Archive for April, 2012

Leona Divide

April 30, 2012

I don’t really know where the divide is. The Leona Valley with its lakes is a rift created by the San Andreas fault. The race starts to the east of Lake Hughes and runs first south-east, then doubles back on itself to go west and then returns.

The weather people claimed that it was 39° in Lake Hughes Friday morning (day before) and that the high would be 56°. But when I got there it was about 70°. The prediction for the day of the race were equally wrong. It was 51° when I arrived at 5am and reached up into the 80s during the day (that’s at the start/finish area. it was hotter in the canyons).

Very windy though, but I figured that would calm.

We started at 6, in twilight, and ran up into the hills. Two women behind me were chatting: “We can go slow for the first half hour, after all we’ll be out here for seven or so.” At first I thought they might be slow 50K runners, but they had said they were going slowly and our current pace would not yield a 7 hour 50K. Nope they had to be fast 50milers and they were behind me. I should slow down. And they passed me.

I was hoping to break 8, but didn’t really expect to. Somewhere between 8 and 9. Every course is different and I can’t tell in advance…

The countryside is drier and barer than that of the SB mountains, much more open and smaller bushes. Not a problem this early in the morning but it doesn’t look as though there will be much in the way of shade later in the day.

I’ve been troubled with nausea in most of my ultra races (and some training runs too). Mike tells me this is because I haven’t been taking enough electrolytes (salt), so this time I take 100mg of sodium every half hour (and I’ll continue to take a gel pack every half hour). Of course I have a large camelback to drink from when I need it.

We are winding up a dirt road on a ridge line with canyons opening off to the west as the sun begins to rise above the mountains. Every now and then I stop running and walk for a bit until my heart rate drops. This early in the race that happens pretty quickly.

The course is well marked, but sometimes I don’t notice the markings. At an intersection the guy just ahead turns right to piss in the bushes and to avoid him I turn sharp left. The woman behind me yells at me that the correct route goes closer to straight ahead, and then I notice the little “do not go here” sign. Now we get to go downhill for a bit and we trundle along in slightly different order.

My hands are getting warm and I take off my gloves. Stuffing them in the backpack is too difficult so I just hold them. 🙂 I end up holding them for about an hour and a half…

I don’t bother to stop at the first aid station. I’ve only been running for about an hour; it’s still cool; I haven’t drunk that much water; no need for a refill. So I’m now running with a slightly different group of people. We go uphill again for another 20 minutes and then make a very sharp turn onto the Pacific Crest Trail (the west coast equivalent of the AT) — and it’s a bit harder to pass people, but there is an etiquette involved and people are willing to move over if they know you want to pass (and, similarly, I must move over when someone wants to pass me). We coalesce into a little clump of runners (different, yet again from any I’ve run with). I count about 6 people ahead and there are maybe 4 directly behind (harder to count people behind). I slowly move up the clump.

At one point when I move to the side to allow someone to pass I twist my ankle slightly. It’s fine on level trail, but on a slope I notice a little twinge. OK for now, but I worry that it may worsen. I feel it off and on for another three hours or so, and then it fades. Good.

It’s kind of odd, there’s our little group of about 10 people but no one in sight ahead. We wind in and out of canyons. It’s very dry. The trail is white sand with little scrubby bushes, only waist high, much lower than what I’m used to in SB. It is still chilly in the shade, but starting to be warm in the sun. Every now and then we turn a corner and the wind hits and then it’s chilly in the sun too.

I’m in fourth place (in our clump) when I realize that the reason we are a clump is that the woman in front isn’t going as fast as the people behind. The guy behind her passes, and then the woman ahead of me, and then a few minutes later I do. I stick with these two, they are going at a reasonable pace (for me) until we get to the next aid station.

Again I don’t need water so I just pass through.

Now we go steeply downhill for about 3 miles to the next aid station where the trail crosses a paved road. This section goes very quickly. My water is starting to run low but the station appears well before I run out. I do stop here, and get them to refill my water while I remove my long sleeved shirt and tie it to the backpack and then stuff the gloves inside (finally I get rid of them).

Of course immediately after removing my shirt I plunge into shade again and am a little chilly, but that doesn’t last.

And now for the longest climb of the course. I cross the road and head up. First we climb 1600ft in about 3 miles. Then there is about a mile of fairly level ground and then another 600ft. I go up.

There’s a guy behind me, slowly catching up. I offer to let him pass but he seems happy not to. We chat for a bit. When 16.7 miles rolls around on my watch I mention that we’re a third done and on track to break 8 hours. However he’s doing the 50K, so he’s more than half done and on track to break 5 hours. “Of course” he says. Finally he does pass me. But then he gets a stone in his shoe and I pass him back. We climb.

