The first indications of dawn were lighting up the sky behind the Diablo Range in the distance as I made my way through the light Friday morning airport traffic. Minutes earlier, Sam had taken a final swig from her to-go cup of coffee. We hopped out of the car, I gave her a hug, and she headed into the terminal with her rolling suitcase. She was on her way to New Orleans for a long weekend to celebrate her friend's bachelorette party. I was excited for her that she had an opportunity to visit a cool city with her friends before our little dude arrives. Not that him coming will completely put our lives on hold, but things will certainly be different. While she was beginning her journey for the long weekend, I was heading out on a little adventure of my own. The sun gradually made it's way into the sky as I headed out of Silicon Valley, across central California, and eventually through the Sierra Nevada mountains. I passed by Pinecrest, stopped at Kennedy Meadows to take some pictures and look around, and soon found myself driving up the steep and winding section of highway 108 that traverses over Sonora Pass, elevation 9,624 feet. The views were breathtaking. The highway closes during the winter due to heavy snowfall and it had just opened back up about a week prior. All around me in every direction were towering, snowy mountain peaks as far as my eyes could see. The road followed a curvy incline that cut into the mountainside, and although it was easy to get distracted by the beautiful scenery, the drive required concentration to avoid potential disaster. Eventually I made it over the pass, drove down several thousand feet, made a right turn onto highway 395, and arrived at my destination, the charming town of Bishop, California. I had also stopped by Mammoth Mountain along the way for old times sake. I used to go snowboarding there quite a bit when I lived in Los Angeles and hadn't been there in four years. It was good to be in Bishop and I had a nice brunch at a local restaurant when I arrived, but I needed a nap. It was around 1:30 PM and fortunately the motel I was staying at on the main road in town allowed early check ins. I brought my stuff into my room, laid down on the king size bed, and shut my eyes. It had been a long drive and I needed all the rest I could get. The next morning I would toeing the start line of the Bishop High Sierra 50-miler, a race held mainly on jeep roads that cut through the massive Eastern Sierra mountains that hovered over the town. I wasn't entirely sure how this race would go, but I had the advantage of having been on the course before and it certainly helped that the race had a generous cutoff of nineteen hours. We would be climbing and descending a total of around 8,800 feet averaging about 7,500 feet of altitude. I felt confident that I could finish, it was just a question of how long it would take and how I would feel. I decided that I would simply do the best I could, which was my last thought before drifting into a deep sleep.
The view from the Pacific Crest Trail at the top of Sonora Pass. This photo doesn't do it justice.
I woke up two hours later feeling refreshed and more alert. I headed out to the pre-race briefing, met some other runners, picked up my bib and shirt, and drove to Upper Crust for some pizza and beer. Among the crowd of runners at the pre-race briefing was Catra Corbett. She lives right in town and would also be running the 50-miler the next morning. I had met her before, so I said hey, petted her dog, and wished her luck. After I stuffed myself full of pizza and washed it down with a brew, I was back in my motel room preparing to call it a night. I laid in bed sipping water with a Nuun tab, thinking more about how the next day would go. The weather was supposed to be pleasant for this time of year in Bishop, meaning sunshine and temps in the low eighties. That's still pretty hot, and heat is not my friend. My ideal running temperature is around forty degrees. The colder, the better. Running in heat presents a challenge to me, but tomorrow I would have no choice but to contend with the discomfort. I had experience running in heat and I knew how to keep from cramping up and overheating. As I drifted off to sleep, I reminded myself once again that I had nineteen hours to finish and I would simply do the best I could.
