Encounters Overlook 50M

50 miles, 13K of climbing, 15K of descending, 100+ degree heat



This weekend I shared what can only be described as an EPIC ADVENTURE on the trails with some of my best friends. Despite 100+ degree heat, undersupplied aid stations, questionable race directorship decisions, and nearly 14 hours on the trail, I had an absolute blast. Man, I love this sport (and the people in it!)

So I originally signed up for the Encounters Overlook 100K with Meredith, Mark, and Levi. This, I figured, would be the closest I’d get to the Western States 100 course. Well, life intervened, and gave me a shot at the ACTUAL WS 100. The only problem was that the qualifying race was in early October, only a month out from Encounters. Bollocks. So I made the slightly unhinged decision to keep Overlook on my calendar (bad idea) but actually dropped down to the 50 mile (good idea)

Pop quiz: why was I so set on running this race?

A. Ann Trason, an ultrarunning legend, was returning to race directing!

B. It’s still an awesome way to see the Western States 100 course

C. It would be one last big training stimulus before taper

D. I’m more than slightly unhinged

E. All of the above

Spoiler alert: it’s E.

The lead up to the race was just fine. We showed up at the finish line and rode a school bus to the start in the sleepy little town of Forest Hill (prominently figured in such fine films as Unbreakable: the Western States 100) The field was tiny! Between the 50m and the 100k, there were only about 50-70 runners at the start. Ann emerged with a loudspeaker, told us to conserve our quads on the downhills and carry plenty of water, and before long we were off.

It was a pleasant 60 or so outside, and we headed down the road, headlamps bobbing. The first 20 miles we kept intentionally casual since there were some monster climbs AND monster descents. Our first frustration of the day was realizing that a lot of the initial descent were too steep and/or technical to run down, so we’d have to expend energy and time navigating down carefully. That being said, we were in a fine mood through Michigan Bluff while the sun was rising and a gorgeous vista was coming into view around us. Even the climbing wasn’t too bad. It was steady and steep, but we made a conscious effort to rein things in.

After a 20 mile warmup, we were back where we started. We resupplied and moved on, but the wheels started to come off. It was a staggering 9 miles to the next aid station. Yes, there was some downhill, but there was significant climbing. On top of that, the temperature was steadily climbing too. In a few hours, it would top out at above 100. We started to feel it about 4 miles in. There were climbs which were completely exposed through soft dirt that was thrown into the air with every step. There was a huge amount of radiant heat coming directly from the sun, but the ground also became an excellent reflector for the heat. We were baking! When a hot wind started up, we were convection baking. It was awful; you couldn’t feel yourself sweating because it would just wick away instantly into the wind. All you could feel was the grit between your teeth and the sun beating mercilessly down.

There was exactly one worthwhile place to stop for a bit, where the evaporating water from a tiny stream cooled down the environment by at LEAST 20 degrees)

To make things worse, we could see rafters about 100 yards away in the river. The cool, cool deep blue was so close, yet so far, and the happy splashing added a particularly sisyphean element to our suffering. The urge was to run the shade (since we could) and then walk through the hottest parts, but this meant that we’d spend even more time in the sun. We pooled our resources and kept marching on. (By now, I was eating SCaps with gusto…)

When we stumbled in, we thought the next aid station, Peachtree, would be an oasis. Instead, it looked like a triage camp. They had plenty of water, but were rationing ice (what?) and potatoes (WHAT????) The volunteers did what they could with ice water runoff on our heads (wonderful!) but it was not the welcome we were expecting. It was also amazingly remote. There was a guy there who wanted to drop. He was shirtless and listless sitting in a camp chair, but there was no way to get him out of there until the aid station was closed. When he got up to puke, we knew we had overstayed our welcome. To add insult to injury, we were now in danger of missing the cutoff (along with about half of the others) We’d have to sustain about a 16 minute pace for the next four miles to make it, a pretty daunting task.

But you always have to make time for electrolytes...

