White River 50 Mile Endurance Run 2018

Faking a smile at Sun Top. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

I somehow faked a smile for Glenn’s photo of me summiting the final climb of the race: Sun Top. That is, right after my true self was revealed to the camera in a less flattering shot.

A few hundred feet later, I saw the white tent that indicated I had reached the Sun Top aid station. I stumbled ahead and located a green Rubbermaid container with nothing piled on top of it and quickly claimed it as my own. Thankfully, it didn’t give way when I sat down on it, nor did anyone chase me off it. My head sank low. For the second time in the race, I was wrecked; there was nothing left.

What can I get you?

Quickly, an aid station volunteer descended upon me, asking me “what can I get you?” as she avoided telling me I looked like death (but I am pretty sure she thought it). “I don’t know,” I quipped. Really, all I wanted at that moment was to stop moving for a few minutes and gather myself up.

After a few minutes, I raised my head and asked for water and watermelon. She offered to fill my hat with ice. I agreed to it. “Can I get you your drop bag?” Yes, I answered, not moving an inch off my perch. “It’s number 151 and it’s big and black.” Within seconds it appeared, but all I wanted out of it was the bottle of Coke. The volunteer told me that she had fresh Coke but I insisted on mine; I didn’t want to take someone else’s chance to energize. “Do you want a cup?” Sure. I opened the bottle and poured some in the cup. It was warm. “How about some ice?” “That would be great.” I sucked that Coke down and slowly I came back to life. At the previous aid station at Fawn Ridge, I could no longer stand my warmed over Tailwind nutrition sports drink so I had them replace it with water and ice but that too had warmed and wasn’t exactly something to look forward to.

I have no love for Coke and Pepsi and all these companies stand for, which is basically the need to make billions while sending millions — maybe billions — to an early grave by pushing gallon after gallon of diabetes and heart disease to the masses. But during a 50-mile race, I have to admit that Coke (or any caffeinated soda for that matter), is the magic elixir I so desperately needed.

Another volunteer made his way over (I wish I remembered their names) and asked me how he could help me. What a wonderful thing that these volunteers were so helpful when I was at my lowest. Just as if they were a sales rep at Nordstroms and I was one of their top customers with a fist full of credit cards ready to purchase thousands of dollars of clothes. But there was really nothing in it to motivate this awesome crew of volunteers other than the good feeling in their hearts, knowing they helped another runner achieve their goal. (I hope to pay that back a little volunteering again at Cascade Crest 100 in a couple of weeks.) Speaking of Nordstroms, I mentioned that I wanted to change my shoes, and suddenly the shoe salesman in my volunteer came to life. I muttered something about being able to do it myself, but before I knew it my Topo Terradventures  had been untied and removed, and my Salomon Sense Rides were securely on my feet. Talk about service! I next mentioned that I wanted to put my poles in my bag since I had little use for them on the remaining 13 miles. I collapsed them and he carefully placed them into my drop bag with my dusty pair of Topos.

After a few more pieces of watermelon and some fresh water added to my Nathan bladder, I rose to my feet and headed out, shouting a big thank you to those tireless volunteers, as I started to move again. It was 6.5 miles straight down to the next aid station along a dusty gravelly Sun Top road.

A long way to run

50 miles is a long way to run. I realize that many others have run much further, but prior to July 28th, I had not. I have been wanting to move up to 50 miles since I did my first 50K back in 2015 at Chuckanut. Fast forward 3 years: I have now completed 5 x 50K’s and have been able to get past my reoccurring ankle injury to finally make it to the starting line of the White River 50 Mile Endurance Run.

The race director, Scott McCoubrey, was yelling something around 5:45 AM. I couldn’t hear anything but a few bits here and there. Something like “it was going to be hot” and “hydrate a lot” plus he was detailing every turn of the race. But I had already run the second half of the course in training, and since I was going to be in the middle (back) of the pack, I wasn’t too worried about getting lost. Not to mention, that I was carrying a map of the course and, as it turned out, the course was well marked.

The start. Photo by Suzanna Litwin.

We lined up around 5:50. I walked to the back. At 6:03, the race started. There was no gun or bell. At least I don’t think there was; it was hard to hear since Scott was not using a megaphone. I believe it was just Scott counting down to zero and we were off. Anyway, I started my watch when I detected runners in the front of the pack moving. And we were off.

The days leading up to the race were quite hot for the Seattle area, topping 90 degrees fahrenheit for days. I was worried about the heat and its effect on us runners but it was cool enough at the start. However, within the first half hour, I noticed that my shirt and shorts were soaked in sweat. So much for the cool weather.

