Javelina Jundred 100 mi

I met up with EKP, Paul, and the rest of the crew to drive out to Arizona at lsdchris' favorite Denny's in Beaumont, CA. We had a grand time driving out in an RV that EKP had rented for the occasion. You could literally smell the excitement in the air, or maybe that was my pair of recently broken in Golites waiting for their inaugural race alongside the standby pair of tried and trues from AC. EKP and Paul were both excited and nervous about their first 100 miler. We arrived shortly after 7pm. The official party had ended, but we were warmly received and dinner was thrown together for us. Jamil, the RD, was in good spirits. He made some comment about me seeming to enjoy Arizona races. Hey, if that's where the good desert races are being held. While I was digging through my goody bag and comparing the bib # I had received with the shirt I had on, Running with the Devil, which depicts a devilish figure with a bib #666 pulling a penguin in a rickshaw, Kirk walks up with a lovely brunette who says, "Hey, I know that face and that shirt, too!" To which I responded, "I get to play the devil in this one!" Kirk was a bit taken back that the gal who had asked for his assistance in the parking lot that he was guiding to the registration area happened to be Joyce, the well-known RD for Running with the Devil and a dozen other races in the Nevada area that go under the banner of Calico Racing. An accomplished triathlete, she was here to run her second 100 miler; having just run Boulder in October. Welcome to the dark side! It wasn't long after we hit the sack that it was time to get up and make our way to the start area. Yeah, the night went that fast. Hail, Hail, the gangs all here! The usual pre-ultra excitement was electrifying as we all gathered around the start area waiting for the word that would begin a run whose end was so far out in the future it wasn't worth considering at this point in time. When they say go - just run. Worrying about finishing a 100 miler is like worrying about what you will wear tomorrow and you haven't even gotten out of bed today. Old friends, new friends, runners, pacers, crew, iMichelle, Robo, EKP, Tracy, Paul, Josh, Ashley, Jill, Joyce, Leigh, Gabor, Kirk, all had gathered around for the festivities. All are anxious for the experience of a lifetime. 100s are like births, deaths, marriages, and baptisms. They're profound experiences and you only get so many of them in life. God put two things on this earth to excite, inspire, and humble men; women and 100s, and not necessarily in that order. Substitute whatever floats your boat for any noun in that last sentence except the 100 part. That's the part that united us all on Saturday, the rest are incidental. 3 - 2 - 1 - GO! Off we went - 147 runners into the dark morning in the Arizona desert. What a rush! Tapering sucks! We were like school children heading out onto the playground for recess - such glee! Excited chatter could be heard for hours as we headed out in a clockwise direction that would be experienced three times (for 15.3 miles each) as well as three times in reverse, followed by the oh-so-fun 8.7 mile "victory" lap with a glow necklace wrapped around your neck that bounced around and found its way into your mouth more often than not, but, I'm getting ahead of myself. There are 2 aid stations out on the course, as well as the start/finish area, each separated by approximately 5 miles of various types of desert terrain. There's the long rocky steeper part, although nothing's steep on this course this part is as steep as it gets and it seems to get steeper each visit, regardless of which direction you're headed, and there's the long sloping sandy part followed by several small washes that have slightly deeper sand in them that seem to suck you in like beach sand. It's a beautiful desert. You see enough of it not to get bored, but see it often enough that you start naming places and things; a rock here, a cactus there. As the runners begin to spread out, you become familiar with their placement on the course relative to you, as well. Ok, there's dude with the arrow in his head, should be seeing dude with the wonder woman costume any minute now, yeah, there he is, "Hey baby, couple more passes like this I may just propose, you're looking so fine in those stars and stripes with the little fruit shaped..., Oh, hi Michelle, did you get a look at the guy in the Wonder Woman outfit just up ahead? Silly, huh?!" Did I mention this race was also a costume party? After the first loop I determined that gatorade just wasn't going to be the drink de jour. I ran a 5 mile section without drinking anything just to settle my stomach, don't kill me Dawg, and after a whole banana at the next aid station switched to pure iced water with S-caps for the remainder of the run. It was working. I didn't touch a single Gu on this one. Heading out on the 3rd loop, the midday sun really began to lay in on us. Lots of runners became visibly distressed. One, who will remain nameless, commented that now it was starting to become not so fun anymore. She managed to finish off a nice 100K finish, however. It was about this time that Rob began to have trouble with his hamstring. I found him like the Pirates of the Carribean, sitting on a barrel, sharing a bottle with Kirk, singing drunken sailor songs near the start/finish area at the end of lap 3. Darn Kirk, such a bad influence. Gonna have to send him back to that wild west Inland Empire from whence he came, contributing to the delinquency of Coto's finest; shameful. ...and in front of his young son on his birthday, too! Rob went on to finish another lap for a respectable 100K finish. Heal well and heal quickly, my dear running friend! BTW, loved the star pasties! Somewhere along the way a huge rattle snake found its way onto the course. I counted 8 rattles and guessed him to be about 6 feet long; big fellow. After alerting others, I continued on, only to be startled by a loud shriek that got me turned around just in time to see a runner about 3 feet in the air looking like he was trying to fly. Wow, dude, that's gonna take a toll on your run, probably ended up costing him about 20 minutes off his time in spent energy. He was just so focused he missed the 3 runners standing nearby pointing at it and wondered what the word snake meant - oh, you mean SNAKE! I thought about draping him around my neck and bringing him back to the start/finish area to keep Kirk company during the hours his runners were out on the course, but decided the extra weight wasn't worth it. Sorry Kirk, I'll put some extra cross fit into my training so I can accomodate you next time, especially after your lovely offering of little potatoes so delicately handled with a rubber glove; such a touching moment, umm, never mind. At the end of the fourth loop it began to get dark. I'm not sure how they got there, but someone had left a half dozen horses to hang out in one of the washes. Going on my experience from Man Against Horse, I made sure that I spoke loudly and "let them know I was a person." Rave dude, with his Reggae music blaring, saw me talking to the horses and stopped to ask what it meant. I think he may have thought I had found something good to smoke out there and he wanted to get in on the action. A little further down the trail, I asked Mexican Bandito dude if maybe he had lost his horses. About this time I came into JA aid station and could see some runners were down. One was laid out in a cot and the other was sitting hunched over in a chair draped in a blanket. I didn't want to look. I knew what it meant. Unfortunately, as I reached out to chow down on those pieces of burrito I had craved for the last 2 miles, I heard a voice say very quietly, "LT, it's me I hurt my ankle and can't continue." I knew that voice. It was EKP. It hurt to look up into his face and acknowledge what was. He looked and sounded very dejected. I consoled him as best I could. What does one say in a moment like that? I hope he finds the opportunity to make another attempt. The night came, cool and bright. I had a waist, head, and hand lamp to guide me if necessary. I only really needed them through the rocky section of the course. For over 10 miles in either direction I ran in the dark, allowing the moon and my night vision to keep me upright and headed in the right direction. I shared the night with Scrappy and didn't see too many other runners heading in the same direction. She seemed to thrive on the darkness as I did. We didn't speak much, but did share a few words. We arrived at the aid stations around the same time and she would lead out only to have me catch up each time. It became a game with neither one of us trying all that hard to break away, but eventually I moved on ahead and didn't see her again until the end. She was so cheery - smiled right to the end. No cranky runner there. Three miles out from the start/finish area a group of runners passed me in the opposite direction. It was hard to tell who they were in the dark, but my "howdy" received a gruff, "pick it up LT, quit goofing off!" It startled me and I almost fell over my own two feet, that was Kirk with Michelle. Before I could reply, they were gone. Good luck, Michelle I spoke into the night. At 23:30 hours into the run I came into the start/finish area to begin my "victory" lap. Nonstop I came in and looped back around to head out. I was chased down and told I needed a glow necklace to make the turn onto the shorter trail back to the finish. After taking almost a full minute for it to be attached, it turned out to be nothing but a pain. 'nuff said on the glow necklace. I was about 3 miles into this loop when I came across Jill Childers. We stopped to chat for a few just about the time the sun was beginning to rise. This woman is incredible. How does anyone run so many miles and look so fresh? With not a sweat stain to be seen, no salt rings around her face, a freshly pressed pink running skirt, and a bright and cheery hello, she looked like she was simply running down to the local Starbucks to have a cup of coffee and a scone for breakfast somewhere in San Diego. What a doll. She was pushing mile 88 at this point. She asked me how my run was going. Great, I guess! I still have the shinier side up. I'm ready for the finish, though, I said. Further up the trail I came across Team Spew, Rick Bearden. He had twisted his ankle and was making his way back to the start. I've run several races with Rick, including AC and Running with the Devil, and it was a tough break to see him hobbling along. He's a tough cookie. Heal quickly, running man. Then, in what seemed like the first time in the entire run, I came across Paul E. He seemed a bit quiet, casually mentioned a little blister problem, muttered a few words of grit and determination, and headed on in to get his necklace. I guess it's one of those things that you want and when you get it you wish you didn't have it. I'm not mentioning the necklace again. Finally arriving at JA aid station, I chastised them for moving it further out on the course since I was last there, but thanked them for being such gracious hosts for the last 24 hours and following the man's final instructions I headed 2.7 miles downhill to the Pemberton trail that we had been running on for the past day and then made a left for the final mile to the finish. TQ was an angel. She helped me out after the finish, making sure I got something to eat and drink. She even helped me carry my stuff back to the vehicle. I whined about having to carry my number another couple hundred yards. Only 72 runners finished the full 100 miles. This race has got one heck of an attrition rate for being so "easy". Beware of the Javelina!

