Red Rock 50 - Problem Solving

I almost decided not to start this race.  It was supposed to be the last race to cap off the season.  One I was doing on my own, so I can pace myself and try to push my best the whole time.  It sounded super awesome - very low key, about 80 runners, everyone camps out at a campground, and beautiful tough course on mostly single track.  It was going to be an adventure.

But a few weeks before the race I developed a pain in my right heel.  I first thought it was just a bruise and would go away after some rest.  But that didn't happen - in fact I had to abort my most important training run for this race at Mt. Diablo after only 10 miles.  The pain felt like a bruise because it only seemed to flare up when I stepped on small rocks in a very particular way.  But as long as I kept off the heel, I could keep running without issues.  The catch is that my downhill running style relies on landing on the heel and then rolling through to the forefoot.

So after giving myself 10 days' rest, I did a 10 mile morning run a few days before the race, just to test if I could manage the crazy downhill without aggravating my heel.  I told myself that if I could make it work, then I will do the race, and if not, then I won't.  At first, it didn't seem to work.  I stepped on a rock, and felt the familiar pain - damn, 10 days of rest didn't make it go away!  So then I slowed down even more, taking smaller steps, but at a high cadence.  And made sure to not land on the heel, at least not hard.  And it worked!

10 miles is of course no indicator for being able to do 50, but I decided to go for it.  At first I was apprehensive - running in a way that didn't hurt my heel felt a bit awkward, and well, it hasn't healed.  But on the other hand, I'm not going to take the downhills nearly as aggressively in a 50 miler as I would in a short training run.  And this would just force me to be conservative from the get go, which can't hurt in an ultra.  I remembered something my early mentor told me about ultra running - it's about problem solving.  And I thought I found a good way to solve that problem.  I also told myself that if something went wrong, I would either drop or have to walk for a while.  The course had 15000 ft of uphill and downhill, so plenty of things that can go wrong.  I adjusted my goal from 12 hours to finishing and not hurting myself.

So I bought an an air bed so I can sleep in the tent in comfort and set out for Santa Barbara.  Luis Escobar - a prominent character in Born to Run is the RD.  He's an awesome RD and runs in his own races.  He's also quite a character.  He placed huge emphasis on how the race will have aid that's minimal but adequate.  He kept stressing minimal (the aid stations were actually a lot more than adequate, but there were fewer of them than a typical 50 miler).  So people started ribbing him by asking whether we're going to have maximal aid, and mile markers, and timing chips.  He took it in stride.  I enjoyed meeting a bunch of folks and hanging out by the camp fire.

Went to bed around 9:30 or 10 for a 6 a.m. race start. Woke up in the middle of the night to some shuffling sounds around me.  Turned out I set up my tent near some horse enclosures, and the horses were moving around and eating hay.  Since it was so quiet, it felt like their every move was right next to my tent.

The race start wasn't as cold as I expected.  I started out fairly conservatively, towards the back of the pack.  Ran with this guy Micah I met the night before for the first few miles and we wound up chatting about various things.  He was going at a pace that felt fairly conservative which was just what I wanted.  Wound up forging ahead after the first aid station at mile 6 or so.

I was really enjoying myself around this time.  The course was gently rolling, and I was meeting and chatting with all sorts of people.  For a while I ran with Vika, a Ukranian mother of two.  It's not often that I met folks who speak Russian at these things.  It was nice chatting with her.  Her story of how she got into ultras was pretty funny.  She got a desk job for the first time in her life.  So she wanted to find something to make her butt look good.  So she Googled how to make your butt look good if you have a desk job.  And Google came up with trail running.  I ran with her for about an hour… and then she took off and I haven't seen her since (except on her way back from the turnaround point).  I love this about our sport - that folks from all backgrounds, ages, and walks of life can do awesome.  She wound up finishing 3rd woman, about 25 minutes ahead of me.

The mountains were beautiful.  I was enjoying the views and the single track.  They had a pretty similar feel to the mountains in LA.  So I was completely surprised when the mountains suddenly opened up onto a massive expanse of the ocean!!!  I was so not expecting it, that I was just overcome with happiness.

