My Experience at the American River 50-Mile Endurance Run

Preparation

In August I went well over 100 miles, and on October 9th I run/walked the Lake Tahoe Marathon in 4h40m. I wasn't really in good enough shape to do a marathon, but I had set the goal to keep me motivated, and somehow I carried through on it. I was totally wiped at the end, feeling much worse than I would feel after the AR50. (Starting out way too fast didn't help!)

On December 5 I ran the California International Marathon in 3:37. I was in better shape than for Tahoe, but maybe half of the credit for the faster time goes to the easier course (the Tahoe course is 6200 feet elevation at its lowest, and includes some very big hills).

After CIM, I trained about 50-60 miles per week, with a typical week including something like two 13-milers and one six-miler before work on weekdays, and one weekend long run of 20-33 miles. I should stress, though, that most weeks were not typical, and I think the variety really helped me. Some weeks I completely neglected running, as in Christmas week when I visited my parents in Wisconsin. I think those weeks helped me avoid overuse injuries.

I got out on trails as much as I could (if you're not familiar with trail running, the basic point is that it's much less stressful on your body and mind than pavement running, so you can end up putting in more hours, if not miles, without trying too hard). About six weeks before the AR50, I was lucky enough to be able to take a trail-running vacation in Patagonia. Those two weeks were like this: two days on a bus, two days of all-day trail running in mountains, two more days on a bus, repeat. I think the all-day runs really helped, even though we were covering no more than 25 miles per day, with lots of breaks and lots of walking (on uphills and where the footing was not secure). Back home, I tried to have a couple of weekends with longish runs on both days, but I really only succeeded twice. Summary: you need to put in some long runs, but you need variety and you need rest too.

I got a great deal of rest the three weeks before the race because an injury flared up. I cancelled a 50-k event I had entered as a major tuneup two weeks before AR50, and twice in that period I went about six days in a row with no running at all. I felt like I was getting out of shape (and going nuts not being able to do anything about it), but I think the rest did more good than harm. A similar thing had happened the 10 days before CIM, and I did better there than I expected. So it's much better to err on the side of getting too much rest. Believe me, I've gone too far in the other direction before some marathons earlier in my career and regretted it!

I found that my running shoes were pretty worn out as the race approached, so I bought new ones about three weeks before and planned to break them in before the race. Only an idiot would run 50 miles in brand-new shoes, right? Well, because I couldn't train, I couldn't break in my shoes. By four days before the race, I was panicked on this issue. I really didn't want to run in my worn-out shoes. So I tried to break in the new ones by just wearing them around all day for a few days. I took one small test run two days before the race, to test my calf and see if I should even attempt the race. The test run was ok, so I decided to wear essentially brand-new shoes for the race.

The AR50 took place Saturday, April 2, 2005. The night before, I organized my drop bags: one for Beals Point at 27.4 miles, and another for Rattlesnake Bar at 39.9 miles. At Beals Point, I planned to change my shoes and socks and slather on both sunblock and poison oak block, as Beals Point was just before the start of the narrow trails where poison oak would be a risk (I am VERY sensitive to it). At Rattlesnake Bar, I stuffed in another pair of shoes and socks, without really intending to use them. Only if the trail was very muddy and my feet were seriously wet. I also put my iPod in there, because I thought music might make the difference between hell and purgatory in the last 10 miles. I don't usually run with music, and used to scoff at people who do, but I've changed my mind lately. I still don't usually run with music, but it can make a big difference when you're down. I also stuffed gummy bears in both drop bags. I have found them to be a nice treat I can eat on the run.

The Big Day

We parked near the start line by 5:30. The start was at 6, so we had enough time to put on sunblock, make our final strategies, etc, but not so much time that we grew restless. The typical ultrarunning strategy is to walk the uphills and run the flats and downs, but the AR50 is very flat for the first 28 miles. In that case the conventional wisdom is to take planned walking breaks from the beginning, long before you get tired. Then you can go much longer distances than if you ran continuously until fatigue set in. Suggested ratios are 5 minutes walking for every 25 running, or even 1:5, which sounds like you'd never get into a running rhythm.

I had settled on 1:8, which I trained with (once!), but I was slightly worried that it was too ambitious, because I was very fatigued by the 30-mile mark of the one run I had done with the 1:8 breaks. But I was excited about the race and looked for excuses to skip some breaks. The start was very constricted and therefore slow, so I waited 12 minutes before my first walking break. After a bit more than an hour with that strategy, I decided that I felt so good and my strategy was working so well that I should embrace the strategy more fully and move to 1:6. After all, I would still be way ahead of the 10-hour pace, which was my goal because it would qualify me for the Western States 100. The 10-hour pace works out to exactly 12 minutes per mile, which seems slow enough to be easily doable.

