It was the San Diego 100 mile endurance run. Runs like these are designed to test even the best of runners. On mostly dirt, single track trails through the desert and mountains, climbing and descending time after time, it is a battle between you and the elements, but mostly it is a battle with yourself. Designed to take well prepared athletes between 24 and 32 hours, even the world’s fastest ultra runners will take around 17 hours to complete the grueling course, twice as long as the fastest Kona IronMan races. If you enter into a race like this, it is because you are interested in pushing more than just your physical limits. You are out testing your mental endurance, and exploring the depths of your running spirit.
Prior to the race, I felt well rested and uninjured, but my runner’s knee had only just subsided by about 2 days. It was great excitement to arrive at the race start the day before and meet the other runners. No race I’ve done ever had this kind of small, close knit community. I have never been so nervous as I was the day and night before the start of the race, knowing that it would be the hardest and longest and that I wouldn’t sleep again until the following day. It was very hard to sleep, and it was so hot and dry on that mountain, I went to bed with a headache that wouldn’t stop and I feared would still be there when the gun fired. It wasn’t until around midnight that I finally got up and went to the refrigerator to crack open a coconut water which did the trick. As I lay in bed, I entertained myself by rubbing various blanket fabrics together on my bed. You could see the static electricity discharge as I did so, a phenomenon I’d only noticed once before. My blankets lit up like a bioluminescent creature.
The race itself was the hardest event I’ve attempted, and the only one I never finished. It was hot and dry and at altitudes above 4k feet. The trail was unforgiving and littered with loose rocks. I got stuck behind a congo line of people on single track at the beginning and didn’t want to pass anyone for waste of energy, but plenty of people wanted to pass me, so I would have to step aside. I was worried about pushing too fast a pace early on. It was already warm and the day would get hot, near 100 degrees fahrenheit. I met a guy named Chase and we ran the congo line together for a bit. He told me a story about the Gold Rush hotel he was staying in, which had a journal in his room detailing all the hauntings that had taken place there. I suffered a nose bleed and got blood on my hand. I was already feeling my knee, and wondering if I could manage it for 100 miles. I recited Scott Jurek’s mantra in my mind. Can I take another step? Yes, then I can keep going.
I ran and walked through the first two aid stations. A guy at the second asked me how much water and salt I had been taking and he said I should double what I was doing. I ran with Bill (who finished i around 25 hours) and another guy, I can’t remember his name, until we caught up with Ashley. I stayed with Ashley until the third aid station then went ahead toward the fourth, at about mile 24. This is when it began to get hot, and The Jester passed me. I passed a couple runners but began to get passed more than I passed. I met up with Nathan (who also finished) who was really struggling in the heat. He wasn’t carrying much water. I tried to offer him some tips I have learned about surviving heat, like holding water in your mouth, taking off your (wet) hat and waving it in the air to cool it, etc. I was helped tremedously by a water beed bandana I borrowed from Ashley, when stayed around my neck, and a collapsible bpa free plastic cup the race had given us, which I was filling with water from my camelbak and dumping on my head from time to time as I walked. We passed a couple creek crossings which offered Nathan the chance to cool off and we ran toward the Noble Canyon aid station. This is where I saw Anders Dahl and learned of the 5 mile loop and upcoming popsicle treat. I took 5 minutes or so at the aid station and wandered off without a word up the hill following (I thought) Nathan who I had been running with. It was a paved road section and Nathan was flying up it, and I wasn’t surprised since he had told me about the multiple road 100 mile runs he had done. I guess he liked roads. I hated them. I tried to run on the dirt on the side. Somewhere along this 2 mile climb I began to wonder if I had gone the right way, and if that really was Nathan up ahead. But it was so hot, I tried not to think. Just trudge onward and stay cool as much as possible.
I arrived at the top and got my popsicle and surveyed the people and noted that Nathan was not among them. These guys all looked really fast. That’s cause they are 5 miles ahead of me, I thought. I said nothing. I knew I had missed the loop. There were no race officials at this aid station so I would have to get to the next one to learn my fate. I inspected my feet, found no blisters, and continued onward, now pretty depressed about the mistake I had made. I finally wanted to talk to someone about it, so I ran up to a kid after he passed me. I saw him drop a bag of salt pills and I brought them up. He confirmed about the loop and suggested I try to finish the race anyway. Someone called from behind and he went runing back. I did’t hear what they said, but I continued going. I don’t know why I never got suspicious that no one passed me, that there were no course markings or footprints in the ground. I continued on up a hill for at least 15 minutes and arrived at a fork in the road with no indication which way to go and knew then that I was off course. I turned back and ran down the hill, very pissed off at myself. I was hugging the cliff side and happened upon a rattle snake. I startled it and it startled me and I doubled my pace to fly away from it. I think I was about 6 feet from it when I noticed it.
The Pioneer Mail aid station had a huge number of spectators so I picked up my pace, smiled and made it look easy as I came in. They applauded and noted how fresh I looked. I have the ability to make myself look like I just started running deep into the race, even when I’m feeling terrible, but only as long as people are looking. They asked me my name and number when I arrived and said they needed to have a talk with me. A man gave me the bad news about disqualification but said I could do whatever I wanted. Stop, or keep going. I believe they assumed I would stop. I rested for 10 minutes and told them I would continue on.
I was so far behind schedule that I arrived at Sunrise aid station about 30 minutes after nightfall in pitch dark, meaning I was fumbling over trail without a light for that long. The race co-director was there waiting for me when I arrived at the aid station. I was surprised to have them tell me I wouldn’t be allowed to continue, after the previous aid station said I could continue under the stipulation that a finish wouldn’t be considered official. I was mentally prepared to go one more aid station, but it was a relief as well as a disappointment to have them make the decision for me that I must stop.
I was pulled for inadvertently cutting part of the course, but I would not have made it even if I had stayed on course. I was injured. Even without that, I don’t think I was prepared for the difficulty of this distance, so I am glad I got a taste of how this distance will break your resolve, so I am familiar and know what to expect next time. The mind will be searching for any way out. There is a side that wants to stop and another that wants to finish, and really you have to be willing to suffer if you want to finish the whole distance. I only hope that I will be able to run at least 51 of the 100 miles. At this event, I think I ran no more than 20 of the 49 miles, and that’s just depressing. It was that hard. I couldn’t have increased that ratio even without the runner’s knee. It was too hot, dry, hilly and rocky and my pace was dismal. More training, and a cooler day would permit a faster pace.
The woman who cut my wristband was none other than the same Jennifer Henderson who had passed me in another race I had gone awry at: my first Palm Springs half ironman. I had run and talked with her at the end of the run before she passed me right before the finish line. She was a bad water finisher who blew me away that day. Here she was putting me out of my misery at my first 100 miler. Small world.
In the aftermath of the SD100, physically I suffered from runner’s knee and my big toenail threatened to fall off. I stayed healthy and slept without pain the following night. I only had 49 miles, but it was the longest continuous bout of movement I’ve ever done, 14 hours. I wish I could figure out how to put in lots of training miles but I have suffered relentlessly from various injuries throughout my running life. My runner’s knee persists at the moment I am writing this, and I haven’t run at all since the race. I’ve iced and massaged and rested but it stays with me and forces me to avoid running and cycling.
The mind will be searching for any way out. There is a side that wants to stop and another that wants to go on. The question is which side will win. I will be back to the 100 mile distance, and my quest for the proverbial maltese falcon will continue.
