I never sleep well before a race. This time I woke up about once an hour. Finally at 2:45 I gave up and got out of bed. My ride wasn’t till 4 though, so I baked bread.
After Leona I talked to Coach Mike about what went wrong. I wondered if he thought I’d be ready to run the White River 50M at the end of July. He thought I would. And then, to my surprise, he suggested I run Born to Run 50K as a way of fixing some the mistakes I made with fueling. I was surprised because B2R was only 3 weeks after Leona and I didn’t think I’d be recovered by then. Mike told me I wouldn’t and that I’d have to keep my heart rate even lower than I usually do in an ultra — and if I didn’t feel up for it I shouldn’t do it.
Well, I felt pretty good after about a week and a half, and Luis posted that B2R was almost full and encouraged people to sign up. So I did. And then I felt really tired again.
Anyway, this was to be a test of eating and drinking, not of racing. I hoped it wouldn’t matter much. Mike wanted me to drink a quart (a liter) an hour. He wanted me to eat more salt (so I decided to double my intake from Leona, which was about 4 times what I’d done previously — on those rare occasions when I’d taken any salt previously). And he wanted me to try to eat real food rather than just gels, so I brought along some fig bars, and some trail mix.
I’m to keep my heart rate below 75%. Considerably below on the downhills. Normally I race ultras at about 80%. I’m not sure what this will mean.
Andreas and Heidi offered to come pick me up at 4am (true friends!). Andreas was also doing the 50K and like me he had done Leona three weeks before (but he did the 50K); Heidi was recovering from an injury and was only doing the 10mile race.
It was cool and pleasant outside in SB. The sky was clear and the stars were shining. I’d hoped for fog. Didn’t want to run in the valley’s heat (though Mike considered that something else I needed to work on; I felt I should seek out cool races instead).
Luis’s race, Born to Run, is, of course, named after the book, Luis being a friend of the protagonist. His race is not set in Mexico but on the East Creek Ranch, an 8000 acre cattle ranch outside of Los Olivos.
Once we got to the top of the coastal mountains we plunged into fog, and it stayed with us all the way to the Ranch. Yay! We got there at about 5am and showed three other cars how to open the ranch gate and where the race start was. Then we checked in and picked up our bibs.
At 5:45 Luis described the course: Two ~10 mile loops each returning to the start. One is marked with pink tags and one with yellow. Blue tags are on routes you should not choose. (Gleep. Colorblind me often finds pink and blue indistinguishable. “Tough” says Luis. Succinct.
At 6 Mr. Chamberlin (the owner of the ranch) fires his shotgun, and we are off.
I start out well back and (I think) fairly slowly, but after a bit I look down at my watch. I’m running at 76% already. So I slow way down.
After another 5 minutes I look down again. 65%. Ah. Frequently when I start running my heart rate jumps and then drops back. I guess it takes it a while to get used to working harder or something. OK. I can run a little faster.
I’m running behind a gentleman wearing a shirt from the Avalon 50; I am also wearing an avalon shirt so this pleases me. As we go up a hill I pass him, but then he pulls back ahead of me on the downhill. I’m trying to run 75% on the uphills, and I seem to be doing ~69% on the down. I’m not really thinking about it that just seems to be what comes out of me.
After about half an hour we reach the first aid station. It doesn’t appear to be functioning and anyway no one needs anything. We just continue.
I’ve been consciously trying to drink more than I usually do. Unfortunately I don’t really know how much I’ve drunk. I’ve got a 2 liter bladder on my back. It’s impossible to guess if I’ve drunk a pint in the last half hour or not.
We are now coming to an edge of the property and we can look across a fence into the neighbor’s vineyard. I ran this loop back in February when Luis held a training run on it; back then the vineyard looked like a bunch of sticks stuck in the ground, now there’s a green fuzz as the sticks turn into grape vines. (this picture was taken later in the day on a second pass through this loop, earlier it was too dim with fog for the green to show in a photo).
We’re now climbing a hill, and once again I pass the other guy with a avalon shirt. We have some chat on the way up, talking about our respective avalons. Of course on the way down he overtakes me again, but I don’t let him get far ahead and reel him in. And then I never see him again.
Back in February this area was full of common fiddlenecks (a type of wildflower, not a fern) but I’m disappointed to see that all of them appear finished and uncurled. No more flowers.
We’re now close to the paved road. I’m not paying to much attention. Suddenly I see people in front of me running toward me. They tell me they went the wrong way. Then I notice that right beside me there’s a obscure trail, and, yes, it is marked. I would have missed it too. So now at least 4 people who were ahead of me are behind me. I keep expecting them to pass me.
I hear turkeys gobbling across the paved road, but I can’t see them.
As we run beside the road we get a good view up the valley, and can see the hills across the way where the fog is lifting. We’re still in shadow, but there’s sunlight ahead.
