Tales from The 30th Annual Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run

Bad Photos Before Race Day

  Race Report: The 30^th Annual Angeles Crest 100

 The sun had just come up on day two of the 30^th Running of the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run and I was sitting on Dead Man’s Bench at mile 80 with soon-to-be 4 time AC finisher John Vanderpot.  I asked John if he had seen Jussi down at Chantry Flats, the aid station that was 3,000 feet and 5 miles below us. There are countless tales from the Angeles Crest 100, but Jussi Hamalainen's is perhaps the most amazing: he ran the inaugural Angeles Crest back in 1986 when he was 40, and and he kept coming back for the next 30 years. Sixteen of his runs are sub-24 (his last sub 24 was at age 60), and he has run sub-20 twice. In 2014, my first AC, Jussi notched his 27th finish, going over 30 hours for the first time ever. It appeared that Time could slow, but not stop Jussi from reaching 30 finishes. But then in 2015, the unthinkable happened when Jussi fell and was forced to end his race at Millard, the final aid station at mile 95. Jussi returned for the 2016 AC  and walked it in hunched over, stopping repeatedly to retch onto West Palm Avenue. Vanderpot was at his side for that finish. Up on dead man's bench, John told me he had seen Jussi arrive at Chantry Flats, but he didn’t know when or if he had left the aid station. Lots of runners drop at Chantry Flats, but it was hard to imagine Jussi dropping anywhere. I imagined him stoically climbing Upper Winter Creek en route to finish 29.

  My own cushion against the cut offs had continued to shrink and I was worried. John was calm, in his element. He would go on for his fourth consecutive finish, all accomplished using what he calls “finisher’s pace.”  John told me that his three AC finishes were between 32:21 and 32:29 and I asked him how we were doing and he replied “if you leave Sam Merrill by 10:15, you’ll finish the race.” He also mentioned that he usually leaves the bench by 6:00am. My watch read 6:23. This got me up off the bench, and I asked one more question as I headed up the ridge before the long downhill to the next aid station: What time to we need to be in Idlehour?

  “I don’t know, I never pay attention to time at Idlehour.”

  On Friday morning, Ken, Jeremy, Darrell and I rolled into Wrightwood, put our drop bags in the correct piles, and went to the Evergreen café to eat: I had the same dish I ate in 2014 before the race: potatoes and 3 eggs sunny side up. After breakfast we went to where we would be sleeping at Mark and Mary Ann’s house. Mark and Mary had three young girls between the ages of 3 and 6 running around, which provided a beautiful contrast to four nervous dudes unable to think or talk about much else besides a race which had been on our calendars for 365 days. The girls showed me their rabbit, their current hamster, and we visited the grave of their dead hamster in the far corner of their backyard.

The four dudes:

Ken: For Ken, it was his first 100 mile race. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, as he is a tall string bean, but he used to be a big dude. Now he was an ultrarunner being coached by Angeles Crest Legend, Tommy Nielsen. He seemed to be nervously harboring some doubts: not unreasonable considering that AC routinely spits out about 50% of those that start the race. He had finished a 50k (2016 Mt. Disappointment and a 50 mile, the 2016 Sean O Brien). That was it.

Darrell: Jeremy told me that Darrell was the fastest of the bunch, but he had gone out to Leadville last year for his first 100 mile attempt and ran himself into a hole chasing the 25 hour buckle. He was here to run smart, finish, and get that DNF monkey off his back.

Jeremy: Jeremy was a sub-three hour marathoner who I cajoled into running the 2013 Ray Miller 50k which was scheduled the day before he had signed up to race the Surf-City Marathon. He finished Ray Miller an hour in front of me on half-marathon training, and he’s only gotten faster since. (We both stumbled through the Surf-City Half for respective slowest half marathon ever the following morning--not a recommended double.) His first AC yielded him a First Sunrise buckle, and he had gone out to Leadville in 2016 and was on sub-25 pace most of the day until his legs failed him and he finished in just over 25. He was here at the 30^th running of Angeles Crest to run sub 24 and had done the training to do it.