We started on a gravel road. Someone behind me called my name and I turned around to see Alison Gillespie, my friend and physical therapist. We chatted a bit before moving into single file as we made a u-turn onto the single-track Skookum Flats trail and headed across the river and highway 410 towards the first aid station at Camp Sheppard.

As we passed the aid station, Alison mentioned that her watch was 1.5 miles behind the purported distance of the aid station: 3.9 miles. I looked at my wrist, and replied “mine too” as we started to slowly climb for the next 8 miles to Ranger Creek. My watch continued to be off the remainder of the race between 0.6 and 1.5 miles. In reality, the only distances that mattered were the posted course distances, not what my watch told me. That said, it was useful to have a rough idea where one was on the course and how long it was to the next aid station.

Blackened forest

Blackened trees between Ranger Creek and Corral Pass.

The trail up to Ranger Creek was a whole-lot-of-up, single-track, lots of switch backs, sort of trail. At one point, I passed an old friend, Daisy Clark who was shepherding a group up the trail. At mile 12, I arrived at the aid station at Ranger Creek. Ten-time Seattle Marathon winner and Mount Rainier FKT record holder, Uli Steidl, was working the aid station. I stopped to adjust my socks.

Alison came in a few minutes after me, but headed out before I left. I leap frogged her a few minutes later and settled in with a group of runners for the bulk of the run to Corral Pass.

The forest service had only opened up this the portion of the trail a few weeks prior to the race. Now I knew why. The landscape was heavily blackened by last year’s fires. The trail was very dark in places, with lots of soot mixed in with the dirt.  This made the footing a little tricky in places, even a little dangerous in places along some steep fall offs.

Besides the fire damage, I was surprised at the amount of ups and downs on the way to the next aid station. For some reason, I thought it would be flatter.

Heating up

A lot of the trail during this stretch of the race was exposed and it was getting hot.

Fire-ravaged forest with Mt Rainier in the background.

The trail between Ranger Creek and Corral Pass was the sole out-and-back section of the course. This was a good chance to see the leaders of the men’s and women’s races, including a few runners that I recognized, which included locals Keith Laverty, who placed 3rd in the men’s race, and Western States Superstar, Katlyn Gerbin, who also ended up finishing 2nd at White River.

At mile 17, we reached the Corral Pass aid station. I grabbed my first drop bag and attempted to eat a sweet potato burrito I had packed but ended up throwing most of it out. My stomach just didn’t feel like it. I switched to PB&J, which seemed to go down better and added some Tailwind sports drink to my hydration bladder.

The music at the aid station was some sort of country blues. I have to say it was quite depressing which I guess was a good thing, because I soon hurried out of the station after re-applying some sunscreen.

The aid station, at 5670 feet, was supposed to be the highest point of the race, but I soon discovered that would not be the case, since the way out of the aid station was up a steep hill that must have been another 50-100 feet higher before dropping back down to meet the trail we had cruised into the aid station on. After another mile or so of sometimes steep uphills, the bulk of the return to Ranger Creek was flat or down.

I adjusted my socks again at Ranger Creek, mile 22, paused for a few seconds, and then headed down the 5 miles of switch backs towards Buck Creek. One runner must have been having a hard time on the downs because at every switch back he moaned. I quickened my pace to get him out of earshot. The moaning soon faded into the distance. On the way down, I came across Jaclyn whom I had met on the White River training run several weeks ago. She was having some IT band problems and was trying to stretch it out on the side of the trail. That brought back memories of my IT band issues; fortunately, my IT band hasn’t bothered me for a while. I was loving the down hill, even though the footing was sketchy in places due to the fire damage.

Buck Creek festival

At mile 27, I reached the Buck Creek aid station, which was right next to the start/finish, and had an almost festival-like atmosphere, with lots of volunteers, runners, and spectators talking, yelling, sitting, standing, and moving about.

A good (and fast) ultrarunner friend, Sean Micheal, was standing there looking pretty nonchalant. Mind you, Sean should have been about an hour or two ahead of me, crushing the second half of the course. I quickly realized that he had dropped due to his nagging knee injury. It’s kind of funny, but here I was 27 miles into a grueling race, with the worst still to come, and I was chatting up Sean, letting him know that he made a wise decision to drop.