And now we come to the second aid station; it’s a little after 7 and my friend Nancy is offering me a cup of water. I don’t need any additional water (but it does remind me to drink from my own supply), so I pass on through.
I realize I’ve gone about 6 miles in about an hour. In spite of the fact that I’m keeping my HR down to 75%. That’s faster than most ultras I’ve run. This must be an easy course.
There’s a fairly steep uphill grade here and I drop back to a walk as my HR climbs. But it drops again fairly quickly, so I’m doing a sort of jog/walk/jog/walk alternation up the hill. During this process I pass and repass a woman who turns out to be the 50K female winner (I don’t know that yet, of course), but when we get to a long downhill stretch she takes off ahead and I don’t see her again until the finish line (where she finishes behind me. I still don’t know how that happened).
There are some nice beds of Clarkias here. Some elegant clarkias are open and obvious, but the others are still tightly curled up in buds. I’ll have to wait until later in the day to identify them. There also appear to be some slender tarweeds (or are they miniature? I need to look closely at the flowers to distinguish).
And now we’re coming back to the start/finish area. They need to check me off a list when I arrive (they tell me I’m done, at first, thinking I’m only running 10M), and then I go over to the aid station to get some water. No one notices me. I’ve gotten spoiled 🙂 I’m used to volunteers filling my backpack for me, clearly that isn’t happening here. Silly George. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself — only where’s the water I should be using? I ask and no one answers. Odd. Eventually I grab a bottle and pour it into my camelback. Ump. It looks as though I’ve drunk a little more than a pint in the last hour and a half. Not good. I must do better. Of course, it has been cold and foggy so I haven’t needed to drink much.
It still is cool, but I have a feeling that’s not going to last. Time to remove my long sleeve shirt. Good-bye Avalon. I drop it on top of Andreas & Heidi’s car as I leave the area. And as I do so I see Andreas, Karen and Brett coming into the area. I’m not as far ahead of them as I thought (of course I did take an unconscionably long time in the aid station).
Now I’m following the loop marked with yellow flags. I’ve never done this one before. There’s still some fog visible off in the distance, but it’s pretty sunny here.
Hmm. That fuzzy leaf looks like a milkweed plant.
We come to the second aid station first on this loop. Again I plow right through. We leave the station by a different route that on the first loop.
Suddenly we turn a corner and we are being stared at by a bunch of cattle. They don’t look happy to see us, but they aren’t doing anything about it, just staring to express their disapproval as we run by, 20 feet away.
We are running under oak trees now and it’s shady and nice. The pack has thinned out. No one is very close to me.
After a bit we run up another hill and come out onto a bit of trail that was on the other loop, so we get to see (and pass) some of the slower runners. We cheer each other on.
And then we turn away from them onto a stretch of single track trail. This is a little different from most trails. I don’t think there’s a year round trail here, it looks as though someone has come through with a long mower and shaved the grass and left it at that.
There’s nothing wrong with this; it isn’t hard to run or anything; it just looks a little odd. The views are nice though…. There’s still a bit of fog off toward the coast…
There’s someone not far behind me on this section, and about half-way though I pass someone who seems to have slowed down. But then he and the guy behind me start chatting together and start gaining on me. We talk a little. They bemoan the fact that the fog is off toward the sea and not over us.
I find I’m pushing things a little harder (or am I more tired?). My HR on the downhill sections has climbed to 72%.
The single track ends in a steep drop down to a road that leads to the first aid station. We take a different route out of it from any we used on the first loop. Hmm. the course is rather cleverly designed that way.
About half a mile beyond the aid station there is a strange dark lump in the road ahead. As I get closer I see a turkey vulture alight and I realize there is a dead cow in the road. This is a huge shock. Closer still and I see the eye is oozing blood — I wondered if someone had shot it, but realized the vultures have been after that.
(Other people say there was a dead calf too, and the cow died giving birth. I guess I didn’t look closely enough).
The first loop was only 9½ miles rather than 10, so I’m sort of assuming this one is also short and start figuring that I’m only two miles from its end. This is a cheering thought. But the loop just goes on and on. It turns out to be 10¼ miles instead.
Finally I get to the start/finish, get checked in as having finished the second loop, and refill my water. This time I use more than a quart (but I’m not sure how much more), so I came closer to or maybe even hit the amount I should have drunk.
And I’m out again. A repeat of loop 1.
The loop looks completely different in the sunshine. It’s starting to feel hot though.
I also notice that it’s getting harder to control my heart rate. I’m walking more than I was 3½ hours ago, and I have to spend more time looking at my watch to make sure I’m not pushing too hard. Even on the downhills I’m starting to approach 75%.
There aren’t many people around. I can’t see anyone ahead, and the guys behind are quite some distance back.