Man Against Horse 50 mi

Standing at the start of Man Against Horse was, as usual at ultras, low key. The difference this time was that there were several dozen horses staring down their noses at us runners. I know there are other races where horses are present, however in this race you're actually competing with them. One strange thing I noticed after we started was that it was easy to forget about the riders on the horses. It was almost as if they were an afterthought. OK, there were a couple of them that couldn't be missed in those tight riding pants that they wear, although very few had the physique of a runner; you know, that thin tight butt we all sport from all the miles we put in. Several looked like a double-decker from the rear, if you know what I mean. (Hey, it's my recap, I'm just describing what I saw) I almost had to remind myself not to greet the horses as they passed, but the riders. I'd be eyeballing the horse and talking to the whole object of horse and rider. I guess it works both ways because I had several riders tell me to talk so the horse knew I was a person. The first time I heard it I thought of Kirk and his Yetti jokes, but then remembered I had heard this years ago from riders in Germany. Fortunately, if one would pass me I could remind myself that none of them were in my age group. Horses don't get that old. I guess they don't pace themselves either, as most of the day I passed and was passed by many of the same horses and riders. My pace, if anything, was steadily diminishing until the last 6 miles. The course itself was very technical with lots of rocks and deep sand - not a runner's course, for sure. The climb up Mingus Mountain was very tough and just about the time I started up it the wind started gusting and big raindrops began to fall. I was wearing my usual shorts and sleeveless shirt. I haven't worn a jacket other than for early morning runs in almost ten years. I put on a garbage bag and Moeben sleeves and managed to survive it. It took me ages to ascend. I got so tired at one point I could hardly keep my balance. I was reduced to a slow walk. The three inches of mud collecting on my shoes didn't help. Several runners passed me power walking while I was struggling to get one foot in front of the other. When I got to the top there was a guy in a truck who mumbled through a cracked window that he was measuring 47 degrees, figured the gusts were 30 mph, and if you need anything, check the back of the truck inside the shell. Later, at another aid station, and after the rain had stopped, I found 4 women sitting around in chairs chatting. They noticed me standing there puzzled and pointed at a table 30 feet away with a box on it and said, if you need anything, it's there in the box, take whatever you like. It didn't take long to realize who was the afterthought in this race. Many of the aid stations had water only. As I ran through the mid-30 mile range I really felt weary. I'm not sure if it was the unexpected cold, the lack of sleep, or if I was still recovering from AC 3 weeks ago, or all of the above. I also began to get an ache in my left shin just above my ankle. I actually considered DNFing. I arrived at an aid station that I thought was mile 38 and had my towel ready to hand in. I was so tired I couldn't even throw it in. It was mile 40. I like to say, if you get to mile 40 you only have 10 miles to go. Damn it all, I was going to finish this thing. Six miles out I passed several horses. It was encouraging. There was one last one and a half mile mountain descent, a two mile section of wash, and two miles of open field to go. Coming down the mountain I could see a group of three horses closing in on me about a half mile back. It wasn't the two I had just passed. I pushed. Down in the wash the sand was deep. It was like running on the beach. Years of running in Joshua Tree made this section feel like home. I was averaging 7:45 according to my Garmin. I was not gonna let one single horse pass me now. I can't explain what happened going up that mountain but now something had changed. I was a new man. I could have crawled the last section and made the cutoff. I could have run 4 minute miles and it wouldn't have improved my time any. What mattered now was that the run felt good and I was determined to not let one more horse or runner get ahead of me. It was a race within a lost race. At the end of the wash there was one last aid station. I stopped long enough to fill a bottle. I looked back to see if I could see the three horses, but couldn't. I asked the guy at the aid station where the finish was. As close as I was it had to be in view. He pointed between two hills and said, there, that's your goal. I was off again with only two miles to go. This section was solid dirt. It felt good. My Garmin says I was averaging 6:42. I came across a Javelina on the way. I wasn't going to stop for him. I think he figured this out at the last moment because he bolted just as I got to within ten feet of him. Good thing for both of us. I heard a voice and looked back. The three horses were within view again. It kept me pushing. This was a marathon pace. Where the heck was this energy earlier in the race when I could have used it. I crossed the finish 200 yards ahead of the three horses. There were still at least 2 others out on the trail that I knew of and three runners I had passed in the last section. Overall, it wasn't a race to write home about, but it was very gratifying and I learned a bit about myself. I learned that just because you think your run is over, even though you know your race is over, doesn't mean you need to quit. I run because I love to run. Competition is great fun, but the last few races have reminded me of why I really run. I'm guessing I should spend some quality time recovering if I want to get my race back, but my run is healthy, thank you very much. Hi, my name is LT, and I'm a non-recovering runaholic. It's been two days since I beat at least 5 horses in a 50 mile run...

Tahoe 50 mi

I arrived in Carson City in the afternoon, just in time to meet up with Sue and Eric and head over to the Nevada State Capitol building to pick up our race packets and check in. Afterwards, we piled into Sue's car to head over to the starting area to get a feel for the place. Sue and Eric wanted to hang out up at the elevation the race would be run at. I firmly believe it takes more than a few hours the day before the race to adjust to higher elevation, but who am I to stand between runners and their rituals. We drove around the lake a bit, also, and stopped for Chinese food. It's a beautiful area. A lot of runners were hanging around the hotel when we returned. I asked the front desk about breakfast. Sure, it's included with the rooms, said the nice lady at the front desk, starts at 6 a.m. Gee, you're gonna have a lot of empty tables and leftover food. We had to be up and out in the lot to meet the bus that would take us all to the start area at 4:30. We were out there just in time to see a completely packed bus close its doors and leave, as we were told a second bus would be arriving shortly. No more than 6 of us would board that second bus and arrive at the carnival-like atmosphere of the check-in area about 25 minutes later. There were a lot of people. Generators were supplying power for numerous lights. There were tents and tables everywhere. We got our numbers and were told to head over to the starting area. There we were briefed on the usual things. Follow these ribbons, watch for those obstacles. Don't forget there will be a new aid station midway on the 9 1/2 mile out and back for the 50 mile course. It is difficult to get to it, so there will only be water available there. Please don't take more than you will need to get you to the other side. There was a countdown and we were off. It had been 3 weekends since my last 50 and it would be exactly one week until my next. Reminds me of growing up Catholic. Bless me father for I have sinned, it has been 3 weeks since my last ultra. Go in peace my child. For your penance say 5 Hail Mary's, 3 Lord's Prayers, and run another 50 miler this weekend.
The plan was to go out at a pace that would leave me feeling comfortable at the end. I wanted to imagine I would be doing a second loop like the 100 milers who were there that day; part of my training for the Angeles Crest 100 in September. All was going as planned. The aid stations were fantastic. They had huge tents and outdoor carpeting. All had power and covered resting areas. One aid station was even making smoothies in a blender. They were delicious; fresh fruit like strawberries and bananas with Ensure and ice. I should have gotten the recipe. I went around the sandy loop of a trail that drops to the lowest point of the course and climbs back out again; the part of the course with the worst reputation, but I didn't find it to be all that bad. I've seen worse. I got to the aid station just prior to the out and back and filled a 20 oz. bottle that would more than cover me for a distance that was supposed to be no greater than 4 miles. At mile 4 the bottle was empty and I already knew what had happened. Some of the 100 milers who had started earlier that morning were beginning to return and tell us that there was no midway aid station. You had to get to the other side. Great. I knew I couldn't run another 5 miles in the sun with no fluids so I began to walk. By the time I got to within less than a mile of the aid station on the far side, a hiker came along and gave me a 16 oz. bottle of water. I must have looked pretty bad, or sounded really bad. I was cursing the RD for such an egregious oversight. I mean, if there wasn't going to be an aid station, just tell us. I had 3 bottles with me. I would have filled all 3 and been just fine. Does taking that bottle of water count as illegal aid in a race? Somewhere in this section I saw AK and Catra. They were looking great. I hadn't seen them since the Unknown. I think this was like their 8th 100 miler this year. Just as I got to within view of the next aid station I came across Keira. She didn't have anything nice to say about the missing aid station when I mentioned it, but seemed a bit more upbeat now. When I got to it, myself, I mentioned it in passing when they asked. They were well aware of the problem now and I wasn't going to waste my breath on the obvious. There were a lot of people there cheering on their runners and providing a lot of enthusiasm to everyone who came up the trail. The long walk really had me discouraged at this point, though. I wasn't wanting to set any PRs here, but that delay was not in the plan either. I kept telling myself to get used to the unexpected, that's part of my goal of getting experience this year, and that was about as unexpected as it gets. OK, put the coke down, fill all 3 bottles this time, and start back. I really didn't want to put up with listening to myself moan and complain the whole rest of the race about something that couldn't be helped at this point. So, I vowed to mentally drop it and make up for a little lost time on the way back. That seemed to work. AK and Catra were just arriving at the aid station as I left. Somewhere along the way back I came across the now present "missing aid station". Of course, I had enough fluids to run a dozen miles now, but I thanked the guy for making the journey out there for us. By the time I hit the aid station with the smoothies I was my happy go lucky self again. It's amazing what a few miles of running will do for the soul. You really are the person you choose to be. Somewhere along the way the lead runner of the hundred mile race ran by in the other direction. I told him he looked strong and wished him luck. He nodded and continued. Ten minutes later, on a trail so wide it was almost a fire road, another runner came into view. I stayed on my side of the trail fully expecting him to stay on his side of the trail. As he approached, I noticed how muscular he was and that he was now running on my side of the trail, glaring at me. It wasn't until he was about 10 feet out that I realized he wasn't going to move back over and wondered aloud, Oh, you're gonna run me down? He didn't bat an eye and just kept coming. Big mistake dude. We struck each other like we were on the line at a football game. He was flung sideways and over onto his side of the trail and nearly fell as I continued unscathed. As he cursed and muttered about what an idiot I was I told him he should lay off the steroids and do some real strength training. I could hear him hurling insults at me as I continued on. Steroids will do that to you. They make you angry and aggressive, but they also give you big useless muscles and tiny little testicles. I know he was hurting. Last thing I heard him holler was about how he was going to sue me for injuring his shoulder. Save your breath dude, you got over 40 miles of running left to go and by the way, you should have stayed on your own side of the trail. The sad thing is he probably placed in the 100 mile race. Time to start drug testing at ultra events? The next person I came across is a real athlete. I didn't have to worry about Krissy Moehl playing chicken with me on the trail. She looked fantastic. I told her as much. She didn't nod, mumble, or return any pleasantries; just kept running strong. Strangely, I didn't see any other runners along the way until I got much closer to the end and started to pass a few going in my direction.
There are some fantastic views within the last 15 miles of the course, although the last few are relatively dull. There were numerous groups of people heading out to look for their runners, also, which was a little unnerving since it was all single-track at that point. My Garmin had died so I asked one of them how far to the end. He pointed at some trees across the lake and said, Just over there. It was probably another mile and a half before I came around a bend in the trail, the trees and bushes cleared, and there it was, the finish. There were signs indicating that the 50 mile finishers should stay to the left and the 100 milers should go to the right. It wasn't a very exciting finish for me, but I asked myself as I approached, Could I take the right lane and run another loop? I believe the answer is yes, but I veered to the left knowing that it would have to wait for another day.

