Silver Moccasin Trail, San Gabriel Mountains

They’ve assigned bib numbers for AC100. My bib is #123.

When I saw that, my heart started pounding. It became much more real than it was when they published the list of runners. I got nervous.

There are a few people I know who seem to doubt that I can do this. I suspect that is because I am not an elite runner. I also suspect it’s because they routinely power past me when doing a 14 mile run. But I’m not really going for fast. I’m going for finish.

And now I’m off to run 20 miles in the hills.

Well, actually, mostly on video. 100K – 63 miles to us non scientist Americans – (a high school girlfriend’s grandparents in Oklahoma threatened to start a militia they were so outraged over President Jimmy Carter’s acquiesence to going commie by introducing the metric system back in the 70s. They hated Carter over the metric system, and would never forgive this betrayal).

This is my mini-epic little movie of the whole affair. Tiffany Guerra won the women’s 100 miler, and Fabrice Hardel won for the men. Last minute entry Tomokazu Ihara from Japan took third. I muddled my way to my first 100K finish with the help of pacer Maggie Beach, and this is what it looked like. Technical singletrack, rocky truck trails, lots of climbing, rain, fog, and even some snow on the second climb up Santiago peak.

Wednesday morning, 8am. A 6 mile weekday trail run through Griffith Park. Single-track & hills, training for AC100

I haven’t posted in a while. This site is about to undergo a major overhaul. I’ve gotten so dissatisfied with this presentation that I haven’t been feeling like adding any more to it. Of course, I’m tinkering far too much with the new design to ever get it finished, plus busy working on a bunch of other stuff, like finishing a gallery of AC100 photos from last year, before this year’s race begins, or working on a couple of videos, not to mention my day job, a relationship, and AC100 training…

It’s a full life for a minimalist. I’m enjoying it.

The last day of 2011 was spent down at Salvation Mountain.

New Years Eve was spent in 29 Palms, and New Years Day Kista and I took a run through Joshua Tree.

At this exact moment, my friend and running partner Maggie Beach is running Brazil 135, which is the Brazilian version of Badwater. She’s 51.5 miles in to the race, and in 7th place overall.

This weekend, Kista and I will be back in the desert running the Calico 50K, the first ultra for each of us, hers in 2008 and mine last year.

Update: It’s pissing down rain here in LA, and apparently the same is going on the desert. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be cold and hopefully not too muddy. Meanwhile, Brazil135 is at 31 hours. 3 runners have finished, including the first place female, Deborah Simas of Brazil. Maggie is in 5th place overall, second place female, with 130 miles behind her and 5 miles still to go. Pretty f*cking amazing.

Back in April I took my first run up Mt. Lukens with Maggie Beach and the gang, soon to become The Delicate Little Flowers trail running club. Here is a little chunk of video from that run.

Maggie Beach & crew, last mile of Western States 100

My friend and running partner Maggie Beach, who, you can see, is no slouch, has been accepted to run Brasil 135, a 135 mile footrace through the mountains of Brazil; inspired by, reputed to be as difficult as, and granting admission for the finishers to Badwater 135, the legendary run through Death Valley to Whitney Portal on the way up Mt. Whitney (in other words from the lowest place in the USA to the entrance to the highest place on the continental USA).

There are only a handful of Americans running Brazil 135, and only one other American woman (out of 12 women in all) entered into the 48 hour race. (There is also a 60 hour race). Like Badwater, crews are especially important for Brazil 135. Brazil is a long, long ways from La Crescenta. Getting a crew there is not cheap. Some friends are hosting a Brazilian dinner fundraiser, and we’re also taking donations. Anyone interested in helping the cause can donate here or using the Paypal button below:

Click below to make a donation in the amount of your choice:


Cold, wet, rocky, and long. We gathered at the starting line, cold, foggy, looking more like refugees than runners. Race director Steve Harvey (who deserves great praise for all of his events) mercifully delayed the start by about 15 minutes so that it would be light when we set out for the initial loop, fun, sometimes technical singletrack, a 10 mile out-and-back to Chiquita Falls for the 100K runners, and a 20 mile out-and-back through Chiquita to Candy Store for the 100 mile runners. I found myself stuck behind a pair of runners going slower than I would’ve liked, and resisted the urge to pass, figuring this would help me not bust out too fast so that I might have something left for the end, or at least for the middle.