Another ultrarunner friend Christie, who was actively spectating at White River, was asking what she could get me. “How about some ice in your hat?” I said yes, but after about two seconds, I could not tolerate the ice directly on my head, especially since I have no hair up there to buffer the cold. I lingered a few more minutes, eating a few items at the aid station and then decided I better get going.

A few steps later, another familiar but encouraging face was calling my name but, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t place the face. She was imploring me to look up at the mountain I was about to climb. It wasn’t until a day or two later, after a Facebook comment, that I realized it was Holly, who I had run with the summer of 2017, the week before she was about to run White River. After a quick look up, I followed the trail out of the aid station. The trail meandered a bit alongside campsites and parking lots. For some reason, I stopped to stow my poles, and then passed a few runners on the flats.

The second half

The trail starting climbing 1700 feet over about 4 miles of switchbacks and I pulled my poles out only minutes after stowing them. I had run this half of the race three weeks earlier on “fresh legs”, thinking at the time that it wasn’t too bad. This time, however, the experience was quite different after 28 or so miles under my belt. In fact, this was some of the darkest moments in the race for me, even as the sun was beating down pretty hard. The real race had finally begun. A coupe of runners passed me. The course was alternately shaded and exposed. The temperature was in the high 80s or low 90s. I was struggling.

Making my way up to Fawn Ridge (4280 feet elevation). Photo by Suzanna Litwin.

We continued to climb. More runners passed. Finally, I reached the Fawn Ridge aid station. A worker called out “151” and suddenly, several people yelled out “Paul”, including my hard-working aid station volunteer and wife, Suzanna.

“What can I get you?” I quickly made a bee line for a camp chair in the shade. (In fact, it was one of the camp chairs I had loaded into our car the day before, when we left our house heading for White River.) I was wrecked. Suzanna fetched some cold water. There were 4 or 5 camp chairs there and they were all filled by tired runners. I asked Suzanna to dump out my Tailwind — I could no longer tolerate the sports drink (probably because it was hot and I had been drinking it for 8 hours now). Suzanna refilled my bladder with cold water.

Suzanna also fetched a chilled bottle of Coke from my drop bag and dunked my hat in cold water. My stomach had just rejected one type of sugar water but here I was craving and enjoying a much more pedestrian sugared beverage. And it helped to revive me. I drank all 16 ounces, and then it was time to go so I headed up and and onward towards Sun Top, another 5 miles away and about 750 feet higher in elevation.

While I “wasted” about 15-20 minutes at Fawn Ridge, I left a new man. And for the next hour or so, I felt much better. I soon came up upon Daisy (who must have snuck by at the aid station while I was sitting) and her entourage as we climbed our way up. It was good to settle in with a pack and listen and occasionally converse. Daisy mentioned that a nice downhill section was coming soon. After about 3 miles of up, we came upon the cushioned downhill section. I scrambled ahead of the group and took off. Another runner, Mary, went with me. I started to slow a bit and Mary passed me. After a mile of the downhill, we passed a gravel road and begun the final climb to Sun Top. By this point, the Coke had worn off, and I was again struggling as I walked that final mile to the aid station.

Finally, I came upon Glenn Tackiyama, who was taking photos of the runners. Sun Top was just around the corner.

Coming up to Sun Top in Beast Mode. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

As I left the aid station at mile 37, I began a slow walk down the forest road, which for the first few hundred feet was quite rough with lots of rocks and pot holes. Still, it was downhill, I was feeling better since the aid station, and after a little hazy math and dispensing with my idea of finishing in around 12 hours, I came up with a new, though unlikely goal: finish under 13 hours.

After walking about 50 feet, I started to jog around the giant rocks and potholes. Soon the road made a u-turn and the rocks were gone. I settled into a comfortable pace, put some earbuds in, cranked up some Silversun Pickups, and started passing the slower runners. I made a point of saying hi or “nice work” as I passed each one. Most of the runners looked familiar since we had played leap frog for the past 10+ hours. I was feeling good; my pace quickened. My watch called out some fast splits: 9:18, 8:08, 8:09, and 7:48. I was cruising and when no one was around singing along to the music and practicing diaphragmatic breathing. I must have passed a dozen people down Sun Top road.

Not so Flats

The road flattened out at the bottom and after another half mile the Skookum Flats aid station appeared at mile 43.5. I grabbed a bit of watermelon and a few ounces of Coke and was off: no time for dawdling. There was 6 and 1/2 miles to go and I was determined to run as much of “the flats” as I could. It’s worth mentioning that the Skookum Flats trail is pretty technical. Lots and lots of roots, oh and it isn’t exactly flat. But the name Skookum Rooty Rolling Hills Trail didn’t make the cut when naming the trail.

