Same Race, Different Experience

The start and finish area

Over the last several years, I've participated in a variety of races of varying length, size, and setting.  I've never done a race that I haven't enjoyed, however, some of them were one and done type deals.  In most cases, I've done races where I've returned in subsequent years because I enjoyed the experience.  In those instances, even though the races are often nearly identical to the first time I ran, the experience was always different.  Multiple factors have an impact on the race experience, including weather, the personalities of the other runners, and my state of mind.  For example, I could run a race where it's cold and pouring rain the whole time, then go back the following year, and have a completely different experience if it's sunny and warm.  Similarly, I could have a certain experience at race if I were going through a personal hardship, like a recent death in the family, versus the experience I would have if I had recently gotten a promotion at work.  Even if the race and the course are the same, no two race journeys are completely alike.

My experience running the Great Shasta Rail Trail race in McCloud this year versus last year is a prominent example.  The most significant difference was the weather.  Last year when I crossed the finish line of the 50K race shortly after 2:00 PM, the temperature was 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  Psychologically, I felt great not only because I finished, but because I confronted my demons.  I don't do well with running in heat, and I was overjoyed that I was able to persevere and push through the pain and discomfort.  Although I was happy, I was a train wreck.  I was overheated, dehydrated, and my legs were tying themselves in knots.  Somehow I was able to make the five-hour drive back home without my legs cramping.  The recovery was brief, however, and I was soon back to my normal self.  I wanted to come back and run again this year because I had such a great time.  I enjoyed the camaraderie of the runners, the race staff, and the volunteers, and the course was beautiful.  Since I was having a tough running season, and had finished a 50K less than a month prior to the 2024 race, I opted to run the 30K this year instead.  

I arrived in the town of Mount Shasta around 10:00 PM on Friday, the night before the race.  The drive up was relatively uneventful.  I enjoyed the views while my car stereo pumped an eclectic mix of punk rock and hip hop.  Once I arrived in town, I headed into Handsome John's Speakeasy, a local bar.  I never thought that I would walk into a bar in Mount Shasta and see the walls decked out with Detroit Red Wings, Tigers, Lions, and University of Michigan memorabilia.  I found out from the bartender that the owner of the bar was a Michigan guy from my college town, who hitch hiked all the way to Mount Shasta in the early 2000's.  What a small world.  I had a fun time chatting with some of the locals over a couple of beers, but it was starting to get pretty late.  I had to wake up in five hours to run eighteen and a half miles, so I'd better get a move on.  In 2023, I crashed in the back of my car in the town of McCloud, near a gas station so I could have coffee in the morning before the race.  This year I decided to try something different.  I was going to sleep in my car at the race start and finish line in the remote wilderness.  I packed my Jet Boil camping stove to heat up some coffee that I already brewed at home, so I could have some hot coffee in the morning before the race started.  The remote road was dark and lined with tall pine trees as I drove through McCloud to the race start area.  It was pitch black outside when I arrived.  I was surprised to see that there were other cars who had set up camp in the area.  For some reason, I didn't expect that.  I was bumping Amy Winehouse's "Frank" album during the drive from the bar, and her song "Brother" was playing when I pulled up.  It was knocking my bass speakers in pretty good, so I turned down the music as soon as I noticed the other cars.  It was well after midnight, and I didn't want the bass from my car to disturb the others.  In Silicon Valley it wouldn't be a big deal, but it was dead quiet out here in the wild.   The trailhead had a small parking area off the side of the road, so I parked behind a small RV.  I tried my best to stay as quiet as I could as I prepared for bed.  I folded down the backseats, rolled out my sleeping pad and sleeping bag, crawled inside, and promptly passed out.    

