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 50/50 Indian Truck Trail Aid Station

Woke at 3:00 A.M. Saturday.  Out the door by 3:15, arriving about an hour later to the Twin Peaks 50/50 (that is 50 kilometer / 50 mile endurance race) starting in Corona.  It was dark of course, as volunteers busily packed their cars for the first shift of the day.  Our crew was to "man" the station 6.5 miles into the race, the Indian Truck Trail aid station (where the 50 milers would pass by 3 times, and the 50 k runners 2 times).  In our "crew":  myself, Kathryn, Birgett, Mark Ryne (whom I first met at the '08 Get Your Kicks on Route 66 Half Marathon), the photographer, two charming radio guys (true gentlemen), and our favorite Forestry fire captain, who was once referred to as "Hollywood" (because he was born in North Hollywood -- I was born in North Hollywood too) -- anyway, we referred to him as well as  "Hollywood."  

We didn't all head off to the station together; no, it didn't go that smoothly.  We three women took off first under darkness, the back filled with supplies, water, food, etc.  Thing was, we couldn't take that 6.5 mile road directly up the mountain to our station, because it was closed to automobiles due to storms.  Word was, parts of the trail had "collapsed."

This is how it went:  We got onto the freeway, exiting in Lake Elsinore and headed up Ortega Hwy -- TO THE TOP.  The city lights view was spectacular, the lake a giant black void.  That cliff going up though, made me a little nervous.  It always has, which is why I never take that route anywhere.  Ever. 

We were looking for the "radio guy in a truck,  parked in front of a gate."  He would give us directions to the Indian Truck Trail spot to set up our aid station.  Searching the dark Highway 74, to no avail for quite some time, we suddenly came upon a truck, parked in front of a gate overlooking the city.  When Birgett jumped out of the car and ran up to that truck, I said "Man, I wish I brought my pepper spray."  I saw her tap on the window, then she rushed back to our car, jumped back in. 

"Not him," she said.  "Let's Go."

"Well, who was he, what was he doing?" we asked.  

"I don't know what he was doing, I don't want to know what he was doing, let's just get out of here."

We all nervously laughed.

Well, we finally found another guy in a truck parked in front of a gate (just how many guys park their trucks in front gates  up there on the mountain?  ; )  This time, we got it right.  He told us the way, and we were off -- through Blue Jay Campground on a paved road, then onto a dirt road, until finally, FINALLY, we came upon a locked gate.  Birgett and I jumped out, she with the key, we both pushed about the heaviest gate in the whole wide world open for Kathryn to drive through. 

We were off again, but not on a smooth ride.  The first runners were estimated to reach our station at 6:10 and we were fast approaching that.  The road was rocky, in some places steep, at times riding on the edge of a cliff.  We bottomed-out often and slowed at every turnout hoping to see that table for us to set up the station.  Nothing.  For a few miles, we climbed, the road getting rockier and rockier, until finally . . . we were STUCK.  Poor Kathryn's car would move no further.  It smelled of burnt rubber; her engine light went off.

Who knew how close we were to the station.  All we knew was that 1)  it was still dark but we had little time to spare, 2) we had too much equipment to carry it in, and 3) we had NO PHONE SERVICE.  But what did that matter?  We couldn't call the race director, because we didn't have her cell number!  Yikes! 

After hiking to a high point, we found service on our cells.  Kathryn phoned home, I believe, asking someone to look through her e-mail for the Jessica, the race director's number.   (How silly was I not to get her cell number before taking off -- mental note -- GET THE CELL NUMBER, ESPECIALLY WHEN GOING OFF INTO UNKNOWN, DARK MOUNTAIN ROADS :)

What to do, what to do . . . ?

"I know someone who knows Jessica," I said. 

"Well, CALL THEM," my fellow aid station workers responded in unison. 

It was 6:00 AM, when I uncomfortably phoned Tom's cell.  I felt awkward, not wanting to wake his family.  But then again, I was pretty sure he's an early riser.  No Answer.  I left a message. 

So there we were, three women, just before dawn, standing on a cold mountain, a car (stuck in the road) full of supplies for endurance runners, wondering what we should do.  I was for hiking it in.  We were three runners, we could hike into anywhere -- it could take us who knows how long (we still had no idea where the station was) and chances were, we couldn't get much of the supplies in by foot.  But what else were we to do?  We were concerned about missing those first runners.  That really was the top issue.   

And then, there was a rumble in the road, and headlights appeared. The radio guys!!!  We packed all our gear into the back of their truck.  As we discussed how they would push Kathryn's car out of the road with their truck, another set of headlights appeared!  Rescued.  The forestry service drove up, and he ("Hollywood" -- I don't recall his actual name) stoically got Kathryn's car out of the rut, and backed it into a safe spot.  There was no way her car was going to make it to the top.  It just didn't have the clearance needed. (In hindsight, I'm guessing we were about 6 miles from our station at that point)

I saw the writing on the wall -- there was one extra space in the radio truck and one extra seat in the forestry service truck.  That left one person walking.  So, I zipped up my coat and headed up the mountain.  Believe me, I felt happy, at home, to hike up a steep trail.  What I didn't feel happy about, nor did my fellow aid workers, was that we probably weren't going to make the station by the time the first runners made it through.  Big bummer -- and on my first volunteer!  (It was Kathryn and Birgett's first volunteer as well). But what an adventure, I'll tell ya!  What an adventure!

