Half the Battle: The Cuyamaca 100k
As soon as my alarm went off at 4:30 AM on Saturday I knew I was going to run 63 miles that day. The longest run I'd done in the past 6 months was 20 miles—just over 3 hours—but I was healthy. No fever, no chills, no overuse injuries clawing at my legs. The first few steps I was going to run would be filled with nothing but excitement.
After a long stretch of injuries herself, the famed kiwi mountain runner Anna Frost once said she believed getting to the start line healthy was half the battle. For months, this was my goal. Back in February I attempted to qualify for the Western States 100 at the Sean O'Brien 100k. Training had gone perfectly for months. I ran a 50k PR leading up to the race and hit my all time mileage high of 90 miles in one week, but with 4 weeks before the race I started to develop a creaky pain in my Achilles tendon. On top of that, with just 5 days before the start I got the flu. The night before the race my Achilles tendon hurt and my sinuses were killing me. I made the decision not to race.
Then I jumped back into racing too quickly. After just 7 weeks I lined up for a mountainous 50k for which I was inadequately prepared. I wound up with an injury in my thigh that kept me from running for almost 3 months. Prior to the injury, however, I signed up for the Cuyamaca 100k on October 7th—my last opportunity to qualify for Western States. After 3 months of no running and a few minor injuries on top of that, the Cuyamaca 100k was looking iffy at best. Even as the race became just weeks away, it seemed almost inevitable that something would spring up and stop me from racing. I awaited the sprained ankle, the overuse injury, or the flu, but it never came. On October 7th I woke up in my tent at 4:30 AM, feeling good. The hard part, I knew, was over. All I had to do now was execute.
The race started at 6:30 AM. With a whopping 62.8 miles ahead of me, I started out slow. I ran in around 50th place to the first aid station at mile 8.4. For some reason, despite feeling really good and running on smooth rolling terrain, I kicked a rock and fell after just 2 miles. I adjusted my tall socks, remarked to the guy behind me that I was getting the falls out of the way early, and kept going. The first 15 miles of the race came and went without a hitch. I was eating well, feeling good, and slowly climbing the ladder into about 40th place.
The second aid station was at a campground at mile 14. I knew after that, I would have a 9 mile climb to the top of Cuyamaca peak, where I'd rack up 2500 feet of climbing to the 6500 foot summit. Knowing this, and knowing that the the temperatures would climb significantly in the time it took to climb the summit, I threw on a 50 ounce hydration pack in addition to one handheld bottle, tossed some ice in my hat, discarded it 5 minutes later when I got a headache, and began to make my way up to the summit.
The carnage began on this climb. There was an odd mixture of competition here. I passed many folks who were suffering on their way up, and a few spry looking people passed me. Even though we were only 20 miles into the race, I was hurting. Despite carrying what I believed to be an unnecessary amount of water, I ran dry with about a mile to go. I was starting to suffer, but this all changed when I got to the aid station at the peak. First of all, the views up there were amazing. Second, I discovered boiled potatoes dipped in salt. I now fully understand why those potatoes are such a crowd favorite. The potatoes along with the cheery folks manning the aid station/buffet completely reinvigorated me. I started down the mountain, and since running downhill tends to be my strength, I gained the psychological advantage of passing runners.
For the first time since mile 14, I saw my crew at mile 28. At this point I felt totally solid. I took the time to eat some food, put on sunscreen, and get soaking wet before I made my way to the main aid station at mile 31.8. Again, I passed runners on the rolling downhill stretches. I was now in around 30th place.
The mile 31.8 aid station was a major turning point in the race. I was now entering uncharted territory for myself, and I had been warned that the next 8 mile stretch would be very hot and exposed (temperatures were approaching 90 degrees). I threw on arm sleeves and filled them with ice, and wore a buff filled with ice. For the next 5 miles, I continued to pick up carnage. People were cooking, and I kept moving through them, but by mile 38 I was cooked myself. By the time I got into the mile 39 aid station I was toast. I sat down, stared at the ground, and ate an enormous amount of junk food. As far as I can remember, I ate 4 oreos, pringles, a Honey Stinger's waffle, and drank a ton of coke. Thankfully, I knew that in 4.5 miles I'd see my crew and pick up my pacer, so that was my motivation for the next hour, which entailed a lot of walking and slow shuffling. When I got there, I sat down once again and downed food for about 10 minutes. At this point, I was pretty sure the competitive aspect of my race was over. I was gassed. Nonetheless, my watch only read 9 hours and 40 minutes, and I only needed to finish under 17 for a Western States qualifier, so I sure as hell wasn't stopping with just 18 miles to go. My roommate/pacer and I marched out on the final loop. Just 2 aid stations to go. Aid station to aid station was the only thing in my mind.
