Son of the Beach, Sean O'Brien 100k #2

Malibu. Sunshine. Surf. Sand. And of course, beautiful people.

But it would not be for us on February 4, 2017, as we weren't in Malibu, but Malibu adjacent. The Malibu mountains were invaded by a crowd of pale skinned, rain soaked, middle-aged NorCal runners. Think less like Hasselhoff, more like Notch Johnson from the State University California - Malibu Adjacent (SUCMA).

Notch Johnson, Son of the Beach

Notch's picture isn't too far off from how I felt after 5 months of strategic tapering and endurance shivasna. Last month's 50k run was fine but I only had one other long run in that time. I was adopting a minimalist approach to running, not just in my shoes, but in my training. What could go wrong? Keep reading, dear readers.

Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, CA - Real old school.

There were a half dozen of us from Quicksilver Running Club making the trek down to Malibu Adjacent for the 100k: Stuart, David, Marty, Stephen, Ramiro and myself, plus a myriad of supporting cast. I like to take partial credit as I talked up how great a race it was. I'm not sure what I remembered about it that was so great. The endless climbs, the endless descents, getting lost in the dark, ... I must have short term memory loss, or long term memory loss. I can't remember which.

The second law of ultrarunning. What goes down, must come up

Sean O'Brien 100k is a difficult course bookmarked by three major climbs, each preceded by a modest appetizer. The first comes thankfully at the beginning when you're fresh - the Angry Chihuahua, a "refreshing" river crossing, and the main dish - 1,800 ft of gain to the ridge. The middle climb is inverted. After a 700 ft climb appetizer at the 15 mile aid station, we get a quad crushing 4-mile 2,000 ft descent that gives you time to relish all the climbing you're about to do. You also get to see the race leaders climbing and suffering. This is supposed to be motivating? The third climb is also inverted - yet another climb and then a 4-mile 2,000 ft descent and yet another opportunity to witness your future suffering in the faces of those ahead of you. And then finally the rocky rollers, descent, a river crossing and more rollers to the finish. Is your butt puckered yet?

My Notch Johnson doppelgänger

My day began the way I think a lot of ultrarunner's race days go - with a bathroom selfie. I'm a real ultrarunner now. Or a teenage girl with self-esteem issues. My parents said I could be anything I want.

On race morning to a chorus of cheers, Keira, the race director, informed us that due to recent rains, the course had to be adjusted, and we were replacing the 9 mile, +3k ft death march middle climb/descent/climb with a simple 7 mile +2k ft climb. It's so funny to think how ultraruners' minds work, "replace a 9 mile death march with a 7 mile climb - yea!" Simple joys for dumb runners.

Even in cold, dark pre-dawn mornings, evey race begins with a euphoric ramble. SOB was no different. Don't these people know what's in store for them? 10 to 16 hours of suffering that they paid good money for? After a river crossing, the hike up the first mountain to the ridge exposed us to gorgeous views of fog blanketed valleys on both sides of the ridge as well as views of the Pacifc Ocean. Passing enclaves of Malibu homes tucked in the mountain, I imagined that somewhere down there was a hot actress sipping a warm coffe wondering what sexy beast was behind all the slowly moving lights on the mountain. Hint - it's me.

Marty, showing support for gay rights?

The departing rains left a mist in the air and a rainbow gate pointing to the trail ahead. There were more creek crossings and waterfalls than one could expect from SoCal. 

The rain's greatest gift was mud. We practiced mud surfing - when our feet would slide downhill on the mud. We practiced strength training - when 5 lbs of mud would stick to our shoes and the earth wouldn't release our feet. That great sucking sound - it didn't sound ike a trail run so much as a plumbing exercise, like running a plunger on a stuck toilet or three octopi making love with their 24 limbs for hours on end. I was never so happy to get off single track and onto the gravel fire roads leading to Bonsall, our second descent/ascent.

Part of my "Foot stuck in things" series

Midway through the descent to Bonsall revealed some truly beautiful sights. Sunlight. 8 ft waves crashing on the shore. The real housewives of Malibu. Revised to an out-and-back, the hill revealed that most of my friends were only a few minutes ahead or behind me. And Mr. Speedo, who I would have to see again on the next big out-and-back hill. Yummy.

The short spell of afternoon sun dried out some of the mud for the return trip on the ridge. I moved quickly through the ridge, arriving at the mile 41 Corral Canyon aid station an hour earlier than I did last year. From here, one can run the Bulldog Rd descent/ascent out-and-back or continue straight, skipping the extra miles. The former completes 100k, the latter nets you an official 50 mile completion. It's a little mental challenge Keira like to play with runners. You're tired and cutting the day short is pretty tempting. At this stage, it's hard for us to do simple math, let alone make logical decisions.

Approaching Corral Canyon, my thoughts were wandering. The mud, the great day I was having, surfing Malibu, SUCMA... balls! What was that!?! My Achilles sent shooting pains on an innocuous step. I had no idea what that was. I never had problems like that before. Walking was fine but I could only run a few steps before it struck again. I arrived at Corral Canyon with a decision to make: drop, cut short to 50, or make a play for Bulldog and 100k.

Which way to the next aid station?

Ultrarunners are a stubborn lot. I came for 100k and I wasn't going to quit unless absolutely necessary. And I was having a great day until that point. I decided to try the Bulldog run and hoped that my tendons would loosen along the way. Instead of recovery, I had just sent myself on a painful 7 mile journey to the Bulldog aid station. No doctors were in attendance at the MASH site. So it was absolutely necessary. I dropped at Bulldog, 47 miles in, then walked 300 yards to the start/finish. At least I got a view of the rest of Malibu Creek

If you look carefully, you can see the rarely spotted SoCal Millennial out of its natural environment, without a smartphone in sight.

My friends mostly had great runs. Stephen dropped to 50k after a hamstring injury. Stuart, Loren and Stacie beat their goal times. David and Marty completed their 100k runs in great time, 15 hours plus/minus a bit. Ramiro, on the other hand, had us on pins and needles. As time ticked off, Keira and Jessie were dismantling the finish gate and putting away the food. They were serious about a hard 16 hour cutoff. The beer was packed! With just 4 minutes to go, we knew that the next headlamp we saw in the distance would be the last finisher. As Ellen went to pace in, and we cheered the the DFL (dead f'in last) runner, we didn't know until the last moment that it was indeed our friend, Ramiro. 15 hours and 57 minutes, just beating the cutoff. Damn drama queen.

In a packed field among the pros, records were set by men and women on the modified course. Congrats to Chris Weehan, Ryan Kaiser, Emily Harrison, and Sabrina Stanley on earning their Golden Tickets. Many thanks to Keira, Jessie, Sarah and all the fantastic volunteers. The aid stations and the support we got at each were amazing. More than we deserved. Less mud next time, please.

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If you don't know the show, Son of the Beach, it's one of the most brilliantly immature shows that ever aired. Fair warning, don't watch immediately after eating. You might get sick.