We start to see returning 50K runners. One guy. 10 minutes later another 2. Then a woman. Another man. The second woman (but she’s limping, oh dear).

At the top of the steep hill is another aid station, and this is the turn-around for the 50K race. I say good-bye to my friend and he turns back while I continue. This station claims to be about 20 miles from the start, but my watch thinks I’ve gone 19. Not sure what to make of that.

I start out with a couple of other people but they start to draw ahead, and pretty soon I’m by myself. This is a bit that looks flat on the elevation profile but really consists of lots of small ups and downs, twists and turns. It’s also exposed and in the sun. The ground is very white. The sun is very bright. The sun reflects off the white ground. Not really to my taste.

Off in the distance is a hill top with some pine trees on it.

Then I begin to climb again. There’s a little shade here. I think I’m on a north facing slope so there’s less direct sun. And there are masses of baby blue-eyes. These are fairly rare (or I think so) in SB, but they are all over here. Also some larkspurs. I guess it’s a bit damper here than it has been.

At 25 miles (by my watch) the time is 4:06, so I’ve dropped a little from the 8 hour pace. On the other hand, if the distance posted at the last aid station is correct I’ve probably run more like 26 miles and so I’m still OK…

And after a bit I start to see returning runners from my race. I sort of count these. That is to say… I try to count them, but I’m not at my most analytical after running for four hours and I keep forgetting to pay attention. (Was that runner 8? or 9?). Convention is that returning runners have the right of way, but the trail is narrow here and we’re on the side of a steep hill. Leaving the trail makes my foot twinge. Still, I do it.

As I crest this hill I’m in a stand of leafless trees, with a few just starting to put out buds. They look like oaks. I don’t think I’ve seen any oaks in Ca. which lose their leaves (Heidi thinks caterpillars ate them, but she wasn’t there; I think they were deciduous).


There was supposed to be a nice view of the valley below, but the camera didn’t catch it…

And now we leave the trail and head down (steeply down) a hot dusty dirt road. I pass some people and some pass me.

Two miles down the road (or a bit more) is the turn around (and an aid station). The woman who comes in with me (slightly ahead) turns out to be bib number 320, while I am 319. This amuses me. But not her. She turns around and zooms out of there like a rabbit, while I feel more like a tortoise. The road is uphill and steep and hot. I’m basically walking. There’s another guy who left the station at about the same time. He is also a tortoise and he and I trade places a couple of times. The rabbit is long gone, I never see her again. How does she do it?

I think I’m in about 40th place now. But I know I haven’t counted well. I’d could be 45th, or 35th

Off on the side of the road is a western wallflower. I noticed it on the way down, but I was running then. Now I’m walking. I can’t photograph flowers when I’m running, but at a walking pace, I can stop and it won’t slow me much. I’ve never seen a wallflower before.

The road is hot. I feel I’m crawling up. My fellow tortoise has now disappeared ahead.

I’m starting to balk at the thought of another gel, so I eat some blocks instead. For some reason they seem more palatable.

Eventually I reach the trail again. It’s cooler and sometimes shady and I can run again.

Now I’m the guy returning and people have to get out of my way. It’s kind of nice, but I’m feeling tired.

After ~3.5 miles from the turn-around I see Nichol and cheer her on. (well, sort of. I tell her she’s looking good, which she disputes saying she feels terrible to which I reply that I’m tired). A quarter mile after that I see Jennifer and say something to her too. It’s supposed to be cheering…


Hot. Lake Hughes in the distance.

There was maybe 3 miles of gentle shady downhill, but that is behind me now. I’m out in the sun on the bumpy flat section. I’m not doing very well. Several people pass me. I do see my fellow tortoise again, but I never catch up with him.

As I approach the next aid station there are inspirational quotes on signs. The only one that grabs me is one from Winston Churchill: “If you are going through hell, keep going.” It has a twinge of wit to it which the others lack.

At the 50K turn-around aid station again. In this direction the aid-station claims to be 35miles, my watch thinks it’s only 34 miles. In either case I’m more than ⅔rds done, but still with a long way to go. I eat a bit of banana and a potato. I grab a quarter peanut-butter sandwich while they fill my water.

The peanut butter proves a mistake. My mouth is dry and the peanut butter sticks to it. It’s very difficult to swallow. Funny. I don’t feel thirsty, but my mouth is dry. I thought there’d be some jelly in it, or less peanut butter… Eventually it goes down.

