San Juan Solstice 50: A Beautiful Sufferfest

Finally heading above treeline in the morning

This weekend I travelled to Colorado with my super awesome friends Brad and Emily for the San Juan Solstice 50, which is a 50 mile race beginning in Lake City, Colorado through the San Juans.  The course sports around 13,000 feet of elevation gain and is entirely between 8500 and 13,000+ feet.  I knew this race would be challenging, but I feel like I basically trained for it. I mean, I got in some decent mileage and felt about as prepared as I get for races. I have done a race with comparable gain (Mt. Diablo 50) and finished under 16 hours in worse shape than I am now, so that was encouraging. I cannot, however, recall a time where I have ever tried to exert myself above 12,000 feet so that was the primary unknown.




Elevation profile

The race begins and ends in the park in downtown Lake City. The first few miles are on a gentle dirt road before jumping onto single track and heading up up and up to the top. The views that morning were nothing short of spectacular.  (Almost all these pictures are from the morning and don't necessarily correspond to most of this report.)  Anyhow, after about ten miles the course begins a long downhill descent that drops almost as low as the race began. I felt pretty good for the first 17 or so miles and ran downhill hard to make up for my poor climbing.  After the first major aid station that had drop-bags, however, the course heads up this interminable jeep road all the way back up to the top of the Continental Divide. Near the top of the Divide, there is a "townsite" (pic a ways down below) called Carson. After combatting heat and thin air to amble my way up there I couldn't imagine wanting to put anything up there much less mining and toiling and working up there. Nutty people.

 

Back to this never ending climb to Carson. It never ends. And it was hot. Eventually I rolled into the Carson aid station with 40 minutes before the cut-off (I think anyhow, unless my math was fuzzy) and collapsed into a chair and sat for probably too long (10 minutes) before continuing up to the tippy top of the Divide at 13,000+ feet. 

 

It was sort of shocking to me to get up there and see a maze of jeep roads, most of which appear to be open to motorized use.  It makes sense given the fact that people were mining up here not that long ago, but it was an odd sight. 

We made our way onto the Colorado Trail which, in that particular area, is largely driveable if you were so-inclined and it were legal (which I don't think it is on the actual Colorado Trail).

The terrain was perfectly runnable but I could do no better than probably 2 mph that high up. I felt pretty nauseous to be quite frank.

Adding insult to injury, the smoke from all the many Colorado fires rolled in, obscuring what I am sure were marvelous views. The only good thing was it was HOT and the smoke also obscured the sun and cooled things down a bit.

 

On the Divide I started getting passed by what seemed to be a lot of people. This lovely woman from Crested Butte tried to make conversation with me but with each exhaled word I felt a wave of nausea roll over me and my entire chest/sternum ached in protest. I loosened my pack completely to ease the restrictive feeling but there was only so much I was capable of doing up there.

 

Eventually the trail started winding down to the next aid station, I believe called "Divide" or some such. I felt absolutely spent. There were several people hanging out in the aid station and at that point my calories were entirely Mountain Dew calories. I think I was a little dehydrated because I couldn't chew/swallow food. Mountain Dew, which is gross, was my saviour.

 

 I took note of the sign telling me how far the next aid station was and the cut-off time. It was then 4:00 p.m. and I had 2 hours, until 6:00 p.m. to get to the next aid station 9 miles away.

Carson Townsite

I quickly headed out doing the math but unable to figure out what that pace would be. I am never very good at math anyhow, but math at 12,000 feet and 31 miles is even harder. I did know that when I do a run through my neighborhood, feeling fresh and on road, 9 miles takes me around an hour and a half. I decided to stop with trying to figure it out and just go.  Either I could do it or I would get pulled at the Slumgullion aid station at mile 40.

Up on the Continental Divide

  

 This segment was (thankfully) largely downhill so once we dropped below 12,000 feet and the air felt comparatively rich with oxygen I started running as hard as I could. I started passing some people who had long ago passed me, such as the Crested Butte chica. I approached this guy who seemed to be in a bad way and he told me he had given up. "There's no way we are going to make the cutoff" he said. I looked at my watch and saw we had about 5 miles to go and an hour to do so. "Don't give up!" I said and sprinted onward, miffed that this dude told me I couldn't do it. I sort of knew he was right but also viewed this as my meager opportunity to really race (in my own head that is). I was going to make the cut-off or collapse trying.

Smoke and Jeep Trails on the Continental Divide

I passed another guy who had earlier passed me and made an enthusiastic comment about how much better I looked. Feeling totally amped I sprinted down the super rocky steep road, practicing the downhill technique Emily told me about which involves just not worrying about falling and running fast (fast being relative of course).