Me: In 2014 I had run the AC 100 as my first 100. It had gone beautifully, and despite the sleep monster visiting me on the climb up to Dead Man’s Bench on Winter Creek, I had a magical run between Chilao and Chantry, and managed to finish strong after Sam Merrill. 30:55. The dream for 2017 was sub-30 but I really just wanted a finish that was not too close to the cut offs. My only other 100 miler had been the 2015 Bighorn, which had just about done me in. I walked every step of the last five miles to finish in 33:10. At the finish I wrapped myself up in the finisher’s blanket and fell asleep. When I woke up I was filled with doubts about my ability to run 100 miles and I began to wonder if my 2014 AC finish had been a fluke.

Heading down from Baden Powell thinking a pack wouldn't be such a horrible idea      Photo: please let me know so I can give credit....

  As I headed up the “Hal Winton Bypass” above the bench, I came across Naomi Ruiz. I had briefly been introduced to Naomi 25 hours earlier, and like most AC runners, I knew her story from 2016: she had fought the cut offs all day and finished the race, but her finish was not official as she had crossed the line 12 minutes after the 33:00 hour limit. She was back this year to get it done.

  She first passed me on the long moonlit downhill after Red Box. My legs were no longer cooperating on the downhills and I was shuffling down with my headlamp off to preserve my light when I needed it (left my only extra batteries back at Shortcut). She looked fantastic and strong at that point, which was a complete contrast to what I saw now: She was stumbling up the hill and her eyes looked vacant. I tried to encourage her that we had time and just needed to get down into Idlehour and then up to Sam Merril before 10:15. She responded something unintelligible that did not inspire hope. Had she given up? Was the finish that everyone wanted to see just a dream? As Larry Gassan might have said about Naomi’s dream, or Jussi’s dream, or anyone's AC dream—The Angeles Crest 100 just doesn’t care.

  In addition to not caring, the AC course doesn’t relent: many consider Chantry Flats, the 75 mile point to be the “halfway mark.” The final 25 miles contains two of the toughest climbs on the course, and, for those at the back of the pack who will be out there a second day: more heat for the final 11 or so miles and no significant shade or cover.

  And speak of the devil, there was Larry up on the ridge, a huge camo back pack filled with lights and camera gear, walking slowly up to where he left his car on top of Mt. Wilson. Larry first ran AC  back in early 90's, including a sub-24 in '96. Up until 2015 he took black and white photos at the finish line, but then had a falling out with the Race Director and was asked to take his wares elsewhere. And so he now takes photos all night at Dead Man’s Bench. Sadly, I arrived after sunrise, so missed my photo. But of course, AC doesn’t care, so I ignored my uncooperative quad muscles and mustered some sort of run down into Idlehour.

  Vanderpot had arrived ahead of me, and he had taken off his jacket, and as I ran somewhat foolishly panicked through the aid station (I was worried about that 10:15 deadline), he commented “now this is an aid station!”  I didn’t feel like I had the extra time to enjoy the ambience of Idlehour, so I filled up with coca-cola in one bottle and water in the other and prepared for the last long climb up to Sam Merrill. The day was beginning to heat up.

Prophetic Coffee Mug at My Sister's the day before the race...

  On the climb up to Sam Merrill I caught up with Ken and his pacer and for a while we travelled together, but they slowly pulled away. When I finally arrived at the aid station there was no thought of just grabbing a coke and heading out as planned. I was hot and needed to sit down and regroup for the final push. The aid station still had ice, which seemed a small miracle. The final ten miles were all downhill and I struggled diligently to pretend I had legs to run. That mostly worked. Heading into Millard, Vanderpot caught up with me again, and we ran into the final aid station together. He sat down and began to chat with the volunteers and I kept moving. The final descent through El Prieto went surprisingly fast, and then I was on the pavement for the final miles. I looked at my watch and realized if I didn’t get lazy and walk I’d finish in just under 32 hours. And so I had a new goal and finished decently, relieved that my body was not a wreck as I knew that I would be flying in 10 hours and then heading directly to work.

