There Will Be Mud: A Road Runner Dips a Toe into the Ultra Trail World
I ’ve run 31 road marathons - 26.2 miles each. Sometimes after the finish line you keep walking to reduce the lactic acid in your legs. You might even walk all the way back to your hotel adding a few more miles to your race day. So, what’s another five miles?
Stepping into the “ultra” marathon zone, that’s what. It’s not that marathons have become too easy for me or are too short or too mundane. Far from it. Each one is its own unique challenge. But I’ve been thinking I might be ready to tackle a longer distance – 50K or 31 miles – just to see if I could do it. Any race beyond 26.2 miles is considered an ultra distance and most of these races are run on trails. My trail experience is minuscule and the idea of spending 9 hours running through the woods makes me nervous.
Can a road racer successfully cross over from pavement to trails? Last June, Kara Goucher, the two-time Olympic marathoner made her trail race debut at the Leadville Trail Marathon in Colorado. She called it the “hardest thing I ever accomplished,” finishing fifth in the women’s division in 3:54. Goucher said she’s considering the possibility of trying longer trail distances in the future. Conversely, the best American ultra runner in the world, Jim Walmsley, who holds records in 50 and 100 mile trail races, competed in the U.S. Olympic trials and finished in 22nd place in 2:15:05, an impressive debut in a road race.
What about an average, but persistent road marathoner like me? Could I run a 31 mile race on trails? I float the idea of running an ultra with a few friends who also are considering taking on the challenge. We agree we need to practice trail running and train on some trails if we’re going to sign up. I start to research several upcoming 50K races and reach out for advice to seasoned ultra trail runners who have participated in the past. There’s a 50K at the end of January in Fremont and there’s no entry fee to encourage newcomers to the world of trail racing. They describe it as having some dirt roads and packed gravel trails that would be less technical than some other races. There’s another 50K at the end of February at Salmon Falls in Folsom, near Sacramento. There’s one in Lake Chabot. Where’s that? The more I talk to the trail racing ultra veterans the less certain I am that I should attempt this feat.
It’s a Saturday morning in late December and Coach B is leading a trail “run/hike” at Santa Teresa Park in San Jose. If I’m ever going to do a trail race, I’ll need more experience on trails. The plan is to run 8-10 miles and get breakfast afterward. 16 of us meet at 6:30 a.m. at Los Paseos Park - where we’ve been doing our Wednesday 5 a.m. Hammer Time workouts. It’s really dark.
With advice from those trail-running pros, I’m wearing long tights, crew socks and my Brooks Caldera trail shoes I’ve now worn just twice before, a sleeveless top and a short sleeve Taji t-shirt, with a light blue Nike jacket on top, and my hydration vest with one bottle of water to minimize the weight. I have on a lightweight pair of running gloves and a heavier pair on top. I have Probar Bolt chews and chewable electrolyte salt sticks. In the pack is a hat. And I’m wearing my waist lamp. It’s too much gear and I know I’ll be hot. All of it screams: trail newbie.
We warm-up in the parking lot and set off down Santa Teresa Boulevard to Bernal Road and run towards Santa Teresa County Park. I’m struggling to see the ground in the dark, even with my waist lamp. The sidewalk is uneven and I don’t want to fall right from the start. The road leading towards the park is equally dark and trafficky even at 6:30 a.m. There’s a golf course off the road and golfers are showing up for their first light tee time. We get to the trail head. It’s immediately up a steep hill. The ground is solid, but I can tell there’s going to be mud ahead.
I’m starting to remember this trail from last year when we were here before: the un-runnable 30 percent grade; the dirt that gets tacky under my trail shoes; me at the very back of the group. Victoria is running about the same pace as I am. Even as we struggle in our first mile up the Santa Teresa trail, we are having doubts and are reconsidering our notion of running an ultra. I look frequently at my Garmin checking our pace. While there was actual running happening and not hiking (albeit a short span of time) we were going at a 12-minute mile, maybe 13 minutes in spots. But when we were hiking up the hill, we were moving at a 24-minute per mile pace. The Fremont race website said in order to finish 31 miles before the 9 hour cut off, we’d have to maintain a 17-minute mile. So far, we would not make the cut off.
I’m not having fun. I’m rethinking my bravado for even considering signing up for a 50K. Going through the checklist in my head: I don’t feel comfortable running in the dark, even with a light; I feel burdened by all my gear; I’m unsure of my footing even on the flat sections; I hate the dirt and gravel and the squishy grass and the mud. The mud.
The group gathers for photos at scenic vantage points along the course, so there are rest intervals built in. I’m thankful for that because they allow me to catch up with the rest of our runners.
I’m keeping watch for wildlife, expecting to bump into mountain lions here. We don’t see any. Though, later in the run we spot two coyotes in the tall grass. Their ears perk up, but we’re too big a group for them to mess with and they run off.
Going uphill is rough. The elevation changes as we ascend the mountain and I have to push through while breathing hard. The downhill runs are scary and I walk carefully finding my footing and keeping my eyes to the ground to sketch out the safest route.