We came back through Blue Jay. My crew/pacer Maggie told me she’d found a ride out to Silverado Canyon, which was great news. (At one point, she was considering catching a ride to another station and then running to Silverado – about 15 miles). I put on my Nathan vest and headed out. For the first couple of miles up to Trabuco Trail Head I ran with a guy in the navy who’d just returned to the States from Japan. He’d driven up that morning without an entry, hoping that there’d be enough no-shows for him to get in.

George Velasco was working Trabuco Trail head aid station along with Keira Henninger. He offered advice and instruction for the stretch down through Holy Jim Canyon. Rough, rocky, and slick with mud, he said, and it was, but it was also a beautiful stretch of trail and probably the last bit of terrain I really enjoyed running.

Somewhere along this stretch, I encountered a runner from Montana whose knee was bothering her. I could see a scar from past surgery. She was heading back up to the Trabuco Trail Head aid station to drop. We talked for a few minutes on the trail, and I convinced her to keep going. People have talked me out of dropping in a few races, and it was time for me to repay the favor. We ran gently and talked for about 5 miles, and then she pulled ahead coming into Holy Jim Canyon aid station. I caught up with her briefly a few miles later on the long climb up to Santiago, but when she pulled ahead again it was for keeps. I hope she finished strong and did well.

From Holy Jim Canyon came a long, steep climb, some of it singletrack with plenty of switchbacks, and some of it rocky fireroad, to the Bear Springs aid station (23.5 mile mark) to the top of Santiago Peak. Donn Ozaki was working at the Bear Springs. It was there that I began fueling myself with chicken noodle soup. We talked briefly about Kista’s Javelina Jundred last weekend, and then I headed out and still up, to the top of Santiago Peak, which was shrouded in fog, cold and wet.

From Santiago Peak it was downhill to Maple Springs aid station, and the drop bags. As I was leaving Maple Springs, the first 100 mile runner came in, at 50 miles to my 30. He spent next to no time at the aid station and passed me just a few minutes later, at the beginning of a 7 mile long downhill to Silverado Canyon. About 20 minutes later, Fabrice Hardel passed me, second place in the 100 miles. Fabrice would go on to win Chimera 100m with a time well under 19 hours, destroying the old course record.

By Maple Springs it seems the 100K had sorted itself out. With the exception of Ben Gaetos about 10 miles further, I did not see another 100K runner the rest of the race.

I was cheered by name as I came in to Silverado. My running partner and pacer Maggie Beach had told them all about me, although there isn’t really much to tell. Pink was the color of the day down at Silverado. Maggie was worried I was going to be in a bad mood having run a few miles of pavement, and normally that would be true, but the rocky fireroads were so rough on my feet that the pavement was a blessing. Silverado Canyon is beautiful. Rangers drove by and cheered me on.

The aid stations and volunteers deserve special mention here. They were extraordinary, and on a cold, wet, and long day like this, the aid stations were less about seeing us on to the next stop and more about providing a nice, warm, friendly sanctuary, especially for middle-of-the-pack runners like me. It was great seeing people I know, like George Velasco, Donn Ozaki, and race director Keira Henninger (also a great runner), but all the volunteers at all the aid stations were wonderful and supportive and there is no way I could’ve pulled this off without them. I cannot imagine getting through the cold, dark, wet, foggy night without my pacer and without the folks at the aid stations. I ran Chimera fueled almost exclusively by chicken noodle soup, and it worked.

Who knew a cheap piece of plastic could be such a life saver? Kista had given me a couple of basically disposable plastic rain ponchos. One of the criticisms runners have against these ponchos is that they do not breathe, basically creating a little sauna inside. What we discovered was that on a cold, windy day, this sauna is a very welcome thing.

