To Go Or Not To Go

With Twin Peaks Ultra just around the corner, I am in deep do-do.  Saturday I was able to squeeze in a ten mile out-and-back up Holy Jim Trail in Trabuco Canyon.  It was a slow struggle up the mountain that convinced me that I’ve never been more out-of-shape or unprepared for a running event.  Never!  While running that long five mile uphill on Saturday, I seriously considered not running Twin Peaks on the 18th.  I thought that I might just work it instead, or possibly pace another runner.  I thought about this long and hard on the giant switch back often referred to as Holy Shit or Holy Cow.  But my mind kept wandering over to the logistics of getting aid station workers and sweepers on and off the mountain for Chimera.    What would you do?  Would you show up and try a race you have no business running?  Are you that crazy?

What I’ve decided is this:  If I don’t make the twenty-one mile mark in six and a half hours, I’m dropping to the 50k option.  Under no circumstances am I going to go onward to the fifty miles if I can’t make this time.  And I won’t make this time unless some sort of miracle occurs.   And so, the 50k I shall attempt.  And it will be the longest 50k I’ve ever run – that is, if I can do it.  To get my sorry butt to the start line, I decided to go into Twin Peaks with this mindset:  This will be my first long run getting back into shape.

In the meantime, I took in some wondrous beauty during the best ten mile out-and-back that I have:  Holy Jim. 

Twin Peaks Ultra 2012 Recap

Awake at 2 AM, I was on the road shortly, slotted for arrival to Indian Truck Trail by 3:30 AM (an hour before my start time.)  I felt no nervousness as I drove the lonely highways around the Saddleback Mountains.  I felt calm. 

About 3:15 AM, all lanes on the 91 freeway abruptly stopped.  STOPPED.  Stopped as in, we didn’t move for about 45 minutes.  People shut off their cars.  I learned from the radio there was a fatal accident up a ways. 

A highway patrol officer walked about the freeway lanes talking to some drivers and pointing to the right.  Then slowly, but surely, the traffic began to move to the right, into a single lane.  Race time came before I made it to the offramp.  I didn’t fret.  Someone had lost their life.  It seemed rather foolish to worry about starting on time.  I merely figured that I would start the race when I started. 

4:33 AM, I was finally driving the offramp and noticed traffic dumping into another jam on the city streets.  The car in front of me made a u-turn over the dirt median to enter the onramp adjacent to our offramp.  I followed suit.  There were no cars on the freeway, except of course for the driver ahead of me.  And off to my left, two lanes over, lay a corpse covered with a tarp.  It looked oddly flat.  And that scene stays vividly with me today.

I arrived to Indian Truck Trail in a solemn mood, but I was oddly giddy.  The first wave had already started up the mountain.  I took off up Indian Truck trail alone.  4:50 AM.  I enjoyed my run in the dark.  I took in the black coolness, and didn’t think about anything.  A few miles up the road I could see bobbing headlamps from the other runners.

The sun had risen by the time I reached the Main Divide, equipped with a cheerful aid crew.  They were also late due to the accident, but on-time for my arrival.  John Hocket, the sweeper who chased me and Hank down the mountain last year was there this year with friendly words. 

It took me more than twenty minutes longer to travel this trail than it did the last time I ran it.  I had some making up to do -- my time was already fifteen minutes too slow to make later cutoffs.

The second wave front runners began to pass me as they ran at tremendous, strong speeds.  My morale was dipping.  And then Scott Barnes passed me with a smile and kind words.  I didn’t recognize him at first.  The last time I had seen him was Twin Peaks 2011 at the top of West Horse Thief where I waited as a pacer – he placed 3rd that year, the first year he ran this race (This year, he finished the 50 miles in 2nd place!).  

Anyway, I reached the next aid before I knew it.  Terrific workers manned West Horse Thief, optimistic, smiling and proud.

A cool wind blew as I ran above the clouds.  Other runners passed me as well, pretty much for the next several miles.  A little star-struck, I noticed the faces of many runners that are famous in the local ultra community.  And I saw the faces of friends and other runners that I’ve met again and again on the trails.  I didn’t see my friends Hank or Cody though, as they had taken off with the first wave, and with my lonely start, I just wasn’t quick enough to catch them.

