The Path to the Angeles Crest 100 Mile part I: Sean O' Brien 50 Miler: Race Report

Staying warm before the race.



But most of the day was like this...

Why blog? I'm not sure. I guess it's nice to have something to look back on, and of course my grandmother is a regular reader so that provides some incentive.
  I've fallen off the blogging horse since my last report from my DNF (did not finish) in Oaxaca. I have run a few races since then, but nothing spectacular: I ran a solid 20k at the Picacho race, a local favorite because it is point to point through the local mountains and very technical. I then ran the Mexico City half marathon and then, a month later, nearly froze to death during the Rover Marathon. The race was run in worst rains Mexico has experienced in a generation. I was cold, I got lost, I started running back to an aid station at one point to quit, frustrated to discover the course wasn't marked after being lost for an hour, but then I ran into Chespiro, who knows all these courses and he showed me the way. So I turned around and slogged in for a 6:30 finish, over an hour longer than my time the previous year, and at least 90 minutes over my goal time. Still, I was glad to get the finish.
  There was a lesson there. Don't drink the "DNF's are ok" kool aid. DNF's are horrible and I also suspect they are habit forming. Some folks see no point in "hiking it in." I disagree. Barring the risk of grave bodily harm, it's always best to just get it done.
  
  I still think about that damn DNF in Oaxaca.

  And then I signed up for the Angeles Crest 100 which will take place on August 2 and 3 in 2014. That run will be the culmination of three solid years of running on trails. But to prepare for that race I needed some 50 mile races to get ready. Last year in February I had a fantastic time starting off the new year racing my first trail 50k at the Ray Miller 50, so I thought I would return this year and do the 50 mile race. It's also a great chance to visit with my sister, Meggin and her family.
  Fortunately, my brother-in-law Jeremy Hardy would be joining me to run his first 50 mile race. We made the foolish mistake last year of running the Surf City Half Marathon the day after the 50k. Lesson learned: run the trail run and then relax on Sunday.
  The training leading up to Sean O' Brien was mixed. I lost a week because of a pulled muscle in my back, and then after Christmas I lost two weeks to illness. I was worried; I was very close to texting Jeremy and saying: "hey dude, sorry but I've got to drop down to the 50k." I rationalized all kinds of reasons why it would be better to drop down and race the 50k.

I feared failure.

  But then I remembered that on August 2 I will run 50 miles and still have 50 miles more to go. At that point it's basically mental. Hell, most training programs for 100 and 50 miles are nearly identical. Most of us don't have bodies that can tolerate 150-200 miles per week of training. And even if I do have that kind of body, I don't have the time.
  So my plan was to show up to the Sean O' Brien 50 and race smart and see how my body responded. I had gotten in a few long back to back weekends (5 hours on Saturday, 5 hours on Sunday) in the months before the race, and that would have to be enough.

 Or so I had hoped. Jeremy and I woke early and my day almost ended with my first step at 3:00am in the morning. Instead of walking to the bathroom I stepped down the stairs in the pitch black. Caught myself on the railing. Time to wake up.

 I ate a big (for pre-race) breakfast: two pieces of toast, an egg. We drove the 40 minute drive to the race and were shocked by the cold: 28F. We checked our drop bags and then we sat in the car with the heat on until 10 minutes before the race.

Sunrise

  After a couple flat miles, the race climbs to the 6.5 mile aid station. I took it at a very easy hike, reminding myself to eat and drink at least one bottle (20oz) before the aid station. I was feeling great, and after this station I ran a few miles with Steve Harvey, a guy who has being doing this for 30 years and puts on a number of races in the SoCal area. I even got to pick his brain a bit about the AC 100 (he ran it in 1986, the inaugural year).

Buenas Vistas (all day long)

 "You know were most people lose it on the AC? On the first climb up Acorn trail." 

At the 18 mile aid station I stopped for some potatoes and refills, and Steve was gone down the long descent to Zuma beach, but I had learned a few good tips and also some interesting anecdotes about the early years of ultrarunning.