There’s an older woman walking with a stick (I mean a real stick, not a fancy pole). She’s a 50K walker and is in good humor. She asks for a tow as I head out. I wish I had enough energy to tow her 🙂 After this I assume that anyone I pass is likely to be a 50K runner, and anyone who passes me a 50M.

And I stumble out. Steeply downhill now, but very sunny and hot.

People pass me. I’ve given up on trying to eat even the blocks. I’ll just wait for the food at the next aid station. Mike told me that it was easier to eat real food at this point and he seems to be right.

I’m back at the paved road. It’s hot. It’s 1:30, about the hottest part of the day. People ask me if I’m OK. Well… not really, but I’ll manage. Someone pours water down my back. “Brormbgphmshqua”. Oranges! I eat 5 orange quarters! Yummy! And some soda. Mike told me to try drinking it. Bleah.

And now, the last steepest hill. Three miles of up to the next aid station. All in the direct sun in enclosed canyons with no breeze. I’m really dragging now. All slumped over walking up the hill. People pass me. I pass a few. The ridge line seems impossibly far above me. I realize I’ll probably be slower than 9 hours. I hadn’t expected that. Ug. It’s hot.

I think that funny little thing might be a broomrape flower.

It looks as though I’ve reached a ridge. There’s a bit of shade now and it’s not so steep. I can run again. Well… jog.

But I haven’t reached the ridge. I keep going up for another mile or so.

And there is the last aid station. More oranges! — these are covered with salt. Weird. Again they ask if I’m OK.

But this isn’t the end of the climb. There’s another mile to go up exposed fire road. At least it’s slightly cooler up here than it was down in the canyons. Slightly. It’s still hot. I’m walking again.

Someone looking far too cheerful comes running up from below. Only 2.9 more miles he tells me, and it’s almost all downhill.

Maybe. But it’s still uphill now.

And then it is down. And I’m running again. Not fast. But running.

I’m a quarter mile from the finish line when someone passes me. Damn. I haven’t seen anyone for half an hour couldn’t he have waited 2 minutes? And then someone else. And then I’m done too.

At the finish line they ask if I’m OK. Strangely I feel dizzy for about 30 seconds after stopping. And then… I’ll manage…

I really must look awful, they aren’t worrying about other finishers as they are about me…

John (who did the 50K) tells me it was “just over 80 at the finish line in the afternoon” (I finished at 3pm).

Official time: 9:06:47, 52nd overall, third place in my age group.

I want an orange. Or a banana. Or an apple. But they don’t have anything like that. I have a banana and an apple down in my car, but that seems so far to walk. Instead I go sit on the front porch for about half an hour and then go inside to eat a sit-down meal. I’m rather proud of myself. This is the first 50 miler where I’ve actually been able to eat after the race. I guess the extra salt was helpful.

Then I go back outside and wait for my friends to finish.


I did not piss during the race (I never have in an ultra). Nichol points out that means I was dehydrated. Um. I never felt thirsty. Maybe I need to force myself to drink more than I want to?


Other blogs

The race website

Track workout

April 17, 2012

1600m@6:00, 4:00 jog/rest, 12×(200m@0:38, 0:45 rest), 4:00 jog/rest, 1600m@6:00.

Once upon a time I raced miles at that pace, now the thought of going that fast even for 200 meters is intimidating. Ah well.

Eric pointed out that good runners can race a marathon at that pace.

After the warmup Jeff (who has just done Chardonnay) said he didn’t want to do the 200s either. I tried to convince him to do 4 miles at 6 minutes, but he didn’t like that idea either.

We set off on the first mile. I was in the lead. 20 seconds at the first 100m mark. Too fast. 42 seconds at the 200 mark, still too fast. 87 seconds at the 400m mark. Well that was the right pace for the last 200m. After that I only looked at my watch every 400m; I seemed to be running 87/88 and felt comfortable with that. Finished in 5:50.

Then we started (Jeff had disappeared). I thought I would have to sprint as fast as I could. I followed behind Eric and Tim going as hard as possible. I didn’t try to look at my watch; too difficult to do so at that pace. First one was 35 seconds. Whew. It’s not quite an all out sprint then. We jogged 100m and started again. This time it was 37. After about 6 of the wretched things I would be gasping for breath with about 50m go, then I’d notice and try to control it, but the same thing would happen on the next run. Jill and I battled for third place behind Tim and Eric while Matt trailed. After 8 repetitions I knew I couldn’t finish; after 10 reps I thought maybe it would work but there was no way I’d do the last mile.

