A Day at the Lake

I was on edge the whole week leading up to the Ruth Anderson 50k/50m/100k race. Undertaking the 50 mile distance was daunting, and I wasn't feeling prepared. Heck, my legs are stiff and sore first thing in the morning going downstairs to let the dog out. Admittingly, it's a quad-thrashing technical descent weaving through shoes, dog toys, and other obstacles with about a 30 foot elevation change. But I've had courses humble my expectations, and teach me that I'm not as good of a runner as I think I am. The closest I've come to that distance was my first 50km race four months previous, where I got lost for 8 miles, and fought the cutoffs to finish in 9:26:45, to nab 82nd place out of 88. I'm a superstar. But mostly it was because three weeks before the race, I cut short my last long run. I like to use my long runs as transportation, and recently took a new job in Mountain View; about 30 miles away from home. It sounded perfect, a nice early morning jaunt starting at 5am, to carry me from Castro Valley through Hayward, San Leandro, Union City, Fremont, over the Dumbarton bridge into Menlo Park, through East Palo Alto, and finally Mountain View. Seven cities, three counties. The problem is after I crossed the Dumbarton (about 24 miles into my journey), I got this pain at the bottom of my left foot. It proceeded to get really bad, and I had a deadline on my finishing time; I had to get to work! So I called a co-worker to pick me up at a boarded up restaurant in East Palo Alto. The next couple of days, I thought I had a stress fracture, but the pain subsided. Still, I was worried it might crop up again at 24 miles, with only half the race completed.

The goal of the race was to qualify for the Western States Endurance Run, not that I'll get in through the lottery necessarily, but might as well get the ball rolling. That means completing the distance in less than 11 hours, quite attainable, but what if I can do better? Then what if I go out harder than I should have and crash and burn later? I couldn't picture myself in this race, other than envisioning that dreadful finishing shuffle on the final laps. So I determined that a 10 minute/mile pace sounds reasonable, and will try to maintain it for as long as possible to get under 10 hours. Ruth Anderson is a 4.47 mile loop around Lake Merced in San Francisco, making it about 45 minutes per lap. The 50k distance is around 7 loops; the 50m about a mile over 11 loops, and the 100k distance is just under 14 loops. The course is flat, and the aid stations are about 2.2 miles apart. I'm a virgin, please be gentle.

Being a lap course, it seems like a great race for my family to show up and cheer me on. So I leave a comment on Mark Tanaka (local ultramarathoner extraordinaire)'s blog asking if I can carpool with him, knowing if he finishes and leaves early, I'll have a ride home, but will still save on some precious fossil fuels without having to have my wife and daughter out on the course first thing in the morning. He graciously agrees, having not been taught to avoid meeting strangers off of the Internet at 5:20 in the morning.

The night before the race I snap at everyone around me, and they're glad when I finally go to bed. I have this dream that the loop course is not around Lake Merced, but laps in a gymnasium. The format is that the race director, Race Director Rajeev blows a whistle at a time of his choosing. Those closest to the finish win. And guess what! I'm #2! In my dreams.

I meet Mark Tanaka and Joe Swenson in Mark's driveway, and it's a hushed round of introductions as we stealthily make our escape from sleeping families. The early morning car conversations range from the high cost of living, to Australian GPS voices, to the wind and how it's going to be a slow day, to what to expect on a first 50 miler.

The morning starts off cold and windy. It does get warmer, but only windier. I come prepared with gels, a spare set of shoes (my motion control ones in case my knees hurt, but I don't want to wear them for the whole race because they are the unlucky Dumbarton shoes), extra shirts, Winter-Crest. The lone ACE bandage I could find in the house is around my ankle, because I twisted it at Sequoia and maybe that's why I've been having problems with that foot

I take my place at the back, and Rajeev says a few words as Race Director before sending us off. I try to find an easy pace, and Beatrice Song finds me, and strikes up a conversation. I had worked the King's Mountain aid station at Woodside in February with her husband. She was aiming for the 50 mile mark, and we had similar pace goals, so the first lap passses quickly with company, and we come in after about 40 miutes. She takes some time at the base aid station so I press on ahead, unconsciously picking up speed. I start having thoughts, judging how I feel 1.5 laps into an 11 lap race, of picking it up for the final 4 laps. It takes about 2 laps to feel not cold, and I get rid of my windbreaker. I start by taking a gel every lap and a half, grabbing some PB&Js too to stay fueled. After three laps, I'm starting to feel tired, and on the fourth lap, Beatrice catches up, and I stay with her, finding her pace pretty hard going now. I'm still finishing the laps ahead of schedule (trying for 45 minutes per lap), so I feel like I've got time in "the bank." I hit the base aid station, eat, drink, and use the porta-potty, as Michael Kanning laps me. After a few minutes, I hit the road again, Beatrice long gone. She goes on to stop at the 50k mark but wins the female division for that distance! I find Michael running, and am really surprised when I catch up to him. He tells me he's having a bad day, and says that he's finding he can't breathe in the wind. It makes me realize that I've spent the winter running in the wind, and some other wacky weather in Fremont with my co-worker running buddies. Not to mention, I've had lots of practice breathing in the wind. Perhaps I've trained up for exactly these conditions!