Car stuck, aid arrives as clock ticks away 

  

Racing against the clock, the first and second wave of runners have already left the start line : (

"Hollywood", Birgett and Kathryn (after getting car to side of road)

I enjoyed that hike as the sun  began to show its face above the horizon.  The radio truck passed me near the top of that first climb, which I cleared before the Fire Service even started his truck.  They caught up with me on a level portion.  They slowed, when the Fire Captain (I don't know his official title, but he was a Captain to me) called out, "Get in, if you guys don't mind sitting on each other's laps."  After walking a good mile (I'm sure more with the elevation), I hopped on in. Kathryn and I shared one bucket seat with the promise not to tell anyone.  Shhhhh!  Things are official with the Feds.  There was only ONE PASSENGER IN THAT TRUCK, AND THAT'S ALL I'M SAYING : ))

Then not too soon after that, the front runners started passing us on the road.  (Big Bummer -- there was no aid for them at the first station!)  Birgett doled out water from the radio truck up front, as well as, attempted to record the runners passing her.

One of the front runners was Larry G. (see Bulldog August 09), whom I have run with on a occassion.  Of course, I haven't really run "with" him, being that he is a far surperior runner.  But we have at least started off on runs together.  And then travelling upon that rocky, cliff road, we came upon another group of runners.   One of those runners that I wanted to see cross my station was Catra (Dirt Diva) . She was travelling in that cluster of runners as we passed, smiling of course as she does in her blogs.

We finally arrived at our aid site a little before 7:00 AM, approximately 2 hours later than planned!!!!  We set up the table ASAP,  sandwiches made, water and cups out, etc. etc.  I don't know the actual temperature up there on that ridge, but I'd say it was freezing.  I was layered good, three shirts, coat, wool beanie, gloves, even warm socks to my knees.  We were in time to aid the tail end of the first wave and of course all of the second and remaining waves.  Kathryn and Birgett pleasantly greeted them all at the table, while I recorded times.  The radio guys set up there radio and antenna, and began calling in runner numbers with times. 

There were periods of no runners, then occassionally, one would come through.  Then suddenly a small cluster of runners would come through that first approximate 7 mile stretch.  (I grew excited about running again, as my hip ached sitting in my chair).  Some time into this all, Mark and the photographer arrived (mental note:  get the names next time!)  And we all had a pleasant, quite cold, morning together, runners sparse on this mountain trail.  I saw lots of familiar faces, mainly from blogs I read.  I also saw fellow club member, Dave, (see Christmas Eve 09 run).  In all, there were 3 waves of fifty mile runners and 2 waves of 50k runners.
The Benchmark at our station spot (Elevation 3800 feet)

Sodas, water, electrolytes, skittles, m&m's, bananas, oranges, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, pretzels, potatoes, salt / most popular items: water, potatoes, salt, and sandwiches.


Indian Truck Trail (what the runners see approaching our station)

Views from our station:

Runners coming into Indian Truck Trail Station (next aid 4 miles @ West Horsethief)

Walking down Indian Truck Trail a bit to take a look

"Sweepers" in their trucks drove by periodically.  Radio communications between stations and the start lines went on pretty much continually.  At one point, a young woman jumped out of the "sweeper" car and handed us three gigantic, beautiful submarine sandwiches.  The runners were all a delight, friendly, comical, and grateful.  Some ran up with gusto, others quite slowly, fatigued from the six and a half mile climb.  Very few runners ran past our station without stopping.  Some stayed for a minute or two, others for several minutes.  Some runners dropped their gloves, jackets and stuff beneath our table to pick up on their way into the finish.  And then there was a lull -- all waves had passed our stations.  The next time we'd see any runners would be the 50k racers on their way into the finish line, much later, we'd be seeing the 50 milers coming around for another loop. 

"Hollywood", Kathryn and Birgett

"Hollywood", Me and Birgett

Runners stopping for fuel

Indian Truck Trail Gang (from left to right): Me, Mark, Birgett, "Hollywood", Kathryn, Radio guys

At about 11:00 AM, we started getting the beginnings of 50 milers who had run off course. The first guy, turned around and headed back. Not all of the off coursers did that, instead, they said, "Heck, I'm switching to the 50k," and headed on into the finish line. They were all in good spirits about it. About half turned back, about half switched races. At about 1:00 the official end of our shift, but it looked like there wasn't going to be a shift change for a while, Birgett and I headed off to the 50M/50K split where the fifty milers were taking the wrong turn. "Hollywood" gave us some red tape and a black pen and with the report from one runner that it was about a half a mile away, we headed up a nice climb that was nowhere near a half mile. We laughed about that, taking in an amazing scene of valleys and forests. We stopped two runners we met on the way who had taken the wrong turn -- as they headed back to the split, they caught two other runners, who turned back with them.

About half way to the split, we threw our jackets to the side and marched on. While marking up the split best we could, we met another runner coming down -- an amazing runner, Greg who was hilarious. He had Birgett and I both cracking up as we headed back down the trail.

The shift change happened after 2 o'clock. Hank was also coming in for his shift -- he was "sweeping" by foot the trails inaccessible by truck. The mood was festive and gleeful, exciting, chaotic as more and more 50k runners made their way for the finish, and 50 milers began to cross by the Indian Truck Trail station for the second time (the 38 mile mark for them).  We caught a ride with a sweeper who took that mountain road at record speed. I closed my eyes when the road dipped and the truck tilted toward the cliff. We finally rolled on into the finish line about 3:30.

What a day! What a great crowd!  What a great mountain!  I am running Twin Peaks next year for sure! I better get working.

Another Amazing Runner (as she crosses the finish line just about the time we arrive)