Smoky on the Divide

I made it to the aid station with 3 minutes to spare. They filled my water and I took off, confident that I could cover the remaining 10 miles in 3 hours.  I knew roughly 6 of those miles were downhill or at least not uphill.  Or at least I thought I remembered that, I wasn't too sure.  My Garmin died by that point so I would just have to keep moving and hope for the best.  The next six miles was on a private ranch (Vickers' Ranch) and involved a climb through a beautiful huge Aspen grove.  It was super hard though and it was hot and I basically wanted to lay down and give up.  I would take a few steps, stop, whine to myself, feel nauseous and repeat.  It was pretty horrible, and in hindsight I wish I had a Garmin to remind me to keep a move on.  This is where I really probably messed up my race but I really felt incredibly bad.  This went on for what felt like forever and to make it worse, the course sweeps caught me and were on my heels with the clanking of the trail markers reminding me that I was the pathetic slow person the sweeps have to stay behind and probably wish they could pass.  They seemed really nice though.  I wish I felt better because I essentially looked at them in disgust and turned up my music to pretend they weren't there.  I finally began the descent and rolled into the last aid station where I was told I had an hour to go 4 miles.  No problem.


Yeah I was slow.  And 13,311 feet is high for me.  This is basically the last picture I take during the race, which given how snap happy I typically am should tell you something...

I felt like I sprinted all the downhill to the finish and either it wasn't quite an hour, was more like 5 miles or I was just slower than I thought (most likely) but I finished 12-15 minutes after the 16 hour cutoff.  Thus, I am an unofficial finisher, which is basically meaningless to me at this point.  I finished.  They kept the finish open, the timeclock going and Brad and Emily were there smiling and waiting for me with cold IPA.  

Brad and Emily at Royal Gorge en route back to Colorado Springs, trying to steal of view without
paying $25 each (ripoff)

On the whole, it was a fantastic weekend.  Hanging out with good friends on vacation is pretty awesome.  I ate a lot of junk food, drank some beer and had a great time.  Not an impressive finish time but I'm pleased with myself for making it across the finish line, even if it was practically hand-in-hand with the sweeps and I was the last racer to cross the finish line.  It was a tough race, and I am not a fast person.  That combination makes it ok to me that I barely eeked out an unofficial finish.  
 
P.S.  Emily did awesome finishing in 11 hours something, 4th woman overall and Brad finished in 13 hours, which was good considering he was not at all rested.  Also, I should note that this race is incredibly well organized with top notch volunteers.  I highly recommend it, especially if you like to suffer.

I want to run dogma over with my car.

As someone with a passing interest in nutrition and diet, I occassionally read Mark's Daily Apple, which is "primal eating" based but pretty balanced and reasonable in its approach (he actually analyzes whether certain foods are horribly unhealthy or not without strictly adhering to any arbitrary rules about whether they should or should not be healthy, which is what "Paleo" people seem to do).  Without going into the confusing details of these eating approaches, but by way of background, people who are into the fad "cave man" style of eating ("Paleo") also tend to be die-hard Crossfit junkies (another fad if you ask me) and generally prone to drinking all the Kool-Aid that goes with those dogmatic eating and workout philosophies.  Crossfit, which has a lot of really quick hard workouts (like, lift heavy weights as many times as possible in three minutes), is super anti-running.  This is one of the main reasons I quit.  I obviously love running and grew tired of people knocking my favorite activity, as if their ten minute workout makes them an elite athlete bound for eternal life.  I had sort of let all this go (deep breath) but noticed in a recent discussion on Mark's website some people commenting that "ultra running is not healthy" and some endurance athletes seeking advice "did not even look fit."  My annoyance with this specious point of view flared up as a result and today, while running (while I should have been resting), I contemplated whether running long and far is healthy and whether I really care.




My bike enjoying the view on Saturday's bike ride on Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park

  As I thought this through, I thought about why I was even out for a 14 mile trail run when I am supposed to be tapering for a very difficult race next weekend.  And, why I was lining up for a difficult race when I have no hope of doing anything more impressive than making cut-offs and finishing.  (Evidently, some people think this is the pinnacle of pathetic-ness).  Just yesterday I was harassing my buddy Brad, who is also doing this difficult race next weekend, about his plans to run a ton all weekend.  "That isn't a taper!" I said.  Well, color me a hypocrite. 

The answer to the first question (why did I go out for a longish run?) is that the sun came out and I wanted to enjoy myself outside and catch some solitude and listen to tunes.  It has been miserable here and the sun was cause to frolick and celebrate.  The answer to the second question (why go to a race when I don't actually "race") is that the race is going to be pretty and I am going to have a ton of fun with my friends in Colorado.  The answer to the question about whether ultra-running or long distance running (doesn't have to be "ultra" to be hated by the Crossfit set) is healthy or not is that I don't really care.  I do all of these things because I derive pleasure from them.  The second glass of wine is never optimal from a health standpoint, but it tastes and feels good.  Running for a few hours when I should be resting may not be optimal from a racing standpoint (ha, like I "race" anyhow), but it sure felt good.  These people who worry about what is "optimally healthy" are boring and are likely humorless as well. 


