Rodeo Valley 50k: Something Gained, Something Lost

For a few years now, I've known that my brother is faster than me. He originally started running partially by following my example. He had come up to Idaho to watch me race my first Ironman, and according to him, that day he resolved to do a triathlon himself.

Well that was 2010.

Nearly 3 years later, he has beaten every PR that I have in distances he has attempted. And not by a hair...his half marathon PR is a solid 7 minutes faster than mine. In a half ironman, he's got me by nearly half an hour. We joke about who holds the LWR in a particular distance, or spelled out, the Loental World Record. I've only got a few left, and I've long suspected that the only reason I still held them was simply because Chris had not attempted those distances yet.

Here's the story of how I lost another one.

I've been hearing from Chris about trail races he has done, raced well in, even placed in his age group or overall. They were shorties of various distances, but nothing more than 20 miles. I'd mentioned to him on several occasions that it might be a good time to enter the world of ultramarathons and go for a 50k. He continually insisted to me that it was too far, and that he'd bonk, blowup, or die.

Knowing his capability as an athlete, I knew this was a bullshit excuse and I finally got him to consider doing one last December. As it turns out, he was having some injury problems at the time and didn't end up racing. So we fast forward to March 2013. I'm planning a weeklong visit to San Francisco and I ask my brother,

"Hey brother, are there any good races happening that weekend?"

He replies that there is a trail race at Rodeo Valley, a place we have both raced at before(I did the 30k and he did a 20k or something). Big huge honking gut-buster climbs, sweeping views of Marin, the Pacific Ocean, and the Golden Gate Bridge(unless it was foggy like it was last time, then you see nothing). I initially decide to hit up the 30k race again, but later consider trying out the 50k on that course, if nothing else to get in the miles in preparation for my 100k.

Yada yada yada, long story short, I convince my brother to sign up for the 50k and assure him that I'd be at his side every step of the way to make sure he didn't go out too fast, didn't fudge his nutrition, and for moral support and awesome brotherly bonding time.

50k course=Pink-Orange-Pink-Pink, all counterclockwise.

As raceday approached, he relayed his concern to me that he hadn't put in enough mileage, his only long run had been a downhill half marathon the previous month(he PR'd with the flu, by the way....what a fucker). I reminded him of my first 50k and how unprepared I was for it, both physically and mentally, and again reassured him that he'd be like Fonzie...you know...cool.

As far as my own race expectations, I had none. Aside from getting in the miles, my sole purpose was to see my brother through his first ultra. Thoughts of how fast I might be were about as nonexistent as thoughts can be. Extremely, not at all in any way, shape, or form. I hadn't even taken the time to compare what I remembered of the terrain and elevation to what I was most familiar with from the only other place I've ever done a 50k...WyCo.

I aided my brother in his queries about nutrition and hydration strategies, but he's done the endurance racing thing before, so he already had a pretty solid plan. I decided to go with my tried and true, the stuff that had worked so well in February, the PB+Nutella on tortilla, Honey Stinger chews, S-caps, beef jerky, and aid station grazing as available.

Race day arrived and we were as prepared as we could be. Chris had his morning coffee and his morning deuce, as is his tradition, while I did nothing in particular, as is my tradition. We arrived on-site, checked in, got our consecutively numbered race bibs(I briefly contemplating surreptitiously swapping them in case he beat me, and then I could TECHNICALLY still hold the LWR at the distance. But I'm not that petty, nor do I truly care that much about being better than my brother.

At the very most, if we were still stride for stride coming down the home stretch, I knew we'd have to sprint it out to the finish...which upon contemplation, I really had no idea how that would play out. I'd like to think my experience at ultras would leave me with more kick at the end, but his sheer athleticism might just bitch slap my "experience" as it unceremoniously ditched my sorry ass.

The co-race directors seemed like solid gentlemen, and played a little good cop/bad cop in their pre-race speeches. One of them being light-hearted, encouraging, and funny, while the other one was strictly covering rules, course instructions, cut-off times, and logistics. And one of them had a really kick ass dog. Funny guy said, "Who here has never done an ultra before?" My brother and several others raised their hands, to which funny guy replied, "Well then you guys are WAY too close to the front."

Pre-race talk...Gee, think he was the fun one? 

It was true, but the first mile of this course was on a road and a rather wide pathway, so sprinting out to get good position for the trail was not necessary.

They signalled the start of the race, and we slowly trotted forward.