From Silverado Canyon to Bedford Peak was a fairly steep singletrack uphill. Maggie did recon earlier in the day, and said it was nothing I hadn’t encountered many times before. This was true, except that my legs had about 40 miles and 12,000 feet on climbing on them, so it was a bit of a challenge. We came out of Bedford Peak aid station and realized we were freezing. The ponchos saved us, keeping the warmth in and the wind out. Maggie had some chemical handwarmers we each shoved inside our gloves. Whoever invented those things is my new hero. (I hope he or she wasn’t a nazi or anything). Misting rain, cold winds, even a little bit of snow…

We walked/ran for about 5 miles with Ben Gaetos between Bedford Peak and Maple Springs. Aside from Ben, I had not seen (and would not see) another 100K runner on the road after the first stop at Maple Springs.

I talked briefly to a 100 mile runner at Maple Springs. He looked spent. I realized that he was coming through for the first time, just at the midway point in his race. One of the volunteers said he’d just made the cut-off.

As we continued on to Upper Holy Jim – a return trip to the top of Santiago Peak – we crossed paths with a number of 100 mile runners who had yet to make it to the midway point. There was probably 3 or 4 batches of them, and I imagine all were pulled from the race at Maple Springs. I felt bad for them, but I was also a tiny bit envious. It was cold, windy, and wet. There was snow, and thick fog. My feet were starting to hurt and it occurred to me that worse things could happen than being pulled from the race, especially for some of the folks in the last batch of 100 mile runners who were still in singlets while we were freezing with our hats and gloves and jackets and ponchos.

Somewhere along the line we lost Ben. We pulled ahead of him, but at some point later on he must’ve passed us at an aid station because he was already at Blue Jay when we finished. The only runner we saw was 100 mile third place finisher Tomokazu Ihara, who passed us twice, once shortly after dark and the second time near the finish.

My feet we aching. The rocks did me in. The arch on my left foot was increasingly tender. At first I merely noted it, as I’d never had a pain there before; it did not seem like it would have much impact on the run. By the 54 mile mark it was getting serious, and by Horsethief just walking was an issue and I was not sure I’d be able to finish.

I was also getting tired of going up hill. It seemed to me that physics dictated that eventually we would be done going up and have to come back down again. Apparently there’s a different kind of physics at work in the middle of the night in the Saddleback Mountains. Optimistic folks at aid stations kept saying “It’s just rolling hills from here on out”. What I discovered is rolling means sharply up for 1 -2 miles, followed by gently up, followed by a medium up, followed by more steep up, and then 20 yards of flat before it goes up again.

My foot got a painful massage at Horsethief. We took the insole out of my left shoe because the arch support was not helping now that everything in the arch was swollen and tender. This was enough to get me running again.

I hooted with delight when we hit the pavement, and one mile to go to the finish. I noticed that the pavement seemed rougher than I remembered but attributed that to tender feet and didn’t follow the thought through. If I had, I’d've realized that we were not on the same road I’d gone out on, and I might have noticed the turn-off onto singletrack. Instead, we got lost in the last mile, took the road until it ended, and then doubled back until we found the marked turn, and then the finish.

I have no idea what my time was, or where I placed. Somewhere in the middle, I suspect. The results aren’t yet posted. I think a number of people dropped. It was slow and painful, and it was also possibly the most gratifying race I’ve done. Just to finish is good enough.

Kista Cook, AC100, Inspiration Pt., 6:22am

I’m wishing her (and all others running JJ100) the best. Anyone who wants to follow the race can do here: https://s3.amazonaws.com/Aravaipa/Ultracast.htm.

Mt. Lukens summit

46 miles. 11,650′ of climbing. 14 hours. This is one of those runs that ends up being really demoralizing.

