Sequoia 50K

Lucky Charms, what else?

On a hillside in Oakland, a low blanket of cloud and fog hung in the trees. "I wouldn't mind if those stayed around all day", Alex remarked, pointing to the clouds. In the week leading up to the race, Alex realized that he had the same five day weekend that Matt did. It is nearly impossible to get one or two overlap weekend days with Matt's work friends, so it was like the Running Gods were sending him a sign that he should run with us. Late on Friday night, just over 24 hrs before the race, suddenly the two of us became three.

We headed to the registration table. Fifty-five runners had registered for the 50K race, not a lot, but almost a certainty that we wouldn't come in LAST. Suddenly, we found ourselves at the starting line. The race director, in a very Swiss (or German?) accent detailed the course. We were to follow the pink ribbons, orange ones, and then take the pink loop again. No problem. "Who is running the 50K?" he called out. Hands went into the air. As I put my hand up, "um....only because it's too late to back down now, right?" I said, only half joking, to Matt. "Who is running their first ultra?" Our hands stayed up, and the field broke out into applause. We were about to become one of them.

Matt and I at the start! Where's Alex? Pfft, who knows!

Then we were off. I tried not to get swept up in the speed and excitement as we rushed uphill. I convinced myself that all the people passing me were running the 30K race, which started simultaneously with ours. I don't remember much from the beginning of the race other than thinking I wished I could carve out this hillside and take it home with me to run the trails.



The first six miles were steep uphills followed by even steeper downhills through a Redwood forest. I managed the uphills fine, but on each downhill, I approached everything with deep hesitation. A mass of tangled roots, washed out trail and a slippery creek crossing slowed me to a crawl. I hate downhill. Every time I run downhill on technical trail, I picture myself falling and breaking my arm. Matt held my hand as we went down some really steep spots. Alex offered encouragement, "I heard a quote once that 'your feet will always go where they need to', so just trust yourself!" "I trust my feet to land on the ground, but I'm more worried about my teeth landing where they shouldn't!" So needless to say, I wasn't going to make up any time on the downhills. The course was pretty darn beautiful though. Sunshine broke up the canopy, creating a trippy strobe-light effect. My eyes had trouble adjusting to the dark and light spots as I moved along the course.





When we reached the highest point in the pink loop, the spur out-and-back orange trail broke off. We went downhill, left the thick forest and for the first time that race, felt sunshine directly upon us.


The trail continued downward to an aid station at mile 11. We stepped aside for the faster runners, already returning from the aid station. I counted the girls ahead of me, and there were only three in the 50K. When we arrived at the aid station, I grabbed a small cup of Coke, pretzels, and two glasses of water. Our descent, even with less exertion, managed to turn me into a drippy mess of sweat. The climb back to the rest of the pink loop was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Somehow just a minute stop at the aid station had revitalized my energy.

We rejoined the pink loop around mile 15. The trail turned to dust. Alex was eager to get out of the direct sunlight, so he sped ahead to wait for Matt and I in the shade. Dust flew up with his every footfall, the wind blowing it right into my face. I tasted the dust in my mouth, up my nose, and into my eyes. My eyes watered as they tried to clear the sand and dust. I slowed to get out of his dust cloud. It was terrible. The three of us approached another runner at mile 17. The guy was all alone, so Matt and I chatted with him as we hiked the uphill. He was running the 30K race to see if he could run a 50K later this year. I mentioned that we did the very same thing this summer, except we did the 30K in June. When I said we were doing the 50K today, he sounded a little disappointed. I'm not sure why.

Oakland!

With nearly an entire day to chat, Matt, Alex, and I discussed everything. It's no wonder I've always been closest to my running buddy friends. We really do spent lots of time talking together. We discussed running, religion, relationships, and our families to help motivate ourselves.