Erik had kindly given me a laminated card with the times I should reach each aid station to stay on 10-hour pace. For the first aid station, Watt Avenue at 5.9 miles, the goal was 1h10m, and I reached it in 53m. No wonder I felt I should slow down! (I should note that I felt that 10h was a minumum goal and that on a good day I could do 9h, but this was even ahead of 9h pace.) I was a bit surprised to see that the first aid station had only water---I should have read the website more carefully. Already before the start, I was feeling like I should have eaten something more substantiial for breakfast, and I had been hoping to make up for it by loading up at the first aid station. Not to worry. The next station was only 3.5 miles away, and I wasn't feeling low on energy yet, just that there was some possibility of becoming low on energy. I did fill my one now-empty bottle with water, just in case I would need the fluid. But I would drink from the other bottle, which still had calories (diluted Gatorade) in it.

The 10-hour pace would put me at the second aid station, William Pond (9.4 miles), at 1h53m. I think it was about 1h24m when I got there. There are two types of reaction to being so far ahead of pace: (1) this is great, I will finish in a much better time than I ever dreamed, or (2) this is crazy, I've got to slow down or I will crash and burn. I didn't go to either extreme. I knew the course got tougher near the end, going from a flat, paved bike path to muddy single-track and culminating in a 1000-foot hill at the very end. The time targets didn't take this into account, so it was mandatory that I be ahead of my targets in the first half. How much ahead I couldn't be sure, but after going to the 1:6 ratio I felt that there was no possibility that I was going too fast too early, so I was able to relax and not worry that I was too far ahead.

At William Pond I should have stocked up on food, but I was too nervous about wasting time, so I grabbed about 3 Gu packets and stuffed them into my bottle strap for eating on the run, and grabbed a minimal amount of real food (as in 1 slice of bread with peanut butter). Right after finishing the bread, maybe 100 yards out of the station, I found I was still hungry and I remembered my worries about running out of fuel. I briefly considered going back, but surely three Gu packets should easily keep me going until the next station. Oops, looks like they fell out of my bottle strap! Oh well, there's NO WAY I'm going back! At least I had dumped out my water and filled both bottles with calorie-laden fluid (Gu20 was the official drink of the AR50).

It was 6.2 miles to the next station, Sunrise, at the 15.6 mile mark. I arrived at 2h24m, 43m ahead of target. There, I made a big mess as I grabbed a handful of PBJs for the road, and THEN tried to also grab some peanuts and other assorted stuff. I had to hunt for a paper towel to wipe the jelly off my shirt! In the end I spent four full minutes there, and I didn't even get much eating done. All I did was organize so I could eat while walking (including two Gu packets SECURELY stuffed into my bottle strap). I should have planned that better!

By this point there were many people running in the oncoming direction, for a Team in Training run. It was nice to think that I was doing a 50-miler instead of just training for a marathon. But I couldn't feel superior for long, because the Team in Training people had such a good attitude. They clapped and cheered for us 50-milers, even though they were seeing hundreds of us go by, probably spread out over their entire training run. Anyway, I got a little boost from them. My legs still felt fine and my main task was to wolf down all these PBJs while continuing to move forward and not get my stomach too full. I walked for about a minute and a half extra while eating, and then finished the PBJs on the run.

Mile 18.

The next aid station, Nimbus Overlook, was only 3.4 miles away, at 19.0 miles total. 10-hr pace would be 3h48m. I know I left there at 3h exactly, so I arrived at probably 2h58m. My tummy was reasonably full by now, so I just grabbed some M&Ms. I don't think I even had to fill up my bottles. But I did fail to see the sign indicating a sharp left turn out of the aid station, and wasted maybe 30 seconds going straight ahead.

I had done one training run on the bikepath, ending at Nimbus, so here was the start of unfamiliar territory. That made it more exciting than thinking "OK, just 31 more miles to go...". I think it was also on this stretch that I took my first of two bathroom breaks. The conventional wisdom is that if you're not peeing during an ultra, then you are not fully hydrated. I also learned a bit of ultrarunner etiquette from a guy who simultaneously headed for the same bush I did: when you come around the corner of a bush, do it slowly, because you might be invading the privacy of a female in the act of "dropping trou".