But we did it! We dragged ourselves through the bad patch. Once we smelled the barn, Meredith and I took off for the last mile or so and jogged it in. Mark and Levi were close behind. It was great to see Whitney, Ethan, and Kathryn. But unbelievably, there was the same issue at the next aid station: if you wanted to drop, you had to basically wait several hours or figure out how to get out of the canyon yourself. Thank goodness they had plenty of ice. I changed my clothes, popped my beer, and tossed down some coconut water. Every runner there looked dazed and shellshocked. In one of my favorite moments of the day, I offered some beer (Hell or High Watermelon!) to a gentleman with his head in his hands planning to drop. “Sure, why not, couldn’t make it any worse.” Ten minutes later, “Hey, can I have some more of that beer?” Ten minutes later, he was headed out of the aid station, and ended up finishing the 50 miler about five minutes behind me. I AM A FREAKING ANGEL OF MERCY.

This is Pat. He likes beer.

We reconvened and considered our options. Levi decided to call it a day (smart man) and not risk heatstroke before an international trip. Mark was on the fence, but he talked himself back onto the trail with the help of some ginger candy and shotblocks.

We forged ahead and before long came to the river crossing. Amazing. The water in the American river was 1-3 feet deep at this point, which sounds trivial, but was, in fact, terrifying. Thankfully, the race directors had strung a rope across the river and provided volunteers to carabiner us in. I look at the guy who’s roping me in and do a double take. It’s Gordy Ainsleigh, the freaking father of modern ultrarunning and the guy who invented the WS100 trail run. HOLY. CRAP. It’s all I can do to thank him for coming out, but I should have thanked him for being awesome and inventing this crazy, crazy sport. We clutched the line and slowly walked across the river. It felt AWESOME and super cold. But it also felt terrifying; without that line I would probably have been swept down the river to my demise.

But we made it across, and I said goodbye to Kathryn, Meredith, and Mark. Godspeed, guys. At this point, it turned into a normal race, if a hot one. We’d made a fantastic decision in taking the first climbs super easy. Our legs were tired, but not trashed! Some folks had to continue on from mile 35 on blown quads, but not us. There were some ups, downs, and flats, but I walk/ran them without incident on my own. There was a disgusting climb up to the finish line, but I was able to run the 1.5 miles in pretty darn quick thanks to my Hokas. I didn’t even need a light to finish as the sun was setting. It was actually pretty peaceful (if still hot) as the evening progressed. 13:45 when all was said and done, my slowest 50 mile by about an hour and a half, but a hell of a day. Super proud; I’ll take it!

Established trail...through these bushes!

No hands bridge

Highs and Lows:

Highs:

- Running with a posse for 35 miles and sharing this incredible adventure

- Seeing Ann Trason

- Seeing GORDY FREAKING ANSLEIGH

- Finishing strong, after miles in the sun and hours by myself

- The gorgeous Western States trails.

- Saving someone with a beer. Muahahaha.

- Having to pee at Rucky Chucky (Me to Meredith: I CAN PEE! Her reply: WAIT...ME TOO

Lows:

- Facing down an 80 degree packet of Vespa. I couldn’t. I just...couldn’t.

- Listening to someone who wanted to drop at Peachtree but couldn’t

- The convection oven between Forest Hill and Rucky Chucky

- Choking on dust for hours and hours

Now the big question: why?

I choose to interpret this question as: “If it sucks so much sometimes, why do you keep doing it?” There’s never just one reason, so I’ll just noodle on the mess: peer pressure, trying to attain a goal, trying to seek validity, proving I’m a badass mofo, and more. But at the core, I think I believe that suffering can be transformative.

OK, I know how that sounds; I’m not a masochist. I don’t think that suffering for suffering’s sake is a worthwhile endeavour. Nor do I particularly enjoy ALL of a difficult experience. But I do think that tackling challenges headon and staring the impossible in the face is an empowering, enriching experience. Pure stubborn pigheadedness can be trained, apparently. It’s going to be rough at times, but sometimes just powering through the pain cave brings people together and breaks down barriers, mental or physical. Annnnnnnd sometimes it gets you hurt. The trick is distinguishing between the two and that only comes from experience. There are excellent reasons to DNF, and when my day comes, I hope I’m smart enough to realize that “enough is enough.”

If road running can be distilled into the phrase “chasing PRs”, ultrarunnering can likewise be characterized by “seeking suffering.” I swear, half of the fun is doing crazy sh*t and then later bringing it up incessantly by saying “Yeah, this is bad, but it’s not as bad as the time that ______” (commence humblebragging)

So yeah, I love trail running. I don’t love every moment of it, but it’s pretty damn close.