  I arrived down at Zuma beach at 5:05, just about an hour ahead of the cut off, so I was no longer worried about that. However, the crux of the course was ahead: two long climbs that were exposed to the sun. Note for next year: this is at minimum a two bottle section unless you are a front runner.

Refueling at Zuma beach aid station

  I climbed well here and was sort of dreading the bonk, as usually it comes somewhere around the 50k mark, but I had been fueling well and drinking well all day, and climbing strong.

 If I had to make a complaint about the course it would be this: too many miles of fire road for my taste (though the views of the Pacific were spectacular), so it was a relief to get back on the Backbone trail, rolling single track that was fun to run. It was late in the day, but I was still feeling strong. I was struggling with downhills. My knee caps were killing me on the downs and I found myself walking at some points just to avoid the pain.

Always a good reminder on long climbs...

  However, I began pushing harder as the sun dropped lower in the sky. When I reached the final aid station at mile 44, I thought perhaps I could make it in 12 hours so I started to push as hard as a I could. It soon became clear that 12 hours wasn't going to happen, but I was catching people at this point in the race and that kept me motivated. In the final miles of the race it was dark and I had a few moments of doubt about the trail, but my memory from the morning served me well (the race was out and back with a loop at the end) and I crossed the finish line moving well, a great contrast to my first 50 mile race in Jemez where I couldn't even muster a jog at the finish and sprawled out on the grass unable to move for some time.

A short bit of video on the final descent.

  Here's a real video of the race:

 Jeremy was there and he had run a great race, going under ten hours.

 I finished in 12:17.

 I buried that DNF from back in July somewhere on the climb out of Zuma Beach.

 I also learned something about fitness here, as my weeks off didn't seem to have much of an effect. I fueled well and started slow and it paid off in the end. Also, while I don't think this course is comparable to Jemez, it was far from easy and I had a 3 hour and 16 minute PR. Can't feel too bad about that.

  Could I have started off stronger earlier in the race and still had the strong finish?

  I guess that's what keeps the game interesting.

Recovery Beverages for Sunday

the details:

ran with one bottle until mile 13 where I picked up my second. This worked well, though probably could have gotten away with one bottle until Zuma beach. Two from Zuma beach is a must for anyone but the front of the pack.

I ran with my Jurek Essential which worked well. I could have carried all my GU's in my bottle holders but much easier access with the belt. I should have brought a ziploc to stash potatoes.

Cascadia 7's and Balega socks. Sad this is my last pair of 7's. I'll try and save them for Zane Grey in April.

  Be wary of depending on aid station gels. I arrived at one and they only had strawberry, which I detest. However, the aid stations here are like buffets at a five star hotel. They have everything. But if you gotta have vanilla Gu, best to bring it with you...

Next  up:

 The big race coming up is the Zane Grey 50. Looking forward to meeting my sister Allison and Jeremy out in Arizona.

March 7: 14k in Tepoztlan
March 29: Carrera de Resistencia 66k. This will be a good long training run for Zane Grey.
April 6: 21k (road) in Veracruz as a member of Team Feel the Magic. Hoping for a half marathon PR here, it's at sea level.

And of course, on August 2, the AC 100....

A Two-Headed Creature: Jemez 50 Mile Race Report

"What a strange thing that which men call pleasure seems to be, and how astonishing the relation it has with what is thought to be its opposite, namely pain! A man cannot have both at the same time. Yet if he pursues and catches the one, he is almost always bound to catch the other also, like two creatures with one head." 

--Socrates in Plato's Phaedo

                                                            5:00am start                                  Photo: David Silva

 Exposed to the sun, sprawled out on the ground on the impossibly steep, no-trail climb up the backside of Pajarito Moutain, I recalled the words of the volunteer at the last aid station: “Just keep moving.”

  I had never flopped on the ground during a race before, but there I was unable to even keep my own promise of 100 steps before taking a break. I would get to about 23 and then basically fall down. My stomach was tied in knots and had been for hours.

