Distance: 52 miles (10,100 ft of elevation gain)
Finishing Time: 10 hours, 59 minutes
Place: 67/281 (217 finishers, 64 DNF’s)
Pre-Race
The longest distance I have run up until this point is 36 miles, so the Lake Sonoma 50 mi race is 14 miles further than I have ever run before. I gained entry into the race via lottery five months ago in November, giving myself a solid time period to build fitness and durability. My training began in earnest at the beginning of December, and despite a historically large winter in CA, I was able to put in what I felt to be consistent training over the course of the 4 months. Early on in the winter, I did a fair amount of snowboarding and cross country skiing, and then gradually increased the volume/time spent trail running as the race date got closer.
During this 5 month training block, my smaller weekly mileage were in the high 20’s-low 30’s, and my biggest weeks were 65 miles (twice). Average weeks would have me running right around 37-42 miles of volume. I did a 50k race (30 mi), FOURmidable, two months before the race which went well. Additionally, I got out on the Lake Sonoma race course 4 weeks before race day and did a 27 mile day on it. Coming into Lake Sonoma, I felt like I prepared as well as could be reasoned and had no regrets in my build to race day.
The Course
The course is an “out-and-back”, 25 miles out and 25 miles back with 10,000+ ft of elevation gain. It can be deceivingly hard, as the whole course seems very runnable with little technical trail, no altitude, and no big climbs. However, the course is made up of rennetless rollers with basically zero flat trail, which is how you get to 10k ft of elevation gain. Still, this course may be considered more of a “runner’s ultra”, if you have fast foot speed and can attack the gradual uphill’s, you will do well.
Miles 0-25
My alarm beeps at me at 4:50am but I have been awake for the past 20 minutes. There is stirring in the bed on the other side of the room and my buddy John is showing signs of life. He has graciously agreed to help me out, committing to a full day of crewing out on the course.
The car ride from our Airbnb in Geyserville to the start line of the race is short, only 10 minutes, and when we park I organize a bunch of my items. In the dark, I fill up my water bottles, grab snacks for the first 13 miles, put on my socks and shoes, and do about 10 other things.
As we walk over to the start line, John asks how I’m feeling.
“Good. I feel ready to run.” I’ve been tapering the past week and a half or so, and have been going a little stir crazy with the lack of running. I’ll get more than my share today.
There is much excitement in the air for Lake Sonoma 50 mi race as I toe the start line with 270 other runners. In the final minute before we begin, I feel waves of adrenaline begin to kick in. I allow the enormity of the task to blow my mind for just a few short moments- running 50 miles is really far. I don’t come from a background of running, having played a bunch of team sports in high school and recreationally in college, but never cross country or track. I started distance trail running a year-and-a-half ago, which was proceeded by my backpacking adventures.
For all of these thoughts, I find the beginning two miles of the race pretty anti-climatic, as there is an annoyingly steady uphill on the road in order to get to the single trek trail where the rest of the race will take place. I’m switching between a light jog and a steady hike, checking-in with how my legs feel. My right Achilles feels stiff, not a great sign, and my legs still seem to be warming-up.
We finally get to the trail and I hear a woman in front of me yell “Oh my God. This is awful!” I turn the corner to see what she is talking about and the trail is a muddy mess. A volunteer is right there, and gives us a smile and says “Welcome to Mud Noma!” After neither of us reply, he quickly follows it with “The trail gets less muddy as you go. This initial part is one of the worst.”
I personally don’t mind the trail conditions too much, I actually enjoy when the trails become a bit more technical to a point. Never-ending flat trail can lull me to sleep with it’s never-ending monotony. I try to be light on my toes, as I jump from one side of the trail to the other in order to avoid the big puddles. It’s fun and my legs begin to wake up.
I recognize a fellow runner, Sam, from the training run I did on the course 4 weeks ago and we find ourselves logged behind a line of 7 trail runners in the middle of the narrow single-trek trail. I’m a little impatient to get around this line and get to a quicker pace, but I bide my time and wait until there’s a little opening to off-road around these folks. Sam follows and thanks me for leading the charge. He’s 25 years old, graduated from college two years ago, and is currently living with his uncle in Sonoma as he has been preparing for the race. He has a smooth and powerful stride on the downhills, and I have to push slightly to keep up with him on descents. I find myself running at a slightly quicker pace on the ascents and feel comfortable with my ability to run uphill and hike.
Around mile 17, I began to see top runners on their way “back” from the out-and-back and not too far behind some of the top males, the top female runner emerges and gives me a smile while saying good job. It’s astounding how fast they are moving for holding 50 miles, with a powerful and quick stride. Afterwards, I look at the splits of female winner, Erin Clark, and saw she held an incredible 7:47 minute per mile pace for 52 miles, which doesn’t factor in the 10,000 ft of elevation gain. Smokin fast.
As I get closer to the turnaround at mile 26, I turn a corner and see a runner I’ve come to know well, Rob! Rob is a local runner in the area I live in, and we have shared a couple of training runs over the past few months. We first got introduced to each other at the Arnold Rim Trail race which was 7 months ago, where we ran together for the first 14 or so miles before he dusted me in the second half of the race. It’s funny we are both doing this race and another iteration of the Arnold Rim Trail 5 weeks after Lake Sonoma. We give each other a quick verbal good job without stopping or slowing our pace.
At last I make it to the turnaround at mile 26 which is a buzzing and slightly chaotic gathering of people. I look around and don’t see John, my crew who is supposed to meet me here. I step to the side of all of these people, do a double take, and STILL don’t see John. Hmm- the problem with missing him at this aid station is there would be no way to let him know I was here, given there is no cell reception on the course.
I haven’t been standing for more than a minute, when I see a figure out of the corner of my eye jogging into the aid station holding a chair and a bag. John!