The original plan was a good strong charge up Mt. Lukens, repeat 2 more times. As we started, I just didn’t have it in me. The first loop – 14.25 miles, 7.12 and 3,641 feet of climbing up, and then the same back down – was painful. Recent speedwork had left my bad foot swollen and tender, and the metatarsalgia – which is the fancy word for fucked-up-in-a-general-way toe – was bad. I declared myself officially injured at the summit. The climb back down was rough.

I don’t particularly like feeling like a pussy, and I was beating myself up pretty badly for this. I also don’t like having witnesses to my being a pussy, and as we reached the bottom I’d concluded that I was going to need to seriously scale back my Chimera crew. There’s no rationality behind it – I sure none of my friends would be anything but supportive – but I couldn’t bear the thought of having them witness my failure. If I’m going to have to live up to that “you’ll never amount to anything” / “you’ll never be half the man your father was” stuff, I’d rather do it out of sight.

Pier was waiting at the bottom with sandwiches, which was wonderful of her, since she was unable to run. Luis was only up for one lap and he and Pier left. Maggie and I began the second lap.

The second lap went better than the first. I’d taken a couple of advil, and my foot received a needed massage at the pillbox, halfway up. It was not a fast climb, but much stronger than the first.

Darkness hit once we reached the pillbox on the third climb. There were birds – it looked like the same one, actually, a baby owl from what we could tell, who just kept flying awkwardly up the hill every time we passed. We passed him at least 6 times. About 2/3 of the way up, we encountered a guy coming down – Drew, he said – who had finished ac100 this year for the first time. Maggie thought she recognized his voice. We stopped and chatted for a bit. He said the only people he ever meets up on the trails at night are ac100 runners. It makes sense. It’s also odd that in a race with only 71 finishers this year we should keep running in them in a city/urban mass that has some 6 million folks.

The climb down was slow. It was dark, the trail is rocky and rutted in spots, and trying to charge down it was only going to lead to bad spills. Both of us have been getting a bit too close to the ground this summer.

The pillbox is the landmark for the turnoff, which is a hard right, about 4 miles down the trail. Because it’s a hard right, it’s easy to run right past the turn, and with the pillbox off the trail and out of flashlight range, missing the turn off is exactly what we did.

The trail narrowed and became steeper than either of us remembered. We were starting to wonder when we would hit the pillbox. Surely it must be just around the bend. We came on a mailbox and a chained-off bit of fire road. We both noted that we’d never seen the mailbox before. We ran a little further. It’s hard to see in the dark, even with flashlights. Landmarks like hills are only the vaguest of silhouettes against a night sky. We concluded we were lost.

We turned around and headed back up the mountain. The good news was that in this direction, the turnoff would present itself as a fork in the trail, so it would be much harder to miss than on the way down. The bad news was “where the f*ck is it?” The other good news was that if it didn’t turn up soon we could just turn around and head back down the trail, which looked as though it would take us to the 2, just above the city, and from there we could maybe call Maggie’s husband Bob. The bad news is Bob doesn’t get cell reception in the house, and might not receive the call. The good news is we spotted the fork, and then could just barely make out the pillbox with our flashlights.

We headed back down the right trail, relieved. There was a nice, almost hot breeze that had been blowing – maybe a Santa Ana was coming in – which kept the temperatures comfortable. It was also getting near 10pm, and we’d been out on the trails and on our feet for 14 hours.

I pretty much blamed myself for this debacle. I’d been slow and sore and it was taking a long f*cking time – much too long. Maggie was actually in a bad enough mood by this time to agree. We discussed Chimera. The discussion was basically should I drop altogether or could I deal with a DNF? And then we remembered the 100K option. The conclusion was to drop down to the 100K, and that would also solve the crew problem – I would not need much of a crew for a 100K. A 100K should be more than doable – I’ve run that distance before, albeit not on as hard a course as Chimera. We’ll find another 100 miler for me to do before ac100 in July.

Some runs just don’t go well, but when that drags on for 46 miles, it’s just f*cked up. The next morning, my legs are sore, and I am still disappointed in myself for a really miserable run.

Mt. Lukens Road, foggy morning, April 2011