  I saw John finish, coming in earlier than his scheduled 32:21-32:29. I started to drift off and then was woken by loud cheers and applause: Naomi Ruiz had rallied and was coming in for her finish that was a year in the making. Most of the crowd was on their feet.
 Ken had finished about 15 minutes before I did, and Darrell came in solid at 27:47. Jeremy missed the 24 hour buckle ( he remains two for two for the Second Sunrise buckle) with a 24:44 but still finished 13th overall, which gives some indication of the difficulty of this course. 

Happy to be done, trying not to think about flying.              Photo: Meggin

  Neither Ken, Jeremy, Darrell or I signed up for the lottery for the 2018 race. 

   Vanderpot will be there of course. Naomi was quoted as saying “two years is enough.” Jussi is a question mark. Word on the street is that when he turned in his bib at Chantry Flats he was saying a final goodbye to the Angeles Crest 100.

  But as every 100 miler knows, all of those clearly uttered “never agains” are rarely heeded. 

  Despite its status as one of the original six 100 mile races in the U.S.A., the Angeles Crest has long flown under the national radar. That may change in 2018 as Jim Walmsely is on the list of starters. Will he make the start line? Who can predict, but if he does, one can only imagine that he will be chasing one of ultrarunning’s oldest records: Jim O’brien’s 17:35 set in 1989 (on a cool day in September on a significantly different course). Most would argue that the course has changed enough to make the comparison  between 1989 and 2018 meaningless, and whether the 2018 course will be faster or slower than the original route that finished at the Rose Bowl is a question best answered by Dominic Grossman, a two time champ and six time finisher of the race (third this year) who lives on the course as it heads into the first climb.

  Larry is right, of course: AC doesn’t care. But fortunately many people do care deeply about this race, and for them, whether or not Jim makes it to the start in 2018 –and briefly thrusts the race into the spotlight-- is unimportant. Because of the work of the volunteers, the race organizers and the many folks who have made the race an important part of their lives, the AC 100 will continue to make and break dreams both big and small.

 

  Only a fool would make AC predictions a year in advance, but I feel confident with this one: John Vanderpot will finish the 2018 AC 100 under 32:29 for his 5th consecutive finish.

 

 While we were heading down into Millard at mile 95, John told me he’s going to run five and then call it a day for the Angeles Crest 100.

  I don’t believe that. He’ll be back for more, and, I hope, so will I.

The View to Huasca: UTMX 100. Meditations on training, racing, losing (and finding) motivation.

AC 100 Finish: The end of a long journey.             Photo: Larry Gassan

  After finishing the Angeles Crest 100, (which you can read about here), I took five days off, but then tried to get right back on the horse. A couple things held my training back:

1. Motivation. The AC 100 was the culmination of 3 years of training and racing, and 6 months of focused training. After that effort I simply didn't have the same desire to get out of bed to run 3-5 hours in the mountains on Saturday and then repeat on Sunday. My body seemed ok; my mind needed a break: a longer break than 5 days.

2. Return to teaching. I was back in school the week following AC. The beginning of a school year is hectic and all-consuming: driving out to the mountains mid-week was no longer in the cards.

  However, I didn't stop running. I wasn't tracking my mileage, but I was doing speed workouts a couple times a week, and a ten miler here or there. I did get out for a great long run with Martin and Hiram for my first summit of Ajusco in August, but there wasn't much more than that.

Great run/hike up to Ajusco with Hiram and Martin.                           Photo: Hiram Marave

  And yet the UTMX 100k loomed, and all indications were that this was going to be the race of the year in Mexico. Fantastic organization; magical location. So that knowledge kept kicking me out the door to run. Just not for as long or steep as I needed to run. It's easier for me to run a race than it is to go out by myself for a long run, so I signed up for some races.

