100,000 Steps or How I Ran From Sacramento to Auburn One Saturday in April
I don't normally do write ups of my races but I figured finishing your first 50 miler might merit an attempt. For those of you who take the time to read this very long and overly detailed account, thanks for indulging me and letting me share what had to be the most incredible 12 hours and 16 minutes of my life.
Those 12 hours and 16 minutes would never have happened without my amazing training partner, Celinda. Sometime in the fall of 2010 during one of our marathon training runs she mentioned a little something on her bucket list, doing an ultra, and would I want to do one. I'd heard of them, was mildly fascinated with them but figured it was something other people did. Before my logical brain could take over, a "Yes" spilled out of my mouth. Also, huge props to Celinda's husband, Dave, for all his support in an endeavor that I know took a huge amount of Celinda's time. I've jokingly called her my running wife because there were some training weekends where she spent more time with me than with him. Celinda, we made a decision, we executed a plan, we ran (and ran and ran some more) and we conquered. You are a stellar friend, my dear, and I am so blessed to have you in my life!
I want to acknowledge Susan who was Celinda's pacer. I met Susan in 2009 when she was leading my pace group for Nike Run Club. She was instrumental in convincing me that I could do my first half marathon, the Nike Half, and I've been pushing the boundaries of my abilities ever since in large part because Susan showed me that I could. It seems fitting that you were there for the AR50. Also, since I met Celinda through you, all this is partly your fault! ;)
I'd like to mention my massage therapist, Eleanor. I have no idea how I could have toed the start line without her. She helped keep my body going during an arduous training season and quite literally patched together my leg and my psyche in those scary days right before the race. This happy ending belongs in part to her.
Finally, a heartfelt thank you goes to my pacer, Lisa. I was deeply touched when you volunteered to be my pacer. I didn't know how to begin to ask someone to spend their entire day traveling to Auburn, wait for god knows how long before I showed up at the aid station, deal with me in potentially the foulest mood imaginable and coddle and/or bully me across the finish line. I told you all this and yet you were still game. What's wrong with you? ;) Your good humor, sensitivity and generosity of spirit allowed me to cope with those last miles. Thank you so very much!
The 50 miler in question is the American River 50 which is a point to point run that starts in Sacramento and follows the American River northeast to the town of Auburn. The first half of the run is held on a bike path then transitions onto single track with the most technical section between miles 30-40. The last 2.5 miles is uphill (~850 feet of elevation gain) taking you from the river's edge to the top of the canyon. There are ~3500 feet of total elevation gain and ~2100 feet of descent.
The AR50, of course, had to have a little drama before it even started. The drama took the form of my left knee, which 10 days before the race blew up two miles into what was supposed to be a short, easy 6 mile run. I stopped immediately, walked home and as it would turn out not run a single step again until race day. I saw my sports doc Tuesday before the race because the knee was showing no signs of improvement despite the rest. I was scared. It was painful to test and I was limping. He told me running was basically up to me, I probably wouldn't cause any further damage and if I was going to bail do so before I hit the single track. And no cortisone shot either. The way the knee felt I didn't think I'd make it past mile 2 much less all the way to mile 50.
Up until that point I hadn't talked about the knee with anyone who wasn't directly involved in the race or my health care. I finally told my sister and a few other friends what was going on. That night, as Eleanor, my massage therapist worked on me, I lay on her table crying. It felt like my hopes and dreams for race day were unraveling. So you can imagine my surprise when I got off the table and felt for the first time in a while a significant reduction in the pain I'd been experiencing. It was a glimmer of hope. I wasn't going to get to the start line pain free but maybe, just maybe, it could be kept to a tolerable level. Hoping the knee wouldn't backslide too much I made another appointment for Friday morning before leaving for Auburn. I knew there was nothing more I could do so I put my game face on, allowed myself to let go and get excited about the race and was prepared to live with the outcome no matter what.