I take a seat in the chair to switch socks and shoes and grab some food. John fills up some water bottles, which is a big help to not have to do these little tasks, and I pull out a Theragun that I have stowed away. A woman’s eye widen as I press the on button and bring it with force down upon my legs.
“Are you okay?” she says over the whirring motor on the Theragun.
“All good,” I shout. “Just trying to stay on top of things.” Which is true- nothing is in pain despite having run a marathon, but my legs have accrued fatigue and I’m attempting to rejuvenate them a bit.
A little sooner than I like, I glance down at my watch and see that I’ve been at the aid station for 7 minutes. Time to keep it moving and make my way back to the start.
Miles 25-52
As I move toward mile 30, the sun and heat begin to become a factor. Even though the high today is only in the low 70’s, the sun has completely exposed itself on us runners and we’re feeling it’s beating rays. Thankfully, there are a number of running streams and creeks which I liberally pause at to splash cold water on my face and soak my hat.
Seemingly out of no where, I catch a wonderful second wind on a ridge and run a few miles in something close to flow. It’s amazing to be 30+ miles in and still feeling good, and I think how much I’ve progress I have made in these past 12 months.
Just as I’m in the midst congratulating myself on my fitness, the energy/flow evaporates and I’m just left with tired legs and the hot sun. So running goes. But I luck out and strike up a conversation with a female runner about my age,. She’s a local runner living in Santa Rosa, CA (30 minutes or so from Lake Sonoma) and we talk about a bunch of things, barely any of them related to running. This conversation carries us into the last big aid station at mile 38.
John is ready for me at this one and I tell him I need calories fast. Running with other people is great but the flow of conversation can make it challenging to eat. Still worth it but I need food here.
I walk over to where all of the food is laid out, and a woman immediately greets me. “Hey runner! What can I get you? We got quesadillas, PB & J, pretzels, banana, ice…. just name it and there is a chance we may have it.”
I grab 3 slices of quesadilla and thank her profusely. I sit back in the chair, tell John to get me out of there in 5 minutes, and eat my quesadillas plus a bunch of snacks that I had packed before. I was told by multiple runners pre-race that this specific last section, miles 38-finish, is always the toughest. You’re ready to be done, it’s the hottest part of the day, and if you went out too hard it’ll be death by rolling hills.
I’m in uncharted territory at this point, as the farthest I have ever ran is 37 miles. As I start back out, I take stock of things and am finding that the downhills don’t exactly feel forgiving on my legs, but they are still runnable. I don’t quite have the gas to do much “attack” on the uphill (i.e., run them at a decent clip), so I power hike any incline that sustains for any period of time.
Miles 38-45 are long and lonely, but my spirts are lifted when I reach the final aid station at mile 45. “Hey runner! You look great! How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good, considering I only have 5 miles left,” is my reply.
With a wince, the volunteer says “Sorry hon. It’s a 10k from here until the finish (6.2 mi).”
That may not sound like a big deal, after all what’s another 1.2 miles in a 50 mile race, but at least in my experience when you’re getting close to being done, you are DONE. As in running what is perceived to be an additional 1.2 miles seems unjust and not what you signed for. It’s completely irrational, another mile and some change will only take 10-15 minutes in what will be an 11 hour day of running, but yet psychologically it can be a bitter pill to swallow.
I let myself think about it for 5 minutes or so and then tell myself to get over it. In fact I start laughing out loud- You’re really going to run 45 miles with a good attitude and then break down because your told you have to run another 1.2 miles to the finish line? It’s totally ridiculous and not worth lingering over.
With that, I continue my steady strategy of running flats and downhills while hiking uphill’s and it’s working well. I pass somewhere between 10-15 people in the last 7 miles of the race, so even though my legs may feel uncomfortable, it seems I’m doing relatively well.
Mercifully, I see a sign that says 1.2 miles to the finish. I glance at my watch and it reads 10 hours, 48 minutes. Going sub 11 hours seems to be just within reach, but my mind flashes to what surely will be a painful finish. Ah, screw it. I kick it up a gear and start bombing the downhill that leads to the music at the finish line, which is within hearing.
I have a ton of adrenaline here at the end, and I convince myself that if I were a REAL runner, I’d be going sub 11 hours at this race. It works, I see John as I head to the tape, and make it by 20 seconds finishing in 10 hours, 59 minutes, and 40 seconds. I do a little cheesing and point to the camera as the announcer calls out my name.
Post-Race
The next few days following the race, I feel surprisingly decent. I take the following four days completely off from running, incorporating some light swimming. It’s not until ten days out from the race, that I started to feel what was probably lingering effect from the big effort. I get 24 hour flu like symptoms the first day I tried to run and lift weights on the same day, as my body seemed to be rebelling against that type of effort. Following that, I battle lingering soreness/pain on the top of my left foot which keeps me out from running for another 4 days.
It’s really two full weeks from Lake Sonoma that I feel like things are pretty much back to full swing. I put in back-to-back 40 mile running weeks, with a fair amount of cross training between some harder swim workouts, weight training, and a couple of cross country skis. Then back to taking it easy for a week, leading up to a local 37 mile race on the Arnold Rim Trail (5 weeks post-Sonoma on 5/13/23).
After that, I won’t be racing again for another 3 months, where in mid-August I’m planning on doing my first 100k (62 mi) at the Headlands 100k in Marin County. I’m looking forward to taking some time away from racing, as I’m finding it requires complete adjustments to training cycles. For a bigger race, I begin to take it easier in the week leading into the race, and then it takes two full weeks after to work out the kinks where I feel like I could start putting in normal volume again (a 3 week total ordeal). As a teacher, I have summers off and this should provide an excellent runway for a long sustained period of training. As coach Jason Pohl said, “trial by miles”. Until next time 🙂
