I woke to a 4:30 AM alarm and frantically searched my brain. “What am I supposed to do?” Eventually I realized that I was working the Harding Hustle race in Modjeska Canyon. Let me tell you! I was so happy to remember that I was working this race and not running it. Why? First off, because I was so dang fatigued. But most importantly, because we’re in the middle of a so-called “heat wave.” I wouldn’t have wanted to run uphill for approximately 16 miles for a turnaround and downhill for the same length. Practically the entire route is exposed, with very, very little shade. (I should not forget to mention the bees and gnats.)
So much to tell from this wondrous event, as I always have so much to tell from working races. I can’t possibly cover it all. First off, I met fellow blogger Giraffty. She was working “Check-in.” We’ve been reading & commenting on each other’s blogs, for it seems years. I recognized Heather the instant I saw her. She is even more beautiful and smiley than online.
I also worked with a wonderful crew. There were 7 of us: 4 aiding the runners, 1 medic, the radio (HAM) guy and his wife/girlfriend. We set up at the top of Harding Truck Trail, a place called “Four Coroners,” where I commonly run. Because I am a chronic water stasher, I took advantage of ride up and stashed the jugs of water that I purchased the night before.
The quick recap of the day goes like this: We were beneath the hot, hot sun for many hours. Over 100 f degrees. I saw runners come in triumphantly. I saw runners come in beaten. Some runners had their wits about them, others couldn’t think straight. A few runners cracked. They flat out lost the mental battle. And for them they had a nice air conditioned drive down to the finish. Others dropped down to a shorter distance race. One runner, took off the wrong way at about mile 23. She began running down Maple Springs Road, which would have dumped her several miles from the finish. Because we all thought that she had tucked into the bushes for a potty break, we did not realize her error for quite a while. That made her error our error. With many minutes head start, I could not catch her down a wretchedly hot Maple Springs. At times I could see her far off in the distance. I yelled out in my loudest voice, to no avail. Pretty quickly, the HAM operator picked me up in his truck, and we drove about 3 miles before picking her up. I broke the news to runner with apologies. Turns out, she was a great spirited girl, and she laughed and laughed about her mistake. Driving her back to our aid, she took in some fluids and instead of DNFing, she actually ran the 9.3 miles back.
I came to realize some things about endurance running yesterday. The main thing is, the first and yes, greatest triumph comes from taking off at the start line. The other thing is, the main defeat is not your time nor whether or not you finish. It’s whether or not your mind remains strong during all the obstacles that are hurled at you during the event. Rarely does everything go smoothly. Instead, you’ve got things like boulders, locked gates, extreme heat, hydration and fueling mistakes, wrong turns, falls, dropped water bottles, blisters, rolled ankles, etc., etc., etc. On a good day, a runner keeps his/her wits about him – that is, there’s little panic or desperation. Instead, despite the unknowns thrown at him, he keeps his mental strength. Even a strong runner though has his collapses. I know first hand about those collapses. And I saw them second hand today. Fortunately, there’s a silver lining. After crawling out of that mental “defeat,” there is so much to learn. There’s actually much more to learn, about yourself, about running, about life, in these defeats than there is in the triumphs. And that’s a good thing.
I headed up the mountain with Emmett Rahl at 3:30 AM. With little sleep, I felt energetic, excited, trying not to think about Old Goat specifics. My first & utmost concern was making that first cutoff – The 21 mile technical “Candy Store Loop” in 6.5 hours.
We took off in the dark wearing headlamps. I handled the rocky terrain well, relieved I had trained on San Juan Trail. I fell twice in the dark. But they were both those amazing, what I call “ballerina” falls. These are the falls that I bounce back up with absolutely no injuries. A little ways later, I kicked an embedded rock so hard that I was sure when the sun rose, I’d see a blood soaked shoe.
I passed several people on the Viejo Tie portion of the loop. I chanted my mantras, prayed for strength. Though visibility was tough at first, I know the Viejo Tie. In training, I learned I didn’t have to go as slowly as it looked like I did. There’s landing paces, ways to maneuver the trail quickly and confidently. As I passed one group of runners, one of them yelled out to the others ahead, “Fast Runner” so that I could pass. I got a hearty laugh out of that. I don’t think anyone has EVER referred to me as “Fast Runner.” With six runners behind me, one of them at my toes, I felt happy. I arrived at Chiquita trail 12 minutes faster than my best! With the sun out and warming the earth quickly, I saw that my shoe was clean of blood. My big toe ached, but it was bearable.
