Harding Hustle 50k

I never really thought that I had it in me to run The Harding Hustle.  I was never going to even try.  This was the race that I worked, not ran.  It was too hot.  It was too steep.  And I would have to summit not once, but THREE times. 

That is, until 2014 when I registered for this race.  A momentary lapse of reason, I suppose.  I wanted to use this as a training run. 

I woke at 3:30 AM, left my house at 4:00 AM, arrived in Modjeska Canyon at 4:30.  I took off up Harding Truck Trail at 5:00 AM.  I elected an early start with two other runners, one of them my friend Emmett Rahl.  At the start line, Emmett gave me a laminated pace sheet with cut-offs, and pacing for a 7:30 finish and a 10:00 finish.  Considering that I doubted that I could even finish this race, I hoped for the longer finish.  On the backside, he had printed a group photo of my three sons and husband. 

Early on in the dark, I turned my ankle going up that mountain, but not terribly.  But, I have to admit that I thought to myself, “I really wouldn’t be that upset if I twisted my ankle.”  I had about thirty-one miles to go at that point.  An unbearable thought, so much so, that I didn’t think about it.  I just plodded one foot in front of the other.

I considered the  first “leg” of this 50k the almost entirely uphill trip along Harding Truck Trail.  It measures about 9.3 miles.  The first mile is the worst mile.  And it doesn’t ease up until about mile 6.5.  At that point, the road levels out some, and there’s even a slight down hill.  Only slight.  Normally, it takes me about 3:15 to make that nine mile trip.  Yes that long!  I am excruciatingly slow during that first leg.  Quite amazingly, I made the trip on Saturday in under 3 hours, something like 2:50.  To make matters quite pleasurable, the skies were cloudy and the breeze was cool. 

Trying to catch Emmett (which I never did) going up Harding:

Views from Harding TT:

First Leg complete:

The second leg of this 50k was the trip up to Modjeska Peak, which measures about 3 miles.  Also entirely uphill, there’s quite a few rocky portions which I found more than annoying.  But the views were so gorgeous and the breeze was still so cool, there was no getting me down, even as numerous regular starters began passing me. 

I found great solace in seeing a few runners that I know as I ran up to Modjeska Peak.  One of my running friends, Randall Tolosa,  manned the post at Modjeska where I turned around and ran back down for the third leg of this 50k. 

On The Main Divide onward to Modjeska Peak:

Shoe Tying at Modjeska Peak:

Coming off Modjeska Peak:

The third leg of this race entailed running down Modjeska into the saddle and up to Santiago Peak – a trip totaling about 3.5 miles.  Somewhere in the third leg, I met a reader of my blog (thanks for saying Hi and telling me you read Laurenontherun!!!).  Running down into the saddle I teared up, as I knew at this point I was truly committed to the 50K.  I was on my way to Santiago Peak, and there would be no turning back for a 30k race.  It was a finish or a DNF for me – just as I wanted.  I took out my phone and texted my husband, “in the saddle.” 

I found the third leg tiring and hiked a bit of that switchback up to “Talking Towers,” (AKA Santiago Peak).   Some of the runners powered up to the peak, others walked for more strength later.  I saw Emmett as he came back down, and he shouted out words of encouragement, as he knew all about my doubts.  I looked at my family’s picture quite a few times and smiled wide.  And I used the pace sheet to move me on quicker.  So far, I was coming in with times under the 10:00 finish, and well above the cut offs for the race.  I felt fine.  I was enjoying this adventure.  And even more amazingly, I kept the demons at-bay.  There was no negative self-talk, no “I suck,” or “Who am I kidding?”   It was more, “Look how beautiful that is!”  or “I am so lucky that the breeze is cool today.”

I meet several other runners at Santiago Peak, and familiar faces working the aid station.  I took a little more time at this peak, filling my hydration pack and talking a bit with the other runners.  I took off for leg four well within the race cut-off times.

The fourth leg was back to into the saddle and back up Modjeska Peak.  I teared up again in the saddle, this time because I knew that I would probably finish this race.  “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” I warned myself.  Still, I felt confident.  I texted my husband, “back in the saddle.”

