South Bay Cowboys

Soon after finishing my first 50K, Leona Divide on April 16, 2016, I made the decision to tackle my first 50 mile distance in the same year.  I chose Ray Miller because of its elevation challenge and scenic, local location.  Most of my trail miles have been in the Santa Monica mountains, so I also wanted to stay loyal to the area.

Preparation

After browsing through 50 mile and 100k training plans, I settled on a 16 week 50 mile training program I found on competitor.com.  Since I was taking this distance so seriously, as a huge step beyond 50k, the program became the most consistent, high milage block of training I’d ever done, often overdoing the mileage the guide called for.  I actually had never followed through with a training program before, so this was a first.  The hardest part was time management, fitting in runs while keeping up family and work responsibilities.  This called for many lunch runs and waking up at 4:00AM on the weekends to fit in long runs.  My runs peaked with a 50k race three weeks before Ray Miller, afterwhich I began cutting mileage and tapering.  Taper and recovery is an uncomfortable concept when you’ve been continually pushing your limits, but after pains and stresses through the training, come race day I was recovered and healthy.

Race Morning

I set four alarms the night before, for 2:45AM, 3:00AM, 3:15AM, and 3:30AM, with the intent of waking up by 2:50 and being out the door by 3:30.  I have a huge fear of missing the alarm and oversleeping, though my pre-race nerves are usually enough of an alarm to wake me up.  I was downstairs by 2:50 starting my pre-race routine.  Instant oats with banana.  Glass of water.  Cup of coffee.  Peanut butter and honey tortilla wrap and a thermos of coffee for the road.  I body glided up, put on my running clothes, double checked my drop bags, packed the car, did my business, and was out the door.  

I like to arrive right at check-in to get a good parking spot and avoid the stress of being late.  I arrived right at 4:30AM and got a good spot.  I stepped out of my car into frigid air and was glad to have an extra long sleeve shirt.  After making my way to the check-in,  I was greeted by two runners volunteering who I knew from the Wicked Run Club.  They shared words of encouragement while I got my bib #95.  I’m inspired by them and their recent Javalina 100 mile run finish, so I took it as a good sign to see them there.  I headed back to the car to make final preparations and kill time.  I pinned the bib to my shorts and fidgeted with my gear a bit, while debating on keeping on the long sleeve for the start.  Finally, at 5:45, I equipped up, left on the long sleeve, and headed over to the start.  After a brief announcement, it’s already past 6:00 and we’re off.  

Start (Mile 0 to 4.8):

My primary goal was simply to go out slow and keep my heart rate down.  Right from the beginning I slipped into a comfortable pace behind a group for the initial ascent.  About one mile in I looked down at my watch, 175 heart rate (HR). Okay… must be the beginning of race adrenaline.  The sun slowly crept up, illuminating the grand Pacific ocean as we climbed up Ray Miller trail.  I soon regretted starting with my long-sleeve shirt, since it wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be.  I peeled it off about 3 miles in, ready to drop it off at the first aid station.  I noticed a calmness in the runners, as we enjoy the beginning miles in the calm, crisp, morning air.  Many, clearly, had no idea what they’re in for.  At 4.8 miles, I arrived at the first aid station, Hell Hill, which I’ll loop back to twice more.  

Aid #1 – Hell Hill (Mile 4.8 to 11):

I ran through the aid station, tossing my long-sleeve in a bin.  Soon after, my watch buzzed at mile 5. 8:50 min/mile, oops, I was trying to keep it slower than that.  I got into a comfortable pace with a group, and ran along behind them.  We soon reached a stretch of downhill and… I couldn’t run that slow… I slipped ahead of the group lead and quickly put some distance between us.  Looking back at my watch I see 170HR… okay… maybe I’ll regret this soon.  I wanted to keep my HR below 155, but I felt good.  The trails were beautiful.  As I seem to do, I found myself running alone again for a few more miles.  I buzzed past 10 miles, still holding a comfortable pace.  I felt great, but began questioning my higher HR.  I just went with the flow. 