My friend Robert Whited passed me on the final ascent into the “Candy Store” aid. I didn’t see many people running this portion. Those I did see, like myself, hiked a great deal of the short distance. (Not Robert though; he’s an animal.)
Somewhere in the first 11 miles, I lost my time gain and arrived to the parking lot across from The Candy Store right around my best time: 3 hours. I quickly hopped back on the trail to loop back around onto Chiquita with a great sense of urgency to finish the mainly uphill ten miles in the best time I ever had. If I did any less than my best, I would not make the cutoff.
The first five miles into the return trip were tough. But I moved forward at a good pace. Emmett Rahl caught me and then he quickly ploughed up ahead of me. My friend Kurt Erlandson also passed with encouraging words. Many people passed me, as I had taken the early start, and the regular starters were coming on strong. One guy turned back to look at me and said, “Hey! I read your blog yesterday.”
Right about the time that I felt I couldn’t move any faster, a group of 5 or so runners came up from behind as we climbed that rocky exposed terrain. The female leader passed me. Her male followers didn’t pass. I didn’t force it either. Instead, I followed her lead, picking up my pace tremendously. Focusing on her feet, I witnessed her trip a few times. I continued with my mantras and praying. And then I fell again. But amazingly, I fell sideways, directly into the mountain wall. The runner ahead hollered back asking if I was okay. Surprisingly, I was fine after pushing myself away from the dirt and keeping stride with the group. It seemed as if I didn’t miss a step.
At the Chiquita falls aid station, I met up with a large group of runners. I found Emmett, gulped down a shot of water. I said to him beneath my breath, “I’m out of here.” I needed all the head start I could get. He didn’t hear me, telling me later that he turned to look and I had disappeared.
I arrived to the first cut-off in 6:10. This was my best time by EIGHTEEN minutes. I also made the cutoff with twenty minutes to spare!! Several runners dropped out at that point. It was an easy place to drop because our cars were in the vicinity. So relieved to make the cutoff, there was no way I was dropping. Next stop, the Bear Springs Aid station by 5:00 PM.
I refilled my hydration pack, grabbed a gel, a piece of peanut butter sandwich and a couple Red Vine candies. Then I quickly took off again, this time running the single-track Falcon Trail toward the Main Divide for a huge climb up to Trabuco Trail. I hiked the Main Divide with some difficulty. But I wasn’t alone. Several other runners struggled that bastard of a rocky road. Good news is that it’s relatively short.
Aid at Trabuco was festive. They offered runners beer and didn’t let me do a thing myself. I took a few sips of beer. I gulped down Coca-Cola and ate pieces of oranges. I took off my long sleeve shirt, tied it around my waist. I applied sunscreen to my shoulders. Relief settled in with the shade of Trabuco Trail. I struggled some down the rockiest portions. At one point my feet rolled over the ground as if I were running on marbles. At about mile 25, I took off my sunglasses to take in the spectacular lush mountain scenery. I saw what looked like thousands of tiny gray flies fluttering about. Something was happening with my vision. I took in another gel, and kept the fluids flowing.
Hiking up the Main Divide toward Trabuco Trail:
When Trabuco Trail FINALLY began to level out, I could hear voices behind me. So, another runner was going to pass me. They had been passing me for hours. I wasn’t running very quickly. Actually, I was just trotting when the two came right up on me. I overheard the sweeper, Eric Kosters, talking to “headquarters,” as he approached with the last of the pack. This is what he said, “I’ve got runner #such and such, but we’ve caught up with another runner. So, I’ll be with her instead in a minute.” He wanted to know who I was, I yelled out, “121.” No, he wanted my name. I told him and he chuckled loudly and said, “Lauren!!!” We had been “talking” on Facebook in the weeks prior.
The beauty I took in on Trabuco Trail when my vision started getting “weird.”:
Well, I knew this extremely rocky, hot trail well. Though Eric was a nice guy, the last thing I wanted was him running up my rear. I took off like I’ve never run that trail. “Get as many corners behind you,” I told myself. I wanted the sweeper and other runner to turn corner after corner and not see me. I figured that way they wouldn’t try as hard. I ran that portion so quickly, I AMAZED myself. I actually passed two runners in the process, one of them, Jeff Higgins (whom I would later meet).
I was in and out of the Holy Jim aid station in probably a minute. I refilled fluids, grabbed a handful of potato chips and took off in a big hurry, away from the sweeper!!!