The beer I had at Handsome John's Speakeasy, along with the cool night time temperature and the tranquility of the wilderness pulled me into a deep sleep.  When my rooster alarm on my phone sounded at 5:00 AM, I was ready to run.  I opened the back hatch of my Rav4, stepped out, and breathed in the crisp, refreshing air.  It was still dark outside, and the sky was slightly overcast.  The temperature was chilly, probably in the high 40's, which felt perfect.  As I continued to get ready, I looked over towards the race start area, which was about fifty feet away.  The other runners who had camped in the area were also outside of their cars getting ready and heading towards the start.  The race staff had set up a table with a couple of lanterns for the packet pickup just off the side of the road.  Just as I started to make my way over, I saw several runners gather around the start line, and Jen, the race director, began speaking from a megaphone.  The group of 50K and 30K runners looked to be about the same size as last year and we listened as Jen explained the course and where the turnaround points were.  I greeted her after the announcement and asked "we have about thirty more minutes until race start, right?"  It was just after 5:30 AM, and my understanding was the race started at 6:00 AM, just like last year.  "Nope, we're actually going right now".  With that, Kristy, one of the volunteers, counted down from ten, sounded a bugle, and the group took off.  I realized in that moment that I never actually confirmed what time the race start was, and I relied solely on my memory from last year that we started at 6:00 AM.  I was still clad in a fleece jacket and sandals, and I hadn't even gotten my bib yet.  I felt silly for making such a rookie mistake, but Jen was super cool about it, and allowed me a few extra minutes to get my bib and finish getting ready.  Being a race director is not an easy job, and it's cool when they allow you to start late.  My start time wasn't too delayed, only about ten minutes, and I took off from the start line at around 5:43 AM.  

Mile 5-ish, on the way to the first aid station

The trail was composed mostly of loose dirt and crushed stones, which made for a very gentle surface.  It still posed more of a challenge than running on pavement, but it was much less taxing on my legs.  The race was held on a stretch of rail trail that connected the town of Burney to McCloud, and averaged about six to eight feet wide.  This was an out and back style course, so the width of the trail provided ample room for runners coming the opposite way.  The reddish brown path stretched out in front of me for miles, and tall pine trees lined the trail for as far as the eye could see.  I plodded along the terrain alone, enjoying the fresh air and marvelous setting.  I feel like this is the part of California that often gets overlooked.  Yes, there are beautiful beaches, lots of palm trees, and nice real estate, but this region of the north central part of the state is definitely a hidden gem.  It was some of the most stunning alpine forest scenery I had ever seen.  Although I has having a nice time, I didn't have a chance to heat up the coffee I brewed at home before the race start.  I'm used to having coffee before I run, so I was feeling a little tired, but I just needed to get warmed up.  As I progressed further, my energy levels began to pick up, especially when I caught up to some other runners and chatted with them.  The 10K runners were only following the last section of the course in the opposite direction, so at this moment, only the 50K and 30K runners were on the trail.  We were a pretty small group of about thirty, which provided a more personable setting than most of the other races I had done in the past.  Before too long, I reached the 10K mark of the race, and the first aid station appeared as I approached an intersection with the rail trail and a desolate dirt road.  This was the turnaround point for the 30K race, so I filled my water bottle, thanked the volunteers, and headed back towards the start line.  I continued running on my own, enjoying the majestic surroundings.  Occasionally I'd pass by another runner in front of me or heading the opposite way to the turnaround, but other than that, it was just me and the quiet wilderness.  

As time passed and miles were covered, I eventually arrived at the 20K mark back at the start line.  Next, I would continue in the opposite direction for just over three miles, turn around at the aid station where Kristy was working, then head back to the finish line to complete the 30K distance.  I passed on eating any food since I wasn't that hungry yet, but I was excited for the post race meal that the staff and volunteers were cooking and the packet pick up table.  I stopped by my car, applied some more Squirrel's Nut Butter lube, and continued onward.  One thing I remembered from last year during this section heading out to Kristy's aid station was the trail was going to begin a gradual uphill climb after about a mile and a half.  Once I reached this section, I decided to walk for about a quarter of a mile.  I was feeling good and wanted to keep it that way, so I thought it was a good idea to not burn myself out.  There were some high clouds in the sky earlier in the morning, but they burned off, and now there was some sunshine on the trail, which was nice. When I arrived at the aid station at the top of the incline I could feel a slight headache coming on, but luckily, the volunteers were able to hook me up with some Tylenol.  I felt better during the final three-mile push, and I clapped my hands in celebration as I crossed the finish line.  The small crowd clapped for me, and Jen's young daughter ran up to me and gave me my finisher's award, which was a customized race branded tree stump.  I went back to my car to freshen up a little bit, then brought my camping chair, my Jet Boil, and thermos of coffee over to the finish line area to hang with the crowd and cheer on more finishers.  Even if it was after the race, that hot coffee really hit the spot.  It blended perfectly with the post race meal of beans, shredded chicken, tortilla chips, and salsa.  