Race day started out very early. Up at 2:45am, bus ride from the finish area to the start area at 4:10am and a 6:00am gun. I remember the bus ride feeling long and the irony that I would be getting off it only to spend the rest of the day running back to where I had originally started did not escape me. At that moment the whole endeavor did feel a bit ludicrous. It was also almost unbearably cold and my feet were numb when the gun went off. I was relieved to find that the knee didn't immediately rebel. While it wasn't exactly pleased to be doing what it was doing, it looked like I would be able to run for the time being.
I don't remember much of the first half that was on the bike path to be honest. It kind of passed in a blur. The sunrise was pretty and there were walking and running groups out doing their own thing and wishing us good luck. I marked the passage of distance and time aid station to aid station because math isn't your friend right now. "Yay, 5 miles. 50 - 5 = 45 ... oh crap!" I remember laughing with Celinda as we'd occasionally check the time and though it felt like we'd been out on course for a while, our crew hadn't even left San Mateo yet. The monotony of the terrain, generally flat and slightly uphill, was a grind. I find I don't like just flat and welcomed any elevation changes. My knee was starting to feel the miles but for the most part I tried not to think or talk about it. At one of the aid stations Sabine, another friend running the race, asked me how the knee was doing and I just shrugged and said, "It is what it is" and kept going. I couldn't wait to get on single track and hoped that the variable terrain I'd finally see there would provide me with some relief.
The marathon distance was acknowledged with a balloon arch where one lone spectator cheered us on. It made me laugh but in the overall scheme of things it didn't really matter too much. I still had 24 miles to go. Nope, math still wasn't my friend. Relatively speaking I was feeling okay as we were maintaining a conservative pace. It turned out to be almost too conservative. We got into the Beals Point aid station (mile 26.5) at around 11:35am, about 10 minutes before the cut off where they would pull runners out of the race. According to published race information the first cut off was supposed to be Granite Bay (mile 31.6) at 1:15pm so this took us completely by surprise. I was in utter panic as I switched over to trail shoes and got the stuff out of my drop bag that I needed. I didn't have time to mix a new electrolyte drink and barely had time to get any food before I was being shooed out. I was so stressed and expending unnecessary mental energy. That was also the point of my first and only outburst of anger and frustration. I quickly put a lid on it. I knew that sort of negative energy wouldn't serve me in the long run.
Once I calmed down I focused on making sure I wouldn't be flirting with anymore cut offs. I knew there was one at Granite Bay, Rattlesnake Bar (mile 40.9 at 4:05pm) and Last Gasp (mile 47.5 at 6:20pm). I was so, so happy now to be on single track and felt some renewed energy. We kept a close eye on the time as we made our way to Granite Bay but it became clear there would be no panicked rush as we'd get there in plenty of time. Once I left Granite Bay every step I took would be in uncharted territory physically and mentally since I'd now be going further than any run I'd done before.
This next section until Rattlesnake Bar was probably the most technical. A lot of ups and downs that were uneven, rocky, or stair-step like. I lost track of Celinda and Sabine somewhere between Granite Bay and Buzzard's Cove (mile 34.6). We'd managed to stay together up until this point but now I was alone. It was during this lonely stretch that I got very internal and it was no longer the knee that was uncomfortable but my entire body. There was no one to talk to, no one to distract me from the thoughts in my head and the discomfort I was feeling. I remember running along and thinking/feeling like I was in my own little world of hurt. I was spacing out and at one point tripped over a rock and fell. I use two handheld water bottles and they saved my hands since the canvas on the holders took the damage from the impact. My right foot had hit the rock so hard I saw stars. Imagine someone told you to go kick a concrete wall as hard as you could. I'm surprised I didn't break a toe. It was a wake up call to pay attention and I didn't have any more incidences like that afterwards.
I did have a moment of levity that interrupted my general melancholy. I passed a couple out hiking with their baby. They were carefully making their way down a rocky slope. My first thought was where did these people come from because I felt like I was out in the middle of nowhere (and I suppose I was from a mental standpoint if not a geographic one). The man asked me where the race started. It took me a moment to form a coherent thought and I mumbled out one word - Sacramento. As I huffed and puffed past them I heard him say to the woman - oh...my...god. Now that was funny.