It was 4.5 miles to Negro Bar, at the 23.5 mile mark. It took me 45 minutes (3h45m total to this point), so that was a 10-minute/mile pace since the last aid station, still gaining LOTS of time on the fiducial 12-minute/mile pace. I was now 57m ahead of that pace, and if I were insanely optimistic I would project a finish around 8 hours flat. I wasn't THAT optimistic, but I dared let myself toy with the possibility of finishing between 8 and 9 hours. But I was less impressed by the possibility of a really fast time than by all the other options that were opened up by having this cushion. For example, if I felt really bad at any point, I could simply walk until I felt better, even if it took an hour, and STILL finish in better than 10 hours. That was nice to know. At the same time, I have to admit that perheps my condition was already deteriorating, because I cannot remember what Negro Bar looked like. At all. I think I took some M&Ms again, and one hard candy, which I thought might provide a distraction by lasting a long distance in my mouth.

It turned out that the candy was a spicy cinnamon which I didn't like, so it did provide a distraction. I left Negro Bar at about 3h45m, and when I hit Beals Point 3.9 miles later (27.4 miles total), it seemed surprisingly close. It took about 41m, which means I was slowing down (now doing 10.5 minutes per mile), but still gaining time on the 10-hr pace, which would have put me there at 5h29m instead of the 4h26m I actually got there. I think it was also between Negro Bar and Beals Point that I saw a runner about 100 yards ahead of me stumble on a rock and fall on her face. She just picked herself up and went right on her way. The path was still paved, but most of us preferred to run on the dirt alongside the path, to minimize pounding on the feet. I was glad that I wasn't the one to get road rash with 23 miles to go.

I did, however, have a blister developing on my right foot, which was really bad news. I never get blisters. What a great time to start. And with 23 miles to go! At Beals Point I grabbed my drop bag and changed my shoes and socks, but the second pair of shoes was a different model with less room in the toe box, and it hurt my blister just to put it on, never mind running in it. So I settled for squeezing some fluid out of the blister and putting the first pair back on. I also noticed that the spot on my leg which had been reacting to poison oak exposure from my last long run 10 days ago was now truly disgusting. It had been weeping brown pus the last few days, but I had always been keeping it fairly clean. Having paid no attention to it all day, I found that the pus had run down my leg quite a way, and also formed large brown crystals over the 2-inch diameter circle on my thigh which had been exposed. Curious---I had never seen pus crystals before. I also slathered on more sunblock and, for the first time, poison oak block.

I also grabbed pretzels here and at the next station, because I knew ultrarunners need to eat salty stuff too. If you could see how much salt had crystallized on my head by the finish, you would be impressed by how much salt you need to consume. At several aid stations, I grabbed chunks of potatoes, thinking they would be salted, but they weren't. Turns out you have to dip them in salt yourself.

I left Beals Point at the 4h30m mark, very worried about my blister, but also somewhat invigorated by the ice-cold bottles in my hands. I hadn't needed to fill up in a while, which meant the bottles had reached my body temperature, while it was now 10:30 a.m. and sunny. The cooling effect from the newly cold bottles was great. I thought that for future aid stations I should start dumping whatever remained in my bottles and get fresh, cold stuff each time. But it turned out that Beals Point just had exceptionally cold fluid. I never quite got that nice feeling again. I also soon realized that I had forgotten my gummy bears in the drop bag.

After Beals Point, the trail was no longer paved, but for some miles it was still a wide, smooth gravel path suitable for bikes. The night before, at packet pickup, I had met a woman who was featured in "Race for the Soul," a documentary about the Western States 100. When I told her this would be my first ultra, she advised me to go slower at first than I thought I needed, and pick it up only when I hit the trails. So I started to pick it up, in terms of decreasing the ratio of walking to running. I went to 1:6.5 and then 1:7, but before I could even complete my first 7, the uphills started. They were quite small, but I thought it prudent to walk them rather than stick to an arbitrary fixed schedule. And maybe I was a bit tired.

It was 4.1 miles to Granite Bay (31.5 total), but I don't remember much. I certainly can't visualize it now. I don't even remember the time I got there for sure, but I think it was 5h15m. So it was now taking me 11 minutes per mile, and I was no longer gaining much on the 12m/mile reference pace (especially after considering the additional 1-2 minutes I was burning every 3-4 miles at the aid stations). But that was ok with me, as I was now 2/3 of the way through the race. With only 18.5 miles left, I felt sure I would finish even if my condition deteriorated drastically. My blister was no longer bothering me as I was on trails instead of pavement, but I didn't think about it at the time. Foremost on my mind was the nagging calf injury I had had for the last three weeks. I was feeling some twinges, and if it really flared up, I would indeed be finishing with many hours of walking. So at a few points I slowed down specifically for that. It went away after not too many miles, probably because it was now a serious dirt trail with twists and turns, no chance of repetitive stress. At many places I had to stop for a second or two to figure out how to cross the mud without getting my feet too wet. A few times, they did get wet, but I was amazed at how fast they dried out.

