Born To Run Race (4/16/22)

Race length: 30.0 miles

Race Location: Los Olivos

Finish time: 5 hours, 34 minutes

Place: 34th overall/131 participants

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Pre-race

This upcoming race is special to me for multiple reasons. First, the event is inspired from the book Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall, which I read two years ago and ignited my interest in trail running. Second, the event takes place in Los Olivos which is right near my hometown, Santa Maria, meaning my parents will be able to make it out to the race. Lastly, this is the first ultra-marathon I have ran, defined as any distance over a marathon. I ran a full marathon (26.2 miles) almost exactly a month ago in Sonoma which went well, and I’m hoping for no blow-ups or problems in finishing this 30 mile race.

The race perfectly coincides with the Spring Break I get as a teacher and I’ll be running it right on the tail-end of my week long break. I spend the first week of my break visiting the coast of Sonoma and heading out to Stinson Beach, spending my time at coffee shops, books stores, and trails. The tricky part is not going overdoing it on these trails with my race only a few days away. My longest run during my travels is 4 days before my race, when I run 8.5 miles out at Mt. Tamalpais, located in the Marin Headlands. It’s probably more miles than I should be running at this close to race day but meh, my recoveries and sleep have felt great and I don’t want to limit myself too much for just one event.

At last it’s the night before race day and I’m running through my mental checklist. I pack two different electrolyte drinks, 1.5 liters of water, and stuff a ziplock bag full of cashews, macadamia nuts, mango, and 85% dark chocolate. I’m planning on consuming the liquids and food during the course of the race. Self-crewing out of your car is allowed, meaning I can stash my liquids and food in my car, as opposed to having to carry the weight on my back. The course goes in 10 mile loops, so I should be back at my car every 10 miles where I can refuel as needed.

I leave my parent’s house at 5:45am on race morning and rain falls on and off on my 30 minute drive to the course in Los Olivos. In the car I eat most of a large breakfast burrito I picked up yesterday morning and sip on an Americano. By the time I make it to the event and have checked-in and parked my car, I have 10 minutes to make it to the starting line before my event begins. It all feels a little rushed and I’m already regretting not giving myself time to really warm-up.

It’s a chaotic but energetic start, as race director Luis Escobar is on a stage with a cowboy hat, megaphone, and a rifle. I’m listening for directions on the race, (am I supposed to follow the blue or pink ribbon first?) but Luis is talking about how the event came about and then calls forth a special family to the stage. For anyone who has read Born to Run, you will have heard of the Tarahumara, a group of indigenous people who live in the Copper Canyons of Mexico and are renowned for their long distance running abilities. There is a family of Tarahumara who have traveled out to run this very race. I won’t go into further detail here (just read Born to Run) but it’s a very special moment to have them here and it’s special to get to see them in person.

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Miles 0-10

With the sound of a gunshot, the race begins and soon runners are following the wide dirt roads that lead around the private ranch that makes up the course. Everyone seems to be running and chatting with other people in the beginning of the race, and I look for any familiar faces but don’t see anyone I know. After a few miles go by a lady runs beside me and asks me what distance I’m running. After I tell her 30 mi, she says that I have a nice pace going and that she can tell I was doing a longer distance by my good form. I thank her and it really is uplifting to hear. I wish her the best of luck and we drift off with differing paces.

Towards the end of the first loop there is a climb that leads to pretty views of the green rolling hills of Los Olivos, part of Santa Barbara County. I find a guy who looks to be my age and is running in sandals with long brown hair that falls well past his shoulders. I strike up a conversation with him and we run the last 2 miles or so of the first loop, chatting about backpacking, fire season in Northern CA, and training for the event. It’s a great way to pass the time and before I know it I’m back at the starting line, with 1 loop (10 miles down).

Miles 10-20

It’s back to running alone and the first few miles of the second loop pass pleasantly enough. I’m trying to stay focused on my breathing, inhaling through my nose from the bottom of my diaphragm and bringing that oxygen up to my chest. I do a systems check and everything is still feeling good, albeit my hamstrings are starting to feel the slightest of fatigues. I pass by a girl who is walking along sobbing and after passing her, I put on the brakes and ask if she is alright. “Not really,” she says barely audible through muffled crying. “But I’ll be fine- you look great.” I ask if she wants me to stay with her for a bit but she shoos me off telling me to keep going. Only 10 minutes later, I go by a guy who is hunched over, shuffling along and he gives me a weak smile. “I’m in the pain cave right now. I don’t know how I’m going to finish. The longest I have run is half the distance of this race- how am I going to make 30 miles?” I offer him the best encouragements I can think of, which is just focusing on getting this loop done and taking his time at the aid stations.