Two of the runners I passed on Trabuco passed me going up Holy Jim, one of them the young man who was previously with the sweeper. Eric Kosters had a new runner now, and it wasn’t me.
Climbing Holy Jim was EXCRUCIATING. I wanted to vomit and could barely move one foot in front of the other. The salt was crusted over my face so thickly that it cracked when I grimaced (or smiled ). I dreamt of the spring in the mountain wall where I would wash my face. But I didn’t count switchbacks or even think about when I would arrive. I merely climbed switchback after switchback, trying to focus on the moment. I passed a runner, and came up on the heels on another runner suffering as much as I was. His name was Mark, (he was the guy with the sweeper on Trabuco). He hadn’t climbed Holy Jim before. I tried to give him hope, talking about the downhill toward the top, and that it was going to get shady and not as steep pretty soon. I continued to pray. And I continued to dream of washing my face.
When I finally arrived at the spring, Mark was a few feet ahead with his hands on his thighs. I told him that he could wash his face if he needed, that the water was safe. I don’t think he wanted to walk those few feet back. I know I wouldn’t want to. I painstakingly squatted down to the spring, my quads aching so much, I groaned. And then I washed my face again and again. It was beautiful, truly beautiful. I have never had a better face wash in my entire life.
When I took off I passed Mark who was still resting with his hands on his thighs. I passed two other suffering runners as I made my way to the top. I kind of wished that I would vomit so that the nausea would go away. It took every thing I had to take another step. I should have taken in more calories at the aid station. I probably should have eaten a whole meal. Looking back, Holy Jim is where I lost the race.
I made the second cutoff, about a half mile past the top of Holy Jim with ten minutes to spare. I took my drop bag and didn’t do anything I had planned. I wanted to re-tape my arches, change my socks. Instead, I merely took out my Chamois Butt’r and gobbed it onto my underarms which were rubbed raw by my shirt seams.
I took a seat, my shoulders and arms aching. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. A few runners who had dropped were sitting in chairs beneath the easy-up. They looked relaxed, yet defeated. The aid workers, so friendly, re-filled my hydration pack. They wouldn’t allow me to do anything myself. Aid worker, Cris Francisco, was a life saver for me right then. He massaged my shoulders and my upper back. It was very painful, but he got out the twisted knots beneath my skin. He traveled back and forth between runners putting wet paper towels on their necks. And he poured water down my back. The bad thing was, I had taken a seat. And I continued to sit. Finally, Cris said, “Lauren, come on! You’ve got to get moving.” So, I was up quickly, asking what I should eat that wouldn’t come right back up. Upon Cris’s suggestion, I took a handful of pretzels and headed up the Main Divide, destination: Santiago Peak.
The continuing two mile climb was miserable. Pure hell. I chatted with runners traveling down from the peak, one of them Kurt Erlandson. He looked strong. Many of the runners coming down assured me that I would feel much better when I reached the peak. I ate my pretzels slowly and I hiked slowly. It felt like the peak would never arrive. One foot in front of the other. I made the cut-off, I would make the peak. Nearing the top, Emmet came down looking refreshed. He told me about the chicken soup at the top. Just about fifty yards from the aid, I saw Mark again, who had passed me at the last aid.
I met Scott Barnes, an extremely encouraging “elite” runner along with Deborah Acosta at Santiago Peak. A beautiful site! It was nice to see two friendly smiling faces. Deborah refilled my pack, she gave me some delicious chicken noodle soup (again, strangely, the best I’ve ever had in my life!). Scott offered to cook me a quesadilla. I declined, thinking I wouldn’t be able to hold it down.
I ran down the Main Divide, carefully. I passed the sweeper and Jeff Higgins on their way up. I didn’t pass anyone on the way down and made only a very quick stop at the next aid. The sweeper and Jeff came in right behind me, and Cris Francisco took over as sweeper. Cris was so kind with his encouraging words and told us to take advantage of the downhill. Not wanting to be with the sweeper, even though he was Cris, a great guy, I took off running quicker than I wanted to. I continued running on what seemed like a new pair of legs. I ran the uphills even and continued running, leaving the sweeper and Jeff behind.
And then as the dropping sun turned the sky orange, at mile 41, a jeep pulled up beside me. The passenger rolled down the window and said, “Lauren, I have some bad news.” I looked at his car and runners in the back seat. In disbelief I said, “Are you pulling me?”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, “but the race director said you have no chance of finishing by the course cut-off.”