One thing that got me really excited about the course is taking a side trail to hit Montecito Peak.  Many ultras have routes that go by awesome peaks, but not a single one that I have participated in actually routed you to do the peak (unless the course already went through it).  So I have often found myself wishing to bag some of these peaks I was running by.  And I would finally get my wish.  Montecito did not disappoint.  It was a very short but steep side trail, and we received our finishers' medal at the peak. While it wasn't tall, it was very prominent and opened up onto the ocean.  I was very excited to go up it.

My heel hasn't bothered me at this point, so when the final downhill of the first half came, I started taking it pretty aggressively, but making sure not to land on the heel.  And my calves cramped up.  AT MILE 20 OUT OF 50.  I was not excited about dealing with cramps for the next 30 miles.  I was bummed out.  I've had cramping issues at 6/7 races I ran without Sarah (AC being the exception).  My theory is that running on my own, I push the pace more than normal, and my muscles are just not ready for it.  It's pretty frustrating.  I've certainly had lots of fast shorter training runs, though I didn't get any solo long runs in later in the season.  Maybe that was it.  I don't know.

My spirits went from awesome to down in one go.  Thanks to lots of experience, I have become very attuned to when I'm about to cramp up.  So as soon as I got the crampy feeling in my calves, I slowed down to a walk.  This was good because I didn't actually get to a point where I cramped up so bad that I had to stop.  Those are the worst.

First instinct is problem solving mode.  Slow down and walk.  Check.  Take lots of salt and drink water. Check.  I'm not convinced that salt plays a role in the cramps I've been having, but I took a bunch anyway because it couldn't hurt.  After walking for a bit, try running gently while minimizing the use of the calves.  Check.  So far so good.  However, not having use of my calves on this trail was pure torture.  It was a very rough technical trail with lots of rocks, boulders and little drops.  Precisely the kind of trail where it's fun and fast to take little jumps and go from rock to rock.  All the things for which usable calves are required.

I noticed that I slowed down every time I felt sorry for myself and thought about how much this sucked.  So I banished those thoughts and just focused on moving forward and getting the job done.  A guy in a yellow shirt caught up to me and was running behind me for a bit.  I tried to convince myself that I'm going at a good pace and he didn't have to pass me.  But that wasn't the case, so eventually I let him pass me.  I hate getting passed on the downhill.

After what felt like forever I finally made it to the turnaround point, descending about 3000 ft in 6 miles.  I went got my water refilled, went to the bathroom, and headed back home.  The fun part in a out-and-back course is seeing everyone at least once.  So I said hi to people and gave out encouragement and high 5s, and got lots back, as I walked back up the hill.  It was quite a long walk.  I have no idea how long it took because I wasn't wearing a watch, but I'd guess close to 2 hours.  Once the last runners went by me, I was completely a lone for a long time.  I kept getting glimpses of the guy in the Yellow shirt off in the distance with a few other folks, but most of the time I couldn't see anybody, and nobody passed me.  While I often like being on my own at ultras, at that time I wasn't feeling particularly great and didn't feel like being by myself.

I looked at the elevation chart I printed out and confirmed that the next 10-12 miles were mostly rolling downhill.  I would have to be very careful with my calves and my heel, but now I'm only 20 miles from the finish and should be able to finish.  That gave me something to look forward to.  I made it to the next aid station as the Yellow shirt was walking out - wow he's actually not too far from me!  I decided that I wanted to try and catch him.  I sat down and had some chicken soup while my water was being refilled.  Thanked the volunteers profusely and started running the down.

Moving at a relatively conservative but steady pace, I ate up the miles, passing a runner here or there.  But the Yellow shirt remained elusive.  Not wearing a watch, I was trying to figure out the time by looking at the sun.  To finish in under 12 hours, I would need to come in around 6 p.m., or just after it gets dark.  The middle section is very long - about 13 miles between aid stations.  Even moving at a decent running pace, it took forever, or felt like it did.

The aid station finally materialized and lo and behold, the guy in the Yellow shirt was there!  I knew I was a little low on water, but with only around 6 miles to go to the finish, I decided to go for it.  The last 6 miles brought an incredible sunset as the mountains were painted red.  I stopped and admired it for a second as I got out my flash light and put on a layer.  I felt like I was in a race against the sun - trying to get home with as much light as possible.

The Yellow shirt would get away from me a little bit on the uphill.  But I would get closer on the downhill.  Finally I caught up to him!  And around the same time another guy named Scott caught up to us too.  We ran together for the last mile or two.  I was feeling excited that I'm running so well at the end coming back from a real low point earlier in the day.