Well...I tried to. Chris's slow trot is a bit faster than mine so I followed him. I cautioned him about the 9:00/mile pace we were laying down, but then again we were moving downhill. I went with it. The course meandered towards the foothills for a mile or so before any serious climbing happened. We both emptied our bladders in the bushes before we began climbing. And up we went!

Chris seemed unfamiliar with the concept of walking steep hills, and I often had to remind him that he'd pay for it later. We still at least jogged most of the lower grade inclines and were actually maintaining a pretty decent pace for our efforts.

Approaching the 1st aid station, please note the fog.

We hit the first aid station and then hit the first of the really steep stuff. It was at this point that Chris first really agreed that this was walking territory. We hiked it out through several false summits before we hit the first actual summit and enjoyed the trail as it spilled down the other side for some exhilarating downhill...or at least I enjoyed it. My bro is kind of a puss when it comes to technical downhills, so I enjoyed literally the ONLY thing that I'm better than him at, descending. We had amazing "views" of San Francisco Bay and the bridge. Granted these "views" were really just a solid wall of fog, but like last time, I had to simply imagine how nice the view must be.

It's beautiful! Supposedly...who knows?

The next section of climbing eased up and we had some really great ridge traverses that ducked in and out of eucalyptus groves that smelled exactly as you'd expect them to. Like how I think koala farts might smell if the world was a really funny place. Like...I mean...a REALLY funny place.

Finally we got our first downhill stretch and it was gradual enough that we could really stretch out the legs and just let it fly, and it was untechnical fire roads, so my brother didn't have to worry about the fact that he's a total wimp in that department.

I started to notice the he was occasionally putting small to medium gaps on me, and I'd occasionally have to pick it up beyond my comfort level to catch up. Mainly though, I just wanted to keep running with my brother because I was enjoying it so much!

During this first stretch of the race approaching Tennessee Valley, I began to formulate some expectations for the race. Based on how well we were moving, I was absolutely confident that Chris would finish with no problem whatsoever. I was also pretty confident that he'd probably end up dropping me at some point in the last few miles and handily beat me. The other thing that I realized was actually kind of startling, since I hadn't actually contemplated such a thing yet.

I was almost certain, based on how I felt and my pace thus far, that I would get a new PR out of the deal. Had I actually thought about it, compared WyCo to this terrain, I might have figured this out earlier. There are very few parts of WyCo where you can really open up and run with a full stride. Everything is so nasty technical, twisty-turny, muddy-slick-sticky, etc, that it takes some severe athleticism to hold even your normal running pace for any distance whatsoever. This course was almost entirely lacking anything as technical as WyCo, and while the hills were much much bigger, only a few of them were anywhere near as steep as the notorious sections like 3 Hills, Fall Down, Misery Ridge(not sure if that's the actual name, or if I just made it up...too lazy to check), and the others that are just cruel enough to suck yet refuse to be named.

The fog begins to "burn off".

Long unnecessary explanation aside, the terrain was harder in some ways, but easier in others, and definitely easier to go faster on. So yeah...crazy to think that barely more than a month after my triumphant PR at Run Toto Run, I might have yet another 50k PR to revel in.

Gut-busting fire roads coming out of Tennessee Valley

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We descended into Tennessee Valley, refilled hydration packs, got some snacks, and headed back up into the hills. For whatever reason, my brother's athleticism, my own residual fatigue from my high mileage at the start of the year, or other...the gaps my brother was putting on me started to increase. I was having trouble keeping pace with him. He would occasionally stop and wait for me. I began to realize that I wanted my brother to have his best race more than I wanted him to stay with me and continue the brotherly bonding. With the full realization that I could say nothing and he'd continue as he was, waiting for me when I fell behind, and that I might otherwise have a chance to retain the LWR, I went ahead and spoke up.

"Dude, you're looking wicked strong, and I'm pretty sure I'm just holding you back. If you're feeling it, you can just go for it."

Essentially, I wanted him to run HIS race, not MY race. He said he'd stick it out with me through this section of hills before he struck out on his own, and true to his word, together we topped the last climb before the descent back into Tennessee Valley. It was at this point we hugged, wished each other well, and He. Took. Off.

I made a mental note that we were 13 miles in as he quickly put an impressive gap on me. Within minutes, he was almost out of view. I was incredibly proud of the athlete he had become and I reveled at the thought of his eventual finish. He was absolutely destroying this race!