Rounding the last turn. Photo by Suzanna Litwin.

I had read and heard many comments from prior runners complaining bitterly about “the flats” which I had run on “fresh legs” three weeks previously. Fortunately, I more or less knew what to expect. I was also determined to finish the race strong and had a deep desire to break 13 hours so I dug down deep and started running. Within the first 20 feet out of the aid station, I passed two runners who were walking. Over the next 6 1/2 miles I would pass another 20 or so runners, almost all walking that last 6 and 1/2 miles. I mean after 45 or so miles, who wouldn’t want to walk?

How much of Skookum Flats did I run? I probably ran 2/3 of it, walking the up hills and occasionally a few flat portions. But every time I caught myself walking an easy portion, I told myself to pull it together and get running. Running would make the pain go away sooner. Running would help me achieve my goal of breaking 13 hours.

With a couple miles left, I turned off the music and put my earphones away. I wanted to fully experience the end of the race. Then in the distance, I could see the light break where there was a road. I climbed the trail to the road and turned to the right. Just then, two runners I had recently passed shot up ahead of me with one final burst of life. I let them go. Too young and with too much energy left in their tanks, I thought.

The final stretch to the finish. Photo by Suzanna Litwin.

As I saw the finish line in the distance there was lots of much appreciated cheering. I made final push to try and catch the closer of the two runners but she was going too fast for me.

As I rounded the last corner of the race, I could see Suzanna. Twenty yards later I was over the finish line. A volunteer handed me my White River 50 Mile Endurance Run souvenir glass filled with some water, mentioning that I could swap it for some beer after I finished drinking the water.

I slumped into a chair as Suzanna doted over me. To say I was exhausted was an incredible understatement; every muscle in my body seemed to hurt. At the same time, what an incredible feeling: I had just completed my first 50 mile race, and I made it under 13 hours.






Categories: Running, Sports, ultrarunning, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Mount St Helens Training Run

Me and a few running friends decided to run around Mt St Helens as a training run for White River on Saturday, June 30, 2018. Here are a few photos from our 33 mile counter-clockwise circumnavigation on the Loowit Trail around Helens. My group took 12 and a half hours. (Others finished faster.)

Our first view of the mountain/volcano


Crossing our first boulder field


The crew stopping at the first junction: Brook, Sean, Eileen, Elizabeth, Danny, and Nicola. What a cool looking crew, I might add!


Bear grass


Time to fill our water bottles and grab some food


Running along one of many many ridges


Me and Sean in front of Loowit falls


Nicola and I on the Plains of Abraham


Climbing out of the plains. The soil was very unstable


Me and my shadow


Sean and Brook


Brook, Sean, and I in front of the crater


The crater


Spirit Lake


Climbing up a rope


Lots of ups and downs (Spirit Lake in the background)


Checking out the stream crossing


There were so many different microclimates on our route


More boulders



Towards the end the boulders seemed to go on forever


A glacier

It was beautiful!



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Mendocino Coast 50K

After a good night’s sleep, I awoke feeling okay. I ate my bagel with peanut butter, took a hot bath, and got dressed. We then headed off to the start which was less than 5 minutes by car. The weather was a little cool but it was expected to warm up a bit so I ran in shorts and a long-sleeve tech t-shirt. The race started at 7:30 and we were off.

Photo of start/finishMendocino Coast 50K Course Map

The fact that I started pain-free was a small miracle of itself. Three days before the race, I awoke to a nasty ache in the lower left side of my back. Great, I thought: we have to drive about 830 miles over the next two days and I have a bad back. Suffice it to say, Wednesday was quite painful in the car, even though I only drove for an hour or two. (Thank you, Suzanna, for doing the bulk of the driving.) Nothing made the pain go away and quite almost everything I did made it feel worse.

We got to the hotel in Ashland in the late afternoon and I finally found something that took the pain away: a hot bath. Unfortunately, the bath had to end and the bed was a bit too soft. I tossed and turned most of the night. In the morning, after another hot bath, and a quick breakfast and coffee, we took off again. The back was a better for sure but still pretty painful. Again, Suzanna did the bulk of driving, but I was able to contribute more since my back was feeling better.

Once we got to our destination and checked into our B&B, I again took a hot bath and experienced relief while I worried what was in store for me on Saturday. Thursday night’s sleep was definitely better and I awoke with a more positive outlook on Friday.