On we went, sometimes walking, sometimes shuffling. I was now averaging about 15 minute miles as the sun began to set. I started to descend into a bit of a foggy state. I knew where I was going and I knew what I needed to do, but that was all I could think about. I regret to say that my pacer's world-class jokes were going over my head as I trudged into the next aid station.
At this point I once again sat and ate. I overheard one of the aid station volunteers pick up his walkie talkie and say, "I'm here at the mile 51 aid station and we are still waiting for so-and-so." I recall thinking, "What on earth. Have I really run 51 miles?" Less than a half marathon until I'll have finished my first 100k, and qualified for the Western States 100. We left the ironically named "Sunrise" aid station just as the sun had set for good, and followed our headlamps to the final aid station.
These last 10 miles were a mixture of walking as fast as I possibly could and shuffling along. I wanted to sit down more than anything, but the finish line was so close. I moved as quickly as I could, which wasn't particularly quick after 60 miles. I pushed myself to run half mile stretches at a time—walking the rest. I told my pacer to let me know when there was .7 miles left in the race, and when the time came, we made our final break to the finish line. 15 Hours and 10 minutes after I began running, I finished the Cuyamaca 100k in 49th place our of 210 starters.
I take a couple of important lessons away from this race. First and most importantly, boiled potatoes are the greatest food on the planet, period. Secondly, I focused more on consistency in my training for this race than a constant buildup. In the past, I built up my weekly milage until about 3 weeks before the race, and then began tapering. This time around, I built up my milage until I was at about 75 miles per week, and I was so paranoid of injury that I stopped it there, running around 75 miles per week for a solid 4 weeks straight. Could I have run faster had I built up my mileage even more? Possibly. Would I have made it to the starting line healthy? Maybe not.
The final takeaway is that the ultra marathon community is, as always, totally amazing. The runners, the race director, the volunteers, and my wonderful crew made this one of the greatest adventures of my life. Cheers guys.
After a long stretch of injuries herself, the famed kiwi mountain runner Anna Frost once said she believed getting to the start line healthy was half the battle. For months, this was my goal. Back in February I attempted to qualify for the Western States 100 at the Sean O'Brien 100k. Training had gone perfectly for months. I ran a 50k PR leading up to the race and hit my all time mileage high of 90 miles in one week, but with 4 weeks before the race I started to develop a creaky pain in my Achilles tendon. On top of that, with just 5 days before the start I got the flu. The night before the race my Achilles tendon hurt and my sinuses were killing me. I made the decision not to race.
Then I jumped back into racing too quickly. After just 7 weeks I lined up for a mountainous 50k for which I was inadequately prepared. I wound up with an injury in my thigh that kept me from running for almost 3 months. Prior to the injury, however, I signed up for the Cuyamaca 100k on October 7th—my last opportunity to qualify for Western States. After 3 months of no running and a few minor injuries on top of that, the Cuyamaca 100k was looking iffy at best. Even as the race became just weeks away, it seemed almost inevitable that something would spring up and stop me from racing. I awaited the sprained ankle, the overuse injury, or the flu, but it never came. On October 7th I woke up in my tent at 4:30 AM, feeling good. The hard part, I knew, was over. All I had to do now was execute.
The race started at 6:30 AM. With a whopping 62.8 miles ahead of me, I started out slow. I ran in around 50th place to the first aid station at mile 8.4. For some reason, despite feeling really good and running on smooth rolling terrain, I kicked a rock and fell after just 2 miles. I adjusted my tall socks, remarked to the guy behind me that I was getting the falls out of the way early, and kept going. The first 15 miles of the race came and went without a hitch. I was eating well, feeling good, and slowly climbing the ladder into about 40th place.
The second aid station was at a campground at mile 14. I knew after that, I would have a 9 mile climb to the top of Cuyamaca peak, where I'd rack up 2500 feet of climbing to the 6500 foot summit. Knowing this, and knowing that the the temperatures would climb significantly in the time it took to climb the summit, I threw on a 50 ounce hydration pack in addition to one handheld bottle, tossed some ice in my hat, discarded it 5 minutes later when I got a headache, and began to make my way up to the summit.
