Written by Ian Bond - http://www.racingtorescue.com
Well, my weekend plans didn't turnout as I’d hoped. But that’s ok—they turned out way better.
I have learned a lot over the last year and a half, a bunch about running and even more about myself. There is a lot I still need to learn about both, but the truth be told; I’m having a good time getting things figured out. I learned something this weekend. I'm glad I did because now I can look at last Sunday and be ok with not finishing this race.
Yeah, it sucks and yeah I’m a little bummed, but when I look at it the right way I don't think I could (or should) have a problem living with the decision to end things when I did.
For anyone that has never been to a Luis Escobar event this is a little tiny glimpse of how it is, well, at least from my perspective. They are minimal. When the dude says it’s gonna be tough, well guess what — it’s gonna be tough. When he says that you need to be prepared to take care of yourself on the course, he’s serious. An orange ribbon on the course is good, a blue one is bad, and a striped one means something too. Oh, and then there is something to do with chalk — but hey whatever — let’s just run. How bad could it be? It’s just up and down the mountain a couple of times.
"Be Nice. Be respectful. Be Responsible...Be cool or go home."
I camped at Rancho Oso the night before the race. Even though I live only an hour north, I wasn't really digging on the idea of getting up at 3:00 A.M. to make the drive. I got there a little after one in the afternoon, checked in, got my spot, and got the back of my SUV ready for the night. Cool. I wanted to get my gear ready for the next day, but noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Vanessa Runs were across the way, so I went over to say hi. My gear could wait. I'd never met them in person, but after following their exploits online I didn’t want to pass on the opportunity to visit with them in person.
Most everybody else was still out marking the course for the next day, but they did have a nice little crowd hanging with them, so it was cool to meet some new people. After a while, the marking party started showing up and before I knew it I was surrounded by a group of some of the coolest Dirtbag Runners on the planet. The evening was shaping up.
I finally made it back to the car to get my gear ready.
Pat Sweeny was marking the course for the beer mile; I wanted to get things done so I wouldn’t miss that. I’ve never participated in one of these things, but spectating is way fun. The word on the street was that there were some first timers running it, so I really didn't want to miss it. And, as usual, it didn't disappoint. The rookies did awesome; it was a veteran beer miler that ended up giving us what most of us were waiting for (if we’re honest): an epic spew fest.
Thanks dude.
After that it was Luis’s turn to entertain us with his course briefing. If you only showed up for this, the price of admission would be well worth it. As entertaining as watching a bunch of people running up and down a hill after chugging beers was; this was almost better.
My morning started at 5:00. I’m not sure how it was that I was able to do it, but I set two alarms that didn't go off. I was a little bummed, because the main reason I wanted to get up earlier was to beat the crowds to the bathroom — that didn't happen. So I went to plan B. If everybody was at the toilets that meant the coffee cart wouldn't have a line— Bam! — scored there. (Thank you thecoffeealacart.com)
I finally got all of the mornings business handled and made it to the course briefing at 5:45. It wasn’t as entertaining as the one the evening before, but Luis had some new info for us. Due to the number of runners, they’d adjusted the start times for each distance, staggering them by like five minutes. Everybody was down with that idea, because the course broke into a pretty narrow single track almost right away.
Anyway, with all that stuff done, me, and the rest of the 50 mile runners made our way to the road to wait out the last couple of minutes before the start. It was still dark when Luis told us to raise our right hand, telling us there was one more thing, and it was super important, probably the most important piece of information so far: The Oath.
“If I get hurt, lost, or die; it’s my own damn fault— Amen”
“Ok let’s go”
Things started out smooth enough for me. I got sucked into the front part of the group (it’s pretty easy to do in the dark) and found myself going out a lot faster than I had any business going. No big deal, I just found a spot to pull off and let everybody pass, and as soon as there was a gap I jumped back in and started out quite a bit slower. (But probably still too fast)
I'd been on this course before, so I had a pretty decent idea of what this day was going to look like. The few things I didn’t know about it I learned the evening before in the course briefing. For example: The 50 mile course was more like 54ish and the vertical was crowding in on about 16,000 feet. Oh yeah, and it was probably going to rain. I’m pretty new to this whole ultra-running thing, but stats like that can’t be ignored. This course is a beast.
I fell in with a couple of people I knew and made it to the first aid station in pretty decent time. I was feeling ok at this point, but something seemed off. I was trying to ignore the pain in my lower back and figured it best to just put my head down and move forward. My buddy Ron was feeling strong so I hoped that as long as I could keep him in sight it might help motivate me until things blew over.
After the short section of pavement, we made it back to the trail and were now heading toward the point of no return. I’m not sure of the distance, but I ran as much as I could of this section to the next aid station. Somehow, during that stretch my back had stopped hurting, giving me some hope on the day.
I ate a few things there and took off. By the time I hit the 13ish mile point I was alone, I couldn't hang with Ron and the others.
By the time I made the 14 or 15 mile mark, I was really starting to struggle. I couldn’t figure out what exactly it was that was going on— but it sucked. I had no legs left, and my heart rate was way too high for what I had going on. I did a quick check: I was hydrated and had just eaten some food so I couldn’t blame my nutrition. I went on like this for a little bit, taking things as slow as I figured I ought to.