I took the rocky downhill called West Horse Thief slower than I planned.  My friend Robert Whited passed me here with more encouraging words.  By the time I reached the bottom of West Horse Thief, I knew that I was in possible trouble as far as making the cut-offs.  Of course, “that time of the month” hit (yes, I’m still young enough),  and the melancholy that accompanies it did not stay home.  I just COULD NOT pick up my speed to my best.  I was able to increase my speed a bit, but with a foot that was beginning to ache (my neuroma foot), I worried.  But I refused, flat out refused, to think about taking the 50k option.  I had decided quite some time ago, that I would finish the 50 mile option or come home with a DNF.  By the time I reached the bottom of Holy Jim, I knew there was still a chance, but I was going to need some special footwork.

The aid station workers noticed that I hadn’t drank much at all.  I didn’t need refills on anything at mile 15.  So I guzzled down the remaining fluids in my handheld and refilled before the climb up Holy Jim.  

I ran practically the entire 5 mile Holy Jim trip.  I probably shouldn’t have.  I think I was beginning to lose my nerve and wasn’t thinking my best.  A hike would have probably served me better here.  The trip was lonely with a few runners passing me.  I really didn’t think much at all.  I was afraid to think, afraid, because I wanted to quit.  Instead, I put one foot in front of the other and took in the awesome scenery.  I made decent time up Holy Jim.  Still, I had fallen way behind in my schedule.  I refilled my handheld at an unmanned aid station at Bear Springs.  And that’s when I finally allowed myself to think about IT.  There was no way that I was quitting.  And there was no way I was going to make the 50 mile option.  And for the first time, I DID NOT WANT A DNF.  And so I allowed myself the option, the 50k option.  I made the decision remarkably fast, and without regret.  I really felt there was no option.  For all this struggle, I wanted a finisher’s medal, not a DNF.  I chose to take the 50k option. 

All I had to do was make it to Santiago Peak, which I’ve done dozens of times, then it would be basically downhill from there.  The trip to the peak was absolutely miserable.  I ran very little of it, probably 5 percent.  Every single step was painstaking.  It was the worst trip to the peak ever.  I felt utterly fatigued and my foot ached.  But I felt relief.  There were also some high points, the best being that I got to see Cody as he ran down from the peak.  I was so happy that he looked strong.  I told him my decision, wished him a good trip.  I felt comfortable that he was going to make the 50 miles.  I met lots of other fine runners struggling up to the peak.  Despite the pure, hellish agony, I enjoyed myself.  My foot even felt better.

When I finally reached a hospitable aid station at the peak, I emptied everything out of my pack and put it in my drop bag.  I ate a few potato chips, drank some Coca-Cola, and then I took off for a long, long downhill trip to finally end this race.   I was one hour behind schedule at Santiago Peak, which reaffirmed my decision.

With the decision made, though I struggled, I felt happy to be running the trails, to be participating in Twin Peaks.  I felt fortunate.  I would not allow myself to dwell on my decision.  I simply had to do it.  And I left it at that.

Upper Holy Jim was a pleasure.  I filmed quite a bit and remembered fondly where I had fallen several weeks back (seriously).  I met up with Steve Harvey (Old Goat race director) at Indian Truck Trail.  And then I began the long, long, winding trip down Indian Truck Trail.  I didn’t even notice the helicopter hovering about on the divide.  (Turns out, one runner had to be carried a half mile up West Horse Thief and airlifted to a hospital.  I learned very little details, of which I’ll withhold here because I’m not clear on much concerning this.  But thankfully, the male runner was eventually released from the hospital, expected to recover fully.)

Almost everyone running down Indian Truck Trail at this point had taken the 50k option.  Almost everyone.  The first place fifty miler passed me with about 3 miles remaining.  And Scott Barnes passed me with about 50 yards remaining.  These guys ran amazingly strong after such a huge race.  I was in awe.  I had company the last few miles, a young guy named Lucas.  He gave up his hope for the 50 miles after severe cramping set in.  It was nice to have his company, as those last few miles were unbelievably long. 

