Talking with the ranger
Still talking with the ranger while Debi checks runners in
Starting the race orientation
Still talking
It's been a bit of a tough year. Last fall, I had some kind of neuroma problem going on the ball of my foot, which would really start to hurt after just a few miles. After gradually working up to 10 miles, I jumped to a 19-mile run in late September because of the chance to run at Crystal Springs Watershed, an area that had been completely closed to access for years, and was finally opened on special occasions with docents. That really set me back because it was too much too soon, and shortly thereafter, probably unconnected to that run, I developed severe sciatica in my left leg. Not the sciatica I had experienced on several previous occasions, which was confined to the butt and mostly hurt under certain conditions, like driving long distances. This was a shooting, constant nerve pain, so severe it kept me awake at nights. The entire month of October was spent not running, persuing various medical solutions, until finally following an MRI which showed a herniated disc problem, I was able to get an epidural cortisone shot which instantly, and perhaps amazingly, relieved the pain.
I still had the foot problem, but it was gradually getting better. I worked my way back to 15 miles in December, 20 miles in late January, and finally a 50K training run in late February (one month prior to race day). By then my foot problem had cleared up, the sciatica was still cured, and my conditioning was returning nicely. I tapered down to a 22-miler 3 weeks prior to race day and then a 16.5-miler one week before.
All the while I was also organizing the race: securing the permit, registering runners, lining up volunteers, buying supplies, getting the Palm timing equipment ready and loaded with runner data. Except on race day (and course marking the day before), I organize this race as a one-man show, so I do it all. The big story this year was the remarkable attrition. I get a permit for 70 runners, which is about all I can handle (among other things, there is no water available at the race site, which means I have to transport water for all the runners to the race, along with all the other supplies), plus if the number is any larger the parks people require a port-a-potty, which isn't cheap. Early in the year I had a full 70-person signup, along with a waiting list of 15 people. Along the way, more signed up, so that, at one point or another, nearly a hundred people were signed up for the race. But an amazing run of injuries, business trips, and even two deaths in the family ended up with only 62 people signed up on the night before the race. Of course it's a lot easier to bail out on a free race! But more was to come.
Finally, race day arrived. March in the Bay Area was just short of the record for the most inches of rain, but it set a record for the most days of rain, and the night before the race was one of them, with three inches falling on the Santa Cruz Mountains. Heading up to the race start early in the morning, all of sudden traffic came to a halt; after a few minutes, we learned that the road to the ridgetop was blocked by several mudslides. Fortunately, we had set out early, and I knew of alternate routes to the race, but I resigned myself to the fact that some runners wouldn't, and that we would start late. Arrived at the race start, started setting up the registration/aid station tent (the start/finish is also the 20M aid station), and immediately had to confront a ranger who wanted me to cancel the race because the trails were "slippery" and someone might fall and hurt themselves, and all the emergency personnel in the mountains (fire, etc.) were dealing with the mudslides and road closures and wouldn't be available should any problems develop. Fortunately, he was also aware that he was dealing with an experienced group of ultrarunners, a point I impressed upon him multiple times. Also fortunately, he didn't have the authority to yank our permit (although he vowed to press for that authority for the future). In any case, after delaying for a half hour to allow runners to straggle in, I gave the race welcome and instructions, and we were ready to go. "We" being just 48 runners, less than half of those who had been signed up at one time or another!
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Talking with the ranger |
Still talking with the ranger while Debi checks runners in |
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Starting the race orientation |
Still talking |
The most interesting part of the race was the start. The race begins, by heading down into Stevens Canyon and, at the one mile point of the course, crossing Stevens Creek just a few tenths of a mile from its headwaters. Most of the year the creek is practically dry at this point, and even in March, during most years it's rarely more than a couple inches deep. When we got there, and found the water up to mid-calf level, it was clear we were in for a treat a little later on.