Running With The Devil 50 mi

I love Summer running. I found this race online and just had to put it on my calendar. Temperatures were expected to top 110 F. It was a 50-mile desert race in Nevada, 30 minutes from the strip in Las Vegas, along the western shore of Lake Mead in the Mojave Desert. Although it wasn't a trail race, it was an ultra, and I was really excited about running in the heat over rolling hills. I left work at noon the day before to drive out and spend the night in the Hotel and Casino Hacienda; the host hotel. It was a long hot drive in my truck with the AC fan broken. I chalked it off as some more good training. Getting up early, I made the short drive over to the staging area in the dark and watched the sun just begin to peek over the horizon as I parked along the shoreline. Western States had been burned out, so there were several runners who made a surprise showing here, instead. Xy and Fred were two of them. It was cool to see them. They've both run Badwater before, as well, and someday, I'd like to follow in their footsteps. Joyce, the appropriate for the theme smoking hot RD, welcomed us all to her little desert run (heh heh), had us check in and weighed in, wished us luck, and with very little fanfare started what would be a fateful journey for many. I went out fast and furious. I figured I'd get as much run behind me as I could while the temperatures were still in the 80s. I love running in the heat, but that doesn't mean you make good forward progress in it. You gotta take every advantage you can when the temperatures soar. At one aid station they had a huge bathtub-like tank ready to be filled with a runner and a boat load of ice in case of a heat emergency. It was a sobering sight on the way out, to say the least. Could it get that bad? As I returned from the turnaround point I could look way ahead and see miles of road with no aid stations, but suddenly they would appear out of nowhere; always a surprise, always beyond welcome, and absolutely ice-erific! At several of them, including the turnaround point, we were weighed. Once, I weighed exactly what I did at the start and once I weighed a pound off. Then, I miraculously gained 12 pounds over just a few miles. Holy shnikees, Batman! Not to worry, it's been doing that, I was told. Wow, that's good. One can put a lot of thought into a moment when pressured to. I had horrific visions of nasty purging to get all that water and aid station junk out of my system quickly. What?! Was I having visions in the desert heat? Speaking of visions, I don't remember seeing any of those shimmering heat waves that rise up from hot pavement. I definitely felt the hot blasting midday desert wind that feels like a blow dryer in your face, though. Fortunately, the heat never really got me and I was able to hold a good pace the whole way. I actually had way more in the tank the last 10 miles than I expected I would. I was literally sprinting. I remember talking to one guy about 12 miles out from the start. He had only run marathons until then. This was his first 50 mile race. I told him very sincerely he should manage his pace and save some for the last 10 miles. He smiled and later pulled away from me like he was going to a fire; most appropriate for a Run with the Devil, one would think, but, I would see him again in a chair at an aid station around mile 30 throwing up on himself from under his big straw hat. He looked pretty rough, but then got up, said he felt great now, and off he went again. While dunking my towels in the ice bucket one last time, I looked up to see a woman in a little Toyota had pulled up and said some guy had just fallen flat on his face up around the turn. Yup, you guessed it, that's as far as he got. A guy in the aid station jumped in a vehicle to go get him. I didn't see him again after that. I had been talking to a really nice runner named Juliet since about the turnaround point. She had also left me behind for a while, but I found her hanging out in that aid station, as well. I think that aid station was there to eat runners. She also left after telling me she would see me down the road a ways. Unfortunately, just as I caught up to her, she and several others jumped into a vehicle, she hollered thanks, that the heat was just too much, and caught a ride to the finish line. The heat was taking out some otherwise great runners. The driver of that vehicle returned later and told me Juliet was feeling better and had said thanks again. This was about the time I began catching up to runners from the marathon and half marathon. Several looked at me sideways as I went by. I greeted the first few cheerfully until several looked at me less than amused. I decided not saying anything would be more appropriate. One wondered aloud why I saved so much for the second half. When I told her it was actually the last eighth, it dawned on her that I was one of the 50 milers. She expressed her amazement at how much energy I still had. I told her I was running on pure delirium. It's more painful than it looks. She laughed and actually picked up her pace a bit. That's the spirit! There are always bigger fish in the pond, do your thing, do it your way, but most important, have fun doing it. Gawd, I love spunk! She finished! I saw her afterwards with a huge smile on her face. I know that smile. I've had it. I've seen it. Go runner! Wet towels, icy water buckets, and ice-cold Coca Cola got me through this one. OK, years of running in several deserts certainly didn't hurt, either. I managed to come in second place overall. Way cool for a smokin hot run near Las Vegas, Nevada! Found out later the temperature peaked at 112 F!

Holcomb Valley 33 mi

The starting line for Holcomb Valley Trail Runs was a deja vu of last year. Hard to believe a year had passed since we last started up Cougar Crest Trail. Maybe it didn't seem so long ago because I had just come down the trail a few weeks prior on a fastpack up from Cabazon. The crowd was thick as the waves of runners were called up to start. Each wave of about 30 runners was to start a few minutes apart beginning at 7 for the 33 milers and 7:30 for the 15 milers. I was in the second wave of 33 mile runners. I saw several SCTHz at the start area. Poor Jennifer Foreman was there sans running shoes. She had somehow forgotten to pack them in the RV and was really disappointed about not being able to run the race after driving up from the San Diego 100. I try not to think too much about why anyone would be rude enough to schedule their ultra on top of someone else's practically within the distance many of the participants could run. I had originally planned to run the SD 100 in the fall. Since I'd already signed up for Holcomb, I decided to stick with it and then run AC 100 in Sept., instead. Vote with your feet I always say (pun intended). I got off to a brisk start because I knew how narrow Cougar Crest Trail would be after the first half mile. I didn't want to get stuck behind others on the way up. I knew that many would slow way down once they saw the gain of the trail and its technical nature. Next to affect many of them would be the altitude. It would irritate both them and me to have me going around them on it. Ultra runners can be cranky at times. I wanted to be a good neighbor, as well as enjoy the run myself. The real run for me would begin on the hill climb up from the city dump and continue on until we returned to this spot. I saw several other SCTHz as I crossed the highway. They were arriving for later waves. Skip was among them and we high-fived as I passed. I ran under the bridge and up the wide path to where the trail narrows and began the climb. On the way up I caught up to and passed several runners from the first wave. Dude, get off my wave. So much for positioning for minimal passing on the narrow trail. Cranking up the hill took on multiple meanings at this point. Once at the top of Cougar Crest the course takes a quick jaunt on the PCT before heading down fireroads that continue for miles before returning to it. There is a section of climb just before returning to the PCT that I remembered as being particular brutal and required me to do a lot of walking the previous year. Surprisingly, they had mellowed that section out somehow because I ran right up it. I paused just long enough at the PCT junction aid station to fill a bottle and started up to the high point of the course, although it's not quite the altitude they advertise it to be. They have somehow associated the nearby peak's elevation with the high point of the course, but one doesn't reach that peak, skirting it by a difference of a couple of hundred feet. Regardless, it's still a bit of a climb as you work your way along the PCT back towards Cougar Crest. There are fabulous views of Big Bear Lake along this part of the course. You need to be careful as you look over at it, though. There are a few roots along this part of the course that you need to be alert for. They are the same color as the dirt and easy to miss with your eyes and catch with your feet. Somewhere just past where the Cougar Crest Trail intersects the PCT I came across some people performing trail work who were using llamas to carry their supplies. It's hard to guess just what you will come across on the PCT. The one major change in the consistency of the trail can be found at about mile 20 where it literally becomes a pile of boulders with a trail carved into it. You have to be careful crossing this hundred yard section because the boulders shift and slide as you step on them. Surprisingly, this is not the section of trail I chose to fall on. After my race began at the dump, it's a long steep climb out, I began passing other runners quite solidly, until I came upon one guy. Turns out his name is Angel. He couldn't stay ahead of me, but he wouldn't let me shake him, either. We ran along like this for quite a few miles. We chatted a bit, as well. It turns out he's practically a neighbor. He lives in Moreno Valley and I live in Hemet. As we ran along towards the bottom of Cougar Crest trail and were approaching the highway I thought about how determined he seemed to be. I told him over my shoulder, dude, what say when we get to the finish we run it in together. He grunted in agreement. We got to where Cougar Crest Trail widens out and smooths out a bit, less than a mile from the finish when my feet decided to fail me. It was a head first roller. Easy enough to deal with, usually. However, I felt my left calf cramp up nicely as soon as both feet left the ground. I knew I needed to get my foot locked up against something quickly to stretch it out. Unfortunately, when I completed my roll I was lying on my back. I was writhing around trying to get my leg positioned for a stretch, groaning and growling, because that always lessens the pain, right? Angel, in good form, avoided stepping on me and returned to ask me through my theatrics if all was well. I think he may have thought I was having a seizure of some sort. I finally got over onto my belly and got the calf stretched and beginning to relax. I gave him the thumbs up and with three simple words, no hard feelings, turned and headed full bore for the finish. Since that was not in the plan, I quickly jumped up and set out in hot pursuit. I managed to close the gap he created down to about 20 yards as we crossed the finish. Unfortunately for him, his wave left before mine. My time was better. Like he said, no hard feelings. I need to run into him again and make that email exchange we talked about but forgot, not too many ultra runners out in that part of Riverside.