I hung around for another couple of hours chatting with the race staff, cheering on runners, cooking beans, and enjoying the beautiful setting.  Even though the race and course were identical to last year, I thought about how different my experience was.  It was thirty-five degrees cooler outside than last year when I finished.  Granted it was still fairly early in the morning and the temperature was supposed to warm up to the low eighties in the afternoon, but there moments when I almost wanted to put my fleece jacket back on, as opposed to last year when I felt like my organs were going to melt.  Also, unlike last year, there were more clouds in the sky in the morning, and the sun didn't come out until around 9:00 AM, which was actually pretty pleasant.  We were also dealing with the effects of the Park Fire, which had ignited near Chico on Wednesday and was rapidly spreading.  As the afternoon arrived, the horizon was becoming hazy and the air quality was slowly deteriorating.  Last year's fire season was lighter than 2024 has already been, and I silently thanked all of the fire fighters and all the crews who were working to contain the fire.  Additionally, Aidan is a whole year older this year.  During last year's event, he wasn't even walking yet.  Now he's running around, climbing on everything he can, and he's quite the social butterfly.  It's also a slightly different era at work for me with more responsibilities, and changes in the line up of our team.    Even though things in my life have progressed from July of 2023, It was comforting that I could come back and still run the same race with a great staff, great volunteers, and a beautiful trail.  The cooler weather was definitely a bonus as well!

Cooking beans for runners at the finish line

  

I closed out this mini solo running trip with a quick visit to Burney Falls and a lunch of onion rings, a hamburger, and chocolate shake at Floyd's Frosty in McCloud.  I had an awesome and memorable time, but I was excited to get back home.  I'm not only a runner, but I'm also a dad and a husband, and I was eager to get back to be with Samantha and Aidan and tell them about my adventure.

Burney Falls on the way home

A Little Cool Moon With Some Golden State

Anyone who has run a long distance race knows what it feels like to struggle.  Running long distances is hard and it's taxing on the body.  We've all seen those people at races who are really having a tough go at it, but they keep moving forward.  No one wants to ever be in that position, but we always try to offer psychological support when we see someone who is deep inside the pain cave.  That was me at the Cool Moon Trail 50-Miler in Cool, California on June 1st, 2024.  I was the guy who was hurting badly.  The guy who everyone was concerned about.  The guy who everyone saw and said "wow, are you okay?".  I was the guy who needed the psychological support.  No one wanted to be in the position that I was in, but everyone felt sorry for me.  After dropping out of the Canyons 100K at mile forty-eight in late April, I signed up for Cool Moon hoping to redeem myself.  The logic was the fact that I was able to cover forty-eight miles in about fifteen hours on the challenging terrain of the Canyons course.  There was no way my body could have taken me another fourteen miles, but I could have gutted out another two miles if it were a 50-miler.  It would have been painfully slow, but I believed I could have pulled it off.  The Cool Moon Trail 50-Miler had far less elevation gain than Canyons, and it had a thirty-five hour cutoff, which was incredibly generous.  It would be difficult and painful, but I figured I could cross the finish line.  I would have plenty of time.  Well, not only did I not cross the finish line, but my performance at Cool Moon marks the most epic failure I've experienced at a race up until this point.  

