Cuyamaca 100k race report

The last time I was in Cuyamaca was in 2018. I wasn't planning on being here again for 2022 but a calf strain and sciatica issues wiped out my hopes of going back to Miwok to avenge my 2019 DNF. So it was either Cuyamaca or Javelina Jundred for a Western qualifier...and JJ was full sooooo 😏

My training and confidence for this race was buoyed from using and being a Vespa ambassador. I was so successful using it for Waldo 100k last year that I doubled-down on the product and a strict optimized fat metabolism (OFM) running/racing strategy. It's ideal for summer heat training in Arizona and pairs well with the intermittent fasting I started nearly a year ago.

Cuyamaca is one of those races where it is either hot as balls or perfect running weather. Oh boo-hoo, right? Perfect running weather...why would that be a problem? Well, training in the Arizona summer means a very strict regiment of hydration and electrolytes. Altering that strategy on race day is not something I've been able to master yet (at least for this particular race).

Loop 1 (32.3 mi)

Cuyamaca is one of those sultry vixens that lulls you into a false sense of comfort during the first 8 miles. Once you break free of the starting conga line, it's largely smooth sailing on the California single-track as you make your way to Merrigan AS (8.4 mi). You would think I'd learned my lesson in 2018, but of course I took this first section WAY too fast. I felt great, but like I mentioned, this section lulls you in with its net downhill profile only to give you a sucker-punch as you head to Green Valley AS (14.2 mi) and eventually up to Cuyamaca Peak (23.2 mi)

Leaving Merrigan, the single-track gives way to forest service roads as you start the 15 mi trek up to Cuyamaca Peak. Much of this is still runnable but it gradually takes its toll on the legs as you plod your way up to 6,200'.

It was here that the inability to adjust that fueling and hydration strategy began to rear its ugly head. Whether it was a combination of altitude, hydration and/or electrolytes, it was obvious that something was not right. My pace up to Cuyamaca Peak was a slow agonizing crawl. I stopped nearly a dozen times in the last 1/2 mile up to the peak because (a) my heart felt like it would explode and (b) I couldn't tell if I was hungry, nauseous or dehydrated.

Once at the top, I curled up into a ball and tried to take in some solid calories (avocado and bacon) and more electrolytes/water. Turns out this is not what I needed at all. After 45 minutes of drowning is self-pity, I had already conceded that this unforced error was going to cost me the 17-hour cutoff to qualify for Western States. I pulled myself out of the chair knowing what gnarly 5-mile stretch of downhill awaited me on the way to Paso Picacho AS (28.2 mi). Not more than 500' away from the Cuyamaca Peak aid station I pulled over to the side of the road and empty the entire contents of my stomach 🤮 Multiple times. Violently. What felt like liters...

Now most folks see vomiting as the final nail in the coffin when it comes to a race. But if I've learned anything from all these years of ultra-running, it's that a good puke means a fresh start. My body clearly had something it didn't need or like and puking is just its way of clearing it out. I've also learned that even in a 'depleted' state (with the help of Vespa), I'm comfortable running on an empty stomach knowing that my body will leverage my fat as fuel rather than carbs.

I'll admit, heading down to Paso Picacho was still slow but I felt 100x better. The big question looming in my mind was whether I could muster enough energy (and fueling strategy) to finish under the 17-hour cutoff. After an 8 hour and 20 minute 50k back to the start/finish line, Adam would help me gather the necessary gear, fuel, headlamp and water to get me back out there for loop 2. I started loop 2 with a soft whisper in my ear that finishing under 17 was still possible if I could keep things together.

Important note: Leaving for loop 2, I was in 188th position out of 228 runners. Total time 8:20.

Loop 2 (12.8 mi)

This section of the race wastes no time kicking you in the balls. Immediately upon leaving the start/finish, you climb. It's not hands-on-knees climbing but it's enough to get your attention. It's also a great time to regroup mentally - especially when doubt still clings to your mind. It was in this 4-5 mile stretch that I found a fueling strategy that would take me to the finish line.

VFuel has been a solid gel for me to supplement with over the last couple of years. It's dextrose-based and is much easier to digest than other fructose or sucrose-based gels. It also had just the right amount of electrolytes for my pace and the weather that day. I would settle on a Vespa concentrate every 2 hours and a VFuel gel at the top of every hour.

Pro tip! Avoid gel burn out/gagging using this simple trick. Squeeze half the gel into your mouth. Take in a mouthful of water and swish for 5-10 seconds. Gel dissolves and can be swallowed without any issues!