  Without a watch, I wasn’t sure how close I was to the 5:00pm cutoff at the ski lodge.  Ten or so hours into my first 50 mile race that I had been so resolutely determined to finish, but the doubts were creeping in: why was I doing this? All that training, all those climbs up the Cerro de San Miguel and here I was at the tail end of the race, concerned I might not be able to cover four miles in three hours.

  

We began in the dark.

Those first miles of the race were magnificient: rolling, rocky trails through an apocalyptic landscape brutally shaped by the 2011 Conchas fire. Trying to keep my enthusiasm in check, everything felt beautiful and easy. The 3,500 foot hike up from Camp May to the top of Pajarito was fun and I was passing people.

  Arriving at the ski lodge for the first time (mile 17), I reapplied suntan lotion, grabbed a few more GU and headed out to the Pipeline Road Aid Station eating a Cliff Bar. The first signs of unease set in here, my stomach tightened and a few runners that I had passed earlier went by at a solid clip. I wouldn’t see them again.

Feeling good early in the race....            Photo: Jim Stein

  I stopped again on the backside of Pajarito in the bit of shade offered by a tree. I was trying to eat some GU. The group up ahead of me was moving away slowly. A guy I had passed 8 miles earlier in the Caldera came hiking by: he asked if I was ok, if I had enough water. He had run the course the previous year and he assured me that he was thinking he would “peak out” in about 15 minutes. This got me up and moving.

  A few more steps.

  A bit later, during another break, a course official was slowly moving his way down the mountain. He looked worried when he saw me. He was going down to meet the course sweepers. He asked me if I was ok and I lied and replied yes. He told me it wasn’t too far to the bench near the top of the mountain and then it was downhill to the ski lodge. This encouraged me and the grade began to relent and I was able to walk.

 Looking down at the Caldera from Pajarito                                 Photo: Benedict Dugger

•••

 The first time through the ski lodge I hiked most of the way to the Pipeline road aid station trying to digest and get my stomach back in order. The Pipeline was the turnoff for the 50k runners.  The cutoff for the 50 milers was noon, and I had made it here at 10:30. The slide down to the caldera was one of the more unusual features of this race. It was literally a rock slide straight down. The rocks were moving downhill at about the same speed that I was. I fell and thought I punctured a hand-held bottle, but fortunately that was the only mishap. Once I made it down the rock chute, I was looking at about 14 miles of flattish running. On paper, this section should be easy, but mentally it was the toughest part of the race. We were out here in the heat of the day, and while the views were spectacular, the distances seemed interminable. Like most runners, I prefer to be in the woods on winding single track that enhances the sensation of speed. The open expanse of the Caldera was a constant reminder of how slow I was moving. When I got to the Obsidian Valley aid station, I announced that that was officially the longest 6.2 miles I had ever run. I was tired of the Caldera and I wanted nothing more than to be hiking up the backside of Pajarito. Seven miles or so to go to the climb.

•••

  After picking myself up off the ground for the last time, I saw the Bench and knew I was nearing the top of the mountain. I was moving steadily, and soon began the downhill through the ski slopes to the lodge, passing the ski signs I had seen earlier on this descent: the double black diamond runs “Little Mother” and “Nuther Mother.” The blue run asking “Why Not?” My silent answer for this sign was less certain than it had been hours earlier. But this was a fun downhill, mostly single track section and I was feeling better with each step.

  And then I saw the “Aid Station sign” and soon the cowbell started ringing. Unlike the first time I had come through the ski lodge, the place was nearly deserted: a couple of runners recovering and some very helpful volunteers. I experienced a huge burst of energy. I felt like Lazarus. I ate what I could and loaded up my bottles with ice and water and ice and coke. I had made the cutoff,  arriving at 4:10, but I spent a lot of time here soaking my head, getting my headlamp and trying to mentally get it together for the final push and I didn’t leave until 4:28. About 14 miles remained but most of the climbing was behind me.