Shadow of the Giants 50 km

Ted Liao and I decided to carpool up to Shadow the morning of the race. His plan was to run a smooth slow pace so he would be ready for the San Diego 100 mile Endurance Run he would be taking on the following weekend. What an animal! He needs a social director to manage his race schedule. And, what a pool party it was. We slept a couple of hours at his place in Monrovia before getting up at Midnight to hit the road by 1 a.m. I actually got in an extra hour and a half of sleep while he drove. Thanks Ted. He was probably happy about this because I can be rather chatty when I'm amped up for a race. We arrived at a relatively dead looking Green Meadows, after missing the turn and driving right up to the Southern entrance of Yosemite NP, and went in to register. It wasn't long before a crowd started to form as runners and their people arrived. Baz's pre-race briefing was in his typical style; laced with humor and profanities. "Who the f... is talking while I'm talking?!" The most important pieces of information were that we had to cross snow (shh, don't tell the ranger Boo Boo), cross over a tree, cross the same creek twice, don't cross the RD, and follow orange and yellow ribbons augmented by chalk arrows at key points. How could anything go wrong? I ran with my buddies iMichelle (Michelle Barton) and Robo (Rob Cowan) for a large part of the race. We cursed the cold creek crossing, our feet were numb before we reached the far bank (yeah, it was that cold), and laughed our way over the tree. Although, it was more like 2 huge trees lying side by side across the fireroad with no way to get around them. At some point we ended up following orange ribbons out into some deep scrubby bushes and something that resembled a brand new trail rather than something we would have expected from Baz. This was the something go wrong part. It had to be wrong, so back we went to figure out where we had gone astray. It turned out to be a 9:04 minute, half-mile extracurricular excursion off course. Wouldn't you know, this happened to Michelle in this race last year, as well. Each person we passed for the next half hour asked the same question, are you the guys that got off course? I wonder how they all knew? If they saw us go off course, that's yelling distance, no? So, why didn't they yell at us? It wasn't like they were within talking distance of each other, either. So, is there some secret ultra-runner mind-meld thread that provides one with the latest gossip of the course that I'm not aware of? I need to sign up for this. Once we were most assuredly back on course, I picked up my pace a bit to make up for lost time. After a few miles iMichelle caught up and we ran together again for a few miles until she moved on ahead and disappeared. Little did I know, but Robo was waiting for the right moment to move in on me. Rob is an incredible runner. His race schedule is also unreal. I need to make mine look more like his :)
It was about the time we returned to the tree crossing. It would prove to be a little tougher to get over than previously. I basically rolled over the two pieces instead of trying to climb over them. Robo hopped over them like they were simply branches lying across the trail. With that, I knew that he would take me out in the last 5 miles. I was just going to have to do what I could to keep that time between us to a minimum :) One more mile of uphill and I was really looking forward to the final 4 miles of relentless downhill. I couldn't walk, I knew that it would increase the time between us by too much. I was maintaining a 10 min/mile pace on the uphill part and slide to an 7:30 min/mile pace on the downhill part. Rob must have been flying at this point. He crossed the finish line 8 minutes ahead. The course is beautiful. No one particular place stands out, though. There are no individual fabulous vista points along the way. There are Redwood trees to entertain and delight you. If you've never seen one they might actually be a distraction for you, if you're really wanting to focus on your running. Being a California resident and getting out on the trails a lot, I've seen my share. I simply spent the morning enjoying the whole ambiance of the place and the time spent with some good running buddies. Thanks Rob and Michelle; not only for being such cool people, but for being so inspirational. And thanks Ted for a great trip!