That morning, I emailed my coach, David Roche, and David suggested that I not race if I was in pain. I agreed and told him I would check in again after a 3-mile shakeout run. Packet pickup was only about a mile away from our B&B at the Stanford Inn, so I suited up and headed out the door uncertain how it would feel. While not quite perfect, I held up pretty well. (Great swag, by the way.) The run back along the beach was fun and I was starting to think that I might make it to the starting line after all.

Photo of the race swag

Race swag, including a tech shirt, mug, hat, racing cup, string bag, and a headlamp. Oh, and a very cool race number too!

Friday night we had a fabulous pre-race dinner at the Stanford Inn’s Ravens restaurant and I did my usual pre-race ritual (lots of gathering way too much gear and food and assembling it before ditching half of it) and then I took another hot bath.

Big River Trail

Sometimes things just work their way out. And man was I pleased Saturday morning to make it to the starting line with only the slightest niggle of back pain. For the first 10 miles we headed due east on the very flat and soft Big River Trail, which winded alongside the, you guessed it, Big River. The plan was to go out nice and easy and I executed that pretty well. After about a mile, I met another runner, Nicolette, who seemed to be running at the same pace and we struck up a conversation for a number of miles. Anytime you can run with someone else, even if it’s for a few miles, is a bonus in an ultra because, for me anyway, unless I am struggling to keep up with the other runner, it helps you to relax and take your mind off the long trail ahead. And that’s exactly what happened, the miles ticked by effortlessly as we chatted about our jobs, loved ones, and recent races.

A little after mile 10, and a brief hug from Suzanna at aid station 2 (who I was pleasantly surprised to see), we turned away from the river onto the Big Tree Trail, and climbed we did for the next two miles. About half way up this climb, I looked back and Nicolette had dropped back behind another group and I never saw her again. I continued up the climb, walking the steeper parts, and made it to the top at about mile 12. The wooded trail leveled off for about a half mile before it dropped most of the elevation we had just climbed. I ran the downhill moderately fast, passing a number of other runners who were more timid on their approach.

The Stream

At mile 14 we bottomed out and came upon a stream. Not thinking much about it — I guess I assumed we would soon come to a bridge upon which we would cross the stream — I suddenly saw a pair of runners ahead wading across. So after a quick survey of my options (there was only one), I waded on in. And after a few strides I reached the other side with some very wet shoes and socks.

The stream at mile 14

The stream at mile 14

At this point, I realized that my shoes were too loose on my feet, which exacerbated the sloshy feeling, but I decided I would wait until the next aid station at the top of the next hill before adjusting things. At the top the hill, I reached the aid station just shy of mile 17. I sat down in a chair, took off my shoes, removed the debris from them, secured the laces, and I put them back on. As I looked up from the chair, I realized that my drop bag was right in front of me. Nice coincidence. I grabbed the bottle of premixed Tailwinds, and emptied it into my hydration bladder, neglecting to bleed the air out (which I regretted for the remaining miles as I kept thinking the noise from the bladder was someone right behind me). I grabbed a few food items from my drop bag (most which I never ate), adjusted my pack, drank some aid station water and ate some aid station chips, and headed back out.

After another relatively flat mile, I came to a “rogue” aid station run by Healdsburg Running Company where the guy manning it, told me to take a hard left (which was good because the aid station was blocking the straight-ahead option), and head down for 5 miles. The next five miles was indeed all down, and during that stretch I never saw another soul. During one long portion of the down that went for miles, there were drainage dips in the trail every 50 feet or so, sometimes filled with rocks, which made the running difficult since there would be a steep down followed quickly by a steep up, which unfortunately aggravated an old abdominal strain I had on my left side.

Course elevation/gain profile

Course elevation/gain profile

I bottomed out at mile 23, had to jump across a few small streams and then head up the steepest of the three climbs, ascending about 600 feet over about a mile. While I did encounter a volunteer at the bottom, making sure I was headed the right way, still no other runners. At the top, just before aid station 4, I was happy to encounter a volunteer who was yelling “runner coming; number 100.” Even better, Suzanna was at the aid station asking me what I needed. I just grabbed some water, and we started walking while I finished my cup. I said goodbye with a kiss and headed off down the gravel path a couple of hundred feet before I turned right onto the trail and started down a two-mile descent.

Russian Gulch Waterfall

Russian Gulch Waterfall

The next stretch of trail was part of the Pacific Coast Trail. As I descended, I finally encountered and passed a few runners as the trail became the Waterfall Trail, which passed by the Russian Gulch waterfall.

