50k is a long way

A Malibu Canyon 50k race report and some other meandering thoughts.

After I sent my first newsletter into the world, I thought all subsequent newsletters would be a piece of cake. Turns out that’s not true. I just couldn’t get myself to sit down and write. I tend to half-ass things out of fear — the less I try, the less disappointed I can be if it doesn’t come off, right? Well, that’s a lame way of thinking, and I’m trying to break that habit. So I’m back, and I’m back with some consistency. I’m going to do this.

This week, I’ve got a 50k race report and a gear check for you.

32 Miles of Pain

I ran my second-ever 50k yesterday, the Malibu Canyon Trail 50k.

The out-and-back race meandered its way through the woodlands and chaparral of the Santa Monica Mountains, departing from the Ray Miller trailhead in Point Mugu State Park just a few miles north of Malibu. The course had nearly 5,000 feet of vertical gain across its 32 miles, most of which was earned across four individual climbs.

I ran the race with my friends Nelson and Reilly, a couple I met while doing a half-marathon program with Ryan Willms and the Mindful Endurance Program earlier this year. I signed up for the 50k ages ago, but my compatriots (aka my race day saviors) decided to race only after our half-marathon was done in April. Neither of them had ever run more than 18 miles in a single go, so a 50k was a tall order, but hey, we all just crushed our half-marathon PRs, so why not sign up for an ultra? I’m glad they did.

Low Mileage

Once the MEP program ended, I was fired up and ready to train for the 50k. The thing is, life gets in the way sometimes. I had a bunch of travel to do, I got sick, I was tired, blah blah. I’ve got a laundry list of excuses, some legit and some not so legit, but these are the facts: I did not run enough in the months leading up to this race. Part of it was circumstantial, part of it was the long-lasting high of beating my half-marathon PR by almost 10 minutes, and part of it was my penchant for half-assing things. Either way, now that it’s the day after the race, I can say that I went into this 50k feeling a bit too big for my britches — we summited Mt. Baldy last weekend with relative ease, and my body was feeling very strong, overall. Turns out that feeling strong and actually being strong aren’t the same thing. Oops.

Race Day

I live in Eagle Rock and Nelson and Reilly live on the west side of LA, so we decided to do a little sleepover at their place the night before the race to make carpooling the hour-ish drive up to Malibu a bit easier. My beautiful gf, Kate, joined us for a carb-loading sesh on Friday night (she wasn’t racing but needed the carbs for the marathon of driving she did on Saturday). After we scarfed down some rice, chicken, potatoes, and salad, Kate made her way home to hang with our pets. Nelson cranked the AC down to 68, I set up my air mattress in the office, and the three of us hit the hay for a 4:20 wake up call.

As the alarm buzzed at 4:20 the three of us took a bong hit and got the day started. (I wish.) Ok, in actuality, Reilly fired up the espresso machine and I tried my best to chug some ‘spro in hopes that I would actually poop before the race. Reader, I did not poop. (I never even had to go during the race, somehow.)

Once Nelson and Reilly had blown up the toilet, we all choked down whatever food we could and hopped into their Subaru, cruising up the PCH to the Ray Miller trailhead in Point Mugu park. I never have an appetite in the morning, so a bagel and peanut butter was all I could eat.

We parked a stone’s throw from the ocean on the PCH and walked to the trailhead, more concerned with a final porta potty visit than the actual race itself, and barely made it to the start line before the 10-second countdown.

Bottleneck

As is the case with most trail races, the beginning is a clusterfuck. All 100+ of us followed each other up the first climb, which lasted for about 2.5 miles. No issue for me, though, I love to go slow at the beginning. I heard plenty hemming and hawing from “fast” runners who wanted to pass people, but starting slow is really never a bad thing. Start at the front of the race if you’re going to complain about folks walking up the first climb. Sue me.

We hit the first aid station at 5 miles with no issues, made our way through some absolutely torturous junk miles (aka flat fire roads) to get to the second aid station, where we rummaged around in tins of potato chips, peanut butter sandwiches, and Skittles before heading up to the second climb, which was longer, more annoying, and did us no favors except to wear us out for the future miles and vert to come.