Scott started walking up the final uphill, but I bellowed "LET'S RUN IT IN!" and we all charged up the hill!  The campground and the finish line were now in full view!  And we were sprinting!  I was sprinting not because I wanted to beat these guys, but with exhilaration of being able to sprint!  I screamed and yelped and the spectators at the finish line yelped back at me, as the three of us crossed the finish line within seconds of each other.

Anxious, I asked what my time was.  11:32.  ELEVEN THIRTY TWO!!!  Wow.  I was so happy to do so awesome despite some of the issues I had to address.  And I love LOVE running without a watch.  It was so cool not really knowing the time and just running by what felt good and racing against the sun.  And the finish was just awesome.  I found Scott and Chris (Yellow shirt) afterwards and gave them big hugs.

Ready to go

On Montecito Peak

At the finish line with Chris and Scott

Running Without A Watch - A Transformative Experience

Ellie Greenwood was the first woman to run Western States in under 17 hours, breaking Ann Trason's legendary 1994 course record by almost an hour.  Reading the article in UltraRunning I saw this:

"It's funny.  I don't know splits at Western States. I just run on feel. I had looked at my watch at Rucky Chucky [mile 78], but other than that, I did not look at times.  As I got into that later section, coming into Highway 49, it was like, 'Well, last year I put my headlamp on at Brown's Bar and I still haven't put my headlamp on and I'm still seeing trail." ... "I came up to Robie Point [98.9 miles] and I looked at my watch," she said, - the memory still sweetly confounds her, like a typo in a term paper that still receives an "A," or a notice from the bank that an error has actually broken your way - "and it said 16:34.  I had not expected to see a 16 on that watch"

I was surprised and intrigued.  I thought that elite runners who win races mark their times carefully and record their splits and always use their watch.  I obsesses so much looking at my watch during runs that the idea that she ran one fifth of the race without even looking at her watch was flabbergasting. How could she not look??? She had an inkling that she was breaking the course record.  I couldn't believe she didn't sneak peak.

I found myself spending a lot of time in training runs and ultras staring at my watch.  Agonizing over calculating splits between aid stations or my pace or how this split compares to my last split and so on.  During particularly tough times, I could stare at my watch every few minutes.  And I would stare at it to figure out whether I should eat (every 20 minutes) or take salt (every 45).  I resisted the urge to get a GPS watch because, seeing how I was already glued to my regular watch, I would now also obsess over distance and do even more mental calculations in my head instead of just running.

So the idea that Ellie Greenwood, the best ultrarunner of my time, runs by feel was astonishing, alluring.  One of the reasons that I run is to get out of my head, and staring at my watch and doing all the incoherent agonizing computations is just another way to stay in my head even even while in beautiful wilderness.

Slowly I started relegating the watch to the back seat.  On short training runs, I would only look at my watch at key points.  On long runs with Sarah I would try not to look at all, letting her keep track.  Doing the Woodside 50K race, I only looked at my watch 4-5 times and ate by feel instead of every 20 minutes.  I didn't completely give up the watch.  Could I?

I lost my usual running watch in Iceland.  It was a hunting watch that my dad gave me.  I normally attach it to my CamelBak so I never forget it on long runs and races.  And I have a backup watch in the car.

Going through my stuff in LA as I prepared for the Avalon 50 on Catalina Island, I realized that my watch was not attached to my CamelBak as usual.  Of course - it's somewhere in Iceland.  And I didn't bring the backup.  What am I going to do?!  See if my dad has another to spare (he has quite a collection)?  Buy a full-on running watch?  Or a cheap one at Target?

Or... do completely without.  Can I?  For a 50 miler?

I don't know how to describe the feeling of running without time.  I experienced it once on a run along the beach in Chile.  It was night.  No lights around.  Overcast.  Almost pitch black.  I closed my eyes and ran barefoot.  Feeling with my feet where I needed to be.  I felt suspended.  There.  Moving.  Not going anywhere.

So it was.  After passing the first aid station and spreading out a bit, I found myself in solitude.  I had no idea how far I was from the next aid station.  Or how long I have been going.  I saw pinkish on the horizon and decided I've been going for over an hour (race started at 5 a.m.).  And when the sun came up I figured it had to be about 7.

It was quite a shock when the second aid station came up.  So soon?  It felt like I've only been going for a little bit.  I broke my reverie between 2nd and 3rd aid station by needing to find a bathroom.  And it's not like I wasn't concerned with time.  I trained hard and really wanted to have a fast race and do a sub-10 vs. my previous and only 50M time of 12:45 (on a harder course, as my second ultra).  I even dreamed of getting a 9:30.  Without a watch handy - and I decided not to ask other people for time - I found other ways to think about time.  Like looking at the runners around me and trying to determine whether they looked like mid-packers or back-packers.  A futile exercise.

On yet another view of the weaving, jagged, sunlit Catalina coastline I feel elated and proclaim that no matter how today ends, my day is complete.

I ran into my buddy Howard, who invited me to do the race, on the out-and-back section.  It was his first 50.  He was smiling and doing great.  I couldn't help but ask him what time it was.  5:07 and I'm something like 28 miles in.  Pleasant surprise - I sure didn't feel like I was going that fast.

Followed more solitary running on a long rolling dirt road.  I was running strong and pleased with how well I was doing.  Then I felt the inklings of a cramp in my left hamstring.  Noooo not again!  Cramps plagued me at the recent 50K race too and a couple other races.  I slowed down to a walk before it grounded me, drank lots of water and took salt, but kept moving forward.

Sure dampened my spirits, but there was no choice but to keep going.  Upset that it was happening to me again, I kept moving, albeit at a slower pace.  This is the time when I would be especially obsessive over time.  I wanted to know what time it was so badly.  So I can estimate how soon until the next aid station.  And whether I'm on pace to meet my goal.  And just to give me something to do while I was upset.  But I didn't have a watch.  It was like my mind was in a cage, crashing against the bars trying to find an outlet, a problem to solve.  But there was no problem to solve.  I already did all I could do for myself - slow down - then keep moving.

Over the next 10 miles I also had cramps in my hip, bicep, and inner thigh.  The solution was to walk for a bit, then resume running.  Upset at how slow I was moving, I wanted to do something.  So instead of looking at my watch, it became tempting to agonize over the elevation map.  But I already knew what the upcoming sections looked like.  There was nothing to be gained by taking it out, unfolding it, and staring at it some more.  It would just slow me down.

So I let it go and kept moving enveloped in my own pain and struggle.  Occasionally exchanging words with a fellow traveler (or sufferer).  "Hey Dmitriy!" someone calls over.  "Who is this?" I reply recognizing but not connecting the dots at the same time.  "It's Ken Farley.  You don't recognize me?  Are you delirious?"  He shakes my head in a friendly way.  I smile.  And keep moving forward.

Time blends again.  I'm moving slow and feel like I'm not getting anywhere at all.  Yet the next two aid stations each come faster than expected.

One more uphill walk and I see Avalon from far above!  What a beautiful sight.  The beacon of home.  The chair!  I've been dreaming of being on this downhill for a long time.  Still have to get it done though.  The hamstring and hip cramps on my left side combined with the inner thigh cramp on the right turn my gait to an asymmetrical shuffle not allowing any deviation from that "form."  I make the most of it and slowly eat away at the windy downhill road with gorgeous ocean views.

Some friends of Angela, a girl I've been leapfrogging for a while, come up dressed in funky zebra costumes and pace her in.  That puts a big smile on my face.  Then someone tells me I'm 400m away!  I'm usually skeptical of these things, but lo and behold the town and the finish line unfolds after a few curves!  Wow, almost done!  I'm really here!  I'm beaming.  I get a little bit ahead of Angela as we run into town and hear the clock tower ring.  It must be 3 p.m.

"Well, looks like I'm going to be just about 10 hours," I tell myself, slightly disappointed at not being faster, but just ecstatic to be finished and satisfied at knowing I did my best and reached my goal.

Finish line in sight, I hear rapid footsteps behind me.  Angela is sprinting in from behind.  "I can't believe you're making me sprint!" I glare smiling.  "Come on, Dmitriy!" she yells back.  My legs start moving faster.  "OOO hello calf cramp!" I stumble... but regain my footing and sprint in for the finish at the same time.

"What time is it?!?"

"2:16"

Like Ellie Greenwood, I had not expected to see a 16 on that watch.