  Again, I hiked it from the ski lodge to Pipeline Road. This station was manned by runners from the Los Alamos track team. They pulled out some cherries that were chilled and I ate a few of those. It was an incredible relief to know that I did not have to slide down the chute to the Caldera again. There was a short hike up awaiting me, but after that it was almost all downhill until the final two miles. After the climb, the Pipeline Road eventually turned off onto single track through forest that was destroyed by the fire, but signs of new life were everywhere.

 And then it was like the beginning of the race again. I was alone, the sun was low in the sky, and the winding, single track, rocky trail and accompanying views were incredible. All my doubts about why I came to run this race vanished. I was running. Picking up speed. At one point I heard voices behind me that pushed me to run even harder. I arrived at the lonely Guaje Ridge aid station as they were packing things up. I continued to run. I met up with a runner I hadn’t seen since the Caldera. We encouraged each other and I kept moving. I thought Randy would be waiting for me at Last Chance Saloon, the last aid station two miles before the finish. He had run the ½ marathon earlier in the day: his first trail run, and I was eager to see how it went. I passed one more runner that I hadn’t seen since the climb up the backside of Pajarito, and then a few more turns and there was Randy Grillo in the middle of the forest. We caught up on the day as we ran into Last Chance Saloon. He had finished his race, driven back to Santa Fe, showered, napped, and then returned.  Last Chance had beer, tequila and food, but my stomach was struggling with water and coca cola, and I was worried about being passed late in the race so we kept moving. It was getting dark, but I didn’t quite need my headlamp. It was a relief not to have to watch for trail markers and Randy kept me moving quickly. I thought I saw someone behind me, but perhaps it was only a shadow.

  And then the final right turn and rocky climb up to the finish.

  It was dark.

  Someone was ringing a cowbell.

  Pati was there cheering.

  I couldn't even jog it in.

  I was done.

Now I could lay down and not feel bad about it. Randy handed me a Happy Camper IPA, but I couldn’t even begin to think about drinking it or eating anything.

  As I lay on the ground I thought about Pajarito. I reflected about my dream of running 100 miles. Could I really have gotten up and covered another 50?

  I thought I could.

  But I was really happy I didn’t have to.

Postscript:

  Every report I’ve read about the Jemez Mountain Trail Runs remarks on the beauty, brutality and spectacular organization of this race. And my Pajarito-high expectations were exceeded on all accounts. Every aspect of this race is fantastic: The landscape, the organizers, the runners, the trails.  Thanks to everyone who worked to make this race happen. And a special thanks to Randy and Pati for their hospitality and encouragement. 50 miler next year, Randy?

Happy Camper with a Happy Camper            Photo: Randy Grillo

End of a short, fantastic trip to New Mexico.  Thank you Randy and Pati!        Photo: Pati Grillo

Boring Running details I want to remember for next time:

  I went with no watch for the first time in a race and it worked. I think if I had known I had plenty of time to make the second cutoff I would have taken a long nap on Pajarito. Having the pressure of the cutoff and not knowing the time helped.

  Two hand-helds (Ultimate Direction). I ran my first two “ultras” (a 50k, a 62k) with a Nathan pack, but I tend to drink less water when I am wearing a pack and carry stuff I don’t need. I was able to carry six Gu without the pack and my arms never got tired of the bottles.

  I broke the “don’t do anything new on race day” with a new pair of Balega socks, and it worked.  Still, better to test socks out before race day…

  Zero feet problems. Cascadia 7’s are a fine shoe, even the well-worn pair I raced in. Someone else can uphold the minimalist trend: I’m sticking to my “boats.” I’ve got one more new pair of 7’s before I need to switch to the 8’s. I hope the 8’s are as good.

  Neglected to dunk head/soak cap at aid stations.