Aid #2 – Hell Hill (Mile 11 to 16):

At mile 11 I finished the loop back to Hell Hill aid station, and immediately crouched to the ground to dump a bag of Tailwind into my handheld.  Oops.. I dropped the top and now it’s covered in dirt.  Oh well, the dirt will get diluted.  I filled the bottle full of water, and ran out on the second loop.  At mile 12 I realized that I’ve been running every uphill so far, and that running them feels better than hiking.  “Easy does it, enjoy the pace,” I told myself.  I still ran alone.  I made it past the hills and began some downhills.  I heard someone approaching from behind, and finally the 50k leader began overtaking me.  I timed my pace with a wider spot in the trail to efficiently let him pass.  I continued, and heard the 50k second place approaching.  I timed it again to let him pass, but managed to misjudge some higher branch that stabbed me in the head.  I fumbled through the branches as he runs by patting my back and asking if I’m okay.  I told him to charge on ahead and that I’m fine, though I’m mostly just embarrassed.  A mile later, I heard another person, the 50k female lead begin to overtake me.  I heard her for awhile before she managed to push on ahead of me.  Soon after, I made it to the ascent for which Hell Hill is named.  I’ve studied the course and this is nothing compared to the Sandstone Peak climb at mile 25, so I simply power hike up the hill, saving my energy for later.  At the top, I arrived back at the Hell Hill aid station for my third and final visit.

 Aid #3 – Hell Hill (Mile 16 to 23-24):

I replenished my Tailwind handheld, chugged two cups of coke and some electrolyte drink, and took off.  Down the path, I’m greeted by a volunteer directing me toward the Backbone Trail.  “Two miles downhill on Backbone.  How was the Hell Hill climb?” he called out.  “Compared to what’s to come?  It was a breeze,”  I replied.  I sped up for the two miles downhill, and then I continued along the ups and downs and eventually found myself in a section of steeper ups.  I soon overtook a runner and the top of a peak with a beautiful vista.  “You see that U shaped area on the top of that mountain?” he said as he points East toward a distant mountain rising out of the horizon. “We’re climbing up and over that,” he continued.  “Really?  So that’s Mile 25 to 30 that I’ve been mentally preparing for.  Great,” I reply, a bit lost in the view that looks impossibly far away.  This was also the 20 mile mark.  We continued the run making small talk.  He asked about my running plans, and I said I’ll target 100k next.  “There is this race call the Backbone Ultra…,” he tells me.  I immediately commented that I’ve been eyeing it, but was waiting to do Ray Miller before deciding if it was a realistic goal.  I soon learned he’s the race director of the Coyote Cohorts Backbone Ultra.  Well, now I have to do it.  I pushed on and built some distance from him.  I heard him chatting up someone further behind me.  Nice guy.  Onward.  HR 175, still running high.

So the next Aid Station is Danielson Ranch at mile 23.  I hit mile 23, and am still not there.  Okay, maybe it’s 23.5 miles. Still not there.  Ugh, I need aid, I’ve been out of water.  24, there we go! I arrived at Danielson Ranch.

Aid #4 – Danielson Ranch (Mile 24 to 33):

I got my first drop bag at Danielson Ranch.  I pulled out my hydration vest and two pre-filled soft flasks.  I filled up my handheld, drink some coke, electrolyte drink, water, and dove into the boiled potatoes in salt. Mmmm.  

“Hey, the last time I saw you was on Mt. Whitney,” someone says to me. “What, huh, oh, hey!”  I recognized him from Mt. Whitney, though don’t recall the name.  The trail world can be a small one, and I’m only one year in.  It’s comforting to see familiar faces.  I’m ready to go for the next 10 miles.

I leave the Danielson Ranch and am soon greeted by the almost 3,000 foot climb.  I fell in line behind a group and keep a hiking pace.  Half a mile in, I finished my handheld and immediately regret not drinking more at the aid station.  I rationed my two soft flasks for the rest of the nine miles.  I hiked at what felt like a slow pace, but I kept overtaking people one by one.  I tried to hold a consistent effort that’s not tiring.  I may not be a great uphill runner, but I think I’m an alright uphill hiker.  I kept going.  Five miles of this, I can do it.  Every other mile I drank half a flask.  I just had to get to the top, then I could cruise downhill to the aid station.  Near the top I overtook another runner.  

He casually says “I don’t think I can do this.  I didn’t train for this uphill.  Could you go another 20 miles?”  I respond that whether I think I can or can’t, I’m going to.  I encourage him to just think about making it to the next aid station, and then make full use of it to recover and get back out.  I push on ahead.  