First Annual Tepozotlan 21k, Sept. 7

Wildflowers, rocks and climbs....                                      

   On September 7, I ran the Solo Para Salvajes race in Tepozotlan. Solo Para Salvajes is the mountain (and trail) running group run by Pedro Fletes Omaña. One can't speak of mountain running in Mexico without mentioning Pedro Fletes. His group efficiently runs nearly two races a month all year long. He has being doing this since the late 80's. His races feature aesthetic routes, adequate aid, and an absurdly economical price tag. About 22 USD for a race. The races are a mix of long time classics and newer ventures. Tepozotlan was a new one: a point to point race, and it was a beauty on all fronts: wild terrain that was a mix of cross-country off trail climbing and descending, and narrow, rocky single track throughout. Also, in the manner of all of all Salvajes' races it was simply, yet effectively organized: the route was fairly marked, there were aid stations were you needed them and had what you needed (salt, sugar, liquids). And, as always, a family of runners in good spirits.  We also lucked out with perfect weather: sunny, but not too warm. This race is an instant classic in my mind. Which brings me to a point I'll focus on more later: what makes a great race? Aside from organization, it's simple: the route. The route is everything. Most experienced trail runners don't give a shit about running 20 or 50 or 100 or 165 kilometers (why not 17 or 56 or 151?): we care about the trail. Trails that are aesthetically pleasing, trails that offer challenges. And beauty. 

A route that makes sense. Stunning.                    

Loops within loops don't make sense. Little out-and backs just to add distance don't make sense. If there is a peak in the area, the route should go up to that point.

Tepozotlan was the perfect route. And I had a good day, as I was in fantastic spirits as I discovered how awesome the course was. I'll be back next year.

Course was so nice I hiked back out there with Milly after the race

Ajusco 50k, Sept. 21

 I guess my only problem with the Tepozotlan 21k was that it wasn't long enough. So I had signed up for a new race being organized by some friends of mine. They aren't experienced race directors, but they have a passion for trails, and I had run with them in the area, so I was excited about the race. Also, I felt that mentally I needed a 50k long run, as this would give me some confidence going into the 100k in Huasca. I hadn't run longer than 21k in more than a month.
  Well, as every trail runner in the Mexico City area now knows, the race didn't go as planned. There were problems. Basically, the race imploded. I'm not going to rehash all the details, but I will offer a couple observations. Most complained about the trail markings, but I didn't find this to be a problem. I think the problem is that there were too many races, and the route (see my comment above about loops within loops) was not intuitive: in my mind, it didn't make sense. Also, my friends just underestimated how many folks it takes to organize a race, especially a race with a lot of new trail runners. Some hotheads called it a "deception" and a "fraud," and, frankly, that's ridiculous. It was some runners who got in over their heads and things spiraled out of control. 

It was a race. It went poorly. It's just running. Get over it.

  My race in Ajusco ended at the end of the first 25k(?) loop. Why did it end? Because of the organizational problems? Because the trail was hard to follow? Because the the finisher arch was prematurely deflated? Nope. It ended because I was dead tired. I've never felt that poorly in any race. Before Ajusco, I've never thought about dropping early in a race, but the DNF excuses were already filling my brain on the first climb. I had nothing. So when I got to the end of the first loop, I ended my race. Can't blame that on anyone else but me. I don't feel bad about it, as I was absolutely zonked and the idea of trudging around another loop had zero appeal.

         Struggling.
But a bad day running in the mountains is still a good day...               Photo: Martin Forstmann

  I was sure my 100k Huasca dream was done. I would do the sensible thing and drop to the 42k. I told a few folks I would switch races, I wasn't ready for 100k, mentally or physically. So it goes.

 Camino Largo y Sinuoso 33k, September 28
 And then I had a good run a few days later. My body started to feel better. And I signed up for the 33k run the following Sunday, one of the classics of the Solo Para Salvajes group. I knew this route well, as I've trained here many times, and ran the race two years ago (report here). I decided that THIS would be my long run for Huasca. And the race went well: I took the first climb easy, descended down to the cuarto dinamo, which is the half-way point, and then started to push a bit from there. And I found myself able to push hard all the way to the finish. And I still finished with something in the tank. I told Milly I would finish around 5 hours, 5:15, and I ran in at 4:42. Suddenly, I was feeling great about Huasca.