The race director!! Steve Harvey? My friend??? My friend was pulling me from the race???? I wanted to plead, “But I can make it. I can!!!!!!” I only had nine miles to go. Instead of pleading, I burst into tears. Even with making the 5:00 PM cutoff at Bear Springs, there was no physical way that I could make it to the peak and then to the finish in 3 hours. It was over. I simply bawled. Not wanting to burden the guy who was pulling me from the race with my pain, I turned away from him and cried at the valley. I didn't want to look at him; I didn't want to talk to anyone.
I also didn’t want to wait for the truck back a ways to pick me up, so I continued running the main divide. Maybe they would forget that they pulled me. But, I knew they wouldn’t forget. When the truck pulled up, I was still crying. The passenger said she was so sorry. Both the driver and the passenger were so extremely gentle with me. I bucked it up and cried silently. The female passenger talked to me quite a bit, but I just couldn’t talk. I phoned my husband at one point to tell him, and bounced around the truck for a long bumpy ride back to the start. We passed several other runners along the way who would eventually get pulled. Emmett was pulled at mile 44 after he was told they he would be allowed to finish.
Arriving at the finish line, people were in a festive mood. The grill was on fire. People drank beer. I just wanted to get my grab bag and sulk away. And then I saw Steve Harvey. The race director. I wasn’t mad at him anymore. He has to do what he has to do. I walked up to him and he said, “I’m sorry.” And then I cried on his shoulder.
As I ate my burger and waited for Emmett, I got a nice pep talk from Jeff Higgins. This was his fifth year trying and being pulled from Old Goat. Here I was thinking that I would never run this race again, and Jeff keeps coming back again and again for more fun. Thank you Jeff. I really appreciated your talk. I appreciate that you came up to me in my misery. I wasn’t pretty and I wasn’t exactly nice. I hope that I wasn’t too short.
Pulled at 41 (me not looking too fresh and layered five times over as the cold, cold, cold settled in at Blue Jay) and Emmett pulled at 44 / as a side note, I really didn’t want to post this picture because I looked and felt so terrible. But, I wanted readers to see Emmett, an inspiring, back of the pack ultrarunner.
I got very little video and still shots in this race. I had to keep moving and only had time to run, eat and pee.
2013 is my fifth year running The Calico Trail Run. This is THE RACE. The Race that lead me to trail running. In fact, it’s now grown into a family tradition to stay in Calico Ghost Town for 2 days come late January.
I wrote in my last blog entry that I didn’t expect great results on this year’s 30k, but that I didn’t want my worst time. Well, folks, I got my worst time, by 15 minutes (& I was 50 minutes slower than last year when I placed in my category). I did however have the BEST time running this race. I didn’t feel all together strong, but I felt comfortable. I felt comfortable in my “skin,” and I felt comfortable on my feet. Even though a cold, cold wind blew into my face practically the entire run, I knew the trails, I knew the rocks, the boulders, the sand. My head was cold. But, I felt in my element.
Waiting to Start:
Starting off on pavement into the lonely, colorful desert:
We ran sand, yes sand, for several miles. I figured out a couple years ago, to get out of the sand and run in the brush where the ground is solid. I noticed shadows behind me as others from the back of the pack followed suit.
I tried not to do much socializing, as I usually spend too much time goofing around and making friends. Regardless, I did meet some lovely people, saw familiar faces. My goal was to get as many people behind me as possible. In other words, get as many runners beneath my name on the board.
I passed very few runners. About half-way, I realized I needed to run a negative split to make last year’s time. Ha, ha. The hardest part of the run is the last 6 or so miles.
Good news, I kept the demons at bay. I didn’t bash myself when I realized I needed to run a negative split and couldn’t. I just kept on running and took in the desert’s beauty.
Once I kicked a rock so hard, I was very happy that I wore my most rugged shoes, else I may have broken my toe. I only tripped once. Miracle. And I passed a male runner with a dog. I took a couple handfuls of potato chips at the stations. Once I took some jelly beans. I gulped down one small cup of Coca-Cola at each station. Besides this nutrition my pack contained Nuun water. I also downed a few Endurolytes and two peanut-butter gels.
Here (below), I finally caught a delightful couple (from Bakersfield, Ca.) that I had been working hours to pass. For a while there, it was back and forth between us. When I finally caught them at this tunnel filled with water, there was no way I wasn’t going to get them beneath my name on the board. They were tough, tough, tough to lose, that’s for sure. Finally, I just pushed it with all I had, to give myself a good lead. And I looked back. I NEVER look back. But I needed to see if I had a good enough lead to slow it down it bit for the last big hill. I could tell . . . perhaps you know that look, “okay, go ahead and take it,” look. They had that. So I hiked up that last hill as fast as I could, where my oldest son met me. And we ran it on to the finish together.