I turned my thoughts back to myself, as it was now just me, my thoughts, and my legs. I was SORE! I was descending, but with the focus now squarely on myself, I realized I was already too fatigued to really let it go on these long downhills. Running with Chris had afforded me the opportunity to run a pretty fast stinkin' pace for the first half of this race, but it had also put me in a bit of a pickle endurance-wise. But I also realized that if I were to PR today, I'd owe it completely to Chris for essentially pacing me to this point...which is funny because I was supposed to be pacing him.

After Chris dropped me, my pace dropped significantly. I came through the Tennessee Valley aid station again and then worked my way into the steepest cruelest part of the course, the Coastal Trail. These hills were just as large, but gut-busting hands-on-knees trudge-it-out affairs. My average pace fell steadily and quickly.

I was in more pain than this photo depicts.

The last hills of the first lap topped out amongst old artillery sites from back in WWII when we were paranoid about a Japanese invasion. The only thing left were creepy tunnels, rusty doors, and large circular gun placements which used to house enormous instruments of mass destruction, but were now just decrepit and fallen into disrepair. One of the race photographers had chosen a perch at the end of the one of these tunnels and caught us coming through.

The last downhills of the first lap were particularly punishing on the knees and feet, but I got through them and rolled back into the main aid station.

I made it a point to not even contemplate pulling out early, just because that kind of thinking tends to poison your mind in really bad ways. The only time I'll allow it is if I think I'm injured, in which case, I no longer have any shame whatsoever in calling it quits(though I have yet to prove this in a race).

I got what I needed at the aid station, and without a second thought, headed back down the road to take on the 2nd lap(technically a half lap, since this loop did not include the sections past Tennessee Valley). Essentially I had a half marathon left and roughly 2:15 left to PR, but I wasn't entirely sure how long it would take me. Judging by GPS is difficult because you never know how accurate the mileage is reading on the trails. Usually they read short...but I didn't want to count on it, so I assumed it was reading dead-on.

The first few miles getting into the hills were a definite test of willpower. These hills were runnable, and I knew I could really put myself in a good position to PR if I really took advantage and gained some time here before I hit the stuff I would HAVE to walk. My legs were cooperating...sort of. I settled into a pretty regular walk/run pattern that I decided I'd have to be satisfied with. I'd run for a stretch until my legs were screaming, and then I'd take 10-20 easy walking paces, usually stretching out the last few to milk them for all the recovery they were worth, and with pretty decent success.

I was able to gut through these first hills, hit the aid station, and then went into hike mode on the steep stuff. I knew I'd have to really cut loose on the downhills to have any chance at maintaining PR pace. By this time, the fog had finally FINALLY burned off and the views did not disappoint in the least. I topped out that ridge and headed down the backside, slowing my descent ever so slightly for just a moment to fully take in the long-promised view of the bridge and the bay. Stunning as it was, I had other pressing business at hand.

My quads, calves, knees, ankles, and feet....oh fuck it....my EVERYTHING was screaming from the repeated pounding as I motored down the hills, step by step towards Tennessee Valley, hoping to gain as much time as I could before the dreaded Coastal Trail which would inevitably destroy my legs and pace.

When I came screaming(figuratively...perhaps literally?) into Tennessee Valley, I was passed by somebody who wasn't racing, but was just out for an afternoon run. He did not look like he had been running for 5+ hours at that point, and his presence was a mockery of my suffering. I hated him and everything he represented. He gave me a friendly head nod, as if to imply "Hey great job, you're looking strong." That's not how I took it. To me, his pompous head nod read as "Hey look how fast I'm going! These legs are so FRESH! Man, these things work GREAT!"

Fuck that guy. I bet his family is full of assholes just like him. I bet he double parks ALL THE TIME.

I filled up at Tennessee Valley and asked how many miles until the finish. They told me 4.5 or so to go. I looked at my watch. It read 26.5. FUCK. My GPS was reading dead-on-balls accurate, and I hated it for working correctly. I had no wiggle room whatsoever from when it usually reads short on distance.

4.5 miles left and I've been running for 5:15. Previous PR was 6:17. About an hour to gut out the hardest portion of trail. I knew the last mile was downhill, so really as long as I averaged at least 15:00/mile on the steep ups, I had a shot. Once more unto the breach, good friends...

Luckily, I had hydrated and eaten well-enough to leave myself in a condition where I actually had a choice. Conquering willpower only works when the body is capable. My body was tired and beaten, but ready for a knock-down drag-out fight for glory, beer, and buxom women(ok...2 out of 3?).