UTMX 100k: Huasca de Ocampo, Hidalgo, Mexico. October 11, 2014

Epic.

  But, one solid twenty-miler does not a 100k training plan make. Frankly, I don't care. It's an experiment. How much of my base have I maintained since running 100 miles? How much has slipped away? I'm running the 100k to find out.

  But really, I'm running this event because it's going to be freaking awesome.

  I don't want to miss this race. It's not just another race. Everything indicates it's going to be the premier Ultra running event of the year in Mexico (and if I'm mistaken on that count, someone please tell me where I should go run): I know a bit of the route from my previous experience running Marcos Ferro's race two years ago (report), and it's beautiful, rugged and varied (and also: very, very well organized). Running down into the Barranca (canyon) de Metzitlan (and climbing back out) is only going to raise the "Epic-ness" of this great event. If you are a mountain runner in Mexico, you will be at this event. Some have claimed that it is pricey (100USD for the 100k), and while that may seem true --by Mexican trail race standards-- remember that these guys have been working on this race for a year, with nearly a 100 volunteers and workers on race day to make sure everything goes smoothly. It's not a for-profit venture, folks: Ferro and co. are putting this own because they want to share some great trails with the trail community.

  I can't wait.

  My race-day goals:
  1. Enjoy the highs
  2. Embrace the lows.
  3. Stay in the moment

Yeah, sure I have some time goals floating around, but without knowing the course --and never having run the 100k distance-- (pace it like a 100 miler? a 50 miler?) they are guesstimates:
A goal: sub-16
B goal: sub-17
C goal: stumble across the finish line with a smile on my face at midnight (19 hour time limit).

Gettin' ready..

And after Huasca? I think a good long rest is in order....

But that race in Chico and the Salvajes classic Triple Corona look tempting....

Angeles Crest 100 Mile Race Report: The Education of a Mountain Runner

Forget what you think you know about L.A. and surrounding areas: this is a mountain race     Photo: Jeremy Hardy

My Dad and Jeremy: Awesome Crew, Awesome Pacer. Mediocre Runner. Hey, two out of three ain't bad! Selfie: Jeremy

  For three years I’ve had the 100 mile dream. Even before I ran my first trail race: a 26km Saturday Race followed by a 16km Sunday race in Real De Catorce, the dream was there: all this is preparation for running a 100 miler.

  One of the joys of the AC 100 is that you have to sign up a year in advance. This allows for a full year of anticipation, planning and training. It also allows for lots of things to go wrong or for life to get in the way, as is annually demonstrated in the high numbers of runners who don’t make it to the start line of AC, the sole blemish on an otherwise magnificent jewel of a mountain race.

 I arrived well-trained, healthy and in high spirits in Wrightwood and with a great crew and pacer: my dad and my brother-in-law, Jeremy. We settled into the 5 star Pine Hotel, a cozy room with nails sticking up out of the floor and an old TV hanging right over the fridge so I could whack my head four times while obsessively re-checking that my water bottles were indeed ready with GU packed. Unfortunately, the whacks didn’t take, as I insisted on waking up at 4:00am in the morning and running 100 miles through the mountains to Altadena.

The AC 100 is something like 21,000 feet of climbing and 26,000 of descent. Those who make it to mile 75 are rewarded with a 3,500 climb, which for this running mortal would come at 3:00am in the morning. The course is relentless, though if truth be told, it does ease up considerably in the last 35 meter section in Loma Alta Park. So you’ve got that carry you through the previous 30 hours.

Save something for those last 35 meters!

  The pre-race meeting was uneventful, but we did get a looong explanation about how bib chips work with some follow up questions (actually, it was the same question asked 7 different times with a slightly different intonation) that would have been amusing had I not been sitting on the floor in a hot and stuffy room.

  Future Runners: You could skip the pre-race meeting, but the catch is this: there is absolutely nothing else to do in Wrightwood.