Bishop High Sierra 50 mi

The name of these combined races is Bishop High Sierra Ultra races and fun run. One might easily be convinced that the word high was a reference to the elevation one can expect out on the course, or one might conjecture that it is a reference to the condition of the minds of those going up there to run an ultra at that elevation, but this year it would clearly be an indicator of the record high temperatures one would experience out on the course. We arrived at the Whiskey Creek Restaurant in Bishop tired after driving 5 hours North from Southern California through the high desert in temperatures hovering around 100 degrees F. Of course, we were comforted by the knowledge that we would spend a longer amount of time than that out on the course the next day without the distraction of air conditioning, cushion seats, or combustion engine. Dinner was in full swing when we arrived. We passed several scraggly looking fellows on our way in who asked us how to get to Whiskey Creek. We were somewhat confused by this until we realized that they were ultra runners and they weren't asking us how to get to the restaurant, which they clearly had already found. The spaghetti, salad, and cake was just the right meal after a long drive in the hot sun and good preparation for the upcoming event. Usually when one thinks of this kind of meal prepared for such a large number of people one expects food of a lesser quality. That was not the case here. It was absolutely delicious. I'm not much for junk food, but the cake was fantastic, as well. After finishing a huge serving of spaghetti and salad, I ended up eating two pieces. No sooner had we finished our meal when they began to raffle off more prizes than one could keep track of. It went on for long enough that both Ted Liao, a fellow member of the SoCal Trail Headz and I had time to explain to each other that neither of us had ever won anything in a raffle. Of course, within minutes we both had the proverbial mud in our eye when I won a pair of Injini socks and a pair of Dirty Girl gaiters and Ted won two pairs of Injini socks and a pair of Inov8 trail running shoes donated by Sage to Summit a fantastic one-stop shop for trail runners in Bishop that won Runner's World Specialty Running Store Runner's Choice Awards 2007 - Best in California. My socks were large and his were small and large. We both wear medium. OK, you can't win them all. We spent a while chatting with other runners and catching up on stories. The pope of SoCal ultra running was in attendance. Shaking Fred Pollard's hand is akin to kissing the ring. What ultra would be complete without him. I would see him out on the course with Xy, the Dirty Girl herself, a fellow member of the SoCal Trail Headz, the next day. In the morning, we were some of the first to arrive at the start/finish area just as the sun was rising up in the East. Runners and their people were arriving in droves now as we checked in and wandered around admiring the view. It was relatively cool, hovering around 60 degrees F, but we knew what was in store for us that day. The time went by quickly, as the time before a race usually does. We were soon lined up at the start at shortly before 6 as Marie (the RD) bade us to be silent as she prayed, referencing the words of Paul, for our sanity, er, the strength to run the race that lay before us. I stood there, toeing the line, literally, as Marie counted down the last few seconds until the start. Unfortunately, I was holding three hand bottles, two of which belonged to Beiyi, a fellow member of the SoCal Trail Headz. She had chosen to make use of the outhouse shortly before the start and had still not returned. With less than a minute to go, I placed them on the table near the starting line and decided to run over after the start to let her know where she could find them. She showed up just after the start and I was able to relay the location of them as we headed out on the course. There were droves of runners heading out together for the first two or three miles. I spent the first half hour trying to decide what pace I should set. This got me looking around at others who were nearby. I was trying to determine which race they were running and whether the pace they were starting out at looked like one they could maintain for the full distance. With the help of Ted, I decided early that my pace was too conservative and picked it up a notch. I'm a "set a pace and hold it kind of guy" so it's important for me to figure out early what pace I think I should have. At the end I would decide that picking it up was a good call, but at several points along the way I questioned this decision. The course was very exposed and flanked by towering snow-covered peaks. The wide, sandy and rock-strewn fireroad that was the course was forgiving enough to allow one the luxury of looking around and enjoying the view for long stretches. The trail surface and the heat reminded me of Joshua Tree. The climb, however, reminded me more of the San Bernardino mountain trails found just West of Joshua Tree. Both are areas I spend a lot of time running in. I felt right at home. We had started out at 4500 feet and began a relentless climb that would continue for miles. Suddenly, a runner was heading back down at a good downhill clip. A few quick words were exchanged, we both thought the other was looking good, funny you never share these kinds of sentiments while walking around on the street, and he was gone. I couldn't believe that we were out far enough for anyone to be returning already. Two others passed in quick succession shortly before I reached the 20 mile turnaround point. That worried me. The question came up in my mind again, was I going out too fast. I still had another 10+ miles of climb ahead of me, not to mention the 30 miles remaining after that. In what seemed like an even shorter amount of time, one by one, 4 men and 2 women passed me going the other direction. These were the front runners of the 50K version of the race. I arrived at the Edison Loop aid station which served as the turnaround point for the 50K as well as grand central station for two out and backs for the 50-mile race, and decided it was time to put some real food in my stomach because it was starting to heat up and I was the only runner in sight. This was the beginning of the largest intake of watermelon in one day that I have ever had. Does watermelon count as real food? The nagging question returned, of course, was I going out too fast for the uphill portion of the race? There still remained a tough 3 mile out and back to the Overlook aid station that went from 8000 ft up to 9400 ft before returning to 8000 ft where we would remain, undulating between 8000 ft and 8400 ft for the 6-mile out and back to Bishop Creek Lodge before returning to Edison Loop aid station for the 15-mile, 3500 ft descent to the finish. There were actually two patches of snow and ice that had to be traversed on the short out and back to the Overlook and as hot as it was I was tempted to stop and make snow angels. Fortunately, recent incidents I had associated with snow kept me focused. I slipped and slid my way across these two hundred yard long patches as quickly as I could in both directions. These drifts were 3 feet deep in some place. The out and backs were fun. I lost count of the number of runners whose paths I crossed in both directions. These out and backs in the middle of the race are nice touches that provided comfort via familiarity and allowed you some brief interaction with other runners along the course. It's amazing how much bonding seems to occur in these brief encounters, or was that the heat affecting me? All the way to McGee Creek I would stop at each aid station and load up on watermelon, flat coke (Was it possible? I hadn't had a soda since at least August of last year), and salted anything I could get my hands on, to include bananas, strawberries, and potatoes. I even dumped salt in my bottles and chewed on S!caps along the way because I couldn't seem to be able to swallow them anymore. I had decided that two bottles would be quite sufficient for this race, as the aid stations were never really very far apart. I had a two bottle waist pack just in case and one hand bottle. I never needed more than two bottles between aid stations, so one of the bottles in the pack remained empty the entire time. The aid station people were most helpful in filling these bottles as I emptied their watermelon bowl, looking over my shoulder for my queue to leave; Ted coming into view behind me. Ted ran an incredible race considering he ran the PCT 50 the week before, along with Old Goats, Leona, and Wild Wild West just prior to that. The fluids in my bottles was less than satisfactory as far as flavor because they would warm up so quickly. I don't like icy drinks, but I don't like above body temperature Heed, either. I decided it was a small price to pay for such a fantastic run and used the icy bucket with sponge found at each aid station to keep my body temperature down instead of the ice cubes the aid station people offered to put in my bottles. Twice I took the ice they offered and stuffed it under my hat. The first time I had to get rid of it shortly afterwards because it was giving me frostbite on my scalp. The second time was at the last aid station and it remained under my hat until well after the finish. You see, the temperature continued to climb as we descended into the heat found at the lower elevation. The descent was lonely. I kept seeing the pink marker ribbons that were attached to everything imagineable along the way; rocks, poles, trees (when they could be found), bushes, staked into the ground (early on I even saw the word pink in an unexpected place), so I knew I wasn't lost. But, I knew that we had to take a turn towards the end and follow a different trail to the finish. I kept thinking I had missed this turn, as I saw no one for a long time. It was an anxious concern that was a little disconcerting. Even after finishing I don't recall explicitly seeing this turn. I must have missed seeing it at one of the aid stations. I had taken off in the wrong direction so many times in the beginning, only to be corrected by the aid station people that I got in the habit of asking which way I needed to go prior to heading out each time. Besides the aid station people and the pink ribbons, I also had a wrist Garmin and a Garmin 60Csx. It wasn't like I was worried about it in that sense or had half a chance of actually getting lost. Somewhere shortly before McGee Creek, around mile 35, I ran into a group of 7 or 8 ladies who were running together. I asked them where Skip was. They looked dumbfounded as I told them it was so wrong to leave Skip all alone out on the course. They must have thought the heat was getting to me. I didn't have time to explain to them that Skip is a fellow Trail Head known for running with the ladies. At McGee Creek, they was a group of guys fishing. I didn't know what to make of the long shirts and pants, including vests and boots. I guess ultra running doesn't corner the market on insanity.
By the time I arrived at the Tungsten City aid station I was no longer sure what part of the course was left. My wrist Garmin had died (hello Garmin, when will you address the needs of our sport?) and I didn't feel like pulling out my 60. I simply asked the nice lady with the watermelon. She walked me over to the end of her camper, pointed down the hill, and said, "See that clump of trees down there? That's one and a half miles away and the finish line is in there. That's where you started this morning." I passed a couple of the 50K runners while covering that last mile and a half. It sloped gently downward the entire distance into the campground and the running seemed effortless. What a fabulous place to run! The entire course is very runnable and so well-managed and the runners so well-provided for, that I highly recommend it. In the words of first time 50Ker, Beiyi Zheng, train to run on sand and at elevation and you'll be just fine. The heat did send a few to the hospital and out ot 109 starters only 80 completed the 50 mile course. 8 chose to finish the 50K distance. On the bright side, the course record got beat by 5 minutes and I completed my first 50 miler! Here's a mashup and kml of the course and more pictures can be found on the SoCal Trail Headz public site.
I'll see you there next year!
Bring it! Let's Trailrun!

fastpack PCT - Cabazon to Big Bear Lake 65 mi

This would be my first real run since the unknown ?k (50K). Just prior to that race I had hyperextended my knee in deep snow and it seemed to take forever for it to heal. No one seemed to want to join me on this sweet 65-miler so I started out alone from Cottonwood Rd in Cabazon just before it got dark. It was very warm and the climb warmed me up even more. The 37 lb in my pack along with the 7 lb in my fanny pack added to the workout so I never had more than a short sleeve on the entire run. I just love running in the dark and was having no problems with my knee, so I was a happy camper. I didn't have an ipod with me, but Sue's caution echoed in my head at times, "take it slow". Other than the pine cone that wiped me out shortly after midnight, it was a fabulous run. I got out about 28 miles by 2:30 and got sleepy so I decided to call it a night; this was a training run after all. I was up and running by 6:45 a.m. the next morning. I discovered that I had lost my spare batteries during my encounter with that pine cone. I had them in an easy to get at place in case I needed to replace my light batteries. I've never fallen so hadn't given it much thought. Note to self, secure your batteries better. I had decided to go sans hiker's tent and take more water instead, so preparation for sleep required me to simply roll out my bag on the side of the trail and crash out. I had started out with 230 oz. and it turned out to be a good call. By the time I reached Onyx I was completely out from the long climb in the heat and had to take advantage of a nearby cache provided by some local trail angels. I was a bit pressed for time now, as well. I didn't know how much battery life I had left in my light and my Garmins were completely dead at this point, so I pushed a little once I summited Onyx. I crossed the highway somewhere in the middle of the afternoon and knew that I would make it before nightfall. As I approached Holcomb Valley I kept looking for Greg's mystery picture location. I think I saw it about a dozen times. On my way down Cougar Crest trail I ran into EKP's talking trees. Can't even run alone without thinking of my fellow SoCal Trail Headz. :)