Arriving at the starting area at Millpond County Park the next morning, cup of coffee in hand, breathing in the cool and crisp pre-dawn air, I felt energized and ready. After a few minutes of mingling with runners in the crowd, myself and sixty other 50-mile runners lined up behind the start line near the pond. The Bishop High Sierra Ultra offers five distances: a 100K, 50-miler, 50K, 20-miler, and a 6-miler. To avoid crowding on the course and overwhelming the aid stations, each distance was starting separately five minutes apart from one another. The 100K runners had just taken off and after a few minutes, the pack of 50-mile runners charged forward across the start line. The imposing peaks of the Eastern Sierra mountain range rested directly in front of us as we made our way through the parking lot towards the trail. The first twenty miles of the course were a gradual uphill that gained around 5,300 feet. Needless to say the going was a little slow during the ascent, but it didn't come as much of a surprise. I recalled this part of the course from when I ran the 100K in 2019 and had studied the elevation map of the course prior to the event. It wasn't as awful as you might think. For the first few miles I ran with a group of marines who were stationed near Joshua Tree. They were cool guys and one thing I really admired about them was that the three of them said they would stick together during the entire length of the race. No one would get left behind. I chatted with a few other runners who were wearing swag from previous races I had done, such as Canyons and Broken Arrow. When I came into the first aid station at mile six, I saw that Tim Tollefson was working as a volunteer. It was so cool to see him there and I was a bit star struck as I greeted him with a smile and knuckle pound. He's a really cool dude and he lived in Mammoth Lakes, not too far away, but he had taken time out of his day to come hang with us and volunteer, which I thought was super dope. It wasn't far to the next aid station, only about four miles. That's one of the really nice things about this race, there's an aid station about every four miles. Some of the other races I did had the aid stations spaced out further apart, every eight or nine miles. This gave me plenty of opportunities to keep my water bottles full and take down some food. My strategy for staying hydrated and keeping from cramping was simple; I would fill my water bottles at every aid station, one with water, the other with Tailwind, drink from them consistently, and consume two electrolyte tablets every two hours. Things seemed to be going pretty well during the first several miles. I was feeling good and enjoying the spectacular views. The jeep road which we were traversing cut through the mountains as it steadily gained elevation and snowy mountain peaks dominated the horizon in front of me and to my right.
By the time I reached Overlook point I had crested the top of the long, 20-mile climb. By this point I had passed through several aid stations, met a lot of people along the course, and I felt good that I had successfully made it to highest point of the race at 9,300 feet. This section was an out and back, so after resting for a few minutes at Overlook, I headed back down the way I came. Running downhill felt good and I was able to throw down some faster miles from Overlook back to the Edison aid station at mile twenty-four. A few more miles passed and I eventually was deposited from the trail onto a remote back country road, which I would follow to the Bishop Creek Lodge aid station at mile twenty-nine. As I ran along the side of the road, bearing in mind the close distance between the aid stations, the lines from a couple of Ramones songs were floating in my mind. I kept singing them to myself. "It's not hard, not far to reach" from the song "Rockaway Beach" and "hang on, a little bit longer" from the song "Locket Love". The next aid station wasn't hard and not far to reach, and all I had to do was hang on, a little bit longer, and I would be there. Eventually the aid station came into view, and when I arrived the volunteers handed me a cup of hot soup broth. I sipped it down, drank down a 5-hour energy I had in my pocket, and took off back down the road, cheering on other runners as I passed by, including my new buddies in the marines. We stopped and chatted for a minute and although the course was taking a toll on them, they stuck together and were still grinding it out. A few miles later at the Intake aid station, a couple of the volunteers were cooking quesadillas with guacamole. That's another thing about this race. The volunteers are friggin' awesome. Don't get me wrong, the volunteers at every race I've done have been super cool and helpful, but these guys seemed to have certain personality and enthusiasm about them. They genuinely seemed excited and happy to be there and there was a good vibe in the air. A quesadilla looked tempting, but I wanted to save real food for after the race was over so I could savor it.
At mile thirty-five I passed through the Edison aid station for a third and final time, only this time I needed to sit down and be off my feet for a few minutes. That did me some good, and I headed down the hill and made a left, now traversing the same terrain I had in the first eighteen miles. I sang to myself again. "It's not hard, not far to reach. Hang on, a little bit longer". I could feel the anticipation building up of reaching the McGee aid station at mile thirty-eight. Shortly before arriving there, I entered the small stretch of the course that actually had shade. I'd say about ninety percent of this course is completely exposed in direct sunlight. Due to Bishop and the nearby mountains being in a high desert environment, most of the expanse is populated with desert plants and bushes with very few trees. The next couple of miles of the course were through more of an alpine environment with tall trees lining the trail, providing some much needed relief from the sun. The shade felt refreshing, and the aid station soon emerged through the brush. I greeted the volunteers and took a seat once again, while snacking on some ginger cookies and crackers. Two large off-road SUVs were parked next to the table. Due to the remote nature of the course, most of the locations of these aid stations could only be accessed by off-road vehicles, which transported the volunteers and all of the goodies for the aid stations. I could feel myself getting tired. I knew that I hadn't trained enough this year. Going into Canyons, I was foolishly optimistic that even with a lower volume of training, my mental energy could get me to the finish line. It ultimately did, but not without a struggle. I could feel the lack of training and relentless sunshine beginning to catch up with me. But I still had twelve miles left to cover. After a few minutes of gathering myself, I stood up, waved to the volunteers and said "thanks guys, I'm out of here", and continued onward.