That delightful couple maneuvering through the tunnel:
Ends up I had ten people beneath me on the board (plus 1 DNF) out of thirty-something 30k runners. I had my family with me. I didn’t fall. I finished. What more can a girl ask for?
I was never a runner. Never had a running coach. I ran in my youth and early adulthood (occasionally) because I wanted to be pin-thin. That is amusing, because now, I put in 50+ miles a week, and I’m gaining weight. And it’s NOT ALL MUSCLE. It’s purely because I’m pretty much hungry all the time, and I don’t eat the right things. Yes, I love spinach. And yes, I can eat bags of broccoli. But I also love cheese.
Enough said.
So, I’m pretty much scared out of my mind, as you probably know about the upcoming 50k I’m registered for. I don’t know what I was thinking when I registered. I must have had a good run or race just beforehand. When I ran this race last year (and came in third to last), I thought to myself, “been there, done that, no need to do that again.”
And then here I am stressing over the same race. At least I know the trails.
Keep in mind that I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO TRAIN FOR AN ULTRA-MARATHON. On the upside, I have met and run with wonderful ultra-marathoners who have much to offer and have given me great advice.
I thought it apropos today to publish my “game-plan” for the SJ50k (since it’s TWO weeks away – yikes!!!!!!)
1) I’m not training anymore. I’m just running for fun. That’s my “taper” which will inevitably result in less mileage.
2) I am going to RUN MY OWN RACE. This is very important to me – I’m not going to get pressured out about how fast other runners are at the start, I’m just going to run my pace and focus on remaining strong both mentally and physically THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE RACE – especially going up West Horsethief..
3) I’m breaking this race into 2 portions – the first is referred to as “The Candy Store Run,” which totals about 19 miles. It’s a tough run and has a cut-off of 5 hours. You may think that 5 hours is no pressure. But it is for me, because my goal is to make it well beneath that goal of 5 hours. I’m hoping for 4 hours, because the next 12 miles is much more difficult than the first 19.
4) I will top-off at EVERY water station.
5) I will keep moving forward, which means NOT STOPPING AND JOKING AROUND AT AID STATIONS. I can’t afford the time. Forward, forward, forward – that is my motto.
6) Since we run past our cars at about mile 18, I will pack a drop bag, just in case.
7) I will smile.
8) I will laugh
9) I will do my my best to not fall.
10) And I will help other runners if they are unfortunate enough to need my help.
I have more to my race plan, which entails how I will tackle West Horsethief at mile 23!! But these are minor details to those listed above. Best thing is, I found my favorite shoe on close-out (meaning cheap) which I plan to run in until the race. Hopefully it will do me good!
Thanks so much for all your encouragement. : ) You guys and gals have more confidence in me than I.
When my cellphone alarm sang out this morning, I had to think hard. Get the boys to school? Run? Then I looked at the time and saw 4AM and immediately knew, A RACE. It took me one or two seconds to recall which race, and I thought to myself, “Oh crap.”
Crazy Elevation profile of this marathon:
Normally I love trails, as you are aware if you’ve read this blog. But this race took place in the San Gabriel Mountains. I’ve NEVER run those mountains. I like racing on trails that I know “like the back of my hand.”
It was cold at the base of the mountains in Rancho Cucamonga. My good friend, Kurt F. came out to meet me near the start line, as lucky for me, he only lives a couple blocks away from the race. (Kurt is one of my oldest continuous friends. We met when I was TWELVE YEARS old).
Among the runners I saw some people I recognized from volunteering Twin Peaks 2 years ago. I also saw Mark Ryne who I first met at Barstow’s “Get Your Kicks on Route 66 half marathon” a few years back. I saw Steve Harvey, the race director of so many hardcore races in my local mountains.
Raring (Ha!) to go, at Start Line (Mark Ryne’s photo):
Fellow trail runner, Mark:
The morning was lovely, clear and cold with no wind. We began on a slight decline, then climbed for about a mile and a half. Then we ran downhill for about two miles. “Remember this,” I told myself “You’re going to have to climb out in the end.”
The 29 racers spread out quickly, and for a long while, I had two runners behind me, and one a ways up front that I could see. I tried to catch him for a long time. I closed the gap on every uphill, but then on the descents he blew me away.