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Emerging out of Stevens Canyon, mile 1.6 |
After running down Stevens Canyon, the route crosses Stevens Creek, again without benefit of any kind of bridge, at mile five of the route (and approximately 3.5 miles from the creek's headwaters). And here's what we saw:
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Race sweep Tom Davis demonstrates the "log straddle" (a.k.a. "butt scoot") method of crossing Stevens Creek |
Chuck Wilson demonstrates the mid-thigh (for most people; Chuck's very tall!) level of the creek as he walks across. |
Notice the log in the pictures. In the race briefing, I issued only one stern warning. I told people there was a log spanning the creek (it's just upstream of the actual trail, which is on the right-edge of the picture at right), but that it was very slick, there are big rocks right underneath it, and that runners should definitely not try to cross it on foot. The two race leaders proceeded to ignore me, but fortunately made it across ok; one runner who followed them didn't, fell in, and was completely submerged. Fortuately he managed to gain his footing and emerged unscathed. The remaining runners took my advice, and either walked across (as I did), slowly so that the current wouldn't knock us over, or used the slower and more painful, but probably safer, "butt scoot" method illustrated above. We all watched out for each other, and made it across.
That's the end of the creek for the day, as the course ascends from this point back to the ridge at Saratoga Gap (the 10.9) mile aid station, and then heads northwest (and then back) on the ocean side of the ridge. The trails were wet, but as usual, not particularly muddy, so the running wasn't bad at all. For a while the weather was looking like we were going to have a lovely day, as it did when I (and others) arrived at the 10.9M aid station:
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Leaving Saratoga Gap, refueling on the run |
I was having a solid day, running well, not pressing but not tiring either. Coming through Long Ridge, a runner passed me, which I should know by now is a dangerous moment, because I took my eyes off the trail to watch him and boom! Down I went as my foot caught a rock. Fortunately, no harm, no foul, and I was quickly up and on my way. In the Christmas tree farm at mile 18, a huge, branch-laden fallen tree necessitated a quad-challenging squat to get under, but before you know it (o.k., 4 hours and 3 minutes after the start, it just seems like before you know it because the course is so scenic) I was back to the start/19.3-mile aid station. I wasn't particularly keeping track, but I was pretty much on my last two year's times (4:01 and 4:05). More importantly, I was feeling fine.
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Refueling |
Downing some Coke |
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Heading out; notice the dirt on the back of the shirt from the fall |
And coming right back with my head hanging down in shame; I forgot my water bottle! |
Shortly after leaving the aid station the race climbs a major hill and reaches a crossroads; as I got there, the race leader had just passed, heading down the hill on another trail on his way to a course record. I still had ten miles to go, however. Two miles later, the route crosses the extremely exposed Russian Ridge (one of the few places where you can see the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay simultaneously) and, as they often are, the winds were howling. A little rain was falling, and my hands were getting seriously cold. But, what can you do, just keep going, and that's what I did. By the time I reached the 25-mile aid station and turnaround, it wasn't too bad, and once again after a quick bite and refilling the bottles I was off, still tracking my previous two years' times (5:19 this year, vs. 5:18 and 5:21). But this year was different. In the past two years, I've really struggled the last six miles, with a fair amount of walking on the remaining uphills, but this year I was full of energy, just not really tiring at all. I ran almost all the uphills, down the final downhill, around the lake and up the last incline to the finish, crossing the line in 6:42:29, well ahead of last year's 6:46:20 and the previous year's 6:54:11. 2003 is the only year I had a better time (6:24:35), and that was a perfect weather year; in 2002, the first year, I finished in 6:45:03. I was pleased.
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Finishing, looking strong |
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But I gave it my all on that final uphill (and yes, I needed a haircut) |
Recovering. And look, the blue sky is returning, just in time for the race to be over! |
After three years of bad weather, which impacts the aid station people (the most important of whom is my wife, Debi), I've had enough. Even though this race was my birthday run, I'm changing the date! Next year in September! I'll call it a "half-birthday" run if anyone insists.
Complete results for
the race are online
Steve Patt
R.D.
Birthday boy
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