At the base of Modjeska Peak, I found myself weary of making that climb again.  You could have shot me at that point and I probably would have been fine with that.  I REALLY didn’t want to summit again.  But I drudged up that switch-back alongside the other runners who dragged along with me.  I noticed one guy sit down to rest as I finally quite happily made my way back down for the 5th leg back to Harding Truck Trail.  Keeping a foothold on that rocky terrain was difficult.   

Back in the Saddle:

I left the Maple Springs aid station for the final leg of this 50k at about ten minutes past the pacing for a 10:00 finish.  I felt fine with that.  But I had energy still, and I had run this 9.3 downhill on many occasions.  I knew that I could run it quicker than I thought that I could.  And so I took off with the intent of a 12 minute mile all the way down.  I did very well, felt strong, met other runners.  I was going back and forth with another runner who looked familiar.  He finally caught me again with about 6 miles to go, and we ran side-by-side silently for a bit.  So I pushed a little harder when he finally said, “Gosh Lauren, put down the hammer!” 

Ha!  Turns out we kind of knew each other.  He remembered me from working Chimera.  He said that I helped him at the Holy Jim Aid.  I remembered him as Jeff Higgins from Old Goat 50.  He was the guy behind me with encouraging words at the end of the race.  Well, he finally said that he couldn’t keep up and I raced off ahead of him gaining more speed as I crashed down the mountain (though I passed him, he finished with a better time, about fifteen minutes quicker because I started earlier).  It was great to see Jeff again.  And it was a booster to pass him. 

With less than 5 miles remaining, I stopped one last time, at the Laurel Springs aid station.  My eyes stung from salt dripping off my head.  So, I took the time to drench my bandana and washed out my eyes.  Then I draped the wet bandana over my head and headed down Harding Truck Trail.  I continued to pass other runners down that mountain who would beat me in overall time.  But it still felt good to finally pass runners.  I ran that last leg, the 9.3 rocky mainly downhill miles in less than 2:15.  My best from prior runs was 2:30. 

I am happy to report that I finished The Harding Hustle 50k.  It wasn’t quick.  In fact, it was slow.  But I did it.  I wasn’t pulled.  I didn’t fall.  I didn’t lose all my strength.  I never went into the dark side.  I kept my wits about me.  My garmin time was 9:25:41.  The race’s clock time had me at 9:27.  I’ll take it.  I finished.  And I am so, so, so grateful for that!

Less than 5 miles left:

Maple Springs to Santiago Peak

When I stepped out of my truck Saturday morning in Silverado Canyon, I thought I had made a big mistake.  It was DANG COLD.  I’m talking Southern California cold of course.  But that’s still quite cold to me.  I’m guessing it was about 45F (That’s around 7C).  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Fortunately, I was layered and wore my trusty beanie and warm gloves. 

I ran without music up Maple Springs, enjoying the quiet.  Well, not exactly quiet.  Wind bursts arrived every five or so minutes, trying to rip my beanie off and dropping the temperature down about 10 degrees.  The wind made a tremendous roar, sometimes a whistle as it blew through the canyon.  About a mile in, I realized that I could hear the wind from miles away.  The leaves would rustle, the trees would creak.  The noise moved up the canyon until boom, the wind hit me.  Just like an ocean wave.  And then again, some minutes later, I’d hear it from afar, and it would travel through the canyon and blow right through me.  My smile was wide enjoying these waves.   Wide like the Chesire Cat.

I was not the only person who thought they’d enjoy a beautiful morning up Maple Springs Road.  Several trucks passed me by, as well as motorcyclists and mountain bikers.  But I arrived to a tranquil “Four Corners,” with only one mountain biker who had just rode up Harding Truck Trail.  I took in the views of several counties (San Bernardino, Riverside, LA, and Orange) and turned off on one of the “corners” heading up toward the peak, Santiago Peak that is. 