the unknown 50 km

I first heard about the Unknown ?K from Charlie Nickell in January. It was to be an invite only ultra run of a distance somewhere between 50K and 50mi at a not yet disclosed location off of Ortega Highway. Since we had just run 30 miles in the San Mateo area on December 29, 2007 and another 20.08 miles mainly in the Trabuco area starting at the Candy Store and going a short distance into San Mateo on New Year's Day 2008, I had my suspicions of where the course would be. It turned out to basically be the reverse direction of our 30 miler and started at the Candy Store as opposed to the Morgain Trailhead off of Killen road and would total 31.5 miles. It included most of the same group of runners plus many more for a total of about 25. There was gourmet food at the finish and the best aid station food one can imagine at three separate aid stations manned by a fabulous group of volunteers who were pretending to be picnicking in case the ranger was watching. It was a fat ass event. Mum was the word when it came to the ranger Boo Boo. I arrived in time to see the 6 am group milling about and performing their rituals prior to the start. Michelle Mecham, Gina Natera, and I had carpooled up from Orange County and Michelle was starting with the first group. This was the start of her first ultramarathon event. After greetings and morning chit chat in the dark they began their run. Their lights could be seen marking the trail as they slowly disappeared over the hill. Over the next hour the sun began to come up, more runners showed up, and we began to prepare for the second start. Charlie led us across Hwy 74 from the parking lot to the trailhead and very unceremoniously said, take off. Spirits were high and everyone seemed to be talking at once. It didn't feel like a race, because no one really broke away from the group. We ran along single file for miles. occasionally moving around to talk to different people. We had a good time running the 14 miles out to the first aid station. Unfortunately, two of us were having ailments. Jerry Armstrong and I began to have trouble in the last mile or two. We were both recovering from previous injuries. He decided to cut out at the first aid station. I decided I'd continue. Only now, it was a lonely run. After arriving at the second aid station, they asked me if I wanted to drop out. I told them I wasn't running my usual and it was bothering me considerably, but would continue as long as I wasn't keeping them out there unnecessarily. Fortunately for me, it bothered me more on the downhills than the uphills and the next section was miles of uphill on an old overgrown truck trail. It was warm and there wasn't much breeze. Perfect! I had a blast in that section and must have been running a little better because towards the end of that section and into the next, I passed a few people from the first group. At the third and last aid station at Morgan trailhead off of Killen road it was very windy and downright cold. It would have been easy with my ailing knee to call it a day, but with 26 miles behind me where several were still making a go of it and only 5 miles left, I decided I'd continue. Those last 5 miles turned out to be rather pleasant miles. The wind subsided, the sun had a chance to warm me again, and my knee began to feel rather well, even though that direction on Morgan Trail drops several hundred feet. I really enjoyed that section and felt like I could run further, in spite of my knee, as I began the final descent that would return me to the start. I could see the parking lot at the finish and was thankful that I hadn't caused my knee any further injury along the way. I'd give it some time to heal now and chalk off as a great day of running and hanging out with my ultra buddies.

Things to Watch For

I was out running in the San Bernardino Mountains last weekend, when it occured to me that a little retrospection was in order. I'm new to the trail racing world and to ultras in particular, but definitely an old hand at running on trails. One might say I'm a reformed hermit of sorts; the Hemet hermit, like the Paul of Thebes or Henry Thoreau of trail running. Others who have heard my tales and followed my adventures over the years might argue that a comparison to Sasquatch or Grizzly Adams might be more appropriate. I've run on trails in many countries; Germany, Holland, Austria, England, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, France, Spain, Luxembourg, Denmark, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Kuwait. I've also run on trails in many states; California, Oregon, Washington, Utah, Alabama, Oklahoma, Texas, Tennessee, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, and Kentucky. I've decided a good topic to begin this look back is one which concerns the things one should watch for while running on trails, and one object in particular.
I've had the fortune, or misfortune depending on how you look at it, to have experienced a lot of interesting things on the trails and even find myself laughing at situations that, while they were occuring, weren't the least bit amusing, particularly because I was always alone, but it's a common theme, isn't it?
I've come across Mountain Lions, 5 in all. I've seen more snakes than I care to discuss. I've come within inches of them and even passed them on the trail before I realized what they were, lying there. Fortunately, they have so far ignored me. There's nothing like that sudden urge to hop five feet in the air to sidestep a six foot rattler sun bathing on the trail that you didn't see until you were inches from it. I've come across Bobcats; the scaredy cats. They're always in a hurry to leave. I'm not complaining. I've been bonked on the back of the head by a hawk; daily for a week in the same place. It must have had a nest nearby and was letting me know I wasn't welcome. I've had a hawk hop chest high up out of a ditch I was jumping over, only to watch it struggle to fly away as I was struggling to apply my air brakes. His claws actually came in contact with my chest when he turned his head to look me in the eye. I know he didn't crap himself like I did because I had a pretty clear view of where this would have occured. Once I even had long horned cattle insist on the right of way on the PCT above Idyllwild. I don't remember seeing that rule in the PCT handbook, but just didn't feel it was the appropriate time to take it up with them. Maybe next time I'll be somewhat more argumentative from behind those bushes I was hiding behind. It sure didn't sound like she said cheese when she smiled for the camera; must have been a cow from New Jersey.
I've come across numerous idiot hikers with dogs not on leashes that have accosted me. The owner's telling me Brutus won't bite and is as harmless as a flea, but, that stance, snarl, and baring of teeth aren't convincing me. Hey, don't tell me how friendly your dog is, tell your dog how friendly he's supposed to be; easy for them to be so casual about the whole thing. Suffice it say I'm confident in my ability to handle these dogs and their owners should the need arise. On one particular occasion an elderly couple went off trail with their dog off his leash to have lunch. As I passed that place their dog decided to alert them to my presence. I became aware of him when I noticed in my peripheral vision, a large short-haired tan creature leaping out at me. I went down hard while attempting an evasive maneuver with hand fully extended, locked and loaded, with pepper spray. Fortunately for that dear creature I care more about dogs than his owners do because I realized what was happening. I didn't hurt him. He was actually rather friendly. I gave his owners an earful as I surveyed my bloodied legs and continued on my way. It's actually the only time I've ever fallen while running on a trail.
I've twisted my ankle on loose rocks, tripped over roots, and stumbled over boulders, but there is one thing that stands out in my mind that one should be most cautious about on the trails and that's the pine cone. All the other hazards pale in comparison. California, in particular, has many types of pine cones, including the largest in the world, those found on the Coulter Pine. If you've ever been near one of these as it fell you doubtlessly understand why they have become known as "widowmakers" in some circles. They can grow as long as 16 inches and can weigh as much as 10 pounds. Need I say more? These things can brain you before you even know what hit you. The largest pine cone sculpture can be found in the "Court of the Pigna (Pine Cone)" in the Vatican. Did you know the Pope's staff has a pine cone on it? Of course, Bacchus, the Roman-Greek god of drunkeness and revelry, also had a pine cone staff. Pine cones have also been associated with the god Osiris, Dionysus, and various Mexican, Assyrian, and Hindu Gods. But, these large and/or religious pine cones aren't the ones that present themselves as an issue for those who runs on trails. The smaller ones that litter mountain trails, like the millions of land mines that exist around the world, waiting quietly and patiently for their next victim, are the ones a trail runner must be extremely cautious about. Imagine you're running along and don't spot one of these and step on it. You know, they're not all cute and crunchy when you step on them. Have you ever stepped on a skate? Now, imagine you're on a narrow mountain trail with a steep incline of several hundred feet of nothing to one side precariously perched on top of a solid 2-inch round pine cone skate. In any other location this would be the stuff of slapstick comedy. But for you this moment stands out in your mind like the fatal heart attack your Uncle Joe had on Thanksgiving in front of 30 family members; he stumbled around until he just fell over dead. You may be rolling around on this thing as if in a drunken and revelrous state cursing Bacchus with similar results as you go over the edge, only they don't have a body to bury until yours washes into town next Spring when the ravines are rushing with water from the melting snow. Another scenario is where you sort of stumble on one and simultaneously kick it several feet further up the trail and this process continues with each step, and for several steps you continue to reconnect with that one deadly object losing more control on each contact. The first stumble or two you attempt to recover, but after that you simply wish you would finally go down so that regardless of the end result the ordeal is at least over. Too much excitement crammed into those precious few seconds. My favorite expression about life in general is, "Boring is good!" The image in my mind during these moments is one where I end up with my head planted in a boulder with my gray matter splashed around ready to suprise and delight the next hiker that comes along. That'll teach you to run on the trail. HAHA!
A particular incident I became aware of when I worked as a Statistical Research Analyst for Southern California Edison comes to mind. A meter reader was confronted by three very large and angry dogs in a back yard. As he attempted to back out of the yard, distracting them with his dog stick, a small chihuahua-sized dog snuck up behind him and took a piece out of his leg. It was a serious wound that ensured he was on disability for over six months. Never underestimate the little things. Next time you're out on the trails under the trees, instead of looking over your shoulder for Mountain Lions and up the trail for long horned cattle, keep your eyes down and to the front. Watch your step!