In this stretch of the course, I started passing many people. I felt that the main problem was not fatigue, but keeping my calf from flaring up. In retrospect, I was too optimistic. I passed a lot of people in the 27-37 mile range, but they were probably idiots who went out way too fast. Then in the 37-50 mile range, I was the idiot who went out somewhat too fast, getting passed by lots of other people!

It was also in this stretch that we encountered another race on the course, a duathlon with runners crisscrossing our course and sometimes coming in an oncoming direction. It was kind of funny how many athletes were using the course on that day. (Back on the bike path, I had seen two cyclists about to enter the course, seeing the abnormal amount of runners and the signs, and having this reaction: "AR50. Shit.") But just before and after the duathlon encounter, I found that this was the first stretch in which, at times, I could no longer see AR50 runners in front of me or behind me. That was a weird feeling for someone used to road races with masses of people. At times I had to actually pay attention to intersections and the like, to avoid going off course!

It was only 3.0 miles from Granite Bay to the Buzzard's Cove station at the 34.5 mile mark. I do remember this station because it was the most remote. All the other stations were at trail access places: I could see trucks parked there and so on. But this was really in the middle of nowhere, and I guess people carried all the stuff in. They clearly had more spirit than any other station, because they put up nice signs, one on the way in saying we were close to the aid station, and several on the way out. The first said something like, "We took care of you, didn't we?", the second said 16 miles to Auburn, and the third said 116 miles to Squaw Valley! (A reference to the Western States 100, which starts in Squaw Valley and ends in Auburn.) And most amazingly, though the website says H20 only for this station, they were serving ice cream! I didn't take any, but it was here that I started taking the ultrarunner's elixirs: Mountain Dew and Coke. Caffeine and sugar---can't beat that combination!

I really don't remember what my time I hit Buzzards Cove or the following aid stations. After Buzzards Cove, I knew that all my projections were way too optimistic and that I was seriously slowing down. The two big factors were fatigue and terrain. While I had certainly trained on far tougher trails, I had been completely mistaken in making pace projections based on the easy, initial bike path part. In retrospect, this is a really dumb mistake, but for whatever reason I hadn't had the foresight to plan realistic target times for each aid station. Maybe it was because I had kept telling myself that the main goal was just to finish. In fact, I had been mentally prepared to drop out as early as the 10-mile mark if my calf flared up. By that standard, I should have been happy with my situation. But ever since I had started the race feeling good, I had forgotten that and began thinking of the 10-hr Western States qualifying time as my my only goal. By Horseshoe Bar at 38.0 miles, I began to question if I would make it. I don't remember the time, but I was definitely slowing down. What kept me going at that point was the thought of my iPod waiting only 1.9 miles away at Rattlesnake Bar. If anything could give me a lift over the last 10 miles, it was Led Zeppelin.

Around this time I encountered a problem I had never had in road races: there's not enough room on the trail to pass. I would catch up to a group of one or two people, then decide that it was more prudent to conserve a bit by following them than to expend the energy to pass them. That part was completely ok with me. The frustrating part was that I am faster on the downhills than most people are, and perhaps slower on the uphills. Gravity loves me. So I would follow for a bit, then when we hit a downhill I'd get frustrated at not being able to let myself flow down the hill like I usually do. But by then I didn't want to ask to pass, because a new uphill was looming right away. I'm not sure what strategy would have been best for me. Not knowing, I figured just to keep conserving my energy.

At one point I found myself behind two guys for maybe 5 continuous minutes. Then we passed a stream, and the first guy stepped off, saying something about he's dying for water. Then I saw his face---it was Gordon Ainsleigh, the founder of modern 100-mile running! He was the first to run Western States, all by himself the first year. And I had just passed him! (Of course, I was more than 20 years younger: he's 57 now.)

Soon after this, I came around a corner and saw a large animal in my peripheral vision. I turned my head without thinking and caught a woman "dropping trou". I turned my head back as fast as I could, while she apologized profusely, saying there just wasn't any good place to go. I said "I know the feeling" as I continued running.

I think it was a few minutes past the 7-hour mark when I left Rattlesnake Bar at 39.9 miles. That would make it about a 12:50 per mile pace since Granite Bay, so I was definitely making withdrawals from the time bank. But still---only 10.1 miles left, and with music to boot. It can't take more than 2 hours to do 10.1 miles, can it? I started to walk even many flats, out of some combination of fatigue and laziness. The music kept my spirits up, but it did not make me run the way it did in training!