Rock Training
With each turn, the route becomes more familiar and I’m recalling last year’s version of this run. It was muddier. Just when I think we’ve reached the top, we take another turn and it continues up. We reach a section where I think we’re heading down, but we’re only 4 miles in and we’re not turning back yet. We reach a single track switchback, where we’re hiking over rocks. It. Takes. Forever.
We’re running downhill finally (just after we saw the coyotes). And we’re not finished. Coach points to a radio tower and now we’re en route to the observation peak. We bump into other running groups tackling the climb. We reach the summit and you can see the entire valley from the mountaintop. Miles go by. We’re well past the notion of an 8 mile run and the way back to where we parked is still another 5 miles.
Victoria and I are together and we’re sort of running, mostly walking and mainly complaining to each other. She’s having none of it and she is ready to stop. I’m not sure I’m going to convince her to sign up for a 50K any time soon. I’m not sure I will sign up. There isn’t much time to waver since the first race is in a month.
Hours later, we have reached the golf course on Bernal Road and we run back to Los Paseos Park. Our 8-10 mile run turned into 13 grueling miles with 2,500 ft. elevation gain. It’s taken 4 hours. We head to Flame’s coffee shop. I order an omelet with tomato, mushrooms and Swiss cheese and a pancake and I eat all of it!
Maybe a 50K is too much to take on. I’m not ready. A few days later, Felicia suggests we try a 25K instead and urges us to sign up for the Calero Trail Run 25K in early February. Half the distance seems like a much better plan.
Santa Teresa Park
I ’m home on a Saturday evening, tired after an early morning hill run, followed by a 4 hour class in CPR training. I turn on the TV looking for something to watch other than news and I stumble upon the Ultra Trail Mt. Fuji 2018 race that took place that year on April 30. Cameras tag along filming the standout participants as they run Asia’s largest trail race, an annual 168-kilometer (100 mile) course around Mt. Fuji in Japan. It has 9,500 meters of altitude gain. There are more than 2,400 competitors from around the world and they have a 46-hour time limit to complete the course by the cut off time.
“The course connects mountain trails, local footpaths, and forest roads, so that participants can run and walk right around the perimeter of Mt. Fuji while enjoying 360 degree views of the majestic mountain,” says the race website. Surprisingly, they do not climb up the mountain – only go around it.
Right away, I’m thinking about the filmmakers schlepping their equipment up the same steep, rocky paths the trail runners take. They focus on a top competitor, already in the lead, and separated from the next 3 competitors who are the top Americans. Everyone they interview knows they’re kind of nuts to attempt this route. Prior to this 100-mile race, on the same course, there had been another ultra race: the STY or Shizuoka to Yamanashi, which goes half way around Mt. Fuji for 92 km. Those competitors are still out there in the elements completing their run when the 100-mile race overlaps and the lead group passes the shorter distance stragglers. There does seem to be some actual running involved – when the terrain is cooperative – but often even these proficient trail runners are simply hiking up the mountains, breathing hard as they gain altitude. They tromp through narrow dirt paths through heavily wooded sections up the mountain, ducking under branches and then breezily run the downhill portions as if they were kids at a playground. At nightfall, the runners switch on headlamps and the race takes on an eerie glow as they make their way through the same treacherous woods – but in darkness.
Sections of the race go through towns as they work their way around Mt. Fuji. In broad daylight, there’s drama when a guy in the lead takes a wrong turn and can’t locate the aid station. He’s asking directions from the locals. The filmmakers find runners pausing on the course to pull up their knee socks or changing their clothes or having a snack.
19:21:21 hours from the start, the finish line is in sight for the 2018 winner, Dylan Bowman, an American from Aspen, Colorado. He has won two years in a row. The first female, Courtney Dauwalter, ran unchallenged ahead of the other women by more than 2 hours and came in at 23:57:48. She’s also an American and also from Colorado.
Now the focus turns to the others still completing their trek. There are as many stories to tell as there are runners. A 67-year-old man is the last runner on the course with a chance to complete the race by the cut off time. He’s struggling and the clock is ticking. With just 2 minutes to spare, he reaches the finish line and nearly collapses as he meets his supporters.
As I’m watching this, Felicia sends me a text suggesting we do a trail run the next Saturday. I don’t hesitate and answer, “Okay, let’s do it.” What am I getting myself involved in?
It did rain overnight. There will be mud.
Felicia, Victoria and I are running the hills at Santa Teresa Park in the morning, so I check the weather to decide what I should wear for our planned 6 mile trail run. The forecast shows rain at 3 a.m. Though by our 7:00 start time, it looks foggy, but clear. In the morning, I look out my window and the ground is wet. It did rain overnight. There will be mud.
I choose long tights, crew socks, trail shoes, a sleeveless top, a short sleeve t-shirt, a jacket, gloves and my hydration vest to keep my hands free.