  I tossed and turned and listened to my Dad snore for several hours, and then the moment I had been waiting three years for finally came. I got my bottles from the fridge, whacked my head one last time on the TV, and headed down to the start. I felt like I was at a cocktail mixer: everyone milling around and chatting it up. With 30+ hours to “warm up” I figured taking a seat was the best option. But no joke: I was psyched. I would probably do better at parties if after 20 minutes of chit chat, everyone took off for a very long run. 

 In the words of my pacer, Jeremy, [he crewed me to Chilao and then ran with me from Chilao to Finish. How about a buckle for that??] I looked like a “kid in a candy store” until Islip. A word about the Baden-Powell section (Vincent Gap to Islip): middle-earthesque, magical, inspiring. Ok, I’m two words over, but you get the idea. A shout out to Marcus England, who led the march up to the summit at the perfect not-to-fast/not-to-slow pace --AND-- he knew all the names of the trees.

 I rolled into Islip like the aforementioned kid in a candy store, fixed a blister on my pinkie toe and headed up to Mt. Williamson. Somewhere on that climb I had the realization that it wasn’t blazingly hot out.

 I had run into a few runners at the Pasadena Patagonia store earlier in the week, and I tried not to be star-struck when I asked famous ultra runner Chris Price what his weather prediction for the race would be.

He replied: “Hot or very hot.”

See: even famous ultra runners can be wrong. And let me tell you how happy I am about that.

 Which brings me to the climb up through Cooper Canyon up to Cloudburst. Clouds weren’t the only thing that were burst here: my two-thumbs up, Baden-Powell-is-douche-grade! Energy® had been mangled into a tight stomach and a slow trudge. Earlier on the climb I saw the great Jussi H. bent over on the trail. What? Was the great one wretching?  I certainly wanted to. I ran into Mike, a non-famous ultrarunner, also from the Patagonia store encounter, and he remarked he hadn’t taken in a calorie since Islip. The mountains were taking a toll.

  “I need a sit-down and a coca-cola.”

  Boy was I happy to be at the Cloudburst aid station.

My dad and Jeremy told me lots of lies about how good I looked and how everyone else took a beating in the Canyon. I remarked that if it had been hot, I would still be down there, curled up under a rock.

  And then came the downhill to Three Points. I ran downhills great most of the day, but the parade marched by me on this section. I just didn’t have much mojo. Got to Three Points, a quick refill, with Jeremy and my Dad, the last time I would see them before Chilao. Rolling single track here was enjoyable but then, in the middle of nowhere, someone had decided to pave a road. Why?

 Why did they have to pave a road? And why did it have to be so long? I slowed to what could only charitably be called a trudge. Two runners hiked past me. And then they were gone.

  I started to have fantasies about how good it would feel to lie down on the pavement. Just for a minute, you know. But I kept moving. Until I wasn’t moving, and for the first time in the race, I hunched over, put my hands on knees, and tried to remind myself that “it never always gets worse.” I’d been here before: the climb out of the Caldera at the Jemez 50…that was worse, and then I felt great the last 10 miles in that race.

  In response to these weak rationalizations, a bit of spit dribbled out from my lips.

  I trudged on, and then, there it was, like a shimmering mirage: Hal Winton and the Mt. Hilyer aid station. I sat down, had a coca-cola. Listened to some wisdom from Hal, and suddenly I didn’t feel horrible anymore. Amazing what a four minute sit down and a coca cola can do.

  Weird game, 100 milers.

The Setting Sun                                            Photo: Jeremy Hardy 

  

  To make up for the road, the next section was downhill through awesome rock formations. The old pre-Islip energy started coming back. I was passing people. Feeling good. Holy crap, 50 miles and my knees don’t hurt!

I “sprinted” into Chilao once I hit the campground road. No longer a hunched over spit dribbler, I was ready to run. I said goodbye to my dad –we wouldn’t see him until the finish, and Jeremy and I headed out of there. Somehow the combination of coca-cola, GU, GU brew and chicken noodle soup had a Lazarus-like effect on me.  Night came, and we pushed hard to Shortcut, passing folks along the way. It was raining, I had my shirt off. Mexico City weather had followed me here, and don’t think I wasn’t damn happy about that fact.