View of San Gabriel Mountains from “Four Corners”

The road up The Main Divide toward Modjeska Peak (which I only ran past, not up to) was rocky.  When I write rocky, I’m talking about those fist-sized and some a bit larger rocks covering the road.  A challenge to say the least!  At one point I heard an engine revving up this road.  It was a little, and I mean tiny, low to the ground, yellow automobile.  Rocks clinked and clanged the bottom of his car as the driver drove past me.  He wore a huge grin and sat low to the ground.  The scene reminded me of a couple Harry Potter movie scenes.  It seemed to me that this guy driving up the mountain (quite quickly, I might add) was like the bus driver of that crazy, magical bus, manically driving through the streets of London (Prisoner of Azkaban).  At the same time, I saw Ron Weasley in Chamber of Secrets when he stole his father’s car and drove wildly through the countryside.  I had to chuckle. 

That yellow car is about to turn the corner in the background of this picture: 

After I passed Modjeska peak, I ran the saddle of Saddleback mountains.   The wind blew strongly.  The views were immense.  I rarely run the saddle, which lies between Modjeska and Santiago Peaks.  A treat indeed!   While running the saddle, that little yellow car came racing down from Santiago Peak.  I snapped a picture and the driver quickly stopped on the road right next to me.  He turned off the engine.  Red-faced and smiling, he looked at me questioningly.  I grinned back and laughed, “Are you crazy?”  (Like I’m one to ask, standing in the saddle of the saddleback mountains all by myself).  “You know,” he said, “Yes.  I do believe that I am crazy.”  We both laughed and chatted a short bit, then went our separate ways.   I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on whole wheat bread as I made the remaining climb to Santiago Peak. 

In the Saddle:

Santiago Peak where the wind took no prisoners!

The run back down to my truck was tough.  It was after all 9 miles of downhill.  And my foot did not like it one single bit.  I did see several hikers, chatted with some.  More trucks made their way up Maple Springs and countless mountain bikers as well.  My foot ached a great deal for the last two miles.  But I still trotted in.  Arriving at my car, I found another driver parking in the best spot in the whole canyon.  It seemed like I had been the only person to discover this parking place, even though it’s so obvious.  He was a mountain biker, and agreed that we had indeed found the best place to park.  When I pulled out, he pulled into my spot, and set up to make his way up the mountain.  As one comes down, another goes up.

What a WONDERFUL morning!

Where my Angels and Demons Reside

Every time I run trails, I look up at Santiago Peak wistfully.  I so yearn to run up there, to the place called “Talking Peak.” I want to stand high above the clouds and look over the counties, and say to myself, “I did it!”  At the same time, I’m scared to death of the place.  The last time I made that trek was during Old Goat 50.  It was the most miserable trek I’ve ever made in my life.  I hit the base of Holy Jim at approximately mile twenty-eight, and like a zombie made those 8 uphill miles to the peak.  I really don’t know how I was able to put one foot in front of the other on that day. 

Since then, I’ve run Holy Jim several times.  But then again, I’ve had many good times with Holy Jim.  Though gorgeous it is, the three miles on the Main Divide up the the peak has NEVER been my friend.  Never, ever.

On Thursday, the 4th of July holiday, I left home under darkness and made that hour drive into Trabuco canyon.  The off-road portion was particularly bumpy.  I drove it slowly because I’m worried.  I’ve been giving my truck quite the beating lately.

Not a single car was parked in the lot as I took off up Holy Jim at 6:15 AM.  The gnats were heavy in the foresty lower portions of Holy Jim.  I breathed in a couple of those tiny black critters through my nose.  Believe me, the cool weather made the gnats bearable. 

Running through a fig tree tunnel on Holy Jim:

As usual, I felt relief and comfort when I hit the switchbacks.  I knew I’d be at this back-and-forth, back-and-forth for a long time.  I didn’t count them, the switchbacks that is.  I didn’t look forward in the run.  I simply enjoyed the beauty moment by moment.  I stopped a few times to snap photos.  The photos didn’t pick up the angels, but I know they were there.

A male runner passed me about half way up.  He took that trail like a storm.  Gnats swarmed in on me in the shady, final stretch out of Holy Jim.  When I reached the Main Divide, I took pictures of my face covered in gnats, because that’s what I do.  Just then, another runner came up out of Holy Jim.  We hiked the next mile or so together, which made the trip much more bearable.  Still, I felt the struggle big time.  I also worried some about my fluids.  The weather was heating up quickly, and I felt constantly thirsty. 