When I hit the marathon mark I'm starting to feel tired, and disheartened. I mean I feel like I've run a marathon! But I'm going slow (26.33 in 4:24)! So I start taking walk breaks, but saving them up for the windy side. I figure work increases exponentially with velocity (like when I tried to explain in court that my motorcycle with limited horsepower is not capable of speeds of 100 mph, let alone 114 mph), so fighting the wind is just going to drain me of energy for not too much gain. I actually planned to take walk breaks throughout the race, but it simply didn't happen until lap 6. I try to keep them short, and do some recalculating in my head. Something like 45 minutes for the first 5 laps, an hour for the last 6 being less than 10 hours. Laps 6 and 7 still came in around 50 minutes each, and now I'm at the 50k point of reckoning. I actually do consider stopping, but why? Oddly, it's the fact that I'm getting slower that makes me think about stopping. I guess I did envision myself in this race, running strong, maintaining a 10-minute per mile pace, to finish with an 8:20 time. Now that I can't live up to it, I want to pack it in. But then I have to run 31 miles all over again to get to this point! Silly! Still, I hit the 50k mark in 5:15:55, a personal record, but expected given that this is a flat course, and I didn't fall and smack my ribs 10km in.

The wind picks up on the west side, and the irritating thing is that it blows sand and grit into your eyes. Sometimes it feels like a hand hitting your chest to stop you in your tracks. My left knee starts to bother me, and gets bad in a hurry. This is about the time Mark and Joe told me I could expect a low point. Mark laps me again while I'm walking, and asks if I'm cramping or just tired. I say I'm just tired. Nice tho, I expect he would have slipped me some electrolyte pills to help the former. Some girls on bicycles cheer me on and tell me to run, I'm almost there. They're nice too, but I still got 18 miles to go. I change into my motion control shoes at the next chance, and transfer the bandage from ankle to knee. Joe passes me on the next lap while I'm walking and asks what I'm doing walking. I check my cellphone, it's 1:50, and I'm at the end of lap 9. My wife and daughter are showing up at 2pm, so I figure if I finish lap 9, the next time I see them I'll have just the final lap to go, and won't that be a happy moment. I round the corner, and into the parking lot to find my daughter and dog there to greet me early. What a great sight.

Kisses all round, my wife Trish tells me I look great. I take some Tylenol, grab some gum from Trish and head out again. Lap 10 is wonderful. The running feels light, the gum tastes great, my knee feels fine, and the windy side isn't windy! I run the entire lap, and pull back into the base aid station to smiling volunteers. The guy yelling out bib numbers asks what lap I'm on, and what distance I'm doing. I say I'm on my final lap, and he points at two guys up ahead and says I could probably catch them. I laugh, and say I'm not catching anyone. He says "Well, they WERE just walking a minute ago, and hey, I'm just trying to encourage me." I really appreciate it. I head out with a brisk walk, for the first time walking the NON-windy side. But now that I know I'm going to finish comfortably, I guess I take it a bit easier.

At the south aid stations I tell everyone I've appreciated everything they've done, but this is the last time I'll see them, and I'll miss them. I get "You could always do the 100k." I act offended and say "How do you know I'm NOT?" He looks me in the eyes and says, "Well, then you would be second." Nice!

As I hit the west side, I see those two runners not too far ahead. One thing I've learnt in this race is that I don't really have a run slower than a 10 min/mile pace. So I start running, and I'm catching up quite easily. I brace myself, and go for the pass. Buddy Pohl cheers me on, I tell 'em they look great, and never look back. I hit the last aid station, hear my number called, wave and head on through (although right now I'm hungry!), all the way to the finish. For the first time all day, it feels like I'm actually racing!

I ask the timer my time, and he says "9:10:59." What? That seems optimistic. I realize I haven't actually taken note of the clock for a couple of hours. Trish had driven down to try and catch me at the finish line, but didn't expect the finish to be a guy sitting in a lawn chair with a stop watch, so she ended up at the South aid station instead. Still, she's there to drive me back to the base aid station. Once there, I check to make sure I did all the laps, and sure enough I did! Sweet! I also placed 5th out of 9.

Mark and Joe are there, having completed the 100k distance. Mark placed first, with Joe not far behind for second. Mark's family was headed to the shoreline, so he's off to meet them for some kite-flying, and Joe rides home with us. Traffic is slow, but I don't think we mind just sitting for awhile, and it's great to talk to Joe some more.

My feet are beat up, but not in usual way, with blisters or calluses. The top of my feet were an angry shade of red, and my left foot's achilles tendon is very tender. I imagine they'll get used to the distance, or that I'll have the shoe thing figured out, but it sure makes me respect the undertaking that Western States will be. I've got at least a year to prepare, but now I can throw my ticket into the hat!