Snowshoe the Bear 10 km

So I ran the first running of Snowshoe the Bear 10K up in Big Bear in the San Bernardino Mountains today. It's not an ultra, it's not running really, it wasn't even 10K, more like 12K, but hey, even little side trips on a journey can have value, no? I woke up early; on top of the world. The morning started out simply delicious. But, somehow I got my old butt up to the race 5 minutes before the close of packet pickup and not in the best frame of mind, to say the absolute least. I'm so darn confused. 'nuff said. When I first saw this event posted at Equada Outfitters I had envisioned packs of runners chasing bears, roping them, and applying snowshoes to them much as the cowboys branded cattle during the 1800s. I dig country music but that's as country as this cowboy gets, no roping or riding here. Well, umm, oh, never mind. Standing around the start line where literally the street ended and the snow began, I noticed a lot of ultra shirts. Of course, they noticed the rundown shirt I was wearing and that created more topic for conversation than I would have guessed. Remember, I wasn't exactly on top of my game getting to the race so I fumbled my way through these greetings as best I could. I met a really friendly couple from the VDP and another guy from just down the hill who all said they had heard of the SCTH and were interested in joining if they didn't have to drive very far. Of course, I gave them the quick rendition of "the hermit from Hemet" spiel and that seemed to convince them it would be worth their while. There were others who came from as far away as Mexico, Brazil, and Portugal just to run this race. So, we were told to shuffle our way up to the start line for the countdown, but, then began the longest rendition of where to go and what to look for I have ever heard. "...and then after the third tree on your left you'll come to a fork in the trail with ribbons and an arrow. You'll want to take the..." AAhhhhhh!
I was really becoming irritated by all this, I just wasn't my usual happy-go-lucky self; grouchy old man. It's a 10K for crying out loud. We'll follow the arrows. How lost could we possibly get? So, when he finally finished, a cheer went up, a go was heard, and we were off - and all hell broke loose. If you've never seen what a single pair of snowshoes can do to snow when its occupant is running, you're really missing out. It's not like what you see on TV (I may not watch them, but I have it under good authority that this is so), where someone is strolling along with sticks gently placing one foot in front of the other; so quaint. No, when one runs sticks FLY and snow FLIES. Now, multiply that by some large number. I'm scheduled to have the stick that's embedded in my left thigh removed next Wed. The owner of that stick ran the entire course looking like a three-legged horse cursing to the high heavens the unfairness of it all. I thought it was a friendly enough gesture on my part. I saved her from having to carry that extra two pounds of weight for the entire course. Actually, I broke it off just above the surface of the skin so it wouldn't catch on anything and so I didn't look like one of those bulls that get tortured in Spain; running along with sticks jutting out. Now me, I wasn't allowed to have sticks, outside of the one holstered in my leg; something about not being part of my parole agreement or something. Hey, I'm all for sticks when I eat my sushi with lots of wasabi, but when it comes to running, ain't nothing coming between me and the trail but my two little old feet - and those blasted snowshoes. Now, I have unusually wide feet 8 1/2 4E, the 4E isn't like 4F in the army, exemption due to mental or physical disability. It means I have feet that look attractive to ducks. So now add on an extra 3 or 4 inches in all directions for the snowshoe and you get the picture. When you first try this you look and feel like John Wayne after a long ride; bowlegged and wide. However, once you have the hang of it you really can get a good clip going and you don't have to go so wide. You just have to remember to avoid one foot with the other as you go. I forgot this twice and found that the location of my head and arms had switched with that of my feet. No, LT, you can't run this one on your head like a pogo stick. A good way to practice without snowshoes would be to just leave your laces untied as you run and try not to trip. As I sit here I'm reminded of the chunks of snow and ice that are still embedded in my forehead and the back of my neck - an additional consequence of flying debris. It is currently melting out of my forehead and dripping into my coffee cup each time I take a sip. For the longest time I thought the guy behind me was throwing snow at me. I couldn't figure out why. But, it was like ding dong ditch. Every time I looked back there he must have been running over to hide behind a tree because I saw no one. It turns out the snow from my snowshoes was kicking up and flying across my backside, my back, the back of my neck, and clear up to the top of my head. It also kept getting into my open hand. I ended up running with one hand clenched in a fist, the other carrying my bottle. Yeah baby, angry runner under way. Viva la revolucion! I managed to come in 6th place. The three men and two women ahead of me and the woman behind me all got some really nice prizes. I got jack. If you've never gone snowshoeing, I highly recommend it. It is really good training for hill climbing and, of course, allows you to go up to some higher elevation during the Winter months. One word of advice, be careful of what snowshoes you wear, I have two large blisters across the back of my heels that were bleeding through my shoes when I went running to the top of San Gorgonio after the race. I needed the escape to clear my mind. Now I need a blood transfusion to replace the lost blood.

Abandoned in Calico Ghost Town 50 km

Calico turned out to be a golden run in a silver mining camp of the Old West, but it wasn't without its flaws. It was my first Ultra. My Garmin said 32 miles, the distance advertised was 50K, and the RD said it was 33 miles. Whatever it was, it was everything it needed to be - a real Valley of the Dirt People run. Everything one would expect from an ultra held in San Bernardino County, California, in January; lots of sand, dirt bikes, quads, a cold wind (yup, it was blown out), shotgun-shell covered trails, abandoned appliances, and nary a living thing to look at except for the other runners and the aid station people in a very expansive area of the austere Mojave Desert.
I had the opportunity to meet some really cool ultra runners, including Lori H-C, Rob Cowen, Eric Clifton, and Vinnie, an assortment of family members and friends, including Darlene and the rest of the Fortini clan, the Koster clan, and Wendy-Lady's little Tiana, and see some of my rad SoCal Trail Headz buddies, including Michelle M, Keira, Kirk, Alexa, iMichelle, Wendy, Charlie, Eric K, Skip, Jenn F, and lsdchris. Yeah, we saw you cross the line Chris. Sorry I didn't come over to shake your hand. My VDP manners need some work. Actually, my legs were having some difficulty responding to simple commands like rise, walk, etc. When I find the bug in the code I'll let you know. I also had the opportunity to meet some cool aspects of myself and hang out with some others I'm already well acquainted with.
Trail running sometimes resembles driving a carload of kids around. You know, one complains about the other poking them. Another has to go potty. It can be a rough and noisy trip. As long as the driver doesn't fall asleep or get in a wreck I guess all is well. This run was one of those. Unfortunately, one of the kids was ill, my rolled right ankle, and wanted to whine and complain. I was ready to pull over and give it a good spanking (not really), but, it settled down when I gave it a stern warning (please stop whining) and it let me finish the race to meet all of my goals. My first goal was to finish, followed closely by injury-free. If those two goals were met I really wanted to finish inside of 6 hours. Since my ankle was actually injured on a previous run and this one only seemed to irritate it a bit, this run's going down as a complete success. My time was 5:48. What more could a guy ask for in his first ultra? I hadn't even left the site and was already excited about my next run. That's like a new mom lying in her post-op maternity room talking about when her next child will be born. If anyone could say I wasn't hooked on running before, yeah, good luck finding someone to say that, there definitely couldn't be anyone to say it now. I'll have a little more of that cool aid in my bottle please. Thank you.
I had arrived long before sunrise, stumbled around in the dark because the lights on the stairwell leading up to the registration table were not functioning, got my goodie bag and number, and went back to my truck to wait for it to get closer to start time and for the sun to come up. I wandered back up an hour later, went for one last trip to the men's room that was heated of all things (who says we don't have modern amenities out here in the 909) and the next thing I know I hear, "five minutes until the start." Lots of people were milling about the start area where I saw many of my fellow SoCal Trail Headz members. Very punctually and rather unceremoniously we were off on the word go at 7 a.m. The temperature was in the lower 30's. The first portion of the run led us away from Calico and down the highway. After that it was miles of slightly uphill sandy jeep trails. It seemed to warm up and I recall really looking forward to getting to the 17.1 mile aid station where our drop bags were waiting so I could take off my long sleeve shirt. Mile 17, 18, and 19 came and went. Finally, on a cold and windy ridge somewhere between mile 19 and 20 I spotted my little green high school PE bag. When that bag was new it never once held a dirty pair of shorts worn on a one mile run. Now, here is was holding my goodies for my first ultra. The plan was to dump my long sleeve shirt and gloves in it. It was a good thing that they moved, misplanned, or "whatevered", this point. At mile 17 I would have gotten half undressed and would have gotten here very much unprepared. I now wished that I had put more clothing in the bag to put on. In any event, I kept the shirt, dumped the gloves, grabbed my goodies, filled my bottles, and was off again into a nasty, bitter-cold headwind. Then, of all things, I came upon a cliff. I've been running in the 909 for almost ten years so I'm used to jumping over and dodging abandoned couches, old washing machines, trenches dug to keep out dirt bikes and four-wheelers (had a hawk jump up out of one of these on me once), and running along steep mountain trails (anyone ever run the Desert Divide?), but this was actually the trail becoming the cliff. I was ready to turn back, obviously I had missed a turn, when I noticed fresh smears of blood and a massive assortment of torn and abandoned running clothes and hand-held bottles. This must be the right way. I'm always fighting off cramps and when I placed my left foot fully extended over the side of this steep embankment my left calf pointed out to me that it was in a position it simply did not want to be in and how long overdue I was for a gentle reminder that it was there and was not to be ignored. It was like the kid that decides without warning to puke in the back seat. Rolling over quickly, embedding my fingers deep into the rocks, and letting out a yell that let anyone within a quarter of a mile know that I was going into labor, I did all I could to wait for the muscle to relax. I couldn't turn around and finish my descent, it simply wouldn't allow it. Of course, the injured ankle on my right leg wasn't too happy about this either. You know, one of the other kids in the back who doesn't appreciate his sibling puking all down the side of his leg. Right about the time my cramp was subsiding and I was working my way to the bottom of this horrible thing cursing the rope and belay that were obviously missing on this mission, some young woman ran past me too busy laughing at me to even ask if I was OK. In retrospect I think she saw the whole thing. Thank you, sweetheart, for pretending you didn't witness this terribly embarassing predicament. Unfortunately, there were, to my dismay, several rangers and ham operators down the hill openly amusing themselves at my expense. They did, however, with straight faces, ask me if all was well as I passed by them on my way out into the badland style hills that comprised the last few miles of the course. The trail in this area was a real tease. Just when you thought you were almost there you had to go about a half mile East and return. Then, when you thought you were almost there again you had to go a half mile West. Did a finish line really exist or was it like some kind of sick math nightmare with an asymptotic ending? It was somewhere in these detours that the familiar, "this run's almost over" feeling crept in and it was just a matter of minutes until I had passed through the First Circle of hell, also called Limbo - my first ultra. The journey is underway.
We were reminded at the finish that this was an official VDP run when they handed us a leather key ring as our finisher's medal. Those who had placed high were generously rewarded with huge crystals that according to the description we were given were grown locally. I thought pot was grown and crystal was cooked in the 909. Maybe they had been out in that Mojave sun for too long and had this part slightly confused. Those who placed nearly as high were rewarded for their efforts with saw blades. 'nuff said. It's too frightening to even begin discussing. Isn't there a horror movie called "Saw?" Congratulations to all those who achieved their goals at Calico. Personally, I love running in the desert and will definitely go again. Maybe the RD and crew will get their ducks in order next year or should I say meatballs. Don't they know that half the ultra world is vegan or vegetarian? I eat lots of meat, hence the forward pointing eyes, but the last thing I wanted after a long run was a gravy-laden line of microwaved meatballs in a big whitebread roll. The last time I had a bag of chips was around the time that high school PE teacher tried to get me to run a mile, and thank you very much, I don't drink cola, either.
Lastly, to add insult to injury, and add to the ambience of being in an abandoned ghost town, we were left abandoned in the throes of dying from hunger for hours waiting for them to return our drop bags. At least my pusher was there with the promised drugs. That's some good stuff. Did I mention all in all this was a golden run? Check out my Google Mashup of the Calico 50K and the Official Calico 50K page.