Race critiques:

I was kind of shocked at the lack of direction from the top. I can understand aid stations running out of ice on a hot day and having to institute rationing, but not having a clear plan with a well established communication system to move out dropped/DNFed runners was kind of shocking. On the bright side, the course was the best marked that I’ve ever seen.

Takeaways:

It was a gnarly race. Even the race photographer described the scene as “carnage.” But hey, it happens. I ran with some great people and we treated it as an adventure. I got a great training stimulus for the Cuyamaca 100k (my A race, only 25 days away!) and a newfound appreciation for the Western States 100. I’m not any more excited for Western States, but that’s only because I think I maxed out earlier. I am super happy that I made some really good decisions including, but not limited to:

1. Stashing coconut water in my drop bags

2. Stashing extra hydration gear, lighting, and nutrition (e.g. ginger chews) “just in case”

3. Taking the ginormous early climbs super easy and having the muscle integrity at the end for kick

4. Hitting the hydration and electrolytes HARD and staying on top of both in brutal conditions

5. My gear is just right. I’ve got my loadout for my first 100k ready to go.

Onwards to Cuyamaca 100k and (oh please don’t let me get picked this year but I totally need to enter the lottery for) the Western States 100

David

Gear:

Hoka One One Stinson ATR
Ultraspire omega

Ultimate Direction Body bottle

Pearl Izumi Sun Sleeves

CEP calf compression sleeves

Garmin Forerunner 310XT

Nutrition:

Vespa CV-25

Trail butter

Margarita shot blocks

EGel Cherry bomb

Lemon lime cytomax

Gin gins Ginger Candy

Coconut water

S Caps

GGRC Dipsea Run 8/3

I ran the traditional 11ish mile Dipsea route with the club last Sunday. Well, I ended up chasing Simo, David, and Phil up and then down at a hellacious pace, but it was good times all around.

Thanks to my newfound Alaskan confidence and magic shoes (aka Hoka One One) I was able to bomb the downhills for the first time in 3 years. I took some video and couldn't resist pairing it with some gorgeous slow motion of Kilian, well, Kilian-ing it down some gnarly downhill.

A man can dream...

http://www.youtubedoubler.com/?video1=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjRl0PjiPnyM&start1=35&video2=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dg6xOy78jCLo&start2=0&authorName=

7/12 Brazen Dirty Dozen 12 Hour race

So I paid a fee on Saturday for the privilege of running in circles for twelve hours...

(No no, that just sounds insane. Start again)

So I was running this great 12 hour training run on Saturday…

(Abort! Abort!)

I just took third male at the Brazen Dirty Dozen 12 hour race on Saturday with 61.22 miles! I set my PRs for 50K, 50 mile, and my distance PR for the race AND for a training week!

(OK, but you’re going to go with accomplishments, accomplishments, accomplishments? Lame.)

I got to hang out with my awesome friend Meredith for twelve hours straight on Saturday! And, oh, by the way, we were running.

(There it is!)

Some races are epic for different reasons. Based in Point Pinole Regional Shoreline, The Brazen Dirty Dozen isn’t the most scenic, nor does it have ridiculous elevation gains, nor is the trail super technical. But it’s a blast to run (even more with a friend!) and I have fond memories of it last year as my gateway ultra when I first made it to 50 miles. This year, I loved it even more as an indicator of my progress: a gut check, a skills check, and a gear check.

Yeah, you know how I go on and on about “don’t try anything new on race day”? I basically threw that out the window and somehow still had a great race. More on that later.

Logistically, the race is around a mild 3 mile trail loop for the first 11 hours, then around a 0.65 mile loop for the last hour. Runners try to max out on the distance travelled. There’s an aid station at the start/finish and one roughly halfway around the big loop. One of the aspects I really, really appreciated while racing the 12 hour is that it lets you focus on the details. Pack isn’t working out? Swap it out at your ridiculously oversized bag of gear. Stomach upset from drinking wasp juice? There’s a restroom coming right up! In many ways, this was the ideal way to compare gear and nutrition lap to lap and tweak the details in a safe, easy environment. Like I said, a good training 12 hour, and three miles is just long enough not to go completely bonkers crazypants.

