South Bay Cowboys

“If you’re here to earn a Western States spot, this is the race where you’ve got to earn that shit. This is not easy; this is a tough course. You can thank Sean O’Brien for that. Good luck to all of you.” The race director, Keira Henninger, was finishing her pre-race talk to the group of runners crowding the starting line of the 2018 Sean O’Brien 100k. Fortunately, I was not here for a Western States spot. I was here to cover the ground as competitively as I could relative to my ability, and as a fan of the sport, to basically be a running spectator of a Western States Golden Ticket race.

I had just run up, squeezing into the side of the mass of people, bouncing up and down, trying to shake out my pre-race jitters. In my mind and gut I had a dueling overconfidence and nervousness for this race. Over its 100k distance through the Santa Monica Mountains, the course features approximately 13,500 feet of elevation gain and loss with a few significant climbs, including the infamous Bulldog climb soon after mile 49, and what I consider much worse, the Zuma Canyon climb beginning soon after mile 23. The runnable miles are mostly along the Backbone Trail covering rolling ascents and descents, connecting the Zuma Canyon loop and Malibu Creek sections of the course. My overconfidence came from my familiarity and experience with the course. My nervousness came from my uncertainties in putting the pieces together over the 100k distance on race day. Though I wanted a perfect day, I’d my lying if I didn’t admit that a small part of me wanted to hit some challenges and grind it out.

And at 5:00AM, the mass of runners began to move over the starting line to begin the 100k race. Immediately, I was caught in a current of runners sweeping through the beginning miles of the race. The enthusiasm, the energy, the immediate comradery of runners embarking on the same challenge can elevate one’s personal view of their own abilities. Efficiently making it up the first big climb of the day, with a trail of zigzagging lights from headlamps crawling up the mountain behind me and the sun just beginning to break the horizon, I felt completely in control of the day.

I ran through the first aid station, Corral Canyon, at about mile 7 and charged down the Backbone Trail. Running faster than I ever had during training, the pace felt effortless. I know better, and you probably know better as well. This is not sustainable, especially for a middle of the pack runner like myself, but in the moment… why not? Fly when you can fly.

Mile 17.5 of the 100k course passes by “Buzzard’s Roost,” a house at the top of Zuma Canyon with stunning views of the Santa Monica Mountains and Pacific Ocean. This crest is followed by over five miles of downhill, which will likely include any runner’s fastest miles of the day, including mine. I pounded these miles faster than I ever had in training, further motivated by my average pace dropping so quickly on my watch. Again, I know better, but that doesn’t mean I acted any differently. Running into Bonsall aid station at the bottom, I grabbed resupplies and ran right back out for the big Zuma Canyon climb. The transition from confidence to concern was immediate. The climb put me back in my place to a slow crawl. My quads tightened and felt ready to cramp. The heat showed itself and threatened my water reserves. All of this at the beginning of the biggest gap between aid stations and longest climb of the day. Going through such a grind so early in the race put the rest of the day in doubt. This is where the aid station crew really become saviors.

Finally crawling up and out of the canyon for over 8.5 miles to the next aid station, I basked in the glory of everything that aid stations provide. From the fruit smoothies, to salt tabs, to hot food, to ice, to coke, to the encouragement and support of the crew working the station, I propped myself back up to continue. Though my legs were compromised from the beginning overconfidence, I salvaged what I could and pressed on.

In addition to the 100k, Sean O’Brien Trail Races offers marathon, 50k, and 50 mile distances. For part of the next 10 miles, the 100k overlaps with these other distances, so I was finally able to offer up my encouragement to those runners going through their own struggles, boosting my own positivity through these interactions.

Finally making my way back to Corral Canyon aid station, preceding the descent down Bulldog, I was asked by someone checking in the runners “are you doing the 100k?” I was a bit confused by the question since I had a 100k bib on, but then I realized that people were dropping down to the 50 miler and opting out of the Bulldog out and back. However tempting that was, I spit out “100k!” and made quick work of the aid station before having any second guesses. I committed to the grind and left Corral Canyon headed toward Bulldog.

The best part of Bulldog is that I had slowed enough that the worst of the heat had passed. The worst part of Bulldog is the climb. Descending Bulldog, I made up time, but the cumulative fatigue on my quads was beginning to break me. I cursed my earlier miles and found my way toward the Bulldog turnaround.

“Daddy!” My mood changed from weary, beaten, battle-born grit, to teary eyed, appreciative love in one word. My family was there to surprise me at the turnaround Bulldog aid station at mile 49 of the race. My son and daughter ran up and hugged me, as I slumped over to return the hug. This was a perfect excuse to take a few extra minutes at the aid station and boost my mood. Bidding them farewell for a few hours until I crossed the finish, I turned to confront Bulldog.

Though tired, and sore, climbing was not that bad. Fortunately, I was also in sync with another runner and we were able to talk most of the way up the Bulldog climb. Finally conquering the last big climb of the day and making it back to Corral Canyon aid station for the last time, I had 7 miles between me and the finish. Only 7 miles, but now is when I learned the meaning of “blowing your quads.”

I made quick work of the initial rocky climb leaving the station, and soon reached the long descent. Attempting to run downhill, my quads simply would not support my running. Every step was followed by a yelp of pain, and though I felt like I was running, my pace was slower than a walk. I trudged along through slow miles, in the dark, just wishing for a climb or flat ground. After what felt like hours of this grind, I finally finished the descent and made it to the last 1.5 miles of the course. The closer I got to the finish, the faster I got. When I could finally hear the celebratory cheers at the finish line, I was miraculously able to sprint. All of the day’s pains and doubt slipped away and I sprinted the last quarter of a mile over gravel, over the bridge, around the corner, and across the finish line.

Overwhelmed by a huge sense of relief in finishing the day, and being done with downhills, I crossed the finish line in a time of 14 hours, 10 minutes, and 25 seconds. Though I didn’t have the race I planned for, I had a memorable one that will inspire me to come back next year.