One of the more challenging aspects of this race is the steep downhill sections. The backside of Cuyamaca Peak is the first, and the downhill of loop 2 makes you seriously question how the downhill of loop 3 is going to kick your ass (and your quads)!

Nevertheless, with the exception of the initial climb, I would run nearly all of this loop back to the start/finish line in just over 3 hours and 15 minutes. That whisper of doubt was soon replaced with a steady chant..."you got this"

Important note: Leaving for loop 3, I would improve to 142nd position. Total time 11:41.

Loop 3 (18.2 mi)

There's a cruel pattern that emerges at Cuyamaca (and with most WSER qualifying 100k's). Climb and descend. Climb and descend. Repeat until exhausted. Loop 3 does not break from this norm and once again, you find yourself climbing shortly after leaving the start/finish. Darkness had descended at this stage so the remainder of the climbing was hidden in the blackness of night. I love the unknown of climbing at night for some reason. Aside from a stream of headlamps, you often don't know where or how high you have to go...I naturally feel compelled to run as much as I can. Weird, right?

Turns out, that strange quirk of mine combined with the extremely runnable trails of this loop helped make quick work of the mileage. I felt as strong and agile as I had running that first 8 miles to Merrigan. Yes, my quads were sore but I never stopped moving this entire loop (ahem, except for that 1/4 mile wrong turn I took). I love how supplementing with Vespa (and burning fat) helps alleviate the buildup of lactic acid in the muscles and delay the onset of muscle soreness. Being on your feet for 12+ hours will make anyone tired but with Vespa, I feel powerful and strong when everyone else is clearly already on the struggle-bus.

I would leave the Pedro Fages AS (56 mi) knowing I had over 2 hours to complete 6ish miles to the finish. It was only then did I loosen the reigns a little bit and enjoy the final downhill section. Quads were a bit sore but I never stopped moving. Who would have thought I'd be running up the hills nearly 16 hours into the day and feeling alert, calm and confident about cracking the 17-hour cutoff?

I would surprise my crew as well coming into the finish line much earlier than expected. Adam just happened to show up in time to snag a video of me finishing 😁 

Important note: Finish time 16:15. 103rd position

Synopsis

I'm confident that my electrolyte intake (e.g., too much) is what sabotaged my first loop on the way up to Cuyamaca Peak. The dry California air along with the altitude and oversaturation of electrolytes was the recipe for my yack-attack. I love First Endurance Liquid Shots but they apparently have too many electrolytes for the cooler Cali temperatures.

I'll continue to preach from the mountain top to anyone that will listen - fueling with fat is a game changer. I intermittently fast each day but beyond that I eat and drink what I want. I'm not keto nor do I diet. But when it comes to running/racing, teaching your body to use fat as fuel (with the help of Vespa) unlocks so many benefits, I'm ashamed it's taken me so long to adopt this strategy. I'll hopefully write another blog expanding on these benefits and how I incorporate them into my training.

Race Gear

Pack ➡️ Ultraspire Zygos 5.0
Shoes ➡️ Altra Lone Peak 5

Socks ➡️ Injinji trail (mid-weight)
Nutrition
➡️ Vespa ultra-concentrate
➡️ VFuel gels
➡️ First Endurance Liquid Shots

Cuyamaca 100k Race Report

I knew back in February when I couldn't run Black Cayon 100k that I would need to find a substitute race for my 2018 WSER qualifier. I also knew it would probably be a late Summer/early Fall race too which meant doing the thing I loath the most...training during the Arizona Summer.

{GROAN}

You'd think that the worst thing about summer training would be the heat, but you'd be wrong. Surprisingly, when I thought about this (yes, this is the stupid shit you think about on long runs), there is a pretty good list of heat-induced hell you have to train through.

• Run quantity: 100k training means you're running at least 5 days a week, if not more.
• Early days: When you label your 2:30 am alarm as "WTF?" or "OMG it's early!"
• Sweaty clothes: Morning, noon or night runs mean you're sweating your ass off in the desert.
• Laundry: More runs, more clothes, more stink means more laundry.
• Hydration: Weekend long runs routinely required a cooler full of ice, water, sodas and beer.

So needless to say, I have never been happier to be done with training. A week prior to the race, we could see that the temperatures on race day would be significantly cooler. This was a blessing for sure but it represented a small hitch - all the heat training, clothing and gear we thought we'd need got tossed out the window given that the high temp would be 65 with lows in the mid-40's. It's not often you get perfect race days like this but it was a far cry from our summer of hellish heat.