Then I turn a corner and suddenly people are scrambling down the steep slope where loop 2 approaches the first aid station. I think I recognize some of them from my previous view of slower runners — but I’m not sure.
The aid station is crowded. I can’t see any pink tags leading out of it. I chaif as I wait for one of the attendants (there are only two) to have time to answer which road I take out of there. But I’m finally off.
I’m feeling very slow now. Before a pace from a 75% HR felt reasonable, but it doesn’t any more. This may be because I’m tired, and so 75% HR does give me a slower pace. But it just feels wrong. It’s way too slow. I want to go faster. I know I can go faster (but maybe I’d get injured if I do). I don’t push it. I just complain to myself.
Somewhere along here is the place where people missed a turn. I keep looking for it, but can’t find it. There are large unflagged sections if Luis deemed that there were no alternate routes… but there are alternate routes. I don’t see any flagging on them either. Am I going the right way? I look down, and in the roadbed are the prints of many feet. I’m probably in the right place.
No one ahead. No one behind. Is that trouble?
Then finally I do find it. Much further along than I had thought. And now I’m running beside the paved road again. There’s no sign of fog now.
And now I’m coming into the second aid station, and there’s Nancy. They’ve put up signs in the road “You are NOT almost done.” Mmm. Thank you. I’m assuming my race ends after 3 laps which means I’ve less than 3 miles to go. That’s sort of “almost done”. Isn’t it?
I mostly walk up the uphills out of there. I still get a little running in, but not nearly as much as I did the first time round.
I’m trying to figure out how much 8000 acres (size of the ranch) is in square miles. I don’t know an acre to mile² conversion. But there are a bit more than 2 acres to the hectare, and a hectare is 100m to the side which means an acre is about 100yards/√2 to a side, so about (17*√2)² acres in a square mile = ~550 so a bit less than 16 square miles, or a square where each side is 4 miles long. (Now that I’m home I see that 8000 acres is actually 12.5 square miles, so a rectangle 3 miles by 4 miles. It’s still big).
And then finally the downhill. It’s pretty much all downhill from here to the finish line. A mile and a half or so. There’s still no one around me.
As I come down the hill I pass a few slow runners. I assume they are people who are a lap behind rather than people I’m catching up with, so they don’t count.
About a 100yds ahead a mule deer comes down the canyon on my right, crosses the road and disappears off to the left. When I get to the place s/he crossed I look left and wish I could bound up a slope that steep.
I realize I’m going to finish in under 5 hours. That’s kind of neat. My heart rate is now at 75% and above even on the downhill but I don’t have far to go.
I see the cars. I see the finish.
About 10 feet from the finish they announce the fourth place finisher. But it isn’t me. Hunh? Maybe they misread my bib. Anyway I cross the line. And turn off my watch. They check me off the list, and then want to send me out for another loop (they think I’m doing 100k or something.) I say I’m done. They tell me I’m not. Apparently I have to run another half mile to an old stump with a skellington hanging from it, and then back. Um. OK. I set off again.
Was that announced at the beginning? I certainly didn’t hear it. I’m a bit annoyed. I know I’ll be above 5 hours. Oh well. I pass some slow people, but I don’t see anyone else ahead of me. I pay no attention to my HR monitor. After a bit I recollect that I turned off my watch when I crossed the non-finish line. Damn. I turn it back on again. But now I shan’t know when half a mile is. I’ll just have to watch for the skeleton. And there it is. And I turn and run back.
As I cross the finish line again I hear them announce me as the sixth place finisher in 5:03. But… you announced the fourth place guy when I was here last and there wasn’t anyone between… I look at the results. I am in sixth place, and the guy who was announced earlier was fifth. Did I mis-remember? Did Luis mis-announce? I guess it doesn’t matter.
Oops. I see someone has prepared the finish area for Chrystee. Only she’s not running today. Maybe someone else…
I’m feeling in pretty good shape. I’m not nauseous. I pissed during the race. I’m even hungry! I eat a spam and cheese sandwich. The first one tastes wonderful, the second… not so much.
Now… did I feel better because of the nutritional changes I made… or because I only ran for 5 hours and most of the morning was pretty cool so there really wasn’t much of a problem anyway?
I chat with Heidi, (who ran ~20 miles instead of just the 10). And then Andreas and Karen come through. They know to go off to the skeleton. Then the first place woman finishes (how did she get behind me?), and then Karen and Andreas. Luis is so excited that Karen has finished second that he doesn’t even notice (or mention) Andreas.
Then Brett comes in.
I’m feeling pretty good. I realize I haven’t run my age yet this year. I decide to head back out and take a closer look at some of the wildflowers, and in addition run another 2K to get in 52K (actually, a bit more like 3K. My watch thinks I’ve only done about 49K).
on the trail