Halfway

The halfway aid station was helmed by the Potato Posse (or something like that). Mad props to the volunteers, who we couldn’t race without. We rolled into that station in a bit of pain but nothing too troubling; the goal was to eat as much food as possible without setting ourselves up for a puke fest over the next 5-8 miles. I took down some pickle juice, ate some turkey and avocado tortilla wraps, scarfed a handful of M&Ms, and watched a “hybrid athlete” puke in the bushes. And we were on our way. This is where the pain began.

The “Fuck This” Phase

This subheadline probably should have been used later in the report, but much like I was during the race, I’m running out of steam, so we’re going to move on a little bit.

After the halfway point, it was all pain. Remember when I said we were undertrained? Yeah, this is where we realized it. My toes hurt, my ankle hurt, my calves hurt, my quads hurt, my hammies hurt, my hips hurt, my back hurt. From now on, I’m definitely training, I told myself. (Time will tell.)

If you plan a 50k accordingly, I think the “fuck this” phase would start around 26 miles. For us, it started at 20 miles. Courtney Dauwalter talks about the pain cave, and boy oh boy did we spend some time there. We honestly don’t need to talk about miles 17-29 with too much detail, just picture me bitching and moaning, complaining, and just generally being a terrible fucking person. I wanted to cry, scream, and slap anyone who looked like they were in better shape than me. SORRY!

The last climb up from Aid Station 5 was basically a war of attrition. How far can we go without collapsing? My brain told me I was going to die, but somehow I didn’t die, I just got more sore. A handful of dark-chocolate-covered espresso beans revived me somewhat, but at this point, I just wanted to be done.

The Longest Descent of My Life

At this point in the race, descending hurt even more than ascending, so when we very slowly trudged over the top of the final peak and caught our first view of the finish, still a few miles and a few hundred feet below us, I was about ready to jump off the cliff rather than finish. But, you know, that’s a bad idea, so I resolved to absorb the pain and run my ass to the finish line. I’ve never run a longer descent.

It hurt. My groin was threatening to cramp, my calves were threatening to cramp, my glutes were threatening to fall off — oh and some guy who ran the 100k passed me on the descent to the finish. Nothing better! He fist bumped me with a cheery “you got this, man” and I smiled while also mentally reciting every curse word I could summon. For 20 minutes I ran down the hill, avoiding rocks and roots, cursing my swollen, numb left foot, and hoping that I didn’t keel over before I got to the end. I had long since taken off my Garmin, not able to bear the bad news I received every time I scrolled through its data screens, so I was loafing down the hill purely on vibes, hoping that the finish was closer than I expected.

It wasn’t.

But eventually I saw the tents and finish line come into view and calmed down slightly. I’d like to say I sped up at this point, but I simply could not. There was nothing that could make me go faster. If a mountain lion chose me as its lunch that day, I would have succumbed. I may have even asked it to eat me.

Of course the final turn into the finish was at a 180° angle, forcing me to stumble down the hairpin (yes I was still descending at this point) and hope for the best. I ambled across the finish line in six hours and fifty one minutes, shaving about 17 minutes off my previous 50k finish from last year. Kate was there, thank god, or else I may have just walked 200 more yards into the ocean and never looked back. Nelson, who had a wild, MRI-requiring knee issue, and Reilly, who ran 16 miles further than her previous longest run, finished moments after me. Without them, though, I think there’s no way I would have PR’d.

I’m running another 50k in September. Here’s to hoping that I can get some more training in for that one.

Gear Check

I know you are all clamoring for a gear check. Here it is.

Shirt: Satisfy AuraLite Tech T-Shirt

Shorts: Satisfy Rippy 3” Trail Shorts

Socks: Satisfy Merino Five-Finger Toe Socks

Hat: Ciele GOCap

Shoes: Norda 005

Vest: Salomon Adv Skin 5

Watch: Garmin Fenix 8

And lots of potato chips.