  I’ve got to figure out the stomach issue. Maybe PBJ’s instead of GU? This was the killer and I really didn’t eat enough. I won’t be able to finish a 100 miler if I can’t figure this out. I went the last 24 miles of the race on coca cola, three or four GUS, a couple cherries, a handful of M&M’s and 6 salted peanuts. Not recommended.

 

I took one salt table and then just stopped because I never train with those things. No cramping. I don’t think I need salt tablets. My tight stomach is not from cramping, but something internal.

  One thing that worked for me running down Guaje Ridge was keeping an open GU packet in my left hand taking a drop at a time instead of trying to suck down a full packet. My stomach felt better here, but it could have been a million other things. Need to keep experimenting.

 As an after thought I threw an extra shirt in my drop bag which at the time I thought was superfluous. Wrong: changing from my snot/sweat/GU/dirt stained shirt into a clean short sleeve was magical.

Desierto De Los Leones: The best place to run in Mexico City

Trail gets rocky as it approaches the top

Looking down from the top

  If you are looking for natural beauty, the best place to train for mountain running, or both, Desierto De Los Leones is the best place to run in Mexico City.  I've made two runs and one hike out there in the past week in search of the best trails to run to the top.  What follows is hardly a full description of all the trails, but I'll share what I've learned in these past three runs which is more than enough to get you started (and to the top of Cerro San Miguel) if you haven't been out there yet.

  When running in Desierto, it's easy to forget you are in Mexico City. The air is clean, the views are spectacular...and the climbing is relentless.   In fact, I don't think there is a mountain race in the world that a committed runner couldn't prepare for here. The premier Mexican ultramarathon runner, Luis Guerrero Marron, trains here, and he has multiple Leadville 100 finishes (along with a zillion other long distance races), placing as high as second.  So if you live in Mexico City and want to run in the mountains, this is the place.

   The climb begins at 9,800 feet and then goes up to 12,328 feet (measured by my Garmin, anyway) in 5 miles to the Cerro de San Miguel.  Alternatively, you can stretch the climb out to nearly 7 miles and run up (or down) the road.  I explain these two routes below.

  The place to start is from the Cruz Blanca trail.  You will see the sign on your right a few minutes after passing through the "town."  Follow the road up.  Along the way there are sections of trail off the dirt road.  Trails aren't marked here (are any trails in Mexico marked?  I haven't seen any), but the trail heads are marked and the trails are easy to follow.  I just kept going up, followed the trails that looked the most interesting and I found my way to the summit despite being totally fogged in on my first ascent. It wasn't until my second ascent that I saw the spectacular views of the city far below.  On my third trip I found a way to make the entire run almost entirely on trails, using the dirt road sparingly (less than 300 meters total) to link up with other trails.

Turn up the dirt road to your right. Also, look closely and you will see that no one is taking the "no animals" rule very seriously

  Depending on what kind of training you are looking for, there are two primary routes to the top:

the technical route and the "rocky road" route.  The technical route is my favorite, but it has a couple drawbacks.  One, most runners won't be able to run everything.  It is very steep in parts and involves some boulder hopping and some fallen trees to work around.  Also, one of the main climbs is a favorite downhill area for mountain bikers.  However, there is plenty of room to avoid the bikers coming downhill. However, if you are looking for technical downhill or uphill practice, this is your route.  The road route is not a smooth dirt path, it is a bit rocky, but it's completely runnable, and it's also a bit longer mileage-wise than the technical ascent.  If you are looking for a longer run and want to run the whole time, this route would be the better choice.

    

On my second run I went up from the Cruz Blanca sign, taking paths in the woods when I could. The photos below will give you a preview of the varied terrain and rugged beauty of Desierto De Los Leones. 

25 million people down there, but only one up here

 At the very top of the climb there is a cement structure that houses an altar where I took the above pictures.  There is also an observation tower that is fenced off, but it doesn't look like it would take too much effort to hop the fence.  Here is my Garmin information which follows the trails up and the road down.  Hiking to the top will take around 2:15.  It took me 1:42 with a mix of running and hiking and stopping to take pictures.