San Juan Trail 50K 3-6-2010

(Above: Finish with the Old Goat Official Race Transport)

The San Juan Trail 50K was supposed to be a training race for upcoming mountain runs of greater distance. Throughout the day I had difficulty keeping the event in perspective. Once the gun goes off it can be difficult to approach a race like this as a casual event. The competitive juices started flowing within the first few steps. On Saturday I was running with the other participants and, once again, competing with the inner demons of doubt.

My training the week before consisted of one aquajogging session to loosen up my back. The Monday before the event I tweaked my back. I didn't throw it out of whack on a rocky trail or doing speed work. I felt the stomach turning back sting getting out of my car. Go figure. Would I be ready to tackle the trails in the Cleveland National Forest? I didn't know and I wasn't going to worry about it. With the expert care of Doctor Smith his wife Robin and his wonderful staff I arrived at the start line with the back not being an issue.




After some searching I found Blue Jay Campground and checked in. The race director, Baz, speaks with a Scottish accent and has the appropriate humor. Upon asking for a different sized race t-shirt he called me an asshole and laughed. It was all in good fun as everyone there seemed to be his friend. I then asked him about the course. "Baz, if my back is killing me past the first aid station is there anyway to get transport back to the start." "You gotta see how you feel at the 10 mile aid", Baz replied. "If you choose to suffer, that's your problem, but I'm not going to suffer." That answered my question. When the gun went off I told myself that I would run the first ten miles downhill to the first aid station and take stock of my body there.

I don't know if it was the technical nature of the trail, my unfamiliarity with it, or a bit of doubt leading into the race, but within the first two miles I found myself face down on the trail. A hidden root found my foot and down I went. I got up and took stock. A few scrapes on my knees, but everything was still working.

Two more miles down the trail and a sniper shot sent me tumbling again. No hunters here, but a loose rock that resulted in a twisted ankle and another date with the dirt. My water bottle nipple was opened and the weight of my body landing on it resulted in a squirt of lemon lime Endura sports drink in my face. The trail was humbling me. "Are you ok", a fellow runner asked. "I'm good, I answered," not really knowing if I was. I stepped to the side of the trail and did a body scan. More banged up knees, but the ankle was good enough to go. Along the trail I went. I'd already fallen twice and there were many miles to go. Self doubt crept in as I made my way to the canyon bottom and stream side. I was intently focused on the trail trying to avoid another tumble and could not admire the beauty of the area. I was having a difficult time of it stumbling on three more occasions. One of those mis steps nearly took me into the water. The pesky naysayer in my head was coming up with excuses and reasons to call it a day.

"It's just a training run"
"If I fall one more time that's it."
"This sucks, Why do I do this?"
"I'm no good at this"

I let the voices talk. Having their say I didn't do much to quiet them, but just kept telling myself to keep moving.

I arrived at the first aid station to a few cheers and a ranger who said I shouldn't leave my skin on the rocks. I assured him that I would pick it up on the way back. Here I met a fellow runner who was not only doing her first ultra... this was her first trail race! "Wow,you sure jump in head first. Good job", I congratulated.
I grabbed a few salty pretzels, refilled my liquids, thanked the volunteers and retraced my steps mostly uphill to mile twenty. I didn't find my skin. I ran the flats and small downhill chutes and power hiked the steep ups. "If I can make it to twenty miles I'll be fine." That's what I told myself.

Along the way back to the twenty mile mark I met up with a runner named Annie. She was plugging along. The company was nice and I asked if I could tag along and use her pace to help me run some sections. She kindly obliged and was very helpful in getting me up the hill at a pace I was happy with.

I reached the twenty mile aid station and grabbed some food. There was Baz the race director. "You have a few more climbs, but this section of the course is beautiful."
With that I left on the final eleven miles. The first climb out of the aid station took place on a fire road, I was happy for this as I here I could take my attention away from the trail and on to the scenary of the area. Here I met up with a runner named Ron. It had been twenty five years since he ran a marathon. Inspired by a friend who ran the Javelina Jundred (Javelina Hundred) last summer, he decided to go long too. He was using this race as training for next month's Leona Divide 50 miler. Having run LD50 last year as my first foray into this long distance (fill in the blank. stupidity, insanity, mental illness etc) I gave him a run down of the course and my experience with the distance. Ron was good company.

The fire road climb brought us to another aid station (Trabuco). While chugging a coconut water (a great sports drink I'll add) a runner came up the trail I'd soon be heading down yelling for help. "There's a runner down the trail about 200 yards and he doesn't look good! He can't hold anything down and is just sitting there!" With that two of the aid station volunteers took off to help with me behind them. They assured me they didn't need my help as the assisted the grey faced moaning runner back to the aid station. In the end he was fine. His experience reminded me of the importance of proper hydration for these things.

I continued down the trail to another stream crossing. Some portions of the trail here were comprised of broken rock making each step not only uncomfortable, but downright dangerous. Fortunately another fall was not in the cards. Here at canyon bottom I faced one more steep climb. This section of the trail is called Horse Thief Trail. I think I know why. If you were a horse thief this would be a good trail to evade the authorities. It is steep and somewhat relentless. A posse might think twice before climbing this one. What was the race director thinking putting this section in the race at this mile mark? To think he called me an asshole for asking for a different sized shirt. These race directors must have a sadistic streak in them as Gary Hilliard the RD for Mt. Disappointment has a similar climb to finish his 50K and 50 mile race.

Along the Horse Thief climb I thought of that quote from the movie Rocky. "Keep moving forward". Perhaps a bit hokey, but it helped.



A light rain developed and winds picked up a bit. Here amongst the manzanita and pines I melted into the pain and doubt and in a sense, accepted it. There was no denying it. This was hard. Once I accepted this, all was good. I wasn't doing the back and forth thing in my head. I was just there. It took me over 20 miles, but I was now enjoying the event. Better yet, I was enjoying the moment.

The final four miles of the course consisted of some small climbs and descents. I made an effort to run some of the ups and not let anyone catch me. I skipped the last aid station two miles from the finish. This final section was all downhill and I was feeling good as I approached the finish.

I crossed the finish line and was greeted by the race director. His enthusiasm is something else. He gave me a hug, patted me on the head and said, "that's a good boy. I'm proud of you."

About five minutes later Ron (the guy who I chatted with on the fire trail climb) approached the finish line. I told Baz that this was his first foray back into longer distances in twenty five years. When Ron crossed the finish Baz grabbed him, hugged him and said the same thing. "That's a good boy! Well done. I'm proud of you."

I went back to my car and grabbed some warm, dry clothes. I settled back into the finish line area and enjoyed a few beers as I watched Baz work his magic on the other finishing runners.

This was a no frills event. There were no medals for finishing unless you placed. Instead I received a long sleeve t-shirt, a few beers at the finish, scabby knees, and memories of a great day.

It turned out to be a great training race.

Happy Trails!


(I paid to run 31 miles and all I got were scabby knees and a t-shirt)

For race director Baz's recap of the day and for more photos click here:
http://www.bigbaztrailraces.com/10/50K-SJT-Mar06.htm