We headed back into the trees for a few miles. The shade felt so wonderful. Then we descended into a valley and came into the park where we started. One runner beside us, clearly doing the 30K, shouted out loud "Is that the finish? OH MY GOD, FINALLY", and took off running. The three of us laughed at his surprise and we watched him cross the finish line. Our course crossed the finish line, right past the time clock with another 20K to go. I admit, it was hard to keep going when we had to physically pass the finish and watch others rest when we had more to go.



After the finish was out of sight, I got back to work. One runner passed us, a woman. The second time on the pink loop seemed much harder. Who added more hills to this?! We walked more, and for the first time, I had to stop walking to catch my breath. The heat was finally getting to me. Nearly 85F and poor North Coast Karen was melting. Every last ounce of Alaskan/northern blood was being squeezed from me through my pores. My skin was hot to the touch. It felt like someone had put me into a furnace. I was slightly dizzy and knew that I really had to watch myself and not overheat. Just as I thought I was out of water, we hit an aid station. They refilled my pack. The cold water felt really good resting on my back. I shamelessly downed three of those little cups of water and we were moving again.



By mile 25, it was mid-afternoon and just getting hotter. I then realized where our training runs had failed us : we ran late enough in the day that the beginning was hottest, so as we got tired it cooled off. This race was the opposite, whoops. At this point, I was walking more than I was running and my legs and arms were tightening up from all the continued movement. Nothing in particular hurt, but I was just tired, dragging my dusty body through the sand.

We hit the final aid station at mile 28 and I asked how much further. It seemed that Garmy had lost about 2 miles already, so I had no idea how much we had left. "Less than 5K left, and most of it is downhill." PERFECT, the hard part, on wobbly legs! This can only end well, right? Amazingly, we managed to stay upright.

The last few miles were slow, but steady. It took everything I had to just keep moving. Your pace doesn't matter, just keep running,I told myself.

When we reached the finishing area and clock, I nearly cried. Was this the end? A group of about fifty people were still watching and they broke into the loudest roar of applause and cheers that I had ever heard! Even though we were at the back of the pack, the support was still there! (So much different from road racing!!!) We crossed the finish line in 7:16, a 14:00/mi pace. That was, by far, the slowest per mile race I'd ever done. But I couldn't stop smiling! I did it! I was so proud of that accomplishment!

Ultramarathon FINISHERS!

We later learned that of all the 50K races in the area, this was definitely not the easiest (but not the hardest either). In terms of steepness of the terrain, the race director told us it was "medium hard". It was funny that he didn't rate difficulty based on total elevation climb, but on how steeply the hills went up and down.


After our training on relatively runnable downhills, I couldn't agree more. I may have to add a 50K trail race every summer!! Checking the race results, we realized that we were 24,25,26 of 35 finishers. There were more people behind us on the course than that!! Of the 55 registered runners on race morning, twenty of them never finished, for one reason or another. That made us feel better about finishing in the back of the pack!

Dust line on my ankle. My nostrils were also lined with this much dust. Lucky for you,
there's no photo of it!

Alex shoots his own post-race self portrait.

That night, the three of us had dinner with my high school friend, Amy that drove up from San Jose. Like most of my high school buddies, I hadn't seen her since I graduated, in 2002. It was fun to visit with her and hear about her job. We'll have to meet up again next time I'm in the Bay Area. As I took the first bite of my bacon cheeseburger, a flash of pain burned the roof of my mouth. It seems that the dusty air on the course had rubbed my throat and mouth raw. I washed every bite down with a big gulp of icy water and that provided some relief.

Matt's 2/3 lb. bacon cheeseburger. It stood about 10" tall!!

Eating the yummy sheep.

Back at the hotel after dinner, Matt checked his emails. Coincidence of all coincidences, he received an email from his friend Ed, back in Fairbanks. Ed just so happens to be the race director for a winter trail ultra, the White Mountains 100. His email announced that registration would be by lottery, and registration was open from Sept 1 through Oct 1 if we were interested. How did he find out that we were running longer trail races? And did he know that it was that very same day that we finished our first ultra? The timing of his email was impeccable. Was this a sign? Were we meant to run the WM 100? ....we have a month to decide.....