Lining up for a race has never been so glorious. It was 48F and shorts, arm sleeves, a buff and t-shirt was all I'd need to kick off my day of running. I started with a bottle as well - which was strange given I'd trained the last 4 months with a pack. Jump ahead to mile 13 - it makes sense now that my arm was sore from carrying that bottle for 3+ hours :-)

Dan and I ran together for quite a while - the cool temps and adrenaline of dusting off those taper-legs propelled me easily into the first aid station where Greg was waiting to take care of us and grab all the clothing we were shedding as the temp climbed to a paltry 55F. Somewhere between the first and second aid station, Dan would leave me behind. I thought he stopped and peed for the 5th time :-) and expected him to pop out behind me somewhere but I lost sight of him going uphill and never saw him again until after we both tagged Cuyamaca peak. The first 15 miles of the course is a great combination of single-track trail and service roads. You can tell that that service roads have been recently graded and I was very thankful for that! Between Merrigan and Green Valley aid stations, you have to decide whether you're going to run or hike...it's not steep but it is that gradual gentle grade that makes you earn every bit of the uphill.

A funny thing happened on the way up Cuyamaca peak. Tight neck and shoulders, constricted lungs, heavy chest and my stomach in knots I just did back-to-back training runs in Flagstaff at 9,000+ feet, why am I getting altitude sickness at 6,000 feet?! There isn't much you can do about it either except slow down, drink water and keep going. So I did. The feeling would subside somewhere near the peak (~6,500 feet) where I managed to down some food, soda and about half a dozen Otter Pops. That half mile up to the peak is about a 16-18% grade...I thought it was horrible going up but it's even worse coming back down!

I had talked to a couple locals during the race who mentioned that coming down Cuyamaca Peak was probably the most technical (and difficult) part of the race. They weren't wrong. Large sections of boulders mixed with loose rocks and trenched out trail made for a pretty steep and cautious descent  down into Paso Picacho aid station. Half way down, I stopped to help a fella that had wiped out during his descent - he would be fine and continue on to finish. Little did I know that the encounter would foreshadow my own epic wipe out a few miles from the aid station. The irony is that I managed to navigate the hardest and most technical section of the downhill only to twist my ankle on the easiest section of trail I've ever seen. I managed to find the one rock on the trail...

As I crumpled to the ground yelling and grabbing my ankle (the same ankle I'd semi-sprained months ago), all I could think about was having to drop from this perfect race day and losing my Western States qualifier. I lay in the dirt for a while contemplating my next move when a couple other guys came down the trail and stopped to help. They helped me get off the ground and offered me some trekking poles or to stay with me until the next aid station (2 miles away). I graciously declined - mostly so I could wallow in my self-pity and stew about what I would do next. Thankfully, this part of the trail connects to the Paso Picacho campground which means the 'trail' turns into a well-groomed gravel section leading into the camp and aid station. Still tender and noticeably swelling, I attempted to run/walk for the last mile both testing it and attempting to build some confidence that despite the injury, I could make it 34 more miles.

Arriving at Paso Picacho, Greg could tell that something was wrong. Covered in dirt still, he asked what happened and proceeded to immediately clean me off. Clearly despondent and struggling with my next steps, he never even offered up the notion of quitting or ending my race.

Ultra-running tip #126: NEVER let your immediate family crew you for an ultra-marathon.

They care too much about you and hate seeing you in pain. Experienced ultra-runners and/or coaches know enough to never even mention stopping or quitting unless there's a bone sticking out. As I continued to wallow, Greg was handing me food, refilling my pack and stuffing nutrition into my pockets clearly with the expectation that I was continuing on. It should be noted that some guy at the Paso aid station was making pickle sandwiches - a dill pickle cut in half lengthwise with ham, bacon and cheese in the middle. Literally a pickle sandwich - THE most amazing thing I've ever had in my life.

It's a little over 3 miles from this aid station to the start/finish where the first 50k loop ends. I resolved to take this 5k to see how the ankle would respond and then decide what to do next. Of course, not even 50 steps out of the aid station, I tried trotting down a short incline and landed on a rock that forced me to the ground again in pain. Swearing out loud, it was clear that my foot placement and speed would be impacted by my ankle but I continued on trying to make the best of it. I would finish the first loop in 7.5 hours.