So, I got my medal, and got to chat and meet many of the runners as we sat about waiting for our drop bags.  I met some new running friends, and talked with old ones.  We ate, we drank.  We had A LOT of time to get to know each other.  I think we waited something like FOUR HOURS for our drop bags.   I noticed a fire truck and ambulance pull up.  I was beginning to hear inklings of trouble at West Horse Thief.  Unfortunately, for my friend Cody, and several other runners, they were dropped from the race at West Horse Thief due to the danger of passing while a helicopter landed.  The situation also delayed our drop bags.  My friend Hank though, made it and finished the 50 miles for the second year in a row! 

EVERYONE has been tremendously congratulatory toward me for finishing the 50k.  I however, do not feel that great about it.  I feel like I failed.  I know that I had to make the decision that I made.  But I still failed.  I was not in good enough shape.  That was where I failed.  On the other hand, the journey was tremendous.  The training was so much fun.  I met wonderful people, and I got to participate in this awesome/prestigious event.  Lots of lessons were also learned.  And that’s important in my life.  Lessons learned – even at my age. 

The 50k option:

Twin Peaks / Saddleback Mountains

Twin Peaks Pacer Recap

Right now, I cannot write an entry that adequately relays my experience as a Twin Peaks pacer.  I seriously feel that it would take an entire book.  I’ll call this a “recap.”

Pacers waited for their runners at the Horsethief aid station where a friendly crew, including 2 radio men were already several hours into their all-day shift.  If you read my blog regularly you might remember the words Horsethief Trail.  Sometimes I call it West Horsethief.  Sometimes I separate the word into Horse Thief.  Either way you say it though, that trail is truly hell.  It’s a rocky, switchback that climbs and climbs with plenty of false summits and NO RELIEF in elevation gain.  And there’s very, very little shade.  Though it’s a little less than 2 miles long (I believe), I pretty much hate Horsethief, and currently, it’s the only trail that I can think of that I would say that about. 

Needless to say, I was thrilled to learn that pacers meet their runners at the TOP of Horsethief.  There, we waited and we waited.  We talked, we laughed, we ate candy.  Then finally, the front runner came up the beast called Horsethief.  He was suffering some, but looked strong.  Strong enough to smile (See photo of Dean below).  He had quite a lead on the second place runner.  Then another significant amount of time passed.  That’s when I began walking the trail, to the edge before it radically descended.  Scott Barnes came around that corner, smiling and looking cool and calm.  I thought he looked familiar, then realized I knew him when he said, “Lauren?”  What a thrill it was to see Scott in third place, even more thrilling to give him that news.  He seemed shocked.

Finish/Start line, Race Operations:

Race Director Jessica Deline:

Volunteers (Pacers, sweeper, etc):

West Horsethief Aid Station, First Place runner, Dean Dobberteen:

Looking down at Horsethief (toward very end of trail, where the runners finally got some relief):

The Radio Guys at Horsethief Aid Station:

Waiting at the top, checking trail for runners coming up:

Scott Barnes, 3rd Place (coming up Horsethief, see prior blog post where I was fortunate to train with Scott):

After Scott, the trails were silent.  An entire hour or more must have passed before runners began dribbling in.  Some looked okay, others looked like death, having climbed to mile 33/34.  All runners took time to rest.  Some took lengthy rests.  Some recovered well and took off somewhat strong.  Others didn’t seem to recover as well and took off slowly walking.  Other runners dropped from the race and waited for a ride down.  Some of the runners smiled.  Some of them scowled.  One runner looked at us and first thing he said was “I hate everyone who has anything to do with Twin Peaks.”

The runners came in “far and few between” and more and more of them looked like the walking dead.  There was a report of a runner laying in the trail and station worker Christine went off to get him.  About that time I strapped on my gear and decided to head down Horsethief.  I knew Hank had to be having a hard time of it.  I hoped that I could help.

On the way down I saw Greg Hardesty (OC Register sports writer) whom I’ve met on a few occasions and have never seen him less than cheery.  Not today.  Today he mumbled something like, “I hate this trail,” yet he kept on trucking.

