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 
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!)