My Cool Moon journey started off on Friday evening, the night before the race.  I loaded my car up with my running gear, a pillow, a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, and other provisions, and hit the road.  The plan was to drive to Cool and find a place to camp out in the back of my car near the race start line.  I cruised along highway 80 through Sacramento, took the highway 49 exit in Auburn, and followed the winding, pitch black country road for several miles until I arrived in Cool.  Everything was closed down for the night when I arrived, and I didn't see a single car or person.  The race start and finish line was right next to the El Dorado County Fire Station located off of highway 49.  I parked in a nearby parking lot and shut off my car.  When I stepped out to stretch, it was dead quiet, except for the sound of a dog barking at a house out in the distance.  Even though they were closed, the nearby shops and restaurants were lit up, but beyond that it was darkness.  The lack of city lights helped mitigate the light pollution, and the sky was filled with shining stars.   I brushed my teeth, rolled out my sleeping bag in the back seat, wiggled into it, and closed my eyes, hoping for the best in tomorrow's race.  When I woke up at 5:45 AM the next morning, I got some coffee at a nearby gas station, made my preparations, and headed for the start of the race, which was less than a tenth of a mile away.  I greeted the volunteers, picked up my race bib, and mingled with other runners at the start line.  It was a smaller, more personable race, with around three hundred people, which was a nice contrast to Canyons.  At 7:00 AM we lined up near the start line, the race director gave some pre-race announcements, and we were off.  

Things started out pretty good.  I had a good cadence going, and since it was supposed to be a warm day, I was drinking a lot and taking plenty of electrolyte tablets.  Or so I thought.  The course consisted of two twenty-five mile loops.  The terrain was pretty to look at, and even though some of the climbs were challenging, a lot of the course was pretty runnable.  I also chatted with some pretty cool people, including a sixty-four year old runner originally from New Zealand.  He complimented me on my form and consistency, which I appreciated.  I was enjoying myself.  I finished the first loop in five-and-a-half hours, and decided to sit down at the halfway point and take a little rest.  It felt nice to be off my feet, but I was feeling pretty good, and wanted to keep the momentum going.  Things didn't go well in the second half.  The temperature was rising, the afternoon California sun baked the exposed course, and the lack of training was catching up with me, just like at Canyons.  After an arduously slow and painfully steep climb up K2, my legs seized up.  I was able to sooth them and keep going for a little longer, but at around the thirty-two mile mark, they seized up again.  This time it was so bad that the cramping essentially forced me to collapse onto the grass along the trailside.  I laid there in agony as my legs throbbed and tied themselves in knots.  A runner came by and offered me some pickle juice.  I drank it down, but the intense cramping still persisted.  The next thing I knew, I was laying on my side, puking up everything I had consumed that day.  I was glad no one was around to see that.  By this point, the pack had become pretty spread out along the course, so I wasn't encountering as many runners as I had on the first loop.  I laid down in the grass next to a puddle of my own vomit for the next hour, unable to move.  Luckily, it was in a shady spot, so I wasn't being cooked in the sun.  About a half a dozen runners came by during that time.  I can only imagine what they were thinking when they saw me laying in the grass like a body that had just been dumped from a car trunk.  They all asked me if I was okay and if I needed anything.  Even though I was in so much pain I could hardly move, I told them I was okay and I was just taking a rest.  I don't think there was much they could have done for me.

Eventually, I was able to pick myself up, and I made it another two miles up the switchbacks to a junction where the trail intersected with a back country road.  I had absolutely nothing left when I arrived there.  At the intersection, there was a card table with a water keg propped up on it, and a cooler full of ice next to the table.  I collapsed onto the cooler and sat there for a few minutes until another runner approached.  "I hate to do this, but can I get some ice out of there?" she asked.  I smiled and tried to get up, but instead I just keeled over and crumbled onto the ground.  I was a hot mess.  I couldn't hide it anymore.  Even if I had thirty-five hours, there was no way in hell I was finishing this race.  At that moment, I didn't even have the strength to stand back up, let alone cover another sixteen miles.  The runner who asked me to get off the cooler could sense my despair.  After a couple of moments of silence, she spoke.  "Hey, I'm going to push to the next aid station.  Do you want me to send a volunteer down here to pick you up?" It was a demoralizing situation, but I said "yes" without hesitation.  I thanked her, and she pressed onward.  When the volunteer arrived and picked me up, she was sympathetic and encouraging.  "Are you the guy who was taking a nap in the grass on the side of the trail?" she asked.  I couldn't help but laugh.  "yep, that was me" I said.  "Ah, okay.  Yeah, a few runners came through and told us about you.  They said you looked terrible and that we should come and find you.  I'm amazed that you were able to make it up to this point".  I hated being the guy who looked terrible and everyone was worried about, but sometimes it's okay to be that guy and show some vulnerability.  It's been a lifelong struggle for me to accept that, and I still struggle with it even now.  But I'm better at showing vulnerability than I used to be, thanks to therapy.  The volunteer brought me back to the start and finish line, where I spent another hour sitting in a camping chair trying to regroup.  They happened to have a massage therapist onsite who went to work on trying to sooth my leg cramps.  It helped a little, and I was grateful for her support.  I was finally able to hobble back to my car, but when I arrived, I had to sit down again right away because I was so drained and cramped up.  I took an hour long nap in my car on the way home, and finally arrived home at around 3:00 AM.  