The carnage began on this climb. There was an odd mixture of competition here. I passed many folks who were suffering on their way up, and a few spry looking people passed me. Even though we were only 20 miles into the race, I was hurting. Despite carrying what I believed to be an unnecessary amount of water, I ran dry with about a mile to go. I was starting to suffer, but this all changed when I got to the aid station at the peak. First of all, the views up there were amazing. Second, I discovered boiled potatoes dipped in salt. I now fully understand why those potatoes are such a crowd favorite. The potatoes along with the cheery folks manning the aid station/buffet completely reinvigorated me. I started down the mountain, and since running downhill tends to be my strength, I gained the psychological advantage of passing runners.
For the first time since mile 14, I saw my crew at mile 28. At this point I felt totally solid. I took the time to eat some food, put on sunscreen, and get soaking wet before I made my way to the main aid station at mile 31.8. Again, I passed runners on the rolling downhill stretches. I was now in around 30th place.
The mile 31.8 aid station was a major turning point in the race. I was now entering uncharted territory for myself, and I had been warned that the next 8 mile stretch would be very hot and exposed (temperatures were approaching 90 degrees). I threw on arm sleeves and filled them with ice, and wore a buff filled with ice. For the next 5 miles, I continued to pick up carnage. People were cooking, and I kept moving through them, but by mile 38 I was cooked myself. By the time I got into the mile 39 aid station I was toast. I sat down, stared at the ground, and ate an enormous amount of junk food. As far as I can remember, I ate 4 oreos, pringles, a Honey Stinger's waffle, and drank a ton of coke. Thankfully, I knew that in 4.5 miles I'd see my crew and pick up my pacer, so that was my motivation for the next hour, which entailed a lot of walking and slow shuffling. When I got there, I sat down once again and downed food for about 10 minutes. At this point, I was pretty sure the competitive aspect of my race was over. I was gassed. Nonetheless, my watch only read 9 hours and 40 minutes, and I only needed to finish under 17 for a Western States qualifier, so I sure as hell wasn't stopping with just 18 miles to go. My roommate/pacer and I marched out on the final loop. Just 2 aid stations to go. Aid station to aid station was the only thing in my mind.
On we went, sometimes walking, sometimes shuffling. I was now averaging about 15 minute miles as the sun began to set. I started to descend into a bit of a foggy state. I knew where I was going and I knew what I needed to do, but that was all I could think about. I regret to say that my pacer's world-class jokes were going over my head as I trudged into the next aid station.
At this point I once again sat and ate. I overheard one of the aid station volunteers pick up his walkie talkie and say, "I'm here at the mile 51 aid station and we are still waiting for so-and-so." I recall thinking, "What on earth. Have I really run 51 miles?" Less than a half marathon until I'll have finished my first 100k, and qualified for the Western States 100. We left the ironically named "Sunrise" aid station just as the sun had set for good, and followed our headlamps to the final aid station.
These last 10 miles were a mixture of walking as fast as I possibly could and shuffling along. I wanted to sit down more than anything, but the finish line was so close. I moved as quickly as I could, which wasn't particularly quick after 60 miles. I pushed myself to run half mile stretches at a time—walking the rest. I told my pacer to let me know when there was .7 miles left in the race, and when the time came, we made our final break to the finish line. 15 Hours and 10 minutes after I began running, I finished the Cuyamaca 100k in 49th place our of 210 starters.
I take a couple of important lessons away from this race. First and most importantly, boiled potatoes are the greatest food on the planet, period. Secondly, I focused more on consistency in my training for this race than a constant buildup. In the past, I built up my weekly milage until about 3 weeks before the race, and then began tapering. This time around, I built up my milage until I was at about 75 miles per week, and I was so paranoid of injury that I stopped it there, running around 75 miles per week for a solid 4 weeks straight. Could I have run faster had I built up my mileage even more? Possibly. Would I have made it to the starting line healthy? Maybe not.
The final takeaway is that the ultra marathon community is, as always, totally amazing. The runners, the race director, the volunteers, and my wonderful crew made this one of the greatest adventures of my life. Cheers guys.
Michi, you continue to impress all of us in so many ways. Awesome run, and a great read! Aloha, Dave
ReplyDeleteDave! Thank you so much! That means a lot! Aloha to yourself!
ReplyDelete