I jogged hills that were even remotely runnable, busted-ass on flats and downhills, and power-fuck-walked the brutally steep ones. A mile passed...above pace! Then the hills got steeper. The next mile passed...right at 15:00. Still in the fight! The next mile passed, above pace! And the next, also above pace! I finally hit a peak where I can see basically the entire god-damned world. San Francisco off in the distance, the vast Pacific, and way way down there, I can see the parking lot, main race site, and finish line. I tell myself, "If I can be THERE in 20 minutes, I get a PR!"

That was it...with the prize in sight, I became an angry sweaty cannonball dressed in technical fabric as I bombed fiercely down the most technical descents of the entire course. Some hikers were gingerly tip-toeing this terrain. As they stepped aside to let me pass, they looked at me as if I were surely committing suicide going so fast.

I'm not my brother. This shit is what I live for. Somewhere on the edge of control and recklessness is how I love to run technical terrain when I've got the legs for it. And I may not have necessarily had the legs for the kind of control this called for, but I didn't rightly give a shit. I wanted a god-damned PR.

I sprinted through the old tunnels, looped around, ran down the stairs built into the hillside, and hit the road that would eventually wind around and around and take me to the finish. I blasted past boy scouts, families, and church groups out for day hikes.

The road flattened out and I rolled towards the finish line, finally crossing in 6:09:31. A PR by about 7.5 minutes. I gave an exhilarated fist-pump and immediately looked for my brother, who surely must have finished 30 minutes ago and would likely be bundled up and drinking a beer and a bowl of hot soup.

No...he's standing right there...literally right beyond the finish line. We congratulate each other and I inquire how he fared. He finished in 5:58! Wow...he obviously took the LWR, but only by 11 or so minutes. He had definitely gapped me significantly early on, but I must have made up a lot of time during the 2nd loop. There's the ol' experience coming through!

This was really a fantastic race overall. As colorful as I described it, I really did not hate any part of this race. Even when shrouded in eerie fog, the entire course was hauntingly beautiful, and when the fog burned off, it was utterly breathtaking, both figuratively and literally here. I planned and executed my race very well and I am entirely satisfied with my effort and certainly my surprising new PR. More than that, it was really great to see my brother approach an unknown challenge and conquer it without question. And most of all, even though it was only for 13 miles, it was an absolute treat to get to share in part of my brother's first ultramarathon. I loved running with him and hope we can do it again when there are no LWR's on the line!

+1 PR for Danny, +1 LWR for Chris, +100 fun for all

My next big challenge is running the Brew2Brew solo and a few weeks later, hopefully my first belt buckle finish at the Free State 100k. I have to admit that my mileage has not been what I hoped for the past month or so, but more important than that, I am not currently injured. I hurt a lot after Rodeo Valley, but within a few days it was all gone, putting to rest any worries that doing 50ks in back to back months was ill-advised. I'm looking forward to visiting my massage therapist in the coming week and not having any specific injuries that need fixin'. In addition, if this snow ever goes away, I look forward to ramping up my mileage in preparation for some new distance milestones!

If you remember that earlier this year I had taken on Bryan West's challenge of trying to exercise at least 30 minutes a day for 100 days straight. I'm happy to report that I haven't fallen off the bandwagon and earlier this evening I fulfilled my duty for Day 84 with a nice 40 minute self-guided yoga practice focusing on lots of hip openers. It almost worked out that the Brew2Brew would be Day 100, but my target date falls the day AFTER that run. Aw, shucks!

I'm not sure what my plan is for after Day 100, but I don't see any particular reason to quit what has essentially become a daily habit at this point. I may not be as anal about squeezing in a workout before midnight if I've slacked all day, but I do like the consistency and dependability of a healthy routine.

I keep saying I'm going to write about my rediscovered passion for yoga, the growth of my practice, and how many ways it has helped me. I still plan to write that blog, but I'm not quite ready. It's still a fairly emotionally charged topic for me, and the thoughts are still swirling around upstairs. It will happen...I just need more time to sort it all out.

Anyways...I apologize for kind of going off-topic at the end there, but I wanted to get some additional thoughts down before I forgot that I had them.

As always, thanks so much for reading and for your encouragement! I am enjoying a lot of success, and the personal satisfaction I have is pretty stellar, but I do draw a lot of inspiration and motivation from my friends who read and comment!

Danny