I had a long recovery after Cool Moon, but roughly a month later, on June 29th, I found myself at the start line of the Golden State 50K at the Fort Ord Day Camp Cycling Area, near Marina, California.  After my failure at Cool Moon, I was frustrated.  I felt like I had acted foolishly for trying to run a 50-miler after what happened at Canyons.  I knew that my problem was the fact that I wasn't training as hard as I needed to, and I wasn't putting in the volume needed to make it through these long races.  But I had another problem.  I was stubborn.  I accepted my defeat twice at Canyons and Cool Moon, but I wasn't done fighting yet.  I told myself I needed to finish at least one ultramarathon this year.  I knew I could do it.  Thankfully, my stubbornness paid off, and I was able to finish strong at the Golden State 50K.  Unlike my previous two ultramarathons this year, Golden State was one of those races where virtually everything went as well as it could have gone.  When the race started off, the sky was dominated by marine layer clouds, and the temperature was in the mid fifties, which was perfect.  I met a lot of cool people out on the course, including a handful of runners who were running an ultra for the first time.  Among them was a member of the Marine Corps who was in his tenth year of service, along with an aspiring actress who had come up from LA.  I told them that they'd probably view the world differently when they cross the finish line of their first ultramarathon.  I know I sure did.  The course was beautiful, and featured lots of coastal mountain scenery.  Green rolling foothills dominated the horizon, and tall yellow and brownish mountain peaks poked at the sky in the distance.  The race featured about 3,500 feet of elevation gain, but the climbs were pretty moderate.  The clouds burned off and the sun warmed the course up, but overall things were going really well.  That is until about mile twenty-six.  One thing I remembered reading in the course description on the website was that there were some sandy parts of the course.  I had run through some areas where there was some loose dirt on the trail that resembled sand, but I didn't think much of it.  At the twenty-six mile mark, the course took a sharp turn up a short, but steep climb that was literally up a sand hill.  I guess that was what they meant when they said there would be some sandy sections.  It was a tough climb at that point in the race, but I made it up to the top.  During the last few miles I was feeling tired, but I kept moving.  With about two miles to go, I came up behind a guy who was walking.  He told me he had been puking for the last several miles and couldn't keep anything down, so he was going to walk it out.  I felt sympathetic, considering I had a big puking rally at Cool Moon.  "I know man, it sucks".  I said.  "That was me at my last ultra.  But you look great, keep going.  We're almost done".  I crossed the finish line in six hours and twenty-six minutes, which was better than I anticipated.  I changed into a new shirt, grabbed a beer from finisher's tent, and sat down in the shade against a tree while I watched runners cross the finish line.  Everyone I met on the course finished, and I congratulated all of them when I saw them come in.  I had a good day, so I felt like I had to spread the positivity to others.  That afternoon I drove home to Samantha and Aidan with my heart full.  

Just like all things in life, running ebbs and flows.  Some years are better than others.  This has been one of the tougher years.  When I look back to 2019, the year I finished the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Miler, I remember the fact that I was running pretty huge miles back then, and that's why I was able to successfully finish.  But that was a different era.  Back then I was single and childless, and I didn't have as demanding of a career as I do now.  Times have changed, but that's life.  You have to keep moving forward.  I can still be an ultrarunner, but I have to have realistic expectations.  And if I'm going to sign up for a race, I better be willing to put in the miles that are needed for the training.  I'm glad I was able to finish at least one ultramarathon this year, and we'll see how the rest of the year plays out.  All I can say is it's a good thing that I have a stubborn side to my personality and I kept signing up for ultras until I finished one!