Oh yeah: Remember the big party in Wrightwood? It had been moved to Shortcut.

“Dude, let’s get out of here.”

  As we exited past the radio guys, they asked “Are you sure you are going to Chantry?” (apparently Newcomb’s Pass is not a great place to drop)

  “Hell no, we’re going all the way to Altadena!”

 And so the energy continued. After the long dirt road section (waaaay down….waay up), we got to Newcomb’s. And mercifully, we were on single track again. We flew. I began to think I was done with my lows. I had never considered anything faster than 31 hours, but started doing the math for sub-30.

Newcomb's Pass Aid Station                                     Photo: Jeremy Hardy

 Every great party has an end. Mine ended on the climb up to Winter Creek. My thighs had tightened up while sitting in Chantry, and suddenly I was very, very sleepy. I wondered if I could walk and sleep at the same time. Winter Creek Trail is not a great locale for this experiment.

  This is the section where having a pacer probably saved me an hour, maybe more. The temptation of taking a dirt nap was overwhelming, but Jeremy was having none of that. He promised me a little sit down up on Deadman’s bench, but it seemed like this section of the trail had been lengthened! It was absolutely longer than when I had run it three weeks previous. That was the only answer, because it simply would not end. We were on WHAT ABSOLUTELY HAD TO BE THE LAST SWITCHBACK for like 40 minutes.

And then we emerged and saw the city lights. I tried to sleep on the bench, but couldn’t get comfortable. Jeremy promised the sun would be coming up soon. I tried hard to care.

Millions of people who will never know how good a 4 minute sit down and a coca cola feels  Photo: Jeremy

 My dream of running down the Mt. Wilson Toll road en route to a glorious sub-30 finish did not play out the way it had in my mind. I walked. Ok, maybe I jogged for a couple 30 meter sections, but you get the idea.

But I was going to finish. And when we got into Idlehour, I was on familiar ground, I had run these trails in the weeks leading up to the race, and my energy came back. I was done with Gu and Gu brew, and basically on the coca-cola train with a few M&M’s for good measure.

  We hit El Prieto and I tried to run. The sun was out, it was finally hot. But it was too late to matter. And then I turned into the park. My family was there. I had a little kick, made the most of those final 35 meters.

                                                  That mile 99 Smile                                                      Photo: Louis Kwan

And then Hal was asking me my shirt size.

Thrilled with the fact that I can stop eating a GU every hour             Photo: Jeremy Hardy

 Final Thoughts (I know, I know...I'm going on longer than the bib chip guy at the pre-race meeting, but cut me some slack: you only get to write one "first 100 miler report."

It was great having my dad there. He didn't really know anything about 100 milers, but once I showed him how the splits worked, he was totally into it. It was great motivation to know I would see him and Jeremy at the aid stations.

I won't be racing AC next year (so many trails, so little time -- thanks for the tip about Bighorn, Andi!), but I hope to be back to crew and pace my brother-in-law.

The ability to run downhill was huge. Climb up, run down. That's this course. Fitness will get you up the hill, but only lots of downhill pounding will prepare one for the downhills. You hear a lot about all the climbing and the heat, but don't forget the downs...

  The AC is at a crossroads. It's a classic, point to point mountain race, and unlike it's more famous sibling up north, it's a Hard Rock qualifier. The secret is out. It sold out in around 15 minutes this year, and next year there will be a lottery. The only question is: what kind of lottery? One created by Hal and Ken to maintain the values of the race, or a de facto lottery determined by computer speed and one's mouse-clicking fortune? It would be a bummer to see names like Grossman, Pacheco and Jussi (and many, many more) not get into the race because of a poorly timed browser refresh. Maybe they could have some slots available for sign up at the finish of the race? At any rate, one of these years I hope to be back to face the course on a "hot or very hot" day.