Mile 41.

The next miles are a blur in slow motion. The Manhattan Bar aid station came after 3.3 miles (43.2 miles total), but I don't remember anything. All I remember is that the miles came agonizingly slowly, amid some spectacular scenery. On this stretch of trail, there were permanent mile markers (not specific to the AR50) every half mile. I saw mile number 46 soon after leaving Rattlesnake Bar, so the finish should be at the equivalent of 56. I knew the AR50 course would leave the river and climb steeply the last 3-4 miles up to Auburn, so I only had to make it to mile marker 53 or so and then I would see the last change of terrain, the light at the end of the tunnel. The only problem was that the time interval between half-mile markers was approximately eternity. As compensation, though, the terrain became more beautiful, with spectacular views of the river below us, sometimes almost vertically below us. The only other thing I remember is lots of people passing me, which was quite annoying because I had to stand to the side to let them through.

Finally I saw trail signs for turnoffs to "Cardiac Hill" and "Cardiac Hill Bypass". The AR50 pink-ribbon trail markers indicated the bypass. Thank God for that! But the "bypass" was demoralizingly steep. The people I had been following for miles, who went downhill slower than I could have, flitted up the hill much faster than I---and they were walking!! Just before they left me for good, I asked the woman who seemed most knowledgeable about the course (I heard her giving advice to someone else) whether it was "like this" (meaning that steep) all the way to the end, and she said yes. I was crushed. It was almost the 9-hour mark, and I still hadn't seen the Last Gasp aid station, which I remembered was 3.1 miles from the finish. If it was this steep all the way up, there was no way I was going to do somewhat more than 3.1 miles in less than an hour, meaning I would miss the WS100 qualification. This was my darkest moment. Just think: I had more than an hour of walking--no, stumbling--up this hill with nothing to think about other than my missed qualification.

Then the aid station appeared. I filled up my water bottle and asked how far it was to the finish, because it seemed like something didn't add up. If it was really 3.1 miles from this aid station to the finish like I remembered, and added that to the distance I had already walked up the hill from the river plus the mile markers along the river, minus the difference between those mile markers and the AR50 starting point, it came to more than 50 miles. But could I really do the math at this point, or was I being too optimistic? It wouldn't hurt to ask. And the answer was: 2.4 miles!

At the same time, I could see that beyond the aid station, the trail turned into a road, and it wasn't quite so steep. The woman had probably misunderstood me, thinking I was asking if it was uphill all the way rather than was it so steep all the way. It was 9h3m since the start, and I had 2.4 miles of hill that I could at least walk rather than scramble or stumble. I would make it under 10 hours!! (By the way: my arrival time at Last Gasp implies that I had been going at a 15:35 per mile pace in the 7.7 miles since Rattlesnake Bar. That seems embarrassingly slow. But I wasn't even thinking about that at the time.)

I would like to say that upon this good news I started running and finished strong. Instead, I walked faster. But that was smart. I passed some people who had run past me in the last 5-10 minutes, who were now walking slowly. I passed the 2-miles-to-go sign at 9h12m. Led Zeppelin was giving me something to think about:

Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream
I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been
...
Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years
With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear

A flat (or flatter) section came, and I actually did run, for more than 5 consecutive minutes. I passed the 1-mile-to-go sign at 9h24m. By that point it was no longer so flat, and I tried to run some but mostly walked. Here Gordon Ainsleigh passed me. I was honored, and I didn't try to fight it. Finally, there was a little downhill and I started running. True to ultrarunner style, Gordon really started running the downhill and put some serious distance on me in no time.

It was clear that the end was near, as we crossed a street and were back in "civilization" for the first time in a long time. But immediately after that, there was a short but very sharp hill which reduced me to walking again. At the top of that, I ran again and it was about a quarter mile to the finish line, where I beamed for the photographer. My wonderful wife gave me a hug and a kiss, and I felt like crying for a second, but only a second. There was too much to feel good about.

Finish!

Aftermath

The next day, I was sore but not that bad compared to my two fall marathons. The slower pace and relative lack of asphalt/concrete definitely helped in this regard. Sunday night, I started to look at the race calendar to see what my next goal would be...there was a 100k with 10000 feet of elevation gain that looked attractive, but it was already full. By Monday the soreness had decreased to the point where I could almost think about running again, were it not for my blisters. I biked to work and back, sprinting on the way back and enjoying it. Tuesday morning I went for an easy 2-mile run. I think I will be back next year!