On the way down from Overlook, mile 22-ish
At the Buttermilk aid station at mile forty-two, I again greeted the volunteers with enthusiasm, but I could really feel the wheels coming off the bus at this point. My stomach was now feeling weird, probably because I wasn't eating enough. Maybe I should have had a quesadilla with guacamole ten miles ago after all. When I told the volunteers how I was feeling, they had just the solution. An older guy who I recognized from an aid station at Canyons walked away for a minute and came back with a paper cup of Ginger ale on ice in one hand, and a handful of candied ginger in the other. Ginger is a popular solution for ultrarunners who are suffering from nausea and it can really help in times like this. I drank down the Ginger ale and popped the pieces of candied ginger into my mouth, three at a time until they were gone. After a few minutes of sitting down the ginger began to work it's magic so I thanked the volunteers and took off. At this point, the remainder of the race would be mostly downhill with a few inclines along the way, and I plodded along the course feeling a little more with it, thanks to the ginger. Unfortunately that only lasted a short while, and miles forty-three to forty-eight were pretty much a colossal suck fest. At this point I had been on the course for over twelve hours, since 5:20 AM that morning. The afternoon sun was merciless and it had been shining on me all damn day. I knew I would make it if I just kept moving, but it was slow going. I felt like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz when the wicked witch cast a spell on the field of poppies. All of the other guys can see Emerald City in the distance and want to run to get there, but poor Dorothy says "guys, I can't run anymore, I'm so sleepy". I was tired, fatigued, and hot. The course was relatively flat at this point, but I only ran when I could and mostly walked. After a few short minutes in Wizard of Oz, the good witch reverses the wicked witch's spell and makes it snow on the poppy field which wakes Dorothy up and restores her energy. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than a full on snowy blizzard to magically roll in and bring me sweet relief. Heat sucks the big hairy meatball.
I had a popsicle at the second to last aid station at mile forty-six, which helped a little, and after what seemed like hours, I arrived at Tungsten City, the final aid station at mile forty-eight and a half. With just a mile and a half of downhill terrain to go, I was able to move in a way that somewhat resembled running, and soon the finish line at Millpond County Park came into view in the distance. The sight of the finish area put some life back into me and my pace quickened. Todd Vogel, the race director, got some really cool pictures of me as I crossed the finish line with a big, shit-eating smile on my face. Despite everything I had been through, I had managed to push through the lack of training, the fatigue, and unforgiving sun exposure. I arrived at the finish line fourteen hours and nineteen minutes after I had crossed the start line in that same area earlier that morning. If felt so good to be done and it had been an awesome journey. The highs, the lows, the struggle, overcoming the struggle, taking in the beautiful mountain scenery, meeting a lot of cool runners and volunteers, I loved it all. No matter how many times I do an ultra, no experience is every quite the same, and there's always a story to tell. It's one of the many things I love about this sport. The rest of that night was very uneventful. I hung around the finish area for a little while congratulating runners, then went back to my motel, took a shower, and fell asleep around 10 PM. I would have liked to have gone out to have a nice hearty dinner but I was simply too exhausted. I ended up eating leftover pizza, which worked out just fine. Breakfast the next morning was glorious. A big plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and country fried steak, with sourdough toast. A guy sat next to me at the counter at the restaurant. We got to chatting and it turned out he was a thru hiker on the Pacific Crest Trail. He was taking a break for a couple of days and staying a hostel in Bishop. We told stories, and I had so many questions for him. He had already done the Appalachian Trail and the Continental Divide Trail, so this was his third thru hike to get the triple crown. What a badass. With my stomach full, I stopped at the Looney Bean to get a piping hot coffee and hit the road for the trip back home. I took in the beauty of the drive once again and arrived back home around 4 PM on Sunday. Another one down. These adventures never get old and I cherish each and every one of them. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to keep this up, but I'll keep doing it for as long as I'm able to. We'll see how that goes when a kid enters the picture, but I'm hopeful. With my heart full, I settled back into reality after another great ultramarathon adventure.
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