Shortly after I find myself needing to head to my own advice, as I start thinking about how I still have another 10 miles when this loop is done. I’m getting hungry and my quads are starting to be felt on every stride. Finally, I make it the end of the second loop (mile 20) and I beeline for my car which has my food. It’s a bit of a mess as I’m shoveling in big handfuls of mango, cashews, and dark chocolate. Water has spilled all over the driver seat but I try to ignore that, as I down an electrolyte drink and then eat the remaining part of my breakfast burrito. I even try to sit on my massage ball in the passenger seat, to loosen up my fatigued muscles. As I leave my car, I keep an eye out for my parents who are trying to cheer me on during the second half of the race. It’s drizzling a little and there is no cell service so I don’t have high hopes for seeing them….. but then there my Mom is, coffee in hand walking towards where I’m coming from! I yell her name, give her a quick hug, and feeling rejuvenated begin my last 10 miles.

Miles 20-30

Only a few minutes into my last loop and I’m already starting to hurt again. Skin is starting to rub raw, my feet feel tired, and my quads and hamstrings feel twitchy and unsteady. My saving grace is starting up a conversation with a female runner who is a marketer for a shoe company. She’s from Seattle and is really nice, and I’m enjoying our conversation for a few miles until I feel her falling back from the pace. She gives me a smile and tells me to keep going while she slows to get her heart rate down. It’s always tough when someone tells you that, because after doing 25 miles or so, everything in me wants to slow down with her. Regardless, I give her a weak smile, and increase my pace slightly as she slows down to a walk.

Rain starts to fall which is welcoming. It’s been perfect weather all race, overcast and cool with a little sprinkling here and there. The drops come down as hard as they have all morning and it’s starting to feel like the end is in sight. This loop is familiar and I begin to anticipate the climbs and downhills. It all blends together a bit though and really at the end of the day it’s just about keeping forward progress, and thinking in small steps as opposed to trying to accomplish everything at once. Also, being careful about the questions you ask yourself and the train of thoughts you choose to engage with. Because at some point, you’ll ask yourself why you are out here, running this really long distance, scratch that- paying money to run this really long distance. It’s a pretty dangerous question if you’re not careful.

Finally I’m passing my car for the third and final time meaning the finish line is only a few minutes away. I do a little jump as I cross the finish line, smacking the All We Do Is Run sign that’s above my head. There’s some cheering and I look to my right to see my Mom and Dad. I give them a hug, we chat a little bit about the race, and then I’m walking back to my car feeling very tired but accomplished nonetheless.

Postrace

After the race I meet my family at a sandwich shop in Los Olivos where I get a Cobb Salad that I can’t finish. My appetite is a little funny and I’m not super hungry, which apparently is pretty normal after running such a long distance. After food, we go to a winery that is managed by a former student of my Dad’s, which is pretty neat. We take a little stroll around Los Olivos and I suggest ice cream, which tastes amazing. Nothing is hurting too much but my body does feel like it’s in a state of shock. As the afternoon wraps up and I drive back to Santa Maria in my car, I check my heart rate as I drive and it’s between 100-110 which is very high for just sitting in a car. I try to take a nap when I get home, which I’m usually quite good at, but yet again my body seems to be on high alert and won’t let me sleep.

Eventually the evening winds down with our family making pizzas in the new pizza maker we got for Christmas. It seems my body is calibrating more and more towards “normal” and I don’t have trouble sleeping that night. The next day I take it as easy as possible and then begin my long drive back to Bear Valley on Monday. In the car I think a little bit more about the race, and already I’m thinking of my next adventure and the stress from running that distance is already long forgotten. I’ll be doing another 30 miler at Lake Sonoma in 5 weeks or so and then have a staged run on the Lost Coast that I’m really looking forward to in June. Until next time…..