It hurt to see the suffering as I made my way down Horsethief.  Here and there I’d come upon a runner.  He would be sitting on the side.  Or he would be staggering side to side.  I saw Christine slowly walking up the young runner that she found laying in the trail.  As I descended, I kept a lookout for a white cap.  Turns out, just about everyone I came across was wearing a white cap. 

The descent down Horsethief was surreal.  I’ve never been in a war zone.  But this trail seemed so much like a path of the walking wounded, like I was making my way to the battlefield past these runners who were struggling on to safety.  I grew a little worried the more I descended. 

Then finally I saw Hank.  He was not staggering.  But I could tell, he was spent.  Quite frankly, I was elated, so, so happy that he had his wits about him, he wasn’t staggering, or worse yet, laying on the trail.  I gave him a quick hug, and got behind him and began the march up, telling him each time he asked, “how much longer?”

Runner finishing up Horsethief:

Runners taking a breather before heading off:

Another runner makes it to the top of Horsethief:

First female runner makes it to top of Horsethief (right), Christine pours water on Rob’s neck (see prior blog where I came across Rob on Main Divide):

Catra Corbett and Andy Kumede:

More runners finishing up Horsethief:

Taking off for another trip to the peak:

Heading down Horsethief to meet up with Hank:

Meeting runners along the way:

At the top of Horsethief Hank took little time, and we were off.  The moon came out early and the weather began to cool.  As the sun went down, I felt relieved that I knew those trails well.  Hank was using all his energy to move onward as quickly as possible, one thing he didn’t need to worry about was which way to turn.

The amount of suffering I witnessed on those trails were immense.  Remember, this race had about 15,000 to 17,000 feet of elevation gain and 52 miles to cover.  Hank’s determination was amazing.  I hoped that I was helping.  I think I did somewhat, especially with direction.  I tried to be sensitive and slow down when he needed it and stop talking when he couldn’t take hearing another person’s voice at the moment.  Still, I think there were times when I talked/joked a little too much.  But we also had some miles of silence.

Taking off on the Main Divide with Hank:

The moon shows its face:

It grew dark well before we made our descent down the mountain.  Tiny white, orange and yellow lights glittered from thousands of feet below from Los Angeles, Orange and Riverside Counties.  With headlamps and flashlights we continued the climb.  Then as we made our descent, the stations began closing up.  Word was, the sweeper truck was going to start picking up runners.  And so the race was on as we ran from the sweeper truck.  It seemed like we literally flew down Upper Holy Jim, a single track that the truck couldn’t drive, but the running sweepers were close behind.  I’m truly amazed how Hank was able to kick it in and pull out a burst of energy as we jumped and stumbled over rocks on that single track down. 

The sweepers caught up with us around Indian Truck Trail (the last 6.5 miles).  They were two great guys who ran along with us.  One of them took off, and sweeper Tim ran along with us for the longest 6.5 miles EVER.  I had no doubt that Hank would cross the finish line.  He had already proven his determination.  Still, I was amazed that he had anything left. 

Then finally through the dark, we saw a light and ran in over that finish line.  Hank’s wife and daughter were waiting there like two angels in the light, so happy to finally see him.  They said that they could see our lights as we travelled down the mountain and couldn’t believe what we were doing, what he was doing.  I only ran a little under twenty miles of this trek.  I had the easy part. 

It was finally over.  My friend Hank crossed the finish line of Twin Peaks 50 at a little after 10:00 PM.  Though he crossed the line last, which crossing that finish line in general is a HUGE accomplishment, he did not actually have the longest time due to the early starts  who began the race at 5:30 AM instead of 7:00 AM.  Hank placed 36 out 44 finishers.  86 runners started this 50+ mile race.  44 finished.  Others dropped to a 50k option, and others dropped entirely. 

Congratulations Hank.  You did it!!  I’m not sure that I will honor your request that the next time you mention a fifty mile race that I’m to tell you “shut up.”  LOL.  Rest up, friend.

Hank with race director, Jessica:

Tim, the patient sweeper – good luck on your first Iron Man!:

At finish line with Hank: