Siskiyou Out Back (SOB) 50K Race Report

Sunlight is just beginning to pour into the valley when we arrive at the race start. As I wait my turn in the bathroom line, I find myself dreading the day ahead. Since my taper was a series of mountain hikes and runs with friends in Alaska, I feel anything but rested. I wallow the self-doubt for a few moments, promising myself that when the race actually starts, the pity party will come to an end. To my surprise, it's comforting to let those fears bubble to the surface and my worries fade away.

The first few miles are fast as I try to avoid the bottleneck as we funnel onto narrow singletrack of the PCT. We climb briefly through the forest and then pop out into a meadow choked with wildflowers. I pull aside to snap a few pictures and as I rejoin the pack, I find myself running behind Chris, one of my local trail buddies. Following behind someone on the dusty trail makes my lungs angry and I wonder how long I should stick with him. We catch up, chatting a little bit, but I soon find his pace is a little too much effort for me and I drop back.

As we approach the first aid station, I hear cowbells in the distance. We must be getting close. I begin scanning the hillside for its location but soon realize the cowbell is coming from down below in the meadow. Cowbells ring from the necks of actual cows. For a moment, I'm transported back to the first day hiking into Switzerland. Matt spent most of the morning eschewing my idea that the sound we heard echoing off the mountainsides was actually from a cow. Coupled with the intense mountainous beauty, parts of this course could pass for Switzerland. I'll have to ask Matt if he saw the cows this time.

By mile five, I've finally found my pace for the day. On a long uphill near mile seven, I begin power hiking next to a man whose stride is twice as long as mine. If there's one thing that has truly improved my trail running game it's that I'm one strong power hiker on steep hills. I'm surprised that I'm able to spot Chris a minute ahead of me. He must have slowed after he left me, too. He'll stay just out of my reach for the next twenty miles, but I make it my goal to keep him as near as possible.

I take the opportunity to break open my package of Oreos and stuff a few in my mouth as I continue on the uphill slog that is pretty much the first half of this race. I share a few with the runner next to me and we spend the next few miles running together, chatting about our local races. He's from Grants Pass and as it turns out, I remember him from the Enchanted Forest Half last September. I always enjoy moments like this when I realize how small our little running world truly is.

Even though the name implies out and back, it's not quite. The second half is a little longer than the first.

Nearing halfway, my energy level still hasn't improved. My legs are still heavy. I glance down at my watch and notice I'm running well under the pace I need to PR, reminding myself that of course, that means pretty much nothing this early in the day. If you can make it to halfway at about an 11:00/mi pace, you've probably got it, I tell myself.

I reach the halfway aid station in 2:47, make my only water stop of the day and then head out. Since this is the high point on the course, most of the remainder is downhill. My legs enjoy a delicious smooth gravel road for the next few miles and for the first time in the race, I'm feeling good.

Expansive views of the Rogue Valley spread out before me. Focusing mostly on the rocky cliffs and more technical terrain, I catch only glimpses of the true beauty of the area. My body protests with each tiny uphill. The higher altitude makes my heart patter, but not in the good way. Fine body, we can walk. I power hike many of the uphills but find I'm still keeping pace with those running.

PCT day and through hikers stop to let us pass, some snapping photos of all of the runners. A running race overlapped with a backpacking trip once, it's actually really fun to spectate a race that way! It's great to have cheerleaders on the most lonely parts of the course and I notice my energy levels rise as I pass more of them.

I spot the aid station at mile 22 and notice Chris stopped for water. I sneak by quickly, knowing well that he's competitive enough to beat me if he sees me coming. The aid volunteer directs me onto the right path, shouting out that it's four miles of uphill from here and I'm on my way.

I remember back to the first time I ran this course. Those uphill miles completely unraveled me in a way I do not want to experience again. But this time is different. The first two miles actually have a lot of downhill in them and since I'm running in a large gap between groups, I begin wondering if I made a wrong turn somewhere.

Just as I'm about to turn back, the climbing begins. Okay, here we go. Don't let the mountain beat you today, I coach myself. In order to distract myself from the long slog, I alternate walking and jogging to fixed points on the trail. Even the tiniest of uphills reduces my pace to a crawl. My heartbeat echoes in my head so loudly that I'm convinced it's someone's footsteps behind me. I pull over to let them pass several times before I realize nobody is there.

Uphill running at 7,000 ft. looks slightly blurry like this photo.

The next tree, the next rock, the next person. Just about the time I get really sick of climbing, I reach the top. I throw my arms in the air and call out FINALLY! I accidentally startle the guy behind me and then dash off downhill, slightly embarrassed by my enthusiastic outburst. From here, I catch brief glimpses of the radar tower atop Mt. Ashland. The finish line draws nearer.

At mile 27, a long, three mile descent appears. I can see runners ahead of me weaving through the meadows on the mountainside. I glance down at my watch for the first time since halfway. Five hours. Wait. FIVE HOURS?! It is then I finally realize that I could walk it in and beat my goal. I notice tears welling up in my eyes. I whisper to myself, Oh my gosh Karen, look at how strong you've become, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.

I smile a great toothy grin as I dash through the wildflowers, my pace accelerating with each passing moment. Just as my energy begins to fade again, I hear the first place 50 mile racer flying down the hill. Ben, the course record holder on my 30K race, dashes by en route to a new course record here. (The second place finisher, Hal Koerner, was over thirty minutes behind him.) So light and quick, he appears to float down the mountain. With renewed excitement, I try to pick up the pace even more.

The last half mile is uphill and reduces me to a very slow walk. I pass a couple familiar faces and then spot Matt just before the crest of the hill. He points out a man in a lawn chair up ahead and says that's the top.

As I hand off the camera, he tells me to kick. "The girl just ahead of you is flagging, you can catch her!" he coaches. I love that we know each other so well that we can find just the right thing to say. I close out the final mile of my race with a 7:50 pace and over forty minutes faster than last time at the SOB (previous: 6:18:59).

5:38:29
10:54/mi.
5,000ish ft. gain 
Entire course at 5,800-7,500 ft. 

Matt ran another PR himself, finishing in 4:36.

Post Race: So let’s talk about my goal of sub-6. I don’t set soft goals for myself. Ever. More often than not, that means I fall short, but that’s okay. It’s better to set honest goals and miss them than to be OMG AWESOME every time. So when I beat my goal by a whole 22 minutes, I was extremely surprised. It almost feels like the day I got my first BQ, I still can’t believe it. I’ve been looking at that little slip of paper over and over the last couple days to prove to myself it actually happened. While this course is one of the flatter 50Ks I've done, the altitude definitely added to the overall difficulty.