Greg welcomed me back and again didn't let me get too down on myself or think about how much this next 50k would suck on a jacked-up ankle. I was still very much concerned about time and making the 17-hour cutoff given the amount of climbing and the potentially crippling cool temps that would appear after the sun went down.

Ultra-running tip #212: Never think about the cumulative distance you have left. Run aid station to aid station and you'll stay mentally strong.

I didn't get the chance to quit at this point with Greg continuously pushing my gear, nutrition, soda and food at me. Just get to the next aid station and see how it feels, he would say. So, off I went for loop 2 and another 12 miles.

I discovered several things during this loop:

1. My right leg (and knee) would take the brunt of the compensation for my (left) ankle.
2. I would get a second wind and anything flat or up, I was running at a comfortable 11-13 min/mi.
3. Anything down was excruciating and slow (~15 min/mi)
4. It was becoming more difficult to find nutrition that sounded good (besides Coke)

It's not a very memorable loop other than the climb immediately after you leave the aid station. I would experience those altitude symptoms again but honestly, I could have just been tired. I'd return back the start/finish line again about 5:30 pm.

It this stage of the race, there was no turning back. You don't come this far in a race just to quit - even if you feel like it. So I changed into some dry clothes, grabbed my gear for the night, ate some food and took off with Greg for the final 18 miles. I was very much aware of the time at this point. I had taken about 30 minutes at the aid station meaning I had 6.5 hours to make it around this loop if I was going to get my qualifying time (17 hours was 11:30 pm). Doubt crept in realizing that the dark, cold temps and fickle state of my GI would likely cause some overall 'drag' in my pace.

As the dark settled on us, it was clear that keeping my headlamp on my head was not the right thing to do. These trails were dusty and largely monochromatic - meaning, they reflect light back so brightly that you're unable to see any surface features. Which is the worst possible scenario for someone nursing a bum ankle and trying to beat the clock. After a couple ankle turns, slips and bouts of swearing like a sailor, I decided to take my headlamp off and carry in down by my waist. Now that I could see shadows, we started moving forward at a reasonable pace with less swearing.

Cup-o-soup and Fox News. What a combination!

The climb up to Sunrise (aka, the Trump aid station) was not a hard climb but it was relentless and largely on the ridge line. The wind had picked up significantly and was pushing us along as we got to the aid station where a bunch of hot food was waiting for us. Nothing in my pack sounded good so I tried eating as much of the aid station food as I could. Noodles, chicken stew, pancakes and bacon sounded great but all I really wanted was soda and broth. We didn't stay long here knowing that time continued to work against us and there was a good stretch to the Pedro Flages aid station. Plus, they had Fox News blasting in the background :-)

The stretch between Sunrise and Pedro Flages was fairly easy to run - no large climbs or rocks but that wind! There were a couple times the gusts pushed us sideways nearly off the trail! Greg joked that if he were a couple pounds lighter, he'd have blown off the side of the mountain. LOL. The course eventually turns south into the finish which meant we were running head-first into it...talk about suck! The course gradually descends out of the wind but as I mentioned, the downhill was excruciating because of my knee. I would endure knowing that we were closing in on 5k to the finish. We were moving well still even though it was clear we were going to make the 17-hour qualifying time. I just wanted to be done.

With Greg's Dance Party Mix blaring above the wind, we would pass about half a dozen folks on the way into the finish. I sat down after  crossing the finish line after 16 hours and 9 minutes on my feet.

All things considered, I'm happy with the finish and qualifying time. It eats at me a little knowing that I could have done better if my ankle hadn't gone south but in the end, I'm grateful for the ability to do these things with the support of my family.

A big fist-bump to Dan for his awesome first 100k finish and for training with me through all the shitty Arizona heat. He got my ass out the door more days than I can count. Many thanks to Greg for his steadfast crewing, pacing and friendship.

So now we wait until December - another Western States lottery entry to add to my tickets. Hopefully my next race report is from Squaw Valley.

BH100 Race Report

Given my relative newness to ultra-running, I have not yet experienced many of the premier courses in the US. But if there is a bar to hold them to, it is the Centennial Trail (ole’ 89) of the Black Hills 100. I have never enjoyed a course more than I did this weekend while running the 100k up in Sturgis, SD.

The scenery varies from ponderosa pine and limestone outcrops to sprawling views of Bear Butte and the Badlands. One minute you’re running on pine needles the next you’re running through jungle (like) foliage. The elevation will sneak up on you as well…going up may not be so bad, but the down can be quad-busting inclines on sharp nasty fist-sized chunks of limestone.

Start to Elk Creek (Mile 17)

The early part of this course is very runnable. It’s a mix of pavement (1.2 miles) and single-track up into the Black Hills. As I made my gradual ascent you could already feel the heat beginning to bear down (says the guy from Arizona). Strategically, I started with one hand-held bottle knowing that the cooler temperatures would last at least until my first drop bag at Elk Creek. There were a couple times I questioned that choice but this actually worked out pretty well.

Through mile 17, the only problem I had was just picking up my damn feet. It’s like I forgot how to run! I stubbed my left foot about 10 times and very ungracefully saved myself from falling on my face more than once.

While at the Elk Creek aid station, I munched on some potatoes (with salt), pounded a couple shots of ice-cold Coke, grabbed some gels from my drop bag and mixed up some Vitargo for my second hand-held bottle.

Elevation profile for the Black Hills 100

Elk Creek to Dalton Lake (Mile 29)

The weather continued to get hotter as mid-day approached. Much of this mileage is under the cover of pine trees and not terribly exposed but the air was thick and the radiant heat felt like an early morning run back home in Arizona. Fortunately, I was taking full bottles of water and ice through the aid stations while keeping my belly happy.

Two odd things happened through mile 29 that I won’t easily forget – one, I ran into an old college friend who just happened to be running the trail at the same time. We chatted, said our hellos and went on our way. Second, a very big and determined military man (who was running the 50-mile) had hit the turn around and was repeating over and over, “Birthday cake and beer. Birthday cake and beer.” Evidently, it was his birthday and he wanted beer. Whatever keeps you going.

Me, I was personally looking forward to reaching Dalton Lake to pick up my Camelbak out of my drop bag. I’m glad this worked out because I don’t think I could have carried that extra weight for the first half of the race.

I was still doing well on caloric intake – I again mixed up some Vitargo, munched on potatoes, had a jelly sandwich and ice cold water in my Camelbak. Despite the 100k turn-around being just two miles past this aid stations, multiple folks commented that it felt like an eternity…runners were cramping left-and-right. I personally was doing well. Hydrated and feeling strong, I was still running more than I was walking as I made my way back through the Dalton aid station.

Dalton (through Elk Creek) to Bulldog (Mile 51)

By far, this was the most painful part of my journey as I navigated much of the previous elevation I had climbed early in the day. At this point, my feet were not fresh (I had not changed my socks all day), my gluts were tight and my quads were on fire. Yet, despite the pain, it hurt less to run…so I kept running.

It was also apparent that despite multiple attempts to lather up with sunblock that my shoulders and neck were charred from the sun. Combine that with the additional 7 pounds from a Camelbak full of ice and water, my neck and shoulders were aching quite a bit. I did drop one bottle at Elk Creek to help lighten things up.

Unfortunately, I had gotten ahead of myself mentally. I pictured myself coming out of the woods to the final aid station (Alkali). Needless to say, I was quite disappointed when that didn’t happen. Slightly dejected, I almost gave in to The Chair. I resisted that urge and stayed on my feet. I downed a turkey sandwich, more potatoes, salt, Endurolytes and stocked up on a few more Rice Krispy Treats (my new trail running super-food!). “Ten more miles”, they said. If the previous six had not felt like an eternity, I would have been a bit more enthusiastic about the remaining distance…

Leaving the Bulldog aid station, I was tentatively moving forward to ensure I didn’t do something stupid (like trip and fall on my face). The toughest mental challenge for me at this stage was being able to see and hear the highway prior to reaching the Alkali aid station. You know you’re close but getting past the highway seemed to take forever.

Alkali to Finish

By the time I reached this station, the head lamp was on and it felt like I was spending more time looking for the route markers and critters than the trail in front of me. This was my first time running trail at night and I was erring on the side of being overly-cautious. There was a part of the trail/road that descended into Sturgis that was nothing but sand – no surface reflection, no pebbles, no anything to get your depth perception dialed in. Shuffling would have worked fine if it didn’t kick up a cloud of dust in the process. The visual in my head (which made me chuckle) was “this is what Pig-Pen would look like if he were a trail runner”.

This stretch is also a tease given that you can see the street lights and hear the cars but the way the trail winds, you can’t see the sidewalk until you’re about a quarter mile from the trail head. I have never been so happy to see pavement.

I had made a mental deal with myself (having walked the last 4 miles) that once I hit the pavement I would run to the finish. I stayed true to that as I navigated the last mile or so along the bike path. It hurt like hell and I could feel every single tread on the bottom of my shoes but I kept running as I made my way to Woodle Field.

Crossing the line with all the kids

As I entered the track, it felt a little like that scene from Rocky (or Forrest Gump) where one-by-one, the kids and other folks start to run beside you – cheering and yelling for you in those final steps. It was great to cross the finish line with my arms raised high.

Over 10,800’ of climbing in 16 hours and 52 minutes.Here are my Garmin stats through 42 miles.

There is a nice write-up in the Rapid City Journal as well.

McDowell Mountain Race Report

McDowell Mountain Regional Park is quite a haul from the east valley so I was up at about 4:30 am, had some breakfast and then headed out to the race. That early in the morning, there is zero traffic so I arrived just a little before 6 am - time to check in.

The start was fairly uneventful though I did get the chance to speak with a couple guys whom I learned this was their first 50K. I also think this crowd was a little bit larger than the last race at Pass Mountain. In either case, the gun sounded and we were off.

I'm not sure if it was the week that I'd taken off or the breezy cold (read, 42 F) conditions prior to the race but that first mile (a) felt like a eternity and (b) felt like my quads were going to explode. I'm going to go with the cold and breezy conditions Monty.

The first 5 miles of the course was mostly groomed trail and a lot more undulation terrain than I was expecting. Not that it was bad, but compared to Pass Mountain (which was mostly flat the first 5 miles), this got the blood pumping right away.

I had really checked myself this time...not wanting to blow my legs up too early, I managed to keep my pace down near a 9:30-10 minutes per mile. With the undulating terrain, it wasn't that hard. My legs were starting to warm up but still, I could feel the muscles at the very core of my quads just screaming for relief. Miles 5 through 10 seemed to be this gradual uphill climb that just went on forever...nothing too technical, just a long, shallow grind.

Beyond this, I don't remember much until the descent to the Dixie Mine aid station - which is about 10 miles into the race. It is a decline to be sure but it really didn't seem to be that bad. I remember thinking as I was running back up it - "Is this the worse part of the course?" Certainly if it was, the remainder of the course had to be easier.

Beyond the Dixie Mine aid station, the time seemed to pass by pretty quickly. The terrain was either flat or slightly downhill (SWEET!) but there were no real climbs to speak of. Between miles 11 and 21, I had found a groove and was keeping a reasonable pace somewhere between 10-11 minute miles.

Mile 22: Wall #1 - The first real signs of pain had arrived. I stopped several times to stretch and loosen up the legs but things were definitely starting to hurt. My nutrition was great and the feet felt good but my quads were aching something horrible.

Mile 26: Wall #2 - The course takes you through the Start/Finish line before heading out for the last 5 miles. I walked up to the aid station here and my legs almost buckled. I was seriously doubting my ability to go out and complete 5 more miles. So I took my time and ate some potatoes, M&M's and a banana, chased it with a few cups of Dew and Coke and resolved to keep it going.

Now at this stage, I'm thinking that I have a shot at PR (personal record). My previous 50K's have been in the neighborhood of 7:58 and 7:43. This was the only thing keeping me going. In my mind, even if I walked the last 5 miles, another 1.5 hours would put me in about 7:30 which would be enough for a PR (eh, a PR is a PR right?!). Of course, walking and succumbing to pain is not how I roll so I sucked it up and ran the flat and downhill stretches during the last 5 miles.

Somewhere in the last 5 miles, I came across this sign.  My  nickname in college was T-Bone.

There was a lot of grimacing during this last stretch. I was doing my best to ignore the pain but dude, the downhill stretches felt like I had knives sticking out of my quads. In most cases, the uphill climbs were actually a welcome relief (did I just say that?!).

Even still, I made it back around and across the finish line - 6 hours and 32 minutes. A new PR (by a lot I was thinking). Comparing this race time to Pass Mountain, I had crushed my previous time by more than an hour! Turns out though, my inaugural 50k race at San Tan Mountain last year would be the bar to beat (6:43).

The not-so-good-news: I did not crush my PR.

The mostly-good-news: I improved massively from Pass Mountain to this race. Different course I know, but the clock doesn't lie.

The all-good-news: I have a new 50k PR. I beat the San Tan time by about 10 minutes.

Yes, I'm already thinking about the next race (Coldwater Rumble, January 21). I mean, look at the profile - how can you NOT be a little concerned about that elevation?!