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| Forget what you think you know about L.A. and surrounding areas: this is a mountain race Photo: Jeremy Hardy |
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| My Dad and Jeremy: Awesome Crew, Awesome Pacer. Mediocre Runner. Hey, two out of three ain't bad! Selfie: Jeremy |
For three years I’ve had the 100 mile dream. Even before I ran my first trail race: a 26km Saturday Race followed by a 16km Sunday race in Real De Catorce, the dream was there: all this is preparation for running a 100 miler.
One of the joys of
the AC 100 is that you have to sign up a year in advance. This allows for a
full year of anticipation, planning and training. It also allows for lots of
things to go wrong or for life to get in the way, as is annually demonstrated
in the high numbers of runners who don’t make it to the start line of AC, the sole blemish on an otherwise magnificent jewel of a mountain race.
I arrived
well-trained, healthy and in high spirits in Wrightwood and with a great crew
and pacer: my dad and my brother-in-law, Jeremy. We settled into the 5 star
Pine Hotel, a cozy room with nails sticking up out of the floor and an old TV
hanging right over the fridge so I could whack my head four times while obsessively re-checking that my water bottles were indeed ready with GU packed.
Unfortunately, the whacks didn’t take, as I insisted on waking up at 4:00am in
the morning and running 100 miles through the mountains to Altadena.
The AC 100 is something like 21,000 feet of climbing and
26,000 of descent. Those who make it to mile 75 are rewarded with a 3,500
climb, which for this running mortal would come at 3:00am in the morning. The
course is relentless, though if truth be told, it does ease up considerably in the last 35 meter section in Loma Alta Park. So you’ve got that carry you through the previous 30 hours.
Save something for those last 35 meters!
The pre-race meeting
was uneventful, but we did get a looong explanation about how bib chips work
with some follow up questions (actually, it was the same question asked 7
different times with a slightly different intonation) that would have been
amusing had I not been sitting on the floor in a hot and stuffy room.
Future Runners: You
could skip the pre-race meeting, but the catch is this: there is absolutely nothing
else to do in Wrightwood.
I tossed and turned and listened to my Dad snore for several hours, and then the moment I had been waiting three years for finally came. I got my bottles from the
fridge, whacked my head one last time on the TV, and headed down to the start.
I felt like I was at a cocktail mixer: everyone milling around and chatting it
up. With 30+ hours to “warm up” I figured taking a seat was the best option.
But no joke: I was psyched. I would probably do better at parties if after 20
minutes of chit chat, everyone took off for a very long run.
In the words of my
pacer, Jeremy, [he crewed me to Chilao and then ran with me from Chilao to
Finish. How about a buckle for that??] I looked like a “kid in a candy store”
until Islip. A word about the Baden-Powell section (Vincent Gap to Islip):
middle-earthesque, magical, inspiring. Ok, I’m two words over, but you get the
idea. A shout out to Marcus England, who led the march up to the summit at the
perfect not-to-fast/not-to-slow pace --AND-- he knew all the names of the trees.
I rolled into Islip
like the aforementioned kid in a candy store, fixed a blister on my pinkie toe
and headed up to Mt. Williamson. Somewhere on that climb I had the realization
that it wasn’t blazingly hot out.
I had run into a few
runners at the Pasadena Patagonia store earlier in the week, and I tried not to be
star-struck when I asked famous ultra runner Chris Price what his weather
prediction for the race would be.
He replied: “Hot or very hot.”
See: even famous ultra runners can be wrong. And let me tell
you how happy I am about that.
Which brings me to
the climb up through Cooper Canyon up to Cloudburst. Clouds weren’t the only
thing that were burst here: my two-thumbs up, Baden-Powell-is-douche-grade!
Energy® had been mangled into a tight stomach and a slow trudge. Earlier on the climb I saw the
great Jussi H. bent over on the trail. What? Was the great one wretching? I certainly wanted to. I ran into Mike, a non-famous
ultrarunner, also from the Patagonia store encounter, and he remarked he hadn’t
taken in a calorie since Islip. The mountains were taking a toll.
“I need a sit-down
and a coca-cola.”
Boy was I happy to
be at the Cloudburst aid station.
My dad and Jeremy told me lots of lies about how good I
looked and how everyone else took a beating in the Canyon. I remarked that if
it had been hot, I would still be down there, curled up under a rock.
And then came the
downhill to Three Points. I ran downhills great most of the day, but the parade
marched by me on this section. I just didn’t have much mojo. Got to Three
Points, a quick refill, with Jeremy and my Dad, the last time I would see them
before Chilao. Rolling single track here was enjoyable but then, in the middle
of nowhere, someone had decided to pave a road. Why?
Why did they have to
pave a road? And why did it have to be so long? I slowed to what could only
charitably be called a trudge. Two runners hiked past me. And then they were
gone.
