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!