Gorgeous Views:
The Santa hat and long sleeves come off!:
I ran fire roads, lovely forest paths where I could hear the stream flowing strong. I ran up a single track, and along rock mountainsides. I crossed creeks and ran along cliffs and then a long descent into the halfway mark. Thorns from a wild rose (I think) tore at the back of my calves and drew blood. But other than that, my first half of the race was fun and carefree. I didn’t make the time I planned but how could I have possibly known, being I didn’t know what lay ahead. The cut off for 13.1 miles was 3 and a half hours. After my first hour running, I calculated making the half in three hours. I made it in at 3 hours 22 minutes, and there was the guy I had been trying to catch for so long. We spoke briefly then he raced off while I chugged down some Coca-Cola.
13.1 miles!!! Awesome aid station workers to greet us:
After leaving the station, I had about 2 miles of uphill running which I used to my advantage to catch the guy ahead of me. I passed Mark on the way as he came in to the half way mark. We both took a few pics and I continued to work on lengthening my lead on the guy I had passed. I knew I needed to get the lead as big as possible or else he’d pass me on the next downhill.
Heading back and working on “the pass”:
Mark crossing stream, very close to halfway point (probably half a mile):
Quick pose as I continue to make my way back up the mountain (Mark’s photo):
At about mile 16, I made the big descent and I ran “like a bat out of hell,” because I didn’t know how close that quick downhill runner was to me. I never looked back once I passed. I tripped several times, but never fell. Then as I began to bottom out before the next climb, I had to duck beneath some branches. I glanced down at my garmin to calculate whether I’d make 6 hours. There was a slight, very slight chance. That’s when I looked back up and slammed, I mean slammed my head into a large branch. It seemed like I could hear my skull crush and my brain rattle (of course they didn’t), but the impact really dinged me. At first, I started to cry but quickly stopped the sobbing and headed off a bit slower. I began to see purple spots and worried the head impact caused some damage. But immediately after downing a gel, the purple spots in my vision disappeared.
Still, I wasn’t the same. Eventually, I was able to pick up my speed again, but the climb was uphill again. I was completely alone, realizing now that I was never going to make 6 hours. My spirits began to drop until I heard someone hooting and hollering. I knew I was close to the next aid station. When I reached the single-manned station at the top of the climb, I inquired whether he could see any other runners behind me through his binoculars. He said that he could see me running for a long time and pointed out the vast mileage as I looked down upon it in kind of a disbelief. And he had seen no other runners behind me. At that point I felt safe, thanked him for his hospitality and headed off downhill toward the next climb back to the finish line.
Well, LET ME TELL YOU miles 22 through 24+ were pretty much HELL. Time travelled so very slowly. My left ankle was sore, my right knee ached. Every time I turned a corner I thought for sure the last mile and a half descent would begin. I turned corner after corner, my spirits dropping, dropping, dropping. That’s when I wanted to take the “Race director’s name in vain,” (something another race director, Jessica Deline wrote that I now understand). I thought to myself, “Does he think this is funny???” When I turned one of the last corners and saw that the climb continued, I actually exclaimed, “F***!!” And I stopped running for about twenty steps. Then I picked up my feet, kicked out the back and continued the ascent.
I was so dang happy to see that final downhill. But I have to write even that last mile and a half or so, really crept by. The race director, James Schoelles, ran me up to the finish line. I wasn’t mad at him anymore (Seriously, he put on a top-notch race). You can’t believe how very happy I was to have finished. No, I didn’t get the honored DFL (there were still 3 more runners to cross the finish line – and they all did : ) My time: 6:34.
Running UP HILL into the finishing line, filming race director, James Schoelles as he photos me (James’s photo): (Oh and NOTE TO SELF: GET YOUR HEAD UP LAUREN!)
). I dreamt of the spring in the mountain wall where I would wash my face. But I didn’t count switchbacks or even think about when I would arrive. I merely climbed switchback after switchback, trying to focus on the moment. I passed a runner, and came up on the heels on another runner suffering as much as I was. His name was Mark, (he was the guy with the sweeper on Trabuco). He hadn’t climbed Holy Jim before. I tried to give him hope, talking about the downhill toward the top, and that it was going to get shady and not as steep pretty soon. I continued to pray. And I continued to dream of washing my face.
my pack contained Nuun water. I also downed a few Endurolytes and two peanut-butter gels. 
(Seriously, he put on a top-notch race). You can’t believe how very happy I was to have finished. No, I didn’t get the honored DFL (there were still 3 more runners to cross the finish line – and they all did : ) My time: 6:34.