XTERRA PMS on Boney Mtn

It's called the XTERRA Boney Mountain Trail Run in Point Mugu State (PMS) Park. It could also have been called, "LT chokes on a bone!" Where does one even begin with such a name? Several members of the SoCal Trail Headz had decided at a previous XTERRA run that these strangely named events would be themed in honor of the 80's cult classic Top Gun. Several others were not so enamored with this theme. Greg, for example, must have been having flashbacks of old TV shows when he decided to give this run the BoneyBrushOff and escape to Fantasy Island for the weekend to run a 50-miler with the other Brady kids. He mumbled something about having a low tolerance for the salacious. A salactose intolerance maybe? Salactic acid removal issues? Reminds me of the Gregis and Bonehead cartoon. "He said boney, hehehe, hehehe!" I'll bet he wishes he'd taken "de plane" after spending all that time on "Das Boot" out to the island. Hmmm, now there's a special combination, a U2-boy in a U-boat. Achtung, runner!
Wow, and he wasn't even at the run. Those who were have read this far and are already filling sandbags and purchasing named peril disaster insurance for the impending storm. Sugar's got Google Desktop Search working on overtime looking for more pictures in preparation for the storm. Remember, its blackmail value is lost once it's been published. Besides, what could possibly be worse than DNSing your first run of the year? I mean it's not called Boney Mountain because of all the drying bones of those who DNFed on the mountain last year. It's a half-marathon for crying out loud. But, not wanting to take a chance of racing too early on a healing ankle, I got bigger fish to fry at Calico next weekend, I was replaced by a pinch runner, Alexa a.k.a. Sunshine. She went out there and lit up the course. She came in at the finish with such a huge smile I just stood there grinning until somewhere in my brain a voice said (did I just admit to hearing voices?) "raise camera and take picture, remember?" Oh yeah, did I mention I can't walk and chew gum at the same time much less smile and take a picture at the same time? Michelle A.K.A. Sweetness had to run the gauntlet twice before I did my job correctly. We'd just met before the race and already I knew that her alias was a good one. I'd buy drugs from her any day. No wait, she promotes the use of drugs, not the sale thereof. "Just say yes!"
As I stood near the finish line waiting for SoCal's finest to arrive, I imagined myself a Boney Picker (sometimes known as Breaker Boys), separating the good stuff from the bad stuff that came down off the mountain. I managed to scare off a few runners I didn't recognize as they attempted to get to the finish line, thus ensuring the better placement of SCTH members in the results. You weren't going to find any of us in the Boney Pile, either. We kicked butt and took names. Hey, we may not be the marines but we can always look for a few good runners to join our ranks. Jessica A.K.A. Dizzy flew in with landing hook extended, "Any of you boys seen an aircraft carrier around here?" Come to find out she had brought along a crew member of her own, Nickie. I wish I'd have known. Gosh, that's three hours of "behind Jessica's back time" lost. Imagine the recap dirt I could have collected.
Then there were the sonic booms. It was believed that all pilots flying in the vicinity of Boney Mountain were properly briefed on US Navy Regulations which prohibit supersonic flight over land. Eric A.K.A. Goose must not have gotten the memo. DARPA has already provided for a solution that will prevent all future occurences such as these, a nose job. The Shaped Sonic Boom Demonstration program has already shown that about a third of the pressure buildup that leads to sonic booms can be released with this procedure and Goose will be flown out for a retrofit at the first opportunity. I contacted them and was assured that only the best will be performing this delicate procedure on him, Doug Malewicki A.K.A. Rocketman.
Skip A.K.A. Viper came in singing verses from a Bright Eyes song, "do you like to hurt? I do, I do, then hurt me..." Eric heard him coming and you could see it in his eyes that he wanted to hurdle the bushes and run out to sing with him. Is Skip cool or what? He got on the phone shortly before the race to talk to someone called Mom and told her to come along with someone called Dad to meet us out at the race. Sugar suspected this was some secret code for a rendezvous with an Islamic terrorist group, maybe he's using the club's financial account to clandestinely funnel funds to them. I'd make references to the Soviets, but Abbie keeps reminding me that half the club isn't old enough to remember the Cold War. If this is what actually happened he's darn good at what he does because two of the coolest people showed up to cheer their son on as he ran in the hills above where he grew up. It was a very believable cover. It was also easy for one to get the impression that this group was low on operating funds because the one called Dad was using the same disguise as Skip only they weren't able to spend as much on his height. This man won me over when he passed on the post run vegetarian lunch plan. He muttered something about going home to barbecue a good rib eye. I mean come on, when did vegetarians corner the market on the term "healthy food?" I only eat healthy chickens. At least they were healthy when they met their fate. How do you know that celery stick wasn't battling a nasty cold when it got yanked out of its bed to be sold? It reminds me of the phrase seen on buses in Riverside. This bus runs on clean natural gas. Yeah, well my truck runs on clean natural gasoline. You don't think I'd put dirty gasoline into it do you?
I did finally get the chance to meet Pete and Kalea, but didn't get a whole lot of quality time in with them. They're sighing with relief. Not to worry, now that I know who you guys are I'll be gathering dirt on you; trail dirt that is. That would make a great title for our newsletter - Trail Dirt. I was a little disconcerted by all the smiling faces I saw coming in at the end. I mean, if you have enough energy at the end of a race to smile you apparently didn't run it hard enough. I find it simply unimaginable that a member of SCTH could be happy that a run was over. There must have been something really fun that preceded that final quarter mile.

The journey begins

Sigh, a blog. Most of the time I can't even remember to wake up in the morning, much less report for duty to a blog on a regular basis. I have this huge alarm clock that has to remind me of something that happens at the same time in the same place each and every day of every week of every year, duh, "Get up dude!" They say that young people think they know it all. I'm beginning to believe that maybe it's possible that I did know it all when I was younger. I've grown so forgetful over time that maybe all those things that I know for certain I don't know are things I've forgotten along the way. Speaking of getting older, there comes a day, long after twenty-somethings start calling you sir, you know they only do it to bother you, the little buggers, when someone points out to you that you are over the hill. Is that really necessary? More importantly, I wonder, did I miss the day I was on top of the hill? I certainly don't recall a day when someone exclaimed "Hey man, you're on top!" or "Excuse me, sir, were you aware of the fact that you are on top of the hill today. I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of that and I'll be around again tomorrow to point out that you are now over the hill." Of course, maybe it did happen and I just don't remember.
Where was I going with this? See what I mean? Oh yeah, someone asked me to blog my journey into insanity. They pointed out that I seem to have mashed up almost every journey I took over the year 2007, so why not mash this one up as well. Since I use Google for trail mashups I decided to use Google for this mashup as well. I am going to call it my mental mashup because in spite of my posterior vehemently opposing this view, one very often hears it being said that running is all in your head.
So, what is this journey I speak of? First, a little background. Over the last twenty years I have developed this uncouth habit of putting on a pair of running shoes, finding a trail somewhere, usually in the mountains and not necessarily nearby, and running around half naked and alone on it for distances of up to 25 miles. "Sick!" is what my family, friends, and coworkers call it. My uncles, who used to run marathons in the seventies, would ask me when I was going to finally do the marathon thing. "Never!" was my pat response, "they're not held on trails." Of course, they didn't know any better than I did how wrong I was. I was also to discover that I did not have to limit my adventures to under 25 miles. Do you know what wet cotton can do to an exposed perineum over the course of 25 miles? HMOG! Bodyglide and fancy schmancy running shorts made from wicking materials are your friend. I also discovered, among other things, that there are numerous events held in the darndest places, run by the darndest people, and for the darndest distances. There are even clubs that cater to this subculture of uncouth sickos, in which I seemed to fit right into, such as the club I recently joined, SoCal Trail Headz.
Someone once told me that tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they are actually looking forward to the trip. The journey I begin is a tactfully charted one that will take me, a trail runner, into the insane, hell-inspired world of ultra running. I'm looking forward to the trip!
Bring it, Let's Trailrun!