While talking to this other runner, Mark, I learned that we live in the same town, that we have a son the same age, and they will both attend the same high school in September.  I thought it odd that I didn’t know this family.  And I thought the man looked a little familiar.  That’s normal though.  I come across so many people through the days, that I’m left in a daze with practically everyone looking familiar. 

When Mark took off ahead of me to the peak, my travel slowed quite a bit.  The heat bared down heavily.  Large “horse” flies bit at my neck, arms and legs.  One even bit my hand.

The remaining trip up to Santiago Peak was pretty hellish.  Bug bites, gnats, waning water, a hot breeze, you name it.  I told myself, “Giddy-up girl.  Get it done!”  And onward I went, one foot in front of the other.  Then a memory popped into my head, seemingly out of nowhere.  It was of Mark (the guy I had just met).  He was standing in my backyard, talking to my husband about our garden.  Mark was at my oldest son’s 5 year old birthday party!  Our sons went to the same preschool!! 

The Main Divide, heading up to Santiago Peak:

I drank my coconut water and took in some calories as I continued up, up, up.  About a quarter mile from the peak, I met up with Mark as he ran back down.  He got a chuckle out of my revelation, thought it was crazy that I would remember.  He said that he “vaguely” remembered something of what I described.  We chatted briefly about the various preschool teachers we had seen over the years (Boy, does time fly!)

In no time I could see the towers.  But I still had some climbing.  Before I summited, I began looking around for water stashes.  Not finding any, I hiked up to the summit.  Surely, I thought, someone would have stashed water there. 

No water.  

I made it though.  I actually made it to Santiago Peak.  I sipped my fluids (water plus Nuun tablets) as I walked out to the viewpoint and took in the Pacific Ocean and all the cities below.  I spent about ten minutes simply wandering about, relishing my “now.”  I also took some of that time looking for water stashes. (No luck.)

Santiago Peak:

I ran back down The Main Divide at a steady pace.  I drank when I needed, but knew at that rate, I was going to run out quickly.  I stopped where some races set up an aid stop, and looked around for some stashes.  (Nothing.)

My sips grew smaller as I made my way into Bear Springs, the Holy Jim Intersection.  There had to be water there.  I felt confident.  I know some friends who stash near there.  Disheartened, all I found were empty jugs and bottles. 

Running back down The Main Divide:

I did not panic.  In fact, I knew that I’d be okay.  A mere two miles away a tiny spring flowed out of the mountain wall, year round.  That spring had fulfilled me on many occasions.  I realized that mentally, I was with it.  Physically, I was not.  My gait was awkward.  It felt like my body wanted to break down.  It wanted to plop in the shade and lay there, perhaps nap.   

Before I headed down Holy Jim, I had a choice to make:  what to do with the remaining fluids.  I could conserve and sip tiny bits for as long as possible.  That wasn’t going to get me to the spring mentally or physically fit.  I decided to drink up until I felt satisfied.  And so I drank.  And I finished off all my fluids before even heading down Holy Jim.

I ran a half mile down that switchback feeling much relief having just drank the remainder of my fluids.  With 1 1/2 miles to the spring, I saw the landside in the canyon that is just before the spring.  Foolishly I focused on that slide for an entire half mile.  It didn’t do my mind good.  The yearning was too much to take, and that half mile dragged on miserably. So, I decided not to look at the slide and ran the remaining mile in, feeling pretty decently.

The spring came down in a constant quick trickle.  Using my coconut water container I filled my entire hydration pack (68 fluid ounces), drenched myself, and drank two whole containers of cold water in that shady spot.  What a tremendous relief!

The remaining three miles down, though hot, were pleasurable with a full pack of spring water.  I got my body back.  It no longer wanted to collapse in the shade. 

The best thing about the entire trip, besides summiting and meeting another fellow trail runner, was that I kept my wits about me in a potential crises situation.  It’s good to know where you’re running.  I’m fortunate that way, very fortunate for my running friends over the past years who have shown me the way. 

Pulled at Mile Forty-One

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.

Check-in:

Ready to go:

RD Steve Harvey gives race instructions:

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.