As I got lower, I also encountered numerous hikers. The miles continued to tick off: mile 26, 27, 28. This race was coming together and I was in the moment. The dirt trail morphed into an asphalt and dirt trail and soon I was at the beginning of a parking lot, where I again encountered my sweet wife who informed me that the aid station was just ahead at the end of the parking lot. There was no stopping now, as I continued to cruise along at a good clip.

4.4 Miles to Go?!

Mile 29 ticked off on my watch as I arrived at the last aid station. Only 2 miles to go! Woo-hoo!

But wait, the sign hanging from the aid station table boldly stated 4.4 miles to the finish. Incredulous, I asked the aid station volunteer if that was correct – my watch said I only had 2 miles to go. He confirmed the bad news and intimated that others had complained too and that he suspected that the course was a couple of miles long.

I have to admit that the realization that I had an additional 4+ miles, was like a gut punch and really broke my spirit. Still, I gathered myself up and forged ahead. After the aid station, I had to scramble up a brief but steep and muddy incline before heading under the road onto the coastal trail. Pretty soon, some spectacular views of the coast started to open up.Spectacular views of the Mendocino coast

The miles started to crawl along and I finally came to the infamous rope-assisted descent. Volunteers were there to guide me, as I repelled down some slick rocks for about 40 feet. Around a turn and then I repelled down another section of rope. That was kind of fun but at the bottom, I had to scamper up another steep incline and head up alongside Highway 1. Amazingly, Suzanna was there yet again, having just pulled over to see if she could spot me one more time before the finish. For the second time, Suzanna offered to grab my hydration pack so I wouldn’t have to haul if for the last couple of miles. This time I said yes, and suddenly I was a little lighter and, incidentally, now without a phone.

In a little bit, I turned off Highway 1 onto Lansing Street as we headed into Mendocino and up a slight incline. I walked a stretch on Lansing Street. After another half mile, or perhaps a bit more, I turned into Mendocino Headlands State Park as a runner caught up to me. The path was narrow, no more than 1.5 to 2 feet wide in many places, and the wind picked up. After a couple of minutes, I let the runner pass me and then promptly started to walk as I silently whined to myself about the never-ending race and the wind whined by my ears.

We had walked in this same park on Friday, so I more or less knew what to expect here and for the remainder of the race, but even with that information, the trail through the park seemed to go on forever. At this point I did a lot of walking, intermixed with a little running. Another couple of runners passed me, and I tried to console myself with the fabulous views but they were mostly wasted on me. After what seemed a short eternity, we turned and came to a set of stairs that led down to the beach.

The beach sand was soft and my shoes quickly filled with sand as I proceeded to walk (again). We crossed under Highway 1 and another 2 or 3 runners passed me. Soon we came to an asphalt parking lot and I could now see the finish line. I started to run again, quickly picking up my pace as I passed Suzanna and headed hard into the finish.

Last few feet of the race

Last few feet of the race

The race director shook my hand as I crossed the finish line. Another 50K was completed. My time: 6:49:37. A 50K, as you know, is supposed to be 31 miles long, but my watch said I had run 33.3 miles (and incidentally, never went off course). Now I understand that GPS watches can be wrong, and perhaps mine was wrong, but man, that race seemed long and my finish time, even with a mile or so of walking in that last few miles, seems high for a 31 mile race.

But it was a good race. In fact, most of the race went flawlessly. Yes, I shall declare it was a good race.

Lessons Learned

Hopefully, every race is a learning experience as much as a racing experience. And Mendocino taught me a few things:

  1. The Mendocino Coast 50K is a beautiful and moderately easy course as far as 50Ks go (except for the fact that it might be a couple of miles long).
  2. Going out slow is the key for me to having a good race and not bonking. If we ignore, for now, the last 4 miles, I nailed this race!
  3. I became too caught up in the miles left as told to me by my Garmin Fenix 5x watch. This was a critical end-of-race mistake and when reality came crashing through at the last aid station, I let it get to me and let myself get “psyched out”.
  4. Stop looking at your watch! and stay conservative on all “miles to go” estimates!
  5. Don’t get ahead of yourself and don’t get cocky! Mile 28 (or was it mile 26?) was way too fast. My Garmin says it was 7:32. Even if the split is off by a minute, that mile was way too fast with 4 miles to go. I got ahead of myself and the race, and this combined with the aid station reckoning led to a somewhat less-than-satisfying finish.
  6. My wife, Suzanna, is awesome.


Categories: Fitness, Running, Sports, ultrarunning, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

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