Reaching the top was a bit anticlimactic.  I had mentally prepared myself for this ascent, but it came, I hiked it, then I was done.  Ok, well, it’s time to run.  I picked up the pace over the rolling ups and downs by Sandstone Peak, and finally I got to the descent to the Yorba Linda Road Aid Station at mile 33.  

Aid #5 – Yorba Linda Road (Mile 33 to 44):

“Drop Bag?” “Yes!” I got my second drop bag of the day and grabbed the Body Glide for some armpit chafing I was feeling.  I refilled my bottles with the help of some volunteers, then gobbled up some potatoes and salt. Mmm.  Feeling I should eat something more substantial, I also ate a PB&J.  I chugged five cups of water and two cups of electrolytes, trying to avoid the building dehydration from the last ten miles.  I looked around and announced “I’m off!,” spun around on my heels and began the ascent back up toward Sandstone Peak with some cheers behind me.  I’m 34 miles in and don’t feel depleted, and I had a renewed boost after the aid station.  There is no wall.  Suddenly, I realized that I forgot my headlamp from the drop bag.  I better finish before sunset!  I pushed on and made it to the descent on the West side of the Sandstone Peak area, the same trail I had conquered earlier. My downhill pace has slowed, but I was still making good time.  

I heard the sounds of a runner a bit behind me.  I recognized him from the last two aid stations, but he wasn’t gaining much ground on me.  I held my pace, hiking any uphills, while running the rest.  He gained on me slightly on the downhills, I pushed away from him him slightly on the uphills.  It was nice having some company, even if we weren’t talking.  I’m wasn’t racing against him, I was simply running with him.  This went on for six miles, first through open fields, then through tree covered areas until the gap between us was mostly closed by the last aid station at mile 44.  

Aid #6 – Sycamore Canyon Fire Road (Mile 44 to 48.5):

At the aid station I drank coke and filled up one soft flask and my handheld bottle, while eyeing the boiled potatoes.  “I boiled them myself!” the volunteer enthusiastically said.  I tooke one, salt it up, popped it in my mouth to chewed, soon realizing these were nowhere close to boiled all the way through.  I choked a bit on hard potato, smiled at her, and said “thanks, I guess I’m off!”  I turned around, ran off, and 50 feet down the trail began spitting out raw potato.  Oh well.  I could make it five more miles to the finish.  

Meanwhile, my silent friend was in and out of the station while I was choking on potato.  I could see him about three minutes ahead, already climbing up the last ascent.  Suddenly finding my climbing legs,  I got into a low-running gear and steadily push up the hill.  I felt tired, but great.  At this point, the sun was lowering in the sky, and I realized that I knew this trail.  This was the final climb of my very first trail run, XTERRA Pt. Mugu, almost exactly one year, one month prior.  This connection pokes at my emotions.  I made it to the top of the trail to be greeted by a lone, older gentleman enthusiastically cheering in Spanish.  “Hablas español?” he asks. “No, sorry… “ I was not in the state of mind to try picking my brain for high school Spanish.  “You have a fantastic viewing spot,” I say.  His enthusiasm and friendliness was infectious and I left with with a smile on my face and an extra boost.  

That spot connects to the fire road ascent to the Ray Miller trail.  I could see another runner hiking the fireroad about 400 feet ahead.  I ran, low-gear.  I came up by him, shared some motivating words, and continued up the road.  I didn’t see my silent friend yet.  I moved on and made it to Ray Miller trail.  I picked up the pace with the downhill and soon see him further down on the switchbacks.  To me, he’s just another runner on a parallel journey.  I glanced at my watch for my average lap split, 8:45, 8:30.  “Let’s drop that”, I tell myself with renewed energy.  I fly through the walls of the switchback turns, overtake my silent friend and yell out “come on, we got this!” 8:17 my watch clicks for mile 47.  7:35 for the new mile at 48.  

At this point, as the finish line came into view less than half a mile below, the entire 16 weeks leading up to this moment focused in on a single second, and I heard “Daddy!” out of the crowd by the finish line.  I allowed myself a few whimpered exhales of emotion, slightly teared up, and I ran.  Rounding the final turn with 50 feet to the finish, I see my four year-old son slowly approaching up the trail. I charged by him, skimming my hand over his blond hair, saying “run with me,” as I shot through the finish line.  He followed along holding the finisher’s mug, and proudly presenting it to me.  I hugged him, hugged my wife, and I was done.