The three of us meet at the Starbucks about a half mile from the trailhead, warm up and then run towards the park. We take the curvy, paved road up the mountain and then Felicia leads the way into the packed dirt trail area. It’s dry at the bottom of the mountain where the trail starts with some gravel. Though as soon as we ascend, we encounter wet dirt. That’s mud. M. U. D. This is only the beginning. We run up the slippery dirt track as best we can until we’re just walking. Our aim is to reach the communications tower at the top and then come down the other side to take on different kinds of terrain. Our trail 25K at Calero Park is in 4 weeks.
Mud!
We make some progress running carefully along the trail, but there are sections where the mud is a slip-n-slide and we have to slow to something like a trudge. I’m appreciating the extra traction I’m getting from the Brooks Caldera trail shoes. Fe and VP are ahead of me around a curve and I hear them say, “Be careful, there’s a lot of mud here.” What they should have said was, “Danger Will Robinson…there’s quicksand here!” The trail has transformed into a sloshy, muddy furrow. Each footstep adds layers of mud, straw-like grass, rocks and more mud. I have to straddle the trail and step on either side of the muddy gully where there is some mud-free grass. It’s an effort to lift my foot to take another step and my shoes feel heavy. We each stop periodically to scrape off some mud from our shoes. This process makes the journey even longer as the minutes tick by. We are finally through the muck and onto the next section of the trail, now not even dirt or mud, but all rocks and we are climbing over them. Somehow, there are tire tracks from bikes that have come through this route! How did they even get up here? 8 miles and 2 ½ hours later we reach dry land. It’s a road. And I breeze on down the hill feeling free and unburdened.
Calero Trail 25K
It’s 7:45 a.m. on a Saturday in early February. A mist hangs low over the mountains as we pull into the parking area off McKean Road, where we’ll pick up our bibs for the Calero Trail 25K. Felicia, Victoria, Irina, John and I arrive in one car and we meet up with Ginger, Cynthia, Johanne and Natalia at the staging area. Most of the team is doing the 25K, including Coach B who has surprised us and just signed up to run. Several team members are running the 15K. I’m running the 25K and it’s my very first trail race.
There are about 100 runners gathered around the start/finish aid station awaiting the trail briefing. The “finish line” consists of two orange cones. There isn’t any timing equipment. We’ll all rely on our watches or smart phones. The event is staged by Troy’s California Trail Runs, a South San Jose-based organization that puts on these races throughout the year. Runners will be tackling a variety of distances: 0.5 mile, 1 mile, 5K, 10K, 15K, half-marathon, 25K and 50K. It seems like a lot of choices for a small group.
Troy is telling us how the trail is marked with colored ribbons for the various distances we all will run. Orange, pink, green and blue, like the mane on that stuffed unicorn you’d get for your 8-year-old niece or granddaughter. There are chalk arrows on the ground to tell you which way the trail goes or doesn’t go. There aren’t any mile markers. The 13.1 mile route loops to the left. The 5K goes clockwise. The 15K goes counter-clockwise. The 16-milers follow the orange ribbons for the half marathon route and then return to the start/finish and then go back out for the 5K green ribbon route. Wait a second! Which 16-milers? There’s some fuzzy math going on here, because a 25K is 15.53 miles – I looked it up. But Troy is telling us we’re going to do 13.1 miles plus 3.1 miles. That equals 16.2 miles or 26.2K, which I guess is an apt distance for a veteran marathon runner to attempt on a trail race.
Troy and the trail briefing. Photo credit: Troy’s California Trail Runs
He says there are no ribbons for 3 miles and then the ribbons come back. I’m already lost. Something about doubling back. What? There are also cones and aid stations to look for. He will somehow meet us at all those turning points and I’m picturing him in one of those sci-fi jet packs flying to each juncture of the course. He’s still briefing us past the 8:00 a.m. start time. We cross the road to the start line and there are cones with the signs we’ll encounter as we run. Troy is passionate about this race he has created in Almaden, which is his home and his training ground. He’s hilarious.
There’s a 3, 2, 1 countdown and we’re off, heading west and running up hill following the orange ribbons, but all doing the first 1.4 miles together.
The ground is packed dirt. Thankfully, it has not rained in more than a week and the trail is solid. The fog is burning off and the sky is clearing so we can see the mountain. There’s a lot of hiking up the hills when the grade is too steep to run. We take in the beautiful scenery, share come good conversation, admire the view from the mountain tops covered in puffy clouds and wonder at the abstract art trees that line the path. There are narrow single tracks sections where you have to keep your eyes to the ground and walk carefully. We run down the hills when we can.
The River
We come to a river. Okay, it’s just a little stream. But still, it’s a water obstacle and we have to walk on the rocks to cross it and get back on the trail. I’m overly careful, choosing my stone stepping like those Ninja warrior competitors strategizing their foot plants across the balance challenges. Three stones later and I land safely on the shore (i.e., path) without getting my feet wet. We’ve run 4 miles and it’s taken us an hour. We have another 12 miