Headlands 100 - something something dark side

September 13, 2016

Headlands 100 - something something dark side

People often assume that I"m some sort of awesome ultrarunner but in reality, I'm a pretty mediocre one. At least in terms of the ultimate goal, the 100 mile distance, all I have are two DNFs. DNF as in...

Being the idiot that I am, I don't learn from my mistakes - I keep coming back for more. A wise Frenchman might say, "Jamais deux sans troi" - you can't have two without a third, but Americans like to joke that the French give up too easily. Is American optimism realistic? Will the third time be the charm? I guess we'll find out for sure based on my experience at Headlands 100.

Welcome to the Family Guy edition of a race report.

Episode 3. A new Hope.

The Marin headlands is an area that I'm intimately familiar with. Intimate as in the Headlands have known me at some soaring highs and cavernously deep lows, and have roughed me more than once. And it's time for another dance.

Before we get to the story, here are...

The facts.

The course is made up of 4 washing machine style loops. 25 mile loop one direction, and then backwards in daytime, and then both loops again at night. Each loop has 5 sections from aid station to station, 4-7 miles long, each climbing to ~1,000 ft before dropping again to sea level. The Pacific ocean lies on one side, the San Francisco Bay and a pass under the Golden Gate Bridge on the other side, serene wetlands and farming valleys in between. If I had to pick a place anywhere in the world to spend 30 hours, the Headlands would have to be at the top of my list. Not that I was really in a mental state to appreciate much of that.

This is one of the more crew friendly 100's. It's not really a 25 mile loop. It's a 25 mile figure 8. My crew, my beloved wife, Martha, was able to see me frequently without having to move much. I would pass through Tennessee Valley eight times, and it is only a couple of miles from town. Of course, the trips through town only reminded my wife that her hair was a mess and her hands were dirty.

The RD ensured we weren't alone. We started the race with people running one loop, two loops and three loops. Night runners joined us for a stint at 8pm. And we'd see our fellow centurions several times as we reversed course on the trail, especially on the narrow single track SCA trail above the Golden Gate. That made for an occasional clusterf@*k but not as bad as it could have been. To be honest, it was great to see our fellow runners, especially as a blur in the shape of eventual winner, Chikara Omine, flew by me to the finish shortly after I passed the half-way mark. He set a course record in in just 16:56.

SCA Trail fun

Loop 1. One fine day...

Starting at Rodeo Beach, we met many of our ultrarunning friends. Even a coyote made an appearance just yards away from us. Now, I don't normally believe in signs, except those that say "BRIDGE OUT!", but I felt like the coyote's appearance was the Headland's way of welcoming us. Finish the race, or we'll eat you when you collapse.

Like most ultramarathons, the first 25 were easy. The runner high was real. My steps were effortless and the tempered pace made me feel like a dog upright on two legs. I really felt giggity, not necessarily giggity giggity, but giggity good. Oh yeah.

That certain feeling, on a runner's high

The third section up from Muir Beach via Coyote Ridge trail was the only section of trail I'd never seen before. It was steeper than a restaurant tab at the French Laundry, but still manageable. My feet were light, stomach felt fine, and the overcast weather made me forget completely about the 100+F disaster in San Diego. It was one fine day for a 100 mile run.

Oh, this is one fine day to be nude, ♪

♪ Yeah, this is one fine day to be nude ♪

♪ The birds are singing: "Clinton have a wonderful spring," ♪

♪ And people walkin' by can stop and look at my...

Akamai appearance number 1. A co-worker rode by with his mountain bike on Bobcat trail. Didn't even have the common courtesy to offer me an iced tea. I'll have a talk with him later.

Loop 2. Ouch

The second loop goes counter-clockwise. That means we go from the start/finish back to the start/finish but in the other direction. Goes to show how dumb ultra runners are. Not only do we not actually get anywhere, but we get nowhere in two directions. I looked that up in Einstein's Idiot Theory of Relativity - in the obscure Swiss German edition.

Leaving Fort Baker under the Golden Gate, the run finally started to get real. It takes our runner bodies 32 miles before we realize what's happening. But still, it's too early to tell how a 100 is going to go. I didn't feel perfect - not in the sense I did in other long runs, but I DNF'ed a couple of those and had no plans for DNF on this one. My right calf and both hamstrings started to tighten up a bit. A few stints of stretching seemed to help.

Running into Eldrich Gosney, one of ultrarunning's grand dames, lifted my spirits. The last time I saw her, we were on a ridge, in thick fog, winds gusting at 40 knots. We could see the fog blowing up one side of the mountain and down the other side. We enjoyed that epic moment sharing the glorious day.

Loop 3. No brain, no pain.

Arriving back at Rodeo Beach, I was informed that the finish line was 50 miles back in the other direction I just came from. I picked up my pacer, Ramiro, for the next three sections, 12 miles, 3 hills, three thousand feet of climbing. I know he wanted to run, but all I felt like I could do was slither like Jabba the Hut.

Me and my pacer

My calf was cramping hard. In between volunteering and helping other runners, Martha tried some ointment and a gentle massage on my calf but I could only waddle on the flat sections, widdle the climbs, and wuddle the downhills.

By the time we got to our third section, I realized that I could loosen up my calf with a geriatric shuffle, and eventually get to a running pace. Because of all the hills, the longest I could run was often just 1-2 miles and my calf would tighten again on the next climb, but it was enough to get me moving at a finisher's pace.

I ran the next three long sections alone through the night, wobbling up the final climb of the loop like a drunken Irishman. Had some music to keep me going. By the time I finished the third loop, I was still running. The first loop took 5:40, the second took just over 7 hours. This third loop took 8.5 hours. I was relatively on schedule and still comfortably ahead of cut-offs with 10.5 hours to finish the last 25 miles. Sure, I was beat up, but elated that I was going to finish and show those French what good American gumption can do!

Whoa whoa. We still have 25 miles left to go?

Loop 4. Something, something, something... dark side

I left Rodeo Beach for the final loop, still running. They say it's darkest before the dawn. Even though San Francisco and Sausalito were just a stone's throw away, the fog that stayed with us the entire weekend hid the starlight, moonlight and city lights.

And it wasn't just lack of illumination that was dark. It was darkness inside - the pain and exhaustion mixed in with hope for an end to the suffering. After walking in a stupor, bonking and recovering multiple times, I was now climbing listening to music as daylight was starting to break through the dark night. Like most things, I hadn't planned on music, so I set my player to shuffle - not the best idea when my music collection is like the worst radio station ever, if the world only had one station. Just as it started to get light, Jackson Browne's "Running on Empty" came on. Now, many of you probably associate that song with Forest Gump's run, but since I almost never run with music, the song takes me back to the Italian Alps when I downloaded the song to get me through the thunderstorms on a run past the shores of Lago Montespluga. Now that song will remind me of the time I ran through the dark side and came out the other end. Thank you, Jackson Browne.

After getting some sleep, Ramiro joined me again to pace the last 18 miles. Arriving at Tennessee Valley, Ramiro noted that my calf was bruised. Great. 12 miles to go and an injury. Well, technically, I had the injury for 40+ miles, I just didn't notice nor look for it, and especially care to look for it. Can't stop now.

3 four-mile sections to go, and 6 hours. Totally do-able. The first section went off without a hitch. 1.5 hours. Then came the climb out of Muir Beach and its infamous steps. My calf gave out. Would not do any more. When you're 94 miles into a run, and you're crawling up a staircase on your hands, with your pacer behind to hold you up the many times you fall over, that's when you're in the dark side. When it's taking an hour to move a mile, knowing you have 3 hours to go 7 miles, visioning your dream run vanishing and proving the French right, that's when you're in the dark side.

Thinking I was letting myself and my supporters down

Akamai appearance number 2. In the middle of my crawl up the hill, a couple of coworkers were hiking through, recognized me, offered up some meds and insisted that I take a bottle of peach tea. Best. Tea. Ever.

From the summit of the Tennessee Valley trail, it's another 2 miles to the aid station. I misheard Ramiro say that a ranger was at the summit with a car. I'd given up, but regardless I had to get myself off the mountain. That's the thing about trail running - shit can happen anywhere, but you have to be able to rescue yourself. The trail was at least a smooth fire road by now. My disappointed wife, Martha, had trekked part way and watched me limp to her. From 500 yards out, I could sense her disappointment and worry. The force is strong in this one.

She gave me some reiki and limped with me back to the mile 96 checkpoint. Along the way, a hiker had an epileptic seizure. I was tempted to hitch a ride with a rescue vehicle, but I refrained. I was passed by a handful of other runners, the last of whom encouraged me with, "C'mon, cutoff at next aid station is 2:30 PM, let's get moving!" At this point, I'd given up, but I thought I could make the cut-off and get credit for 96 miles, if not 100 or 75. Let's see what our race director, John Brooks, is agreeable to.

Along the way, Martha noticed that my stride was getting better. Was my calf loosening up from the asphalt road? I made it to the aid station at 2:28. John had been on the phone trying to locate me since I'd gone missing after the previous checkpoint. We asked if he might stick around and give me partial credit for a late finish if I could muster up the energy for a final assault. John agreed and without a moment's hesitation, I graded a cup of trail mix and started power hiking up the last hill. Whether it was rest, reiki or many thoughts and prayers, I found renewed energy for the final 4 miles. Ramiro, caught unaware that I was continuing, had to run hard to catch me. I couldn't believe this was happening. It was a surreal moment. Was I really going to finish?

The mild ascent of the first mile gave way to calf, quad, hamstring, glute and soul crushing steep climbs of the second mile. Whatever recovery my calf had made was now gone, replaced with whatever was in those six inches between my ears. Thick skull notwithstanding, my brain decided it wanted to finish properly in the real cut-off by 4 PM, not a lame duke special. This meant that I'd have to do in 1:30 what took me 1:45 50 miles ago.

We crested the summit and saw the finish far below us. We still had half an hour but going down some of those steeper steps, I felt like a geriatric trying not to spill his Depends underwear. The downhill finishes on a half mile of paved road followed by a short trail. Looking at the 15 minutes left, I decided I better try running it in somehow. The pain was intense everywhere. Everything hurt, except my heart. My thoughts flashed between Martha, the kids, my parents, Ellie, Danny, and all my supporters. I rounded the corner above the finish and could hear cheering below, most especially my wife. This is why it's perfect for ultrarunners to be married to opera singers.

I crossed the line in regulation time, 32 hours, 55 minutes and 44 seconds, just 4 minutes to spare. Kissed the finish line and my wife, who earned the finish line cooties. DFL - Dead Freakin' Last, but also Duke Finished Lame. I'd gone through something something something dark side, and now it was something something something complete.

Post-mortem

About what I feel like

Everything hurts. Super-team Martha, Ramiro and I went to a restaurant after the race, but I couldn't muster the strength to stand, much less walk. I slept in the car and ate takeout on the ride home.

With swollen and bruised calves, I was at risk of rhabdomylosis, muscle tears and compartment syndrome. At 10PM, my wife insisted we visit the ER. I wasn't in a position to argue. I could barely get up or stand. Fortunately, I got a relatively clean bill of health. No word from the psychologists. I have mild rhabdo - the non-kidney affecting kind, and muscle strains. Two days after the race, and I can get up/down and walk a few yards without crutches. The next few days will be rest, ice, compress and elevation. RICE - something befitting a Korean runner.

Sorry, French friends, pour moi, troisième fois est un charme. For me, the third time's a charm.

In all seriousness

I couldn't have done this without so much support, not just on this day(s) but in my life. Thanks to my brother Sonny, who crewed me at SD 100, Anil who paced me at RDL 100. My fellow ultrarunners who continue to inspire me whether they are running a literal 100 or a personal 100. To legends, Jim, Kristina, Rocket and Eldrith. To RD John Brooks who won't let anyone quit. To my neighbor Ellie, who home from fighting cancer on Friday asked me to finish for her. To Danny Lewin, who founded Akamai, my life's work, and died 15 years ago on 9/11. To the brotherhood of the Marine Corps. To my parents who have overcome much in their ultramarathon of life. To my in-laws who have shown nothing but support for me in this insane pursuit. To my running partner, pacer, and Marine brother, Ramiro who is always up for an adventure. And of course, to my fantabulous wife, the Ultrarunner Widow, who crewed me all by herself for 3 days and supported me 100%.