I started to have
fantasies about how good it would feel to lie down on the pavement. Just for a
minute, you know. But I kept moving. Until I wasn’t moving, and for the first
time in the race, I hunched over, put my hands on knees, and tried to remind
myself that “it never always gets worse.” I’d been here before: the climb out
of the Caldera at the Jemez 50…that was worse, and then I felt great the last
10 miles in that race.
In response to these
weak rationalizations, a bit of spit dribbled out from my lips.
I trudged on, and
then, there it was, like a shimmering mirage: Hal Winton and the Mt. Hilyer
aid station. I sat down, had a coca-cola. Listened to some wisdom from Hal, and
suddenly I didn’t feel horrible anymore. Amazing what a four minute sit down and a coca cola can do.
Weird game, 100 milers.
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| The Setting Sun Photo: Jeremy Hardy |
To make up for the road, the next section was downhill through awesome rock formations. The old pre-Islip energy started coming back. I was passing people. Feeling good. Holy crap, 50 miles and my knees don’t hurt!
Oh yeah: Remember the big party in Wrightwood? It had been
moved to Shortcut.
“Dude, let’s get out of here.”
As we exited past
the radio guys, they asked “Are you sure you are going to Chantry?” (apparently
Newcomb’s Pass is not a great place to drop)
“Hell no, we’re
going all the way to Altadena!”
And so the energy
continued. After the long dirt road section (waaaay down….waay up), we got to
Newcomb’s. And mercifully, we were on single track again. We flew. I began to
think I was done with my lows. I had never considered anything faster than 31
hours, but started doing the math for sub-30.
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| Newcomb's Pass Aid Station Photo: Jeremy Hardy |
Every great party has
an end. Mine ended on the climb up to Winter Creek. My thighs had tightened up
while sitting in Chantry, and suddenly I was very, very sleepy. I wondered if I
could walk and sleep at the same time. Winter Creek Trail is not a great locale for this experiment.
This is the section
where having a pacer probably saved me an hour, maybe more. The temptation of
taking a dirt nap was overwhelming, but Jeremy was having none of that. He
promised me a little sit down up on Deadman’s bench, but it seemed like this
section of the trail had been lengthened! It was absolutely longer than when I had run it three weeks previous. That was the
only answer, because it simply would not end. We were on WHAT ABSOLUTELY HAD TO
BE THE LAST SWITCHBACK for like 40 minutes.
And then we emerged and saw the city lights. I tried to
sleep on the bench, but couldn’t get comfortable. Jeremy promised the sun would
be coming up soon. I tried hard to care.
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| Millions of people who will never know how good a 4 minute sit down and a coca cola feels Photo: Jeremy |
My dream of running
down the Mt. Wilson Toll road en route to a glorious sub-30 finish did not play
out the way it had in my mind. I walked. Ok, maybe I jogged for a couple 30
meter sections, but you get the idea.
But I was going to finish. And when we got into Idlehour, I
was on familiar ground, I had run these trails in the weeks leading up to the
race, and my energy came back. I was done with Gu and Gu brew, and basically on
the coca-cola train with a few M&M’s for good measure.
We hit El Prieto and
I tried to run. The sun was out, it was finally hot. But it was too late to
matter. And then I turned into the park. My family was there. I had a little
kick, made the most of those final 35 meters.
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| That mile 99 Smile Photo: Louis Kwan |
And then Hal was asking me my shirt size.
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| Thrilled with the fact that I can stop eating a GU every hour Photo: Jeremy Hardy |
It was great having my dad there. He didn't really know anything about 100 milers, but once I showed him how the splits worked, he was totally into it. It was great motivation to know I would see him and Jeremy at the aid stations.
I won't be racing AC next year (so many trails, so little time -- thanks for the tip about Bighorn, Andi!), but I hope to be back to crew and pace my brother-in-law.
The ability to run downhill was huge. Climb up, run down. That's this course. Fitness will get you up the hill, but only lots of downhill pounding will prepare one for the downhills. You hear a lot about all the climbing and the heat, but don't forget the downs...
The AC is at a crossroads. It's a classic, point to point mountain race, and unlike it's more famous sibling up north, it's a Hard Rock qualifier. The secret is out. It sold out in around 15 minutes this year, and next year there will be a lottery. The only question is: what kind of lottery? One created by Hal and Ken to maintain the values of the race, or a de facto lottery determined by computer speed and one's mouse-clicking fortune? It would be a bummer to see names like Grossman, Pacheco and Jussi (and many, many more) not get into the race because of a poorly timed browser refresh. Maybe they could have some slots available for sign up at the finish of the race? At any rate, one of these years I hope to be back to face the course on a "hot or very hot" day.
You are juts incredible! I'm so proud of you :)
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