And at the end of the day, yes, you are running laps for 12 hours. But it’s really not as bad as it sounds. (It builds character, right?) Your world contracts to a series of questions. Should I walk up the next hill? Am I getting enough calories? What do I need to get at the next aid station? This is great practice for a non-loop race, as you can dedicate your brain cells normally used in navigation to more important matters like remembering the words to the Journey song blasting out of your pack.

That being said, I know I couldn’t have pushed myself this hard or even hard nearly as much fun without Meredith. We were both fresh off of our amazing #alaskanadventure and eager to try out our new bag of tricks. I am so proud to say that we raced smart. Our pace drifted from 10 mins/mile to 12, but there weren’t any laps that were obviously too fast or slow. We kept each other in check when necessary, bargained with each other about where to walk, and rehearsed aid stations before we hit them. Communication was key, and thankfully we were on the same page. Chatting transitioned into listening to podcasts then to singing along to music. This gradually faded to terse descriptions of landmarks to literally just pointing and grunting. And then just pointing. But it was companionable pointing. Go team!

Oh, you wanted an actual report of the race?

Through the start chute, around the corner to the coast, past the outhouse, up the little hill with the bad footing, around to the walking hill, then up those 2 inclines to the quick downhill, around the corner to the disgusting outhouse, up the road to the AID STATION, then past the walking cones up the small hill to the first straight section (boo) to the LONGER straight section (BOO!) to the walking log through to the running log, then a quick downhill to the exposed uphill along the ridge to the road and BACK to the start chute. Again. And again. AND AGAIN. It builds character. Really.

Meta report:

Miles 1-26: It was cool and we were still chatty. The miles passed pretty quickly thanks to James and Robin for 6 of them.

Miles 26-33: I’m dreaming about the Hell or High Watermelon I’ve stashed in my drop bag

Mile 33: BEER

Miles 33-36: POST BEER. (Pat carries us through the post beer lull)

Miles 37-40: No man’s land. We’ve got almost 6 hours still to run and it’s getting hot. Music time.

Miles 40-57: Grind it out. Get loopy. It’s ok, there’s nobody on the trail anymore. Howland picks us up for a lap.

Miles 57-61: We made it past our previous distance PR! Everything is gravy! Why are we pushing ourselves even harder now on the small loop?? Howland joins in for a final small lap.

Ahd that was that! We didn’t get any severe GI issues, nor did we overheat, nor did we pull or strain anything, and our splits were fading, but consistent. Well done, team. And a huge, huge thank you to our pacers (Robin and James X2!!!, Patrick, and Howland)

My favorite moment (ok, series of moments) came from my attempts to inject some surrealism into the race via the ole’ horsehead mask. From the finish line announcer on an early lap “I ah don’t know how to say this, but there’s a horse coming across the finish line”

What’s most heartening is that we put the pieces together. One year ago I came into this race completely intimidated, and only jumped up from the 6 to the 12 hour at the very last moment. Now, this is “just” a training race. I’ve earned some hard won experience: when and how to push, how to pick myself up out of the bad spots, and how to pace. What scares (and excites!) me is that I’m finally seeing how much I still have to learn. It’s all too easy to distill an entire day into a single number especially once the soreness fades. But somehow all of those tedious moments spiked with a few exciting ones add up to greatness. Like any race, there were good times and bad, and I’m proud to say that during those bad times I just put my head down and kept going.

Onwards to one more training race,Encounters Overlook, and my A race, the Cuyamaca 100k!

And for the gear nerds...

Hoka One One Stinson ATR: My magic shoes, my 7 league boots, my +Dex footgear...gave me 2 massive blisters. But it was totally worth it! Even at lap 16 I was pounding the (ok not so impressive) downhill on the course, but I attribute my relatively non-beat-upedness of my muscles to the Hokas. Love, love, love them.

Pearl Izumi sun sleeves: These are white sleeves with UV protection and great heat transfer. I wore them for all 12 hours! When the day heated up, I doused them with water and they were a great cooling device. Also, Howland flips out when I call them “arm coolers” so, you know, bonus.

Ultraspire Omega pack: I can fit a horsehead mask and a bluetooth speaker in this and still have plenty room for layers, nutrition, and hydration with NO chafing. WIN.

Ultimate Direction body bottles: These were actually the dark horse (heh) winners in the gear arena. I used them instead of my hydration bladder for the first lap and thought I would swap them out ASAP. Instead, I ended up loving them! I could stuff them in my pack and they were super easy to handle and drink out of. I also want to cover them in this and call them my “one direction” bottles.

