and I would occasionally look up at the trail in front of me. I stopped to rest at several points during the climb. Rather than walking up to a rock and sitting down, I would practically fall onto it and just sit there guzzling water as my heart thudded in my chest. It seemed like nothing could restore my energy. I tried eating more trail mix, but it was like dropping wood into a chipper. I would push myself up off the rock and waddle uphill for another few hundred feet, only to have to stop again. The climb just never fucking ended.
I let out a big sigh of relief as Michigan Bluff eventually emerged through the brush. As I strolled down the trail and onto Gorman Ranch Road, I took a seat on a wooden picnic table off to the roadside. "Just six more miles to go" I said to myself. The route back to Foresthill from Michigan Bluff was about a 10K distance. Unfortunately, between those two points was a short uphill climb, a steep downhill descent into Volcano Canyon, and one final climb up to my finish line in Foresthill. My remaining water had been consumed during the hellish ascent from El Dorado Canyon, leaving me dry. I wondered if it would be smart to continue without any water. But I was so exhausted, it seemed like a losing battle either way. Should I try to find Dave and Carol's house and see if they could give me a ride back to Foresthill? There were a half-dozen or so houses on this small stretch of road, and they probably lived in one of them. My Strava indicated that I was twenty-five miles in, and I seriously considering downgrading to the marathon distance. But I also didn't know if I technically could do that. I thought about how much easier it would be if I just hobbled six tenths of a mile down the trail and back, and claimed the marathon distance instead. Today just wasn't happening for me. I had done this exact course a handful of times in the past and this was by far the toughest go I ever had at it. I blamed it on the quarantine, the lack of mobility I've had over the last three months, and the fact that I hadn't done any runs or hikes with drastic elevation change in quite some time. The Western States 100, my dream race, follows this exact same course. Michigan Bluff is the fifty-five mile mark, and many runners are in rough shape when they arrive here, having just traversed through the canyons. It's here that their psychological toughness really gets put to the test. That was it, I'd had enough. It was time to stop letting the negative thoughts influence me. If you allow negative thoughts to consume your mind during an ultra, you're screwed. In times like this, a positive attitude is your greatest asset. I stood up, threw my pack on, and continued onto the trail from the road. "50K or nothing!" I said out loud. Over the years, I've learned my limits. Yes, I was extremely exhausted, but that was all, really. I was not in any pain, I was not cramping up, and I had peed a couple of times throughout the run, so despite being out of water, I decided I would try to make it the final six miles. It was going to be slow, but I was going to do my best. As Michigan Bluff disappeared behind me, I knew that I had no choice at this point except to get myself back to Foresthill. There was no turning back now.
Exhaustion set in pretty hard when I arrived at the creek at the bottom of Volcano Canyon. I sat on a rock with my feet in the creek, shoes and socks included, which felt exhilarating. I had about three miles left to go, but my mouth had become very dry. As I sat there, I looked down at the flowing water. The hamster in my brain began running on his wheel. I had always been hesitant to drink water from streams or creeks for fear of getting sick from bacteria, but I had also heard that if the water was flowing, which it was in this case, it was safe to drink. Should I do it? "Screw it" I thought. I might get sick, but it was a desperate moment. I put my open palms together, dipped them into the creek, and began sucking in the cold water by the handful. I drank a good six or seven handfuls of the creek water, which felt incredible, before standing up to conquer the final climb. With some water in my system, I felt slightly more coherent. The final stretch of the climb was brutal as I tried to prevent stumbling on the rocks, panting like a dog. As I made my way back up Bath Road, I stopped, and sat down, legs stretched out, right in the middle of the road. I had less than a mile to go. "Get up!" I told myself out loud. I thought about Dusty Olson when he was pacing Scott Jurek at the Western States 100. "Come on Jurker, get up!". "Let's go Jurker, you're not going to win this fucking race lying down in the dirt. Now get up!". I stood up and began walking up the road. Before long, the street sign for Foresthill Road appeared in front of me. I hobbled and walked the final stretch to the virtual finish line. Once my Strava hit thirty-one miles, I threw my arms in the air in celebration. I had started running at 7:15 AM that morning, and it was now nearly 6:00 PM. The run had taken me ten-and-a-half hours, by far my slowest 50K yet. After cleaning myself up in my car and leaving Foresthill, I stopped at the small gas station in town and bought water, Gatorade, and soda in an effort to restore my hydration levels. By the time I made it to Auburn about twenty minutes later, my head was spinning, and I decided it was in my best interest to pull over and take a nap before driving two-and-a-half hours back home to the Bay Area. After getting about an hour of sleep in my car, I woke up feeling more alert, but I abruptly let out a belch. There was a brief moment of silence, but then my eyes widened, and I opened my car door, pointed my head towards the pavement, and let the puke come streaming out. After a few hurls, I sat up and realized I felt much better. The only problem was I was now even more dehydrated, but I would make sure I consumed a lot of liquids during the drive home. The puke was mainly liquid, so it just looked like someone had poured out some water in the parking lot as I drove away. I had never puked after an ultra before, but it was certainly a normal occurrence among ultrarunners. I'm not sure whether it was the creek water or if I simply pushed myself too hard, but it felt like a rite of passage. During the ride home I was able to restore my hydration and I felt much more coherent. It had been one hell of a journey that day. I wasn't exactly thrilled about how painfully slow my time was, but it was a virtual race. No one was trying to set any records. Overall, I was thankful for the experience. Of course having a good race is awesome, but having a hard race really makes runners dig deep. It makes us question whether or not we truly have what it takes to push through the misery and keep going. It's good practice for not only getting through other long runs in the future, but also for getting through other mishaps in our personal lives. I'm thankful that on this day, I was able to experience what I did. It wasn't the first, and it won't be the last time I struggle.
