Race Length: 35 Miles
Race Location: Lake Sonoma
Finish time: 8 hours, 30 minutes
Place: 33rd overall/58 participants
Miles 0-16
The start of the race begins as a road run and there are probably 50 other people out here with me, embarking on a 35 mile race around Lake Sonoma. Although I attended Sonoma State for college, I have never been to Lake Sonoma and I’m interested to see the landscape that surrounds it. Will it be densely populated with trees and shade or will it dry brush that’s exposed and monotonous? The elevation profile in the pre-race email said the 35 mile course features 8,000 ft of elevation gain, a number that makes me do a double take. I have never run for this length or on this course, so I try not to hold rigid expectations.
I begin the race running, more like trotting, at an incredibly easy pace. It’s not only early in the race but also in the day for that matter, as the start time for the event was 6 am. When I woke up at 4:45am from my Airbnb bedroom in Cloverdale, I was grumbling to myself about the early start time. But as I’m out here now, the weather is perfectly cool and birds are chirping as the sun rises over the Sonoma Mountains. I’m not complaining now.
Up and down the road we go for two miles or so, until there is signage and volunteers pointing runners off the road and down a trail. Yes, soft trail at last! I go a little beserk on the downhill but after 5 minutes I catch myself and take a quick glance at my heart rate, which currently reads 180. Way too high. My plan for this race is to run at the heart rate of what I estimate to be my “lactic threshold”, the point in which lactic acid begins to rapidly increase in your body. I want to be just below this, in other words running as fast as I can without bonking my body. Based on self-experimentation in training and with the help of Dr. Philip Maffetone’s MAF formula, I plan on keeping my HR to a max of 155 for the majority of the race.
At some point I find a nice rhythm and am humming along, feeling really good and confident with my heart rate formula. But then to my dismay I come across a wide creek that can only be crossed by running through the water. I can hear my mind pouting, this isn’t fair, why isn’t there a log to cross on top of, I don’t want to run with wet socks for the rest of the race. I catch these thoughts and smile as best as I can and cross the creek, leaving with wet socks and shoes. Directly after the creek is an absolutely stocked aid station, with a sign that reads 11.8 miles. There’s very loud cheering as I come in and I smile.
“So what mile am I at,” I ask a volunteer with a deadpan expression on my face. “Like mile 25?” She looks at me with horror in her eyes, not sure how to break the news that I haven’t hit the 12 mile mark.
“Kidding,” I say quickly. “I know it’s mile 11, saw the sign when I came in.”
After my little joke, I grab fistfuls of banana chips and Everything But the Bagel Cashews/Nuts, both from Trader Joes. After spending probably a minute and a half at the aid station eating and drinking from my reusable water cup multiple times, I somewhat remorsefully head back out. I’m warned the next aid station isn’t until the turn around point of the race, which I wrongly assume is the exact halfway mark of the race, mile 17.5. The turnaround is actually mile 16, with some funky changes to the course at the end of the race to give you the full 35 miles. This slight miscalculation comes back to bite me a bit in the end, and I make a mental note for my next race to study the course profile in greater detail.
Back to the race, I feel the strain and duration of the run creeping up on me as I make my way to the turnaround at Mile 16. I’m still in high spirits and feel really good about being conservative with my running so far, paying attention to my heart rate, taking in lots of nutrition (I’m carrying food on top of eating at aid stations), and I have no injuries. Sure my quads are starting to protest a bit and my feet feel a little like hamburger after being wet and having gone 16 miles, but if that’s the worst of it, I feel like I’m doing pretty damn well. I reach the turnaround and after downing some water, I head back out.
Miles 16-35
About 30 minutes after the turnaround, I hear a lady right behind me scream. As I quickly turnaround, I see that she is frantically running her hands through her hair. “Wasps”, she yells and runs towards me. I get moving too, leading right in front of her, and shortly after I ask her if she got bit. “Ya,” she replies, “right on my scalp.” After making sure she’s not allergic and is in okay shape, I venture to ask how she is doing outside of the wasp bite. She looks to be in her late 50’s and, at least before the bite, I noticed she was running strong. Not hunched over, not heel striking, not limping, but really running rather normal. She kind of laughs and replies “I’m doing fine. I should have trained a bit more, but I’ll make it fine.” I probe a little further and find out that she has done over 108 ultra-marathons, and her sister a number of years back won Hardrock 100, an iconic 100 mile race in Colorado.