I was desperate now to get to Rattlesnake Bar. It was all I could think of. That meant 9.1 miles to go, I'd see friends and pick up my pacer, Lisa. It meant I'd nearly be done. I heard the aid station before I got there; the sound of cheering as runners came in. I crested a hill and finally saw people. I scanned the group looking for Lisa, Susan and Dave. I heard them before I saw them. "BING BING!!" Then finally I saw figures parting from the crowd and running toward me. Before I knew it I was engulfed in huge hugs. It was a moment of pure and utter joy. All I wanted to do was hold onto them but I couldn't linger too long. A single-mindedness of purpose took over; I must finish. Lisa helped me get my bottles topped off and had brought her homemade superfood bars for me. I had suspected that by then I would need something completely different to eat and I had called it right. I had completely lost my appetite. None of the aid station food was appealing. None of the flavors of electrolyte drink was appealing. I didn't want any of it and I was dumping out any extra food I had on me. I didn't even want it near me. I just held onto 4 energy chews, a gel and the superfood bars.
The 3 miles to the next aid station seemed to go by quickly. I'd gotten a big boost of energy having Lisa there and it was easy to pretend we were just a couple of friends out for a short trail run together. We told each other stories and laughed and joked and commented on how beautiful the trail was. She kept an eye out on me and kept reminding me to eat and drink. I kept apologizing for my slow pace, the two hour wait for me at Rattlesnake Bar and probably the weather. I wanted to make sure she was having fun. I wanted to make sure she got whatever she needed from the aid station. She's my pacer I would tell them. Well, duh. Illogical as it sounds considering the circumstances I was more concerned about her well being than my own. In retrospect I think this was my way of not dwelling on my own fatigue, which was becoming more and more pronounced. Somewhere around mile 45 my energy level hit its lowest point. I was having difficulty walking much less running. I tried picking up my feet and couldn't. I'm in trouble. I choked down some energy chews and more electrolyte drink and hoped I wouldn't have a full-blown meltdown so close to the end. A few minutes passed and I was able to start running again.
One crisis averted but shortly after my mind decided to join the "I'm so over this" party. I had started fantasizing about crossing the finish line and how it would feel to stop running. I could sense the drain these thoughts were having on my limited energy. I told Lisa about this, that I needed help to occupy my mind and she pulled out all the stops to keep me distracted, right down to a hilarious imitation of a chicken. She gamely tried to imitate a horse but let's just say that one needs some work. She was pure rock star through and through. I think if she could have carried me she would have. Another thing I noticed; I had no filters. Almost any random thought that popped into my head was verbalized. At least I wasn't in a bad mood. I had warned Lisa that I didn't really know what kind of states she'd find me going in and out of and hoped she wouldn't take anything I might say to her personally.
Finally we got to the last aid station, ironically called Last Gasp, and now it's 2.5 miles uphill to the finish. We called it a cruel joke to make us do this after 47.5 miles. We passed the 2 Miles To Go sign and after what seemed an eternity the 1 Mile To Go. Suddenly we were out of the river canyon and back to civilization. There were people and cars and cones directing us to the finish. There were spectators congratulating me and I thanked them as I passed by. I could hear Lisa off my right shoulder whooping and hollering and then, there it was, the finish line; an artificial construct in the middle of a non-descript parking lot that I had dreamed of crossing for months. All the hours of training, all the wet, cold, muddy trail runs I'd slogged through, all 12 hours and 16 minutes just to cross an invisible line that wouldn't exist in a few hours. Does it make any sense? To most probably not but in that moment, to me, it was the only thing that did. I heard my name being announced and finally started cheering myself. I was done. I got it done.
If you've made it this far, thanks for reading this literary equivalent of an ultra marathon. Enjoy your recovery and eat whatever you want. :)