Vespa “Wasp Juice” supplement: Oh, wasp juice. Supposedly, this supplement lets you metabolize your fat stores more effectively AND helps with hangovers (THE ONE WEIRD TRICK ULTRARUNNERS DON’T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT) I’m on the fence about this one. I felt great today, but I was nailing my nutrition regardless (chicken broth + pirate’s booty = chicken booty) It’s expensive and tastes...well...it tastes like how I imagine licking a wasp would taste like. But on the bright side at no point did I bonk or feel super hungry on Saturday, so success, perhaps? I also was eating small amounts of real food every 20-25 minutes, so it was hard to tell. I’m going to try again at Encounters Overlook.

Ultragen recovery drink: Supposedly a witches’ brew of proteins, simple carbs, and amino acids. Chugged a hit of this after the race. I attribute my non-soreness to a combination of this and my hokas.

Braven 600: My sole nonstandard piece of race gear. It’s a bluetooth speaker that I slipped into my front pack pocket. The Braven has enough oomph to provide podcasts and music for two. Great morale booster.

Desolation wilderness

I was up in South Lake Tahoe with a few friends last weekend, and the highlight of the trip was definitely a 20 mile point to point run through Desolation wilderness. Thank you to Ethan for planning the route! Meredith, Ethan, Levi, and I started at Echo Lake, then ran up through Dick's Pass to the Eagle Falls trailhead for a technical 20 miler. It was a blast!

Obligatory "before" shot:

It's hard not to notice the altitude. We started at about 7000 feet, enough to bring our heart rates up even at what should have been an easy pace. But that was fine, since we weren't moving that fast anyway. With plenty of rocks on the trail, at times it felt like more of a scramble or a hike than a run! Trevor and Brian, much respect for tackling the TRT 100.

On the bright side, we had plenty of time to admire the views.

The early morning weather was quite pleasant. A bit of a breeze, but not too hot. We kept a pretty steady pace to Aloha Lake, and then stopped to filter some water and toss back some shotbloks. The water was a gorgeous deep blue from afar and crystal clear up close. (But we still filtered it because hey, giardia sucks and this wasn't Alaskan snowmelt)

As we turned onto the PCT, we started to see more and more backpackers with a few ultrarunners mixed in. Everyone was super nice and very respectful of the trail.

And the trail went up...

 ...and up...

...and up...

 until we hit about 9200 ft. The last climb was a doozy and we were all sucking wind, but we made it!

We grabbed some snow up top for hot heads and blasted down the trail. We were missing the oxygen, and even getting down to 7000 ft made a huge, huge difference. The trip back was just more of the same: breathtaking vistas and gorgeous views. The quality of folks we ran into started changing, too. We chatted with some folks training for a 200 mile race (is that even a thing???) and our Hokas ignited a debate as we passed some saner folks only training for 100 milers. "See you in 25 years!" they called after us as we shot down the trail.

Eventually the trails became less technical, and we knew we were close when we ran into day hikers. I saw a guy with a straw hat and a tropicana bottle of water and then a girl in flip flops and a bikini, and I knew we were just about done.

And we're still smiling! It was a tough 20 miler that took 6:30 (including breaks to pump water) but we all felt fantastically accomplished and not too beat up. Spiffy.


Gear retrospective:
Ultraspire Omega pack: Once I got used to how relatively low this pack sat, I loved the monstrous amount of gear I could carry. 2 liters, nutrition, an extra layer, and a water filter? No problem! Definitely my choice for backcountry runs.
Pearl Izumi sun sleeves: I call these "arm coolers" to Howland's consternation, but they were great at keeping the sun off my arms. When I could spare the water, they felt like they supercooled my arms.
Hoka One One Stinson ATR: Still loving these. I did a run in the Marin Headlands which felt like I was flying. Less flying today because of how technical the trails were, but they did a great job of cushioning my feet at the cost of an increased risk of rolled ankles. They're definitely on my list of race gear moving forward.

Bonus: Margarita shotbloks soaked in patron are AMAZING after a day in the sun. My friends assure me that they are less amazing if one hasn't been on the trail for hours, but I still respectfully disagree.

See you on the trails,

David