It’s great talking to her and I eventually find out she just retired as a licensed exercise physiologist who trains and coaches ultra-runners. Upon hearing this, I ask a million questions regarding optimizing performance for ultras, including heart rate training, food intake during races, cold exposure for recovery, training altitude, and I’m sure other topics I have since forgotten. She answers all my questions gracefully, providing factual information without feeling like she is pushing certain opinions over others. Talking to her is the best part of the race and when I start to push ahead a little, probably Mile 22 or so, she tells me she is going to fall back on the pace and she’ll see me at the finish. I get the feeling that I’m going to see her again before the race is over, not with all of her experience and knowledge of ultras. “Sure,” I tell her, and with that I increase my pace slightly and keep pushing forward.
Speaking of conking, I’m getting pretty tired. I’m probably at mile 25 or something? I haven’t even ran a full marathon yet, I start to think, and all of the sudden the remaining 10 miles start to feel like a monstrous task. Easy there, I coach myself. You’ve done great up until this point, you’ve ran smart and in control, taken in lots of food, and you’re not injured. Also, you’re running an ultra-marathon for God Sakes. It’s not suppose to easy. This self-coaching may sound a little silly, but it’s absolutely vital and just what I needed to hear. Following this, I try putting in some headphones to play music for a bit, a strategy I I have never tried during a race, but I don’t like it. I feel more disconnected from the race so after only 20 minutes or so, I take the headphones out and just try to focus on the run.
At mile 31, I pass by a volunteer who tells me I got about a mile of pure uphill to the last aid station, then I’ll turn around for the last 3 miles of the race. He wasn’t lying about it being pure uphill and it’s hellish climbing to the top. The back of my heel burns when I walk from what feels like a blister, and when I run my quads feel destroyed. Even though I feel like I’m in my own physical hell, I pass a few people. I don’t get much joy out of this, it’s more just get to the finish line at whatever cost. I talk to a guy who looks to be my age and he tells me this is his first distance over 20 miles. “Bad idea,” he says with a grimace on his face. “Really bad idea. I came out here to do a practice run about a week ago and I should have known then.”
I get to the aid station and it’s a fully stocked one. I grabbed some boiled potatoes and dip them into salt (told you it was fully stocked!) as well as some chips and lots of cups of water. I decide to forgo refilling my hydration pack for the last 3 miles and just get to the finish line. People are encouraging and a volunteer tells me there’s one little climb from here until the finish, but it’s mostly downhill. While downhill may require less aerobic effort, it’s the physical toll to my musculoskeletal system that is the problem On top of my quads and heel pain, my knees are starting to feel strange too. I attempt to stretch them with a pistol squat motion when I can use a tree for assistance. It’s really all hands on-deck.
I somehow make it to the finish line, alternating from feeling sorry for myself to pretending like I’m feeling strong. It’s a very weird fluctuation but when I’m feeling sorry for myself, I feel my form deteriorate into this hideous heavy shuffle. When I feel good, I feel my torso lengthen and back straighten, running tall and strong. Sadly I can’t convince myself that I’m strong at ALL points in the race, but I do my best to move myself into that headspace.
Mercifully I hear bells ringing meaning the finish line is just around the corner. I put on my best face and running form and push hard to the finish. I cross the line and my first thought is I’m so happy I don’t have to run anymore. My second thought is You did it! And I did. After a minute or so, I grab a burrito and beer and see John walking up to me. He congratulates me, we talk a little bit about the race, and I ask him about his morning of disc golf. After chatting with some other runners, John offers to bring the car around so I don’t have to walk over, and I gratefully take him up on that. It’s time for food, rest, and not being on my feet!
Another race done! Congratulations. It seems like you learn a little bit more with each new adventure. Thanks for posting. Can’t wait to hear about the next one.