Martin Whitcomb, his buddy Tim Roush, and Lisa Carr passed me at one point. I thought that there was no way anyone would have been behind me — I had been going pretty slow. Seeing them, I got a little bit of a surge, so I figured I’d hook on to their wagon and try to make up some time. If I had to pick the exact point in the day that things became completely unraveled, it was then.
It was shortly after my big "rally" that it felt like somebody had stabbed me in both knee caps with ice picks. Getting stabbed at the same time his buddy was smashing the sides of them with a baseball bat. I had tried to run the downhill to keep up the pace; it was time to pay that piper.
I made it through the slide areas without incident, but it was getting harder and harder for me to move my feet. (My knees just quit bending). I was hosed. I wasn’t even twenty miles into this thing and was fried.
Mentally, I was torn.
In the back of my mind, I knew the right (and safe) thing to do was call it a day as soon as I reached the next aid station. I really stopped trying to figure out what had gone wrong and just focused on making it off the side of the mountain without tripping over the side— that would totally suck. All I knew, for sure, was that I was going slower and slower. I was chasing cut-offs, and in my mind the math didn’t jive.
The other half of my brain (the part that got me here in the first place) was telling me I could make it to the finish. I think sometimes we just have to come to terms with things in our own time. So at the end of a two-hour conversation with myself I had to face the facts — I was outgunned. I wasn’t ready for this race; it really didn’t matter why, it was just the fact of the matter.
Was it because I hadn't recovered enough from my Atacama race, or, was it that I had taken too much time off without training the way I needed? I don’t know. I’ll get it figured out; it just wasn’t worth dwelling on it that day.
I finally made it to the aid station at the top of East Camino Cielo, where Chris Rios and his awesome crew were waiting. (Vanessa Runs, Robert Shackleford-Runs, and Stephanie Fonk: Thank you all!) Even though it was really the last thing I wanted to tell them, it was the first: I’m done. They tried to encourage me, but at this point I was in no physical condition to go on. I was shot out.
Samantha Pruitt had passed me at one point on our way up that hill. I think I said something clever like ‘this really sucks’. Her answer: “Yeah, well it beats being at home with your ass on the couch.” Even in my misery I thought she was right.
Like I've said, I have learned a lot over the past year or so. I've been blessed with opportunities far beyond my imagination. But I think I learned one of the most valuable lessons that day while talking to Chris Rios.
It wasn't even anything he said that I took away as the highlight of the day. The thing that sticks with me the most was what he didn't say.
We talked about his years of racing, and just running in general. All of the races he's finished, and the many he hadn't. The one word that never came up in our conversation (one I hear all too often in certain circles and groups and one that was certainly on my mind at the time) was Failure.
Not one time did Chris ever say he felt like he had wasted his time regardless of the outcome at an event. I really appreciated not hearing that. I was pretty much feeling like the biggest loser on earth.
It was there, at the top of a mountain on a rainy day, talking to this 72 year old Ultra Runner that I think things finally clicked. As individual as this sport is, it's more about community. I just needed to get over myself. Besides, I wasn't, as Samantha so eloquently put it, sitting at home on the couch. I think there are too many times we get wrapped up in our own thing and we forget that there are a thousand people out there that would give anything to be where we are, but can't. A perspective I fear I lose sight of way too often.
I was up there for about an hour and a half before I caught a ride back to Rancho Oso with Barry Howe and his family. Before leaving I was able to see all of the front runners come through on their way to the finish. That was pretty cool.
I finally got back to the finish and turned in my bib.
I hung out for a while and ate some of the awesome food Mara Clausen had for everyone. It was nice to just kick back and talk to Manley and a few others as we waited on the first finishers. I said my goodbyes and thank yous before heading home at 4:30, it had been a long day.
One thing Luis makes pretty clear in his briefings is the fact that if you come to one of his events looking for some big commercially hyped whatever, you're looking in the wrong place and will go away disappointed. But, if you come with an open heart and an open mind you just might walk away with an experience that will change your life for the better. I chose the latter and hobbled on home. It was time to hit the couch.
Thanks to all the great volunteers that made this a truly thankful Thanksgiving weekend.
Things that may be of interest:
Thank you Michelle Evans for the use of your Pictures
Information on any of Luis Escobars' events (including the world famous Born To Run Ultra Marathons) can be found at:
To find out what exactly is meant by Dirtbag Runners, check out this cool article by my friend Crista Scott.
http://trailrunnermag.com/people/adventure/1545-10-things-i-learned-during-my-dirtbag-runner-summer
This dude always has some far out stories, and will no doubt not disappoint telling us about his time at Red Rock.
http://christarzanclemens.com/
I follow Vannesa and Robert here.
Race Photographer Bryan Toro
https://bryantorophotographic.shootproof.com/event/1068493/view#a_all-mason
Rancho Oso
http://www.rvonthego.com/california/rancho-oso-rv-camping-resort/