Even after a 4 minute jog I was still tired. Eric and Tim agreed that we’d switch off the lead each quarter. Jill and I said nothing. Eric lead at an 88second pace and it was torture. My legs felt like lead and I knew I could not keep going at that pace. Then Tim took over and the next lap was 92 (Jill passed me). That 4 second difference was huge. I felt much better. But then no one took over from Tim, so he lead the next lap too at 91 seconds, but this one felt too slow to me. So I took over from Tim about 100m into the last lap and finished it in 89. It felt far, far easier than the first lap.

It’s kind of odd to realize that I can “rest” (or at least recover) when running 92 second quarters, but I guess I can. I did, anyway.

Like King Lear…

April 15, 2012

I fail to appreciate salt.

Firstly, all the cells of our food contain approximately the same salt concentration as that in the cells of our body. Why should we need to eat more salt than that?

Secondly, my mother had (still has) high blood pressure and I grew up in a house where she added very little extra salt to food. So I became used to it and rarely add salt when I cook either.

Yet after about 5 hours of running (more or less), or 10 hours of bike riding, I become nauseous. I don’t eat enough after that and I don’t run as well as I should. I just assumed that the body got weird after much running, but Mike told me this was because I didn’t take in enough electrolytes.

Apparently there aren’t enough in gels.

OK. When I think about that, it makes sense. A gel is basically sugar and water; it isn’t normal food made of (once) living cells. It would not contain the right amount of salt unless someone put it there.

Thinking back, I realize that on the first ultra I ran I did take salt tablets. I took one every hour and a half and I finished feeling fine (of course it was only a 50K (well, 60K, really) and I was finished in 6 hours and the weather was cool).

A year later I did the same race on a swelteringly hot day, and I forgot to take salt tablets until about 4 hours into the race. When I took one after that I felt really horrible. I told myself I reacted badly to salt tablets. And I didn’t take them after that.

So that was probably silly. Salt when already dehydrated on a hot day might cause all kinds of problems. Things might have been better if I had taken one earlier. And I did feel better after an hour or so, so even in this case the salt might have helped… eventually.

Tuesday Mike gave me a five and a half hour run, but I extended it to 7 because I wanted to take salt and see what happened. I planned to take a salt tablet (100mg sodium) every hour and a half, and I did up until 4.5 hours when I realized I was running low on water and it was still a way to my stash, so I delayed it until I got to my water.

After about 7 hours I started to feel nauseous again.

That was better than some races… but not good enough. And there were so many variables. Had the salt helped any? It wasn’t that hot. I wasn’t racing so maybe wasn’t pushing as hard (though I was supposed to be). So that might also explain why it took longer to reach nausea. On the other hand maybe I screwed up by delaying my third tablet, perhaps I’d have been fine if I had been able to take it earlier?

When I talked to Mike again, he said most people took 3 tablets an hour. Gleep. But sure enough, when I read the side of the bottle it recommended “1-3 tablets in hot weather”. But Mike said I should not jump to that level (good) as I wasn’t used to it (and it was now too late to train for it.

So I think I may try one tablet an hour in the race…


Actually I took 2 tablets (200mg) an hour, and in the next race 4 tablets.

The NY Times has an interesting article claiming that there has never been any good data that restricting salt in the diet is helpful.

Last

April 14, 2012

A lot of people were in Boston today, and a lot of others were at Chardonnay, so only a few showed up for the Saturday workout. And then Kary and Chrystee decided they were going to take it easy… so I was the only one left in my pace group.

This meant that Coach Mike put me in with the fast runners. With Tim and Mike and Ricky and Drea and him.

We were to run marathon pace for 3 miles, jog for 5 minutes and then run tempo pace back for 3 miles.

The pace groups start slowest first. So there I was at the end with all the fast people.

Now Tim, Ricky and Mike are too fast for me. But Drea’s marathon pace is about my tempo pace and there’s an unconscious urge to run that pace when someone else is. But if I were to go that fast on the way out I couldn’t do it again on the way back (and I certainly couldn’t go the 20 seconds faster the Drea would probably be going then).

So after running the first quarter mile too fast, I let everyone else drift off out of sight.

And I realized I was all alone, and last. Far behind everyone else.

It’s a little depressing to be last.

By the first mile all I could see was Drea disappearing into the distance.

By the second mile she was gone.

Finally after two and a half miles I passed one of the slower people. I was in the group again.


The way back was different. I had no chance of running with Drea so no temptation to do so. I had less energy to think as I needed concentration to run my pace. And I didn’t start so far behind so I quickly became part of the group.