Linda, Stormy and me at the end of the road (as far as it was open anyhow)

 I used to frequently read the Shape Magazine forums and they too had their collective dogma -- eat exactly 1800 calories/day and the key to satiety is mixing peanut butter, fiber one and cottage cheese.  HIIT was the thing to do, then it wasn't, then it was.  Frankly, all of these people are just kidding themselves anyhow if they think they really hold the key to optimal health.  These things change so quickly it's impossible to believe any "fad" approach is genuinely the "right" approach, if there is such a thing.  The Shape people seem so silly now, though secretly also wanting the ANSWER I tried that nasty combination (I do not recommend it though it is filling).  It seems to me that the REAL ANSWER is to live life for happiness (which includes not being a selfish jerk who makes others unhappy).  Running hasn't thus far caused me any harm, and I don't think it's hurting anyone else.  I doubt my failure to adequately taper will really make much difference in my power hike next weekend.  Whether I make cut-offs will be related to how I deal with the high elevation and my general fitness -- it's too late to do much about that.  I know I won't care that I am nothing more than an enthusiastic participant -- I generally don't.  I will be happy.  And that should be the question -- what will make me happy.  Because without good mental health, what good is physical health anyhow?  Buzz off dogmatic boring losers. :-)

No good title for this

If you haven't been reading this blog for too long you may not know about a certain incident that occurred in 2009 that has become cause for an annual remembrance run in Glacier National Park.  While it has become more of a celebration of friendship than anything else, it always serves as a bitter reminder of how a small error in judgment can literally bite you in the ass (or leg).  On that fateful June day, Tom, Callie and I planned to run in the Park, but Callie and I wanted to do a longer run than Tom.  There is a nice rolling/flattish trail that parallels Going to the Sun Road to Avalanche Campground -- you can then run to Avalanche Lake and back.  From Lake McDonald Lodge it's about 16 miles total, but there's a cut-in accessible from GTTS road that allows for a 10 mile version of the same run.  We devised a plan where we would meet at the cut-in and Tom would run 10 miles with Callie and me to Avalanche Lake.  We had two-way radios (since there is no cell reception in the Park) so that we could communicate.  When Callie and I arrived at the pre-determined meeting spot (fairly late I might add), Tom was nowhere to be seen.  We figured he either slept in or bailed.  He wasn't responding on the radio.  Ultimately, it was a beautiful sunny day and we had a great run and laughed and enjoyed ourselves.  Of course, later that night we learned that Tom had been bitten by a grizzly bear while out looking for us.  Unfortunately, he forgot both his radio and his bear spray.



Total stupidity

Above is a snapshot of my blog entry from that day written before I talked to Tom from the hospital.  As we left the trail we saw that it was closed due to bear danger, and obviously we thought nothing of it.  I mean, my "spidey sense" is obviously bullet proof and we were really good at identifying tracks.  Yup those are black bear tracks.  Nope, no sign of grizzly bears.  And, we did find out why it was closed.  And it was our collective fault.  (Do you like the foreshadowing about being "that girl?"  To this day, Tom gets to be "that guy."  He is good humored about it but it's still pretty embarrassing).  Certainly, we take these things a bit more seriously these days.  Yesterday was our annual group run along that same route. Now, we don't let anyone be solo.... I perform my poem (written by me and Ted together) "Bear Oh Bear" and Tom gets choked up that his friends are willing to go run in the pouring rain then snow to help be part of the ongoing healing process and friendship that ultimately makes it less bad to be mauled by a grizzly bear.

One minor but relevant lesson that I have learned from all this is that if you are engaged in an activity that is already subject to criticism, such as trail running in bear country, you'd better be careful to not give ammunition to your detractors.  Tom's incident, though he was actually standing on the trail not running when the bears became interested in him, has been used extensively as a great example of why trail running should basically be illegal and how trail runners are "wrong headed."  In these here parts there is a fair amount of dogmatic debate over "right" and "wrong" ways to enjoy nature and recreate, and this didn't help the trail runner's cause too much.  Of course, the worst bear incidents in the Park have been hikers, and more recently a guy hiking had a Tom-like incident.  It's tough to analyze how much risk is acceptable or appropriate and there is only mitigation of risk -- no total avoidance.  Sometimes these things are just dumb luck.  I still believe that recreating in grizzly habitat is just shades of risk and the factors involved are more numerous and complicated than running v. walking.  Ultimately, it's probably safer to get out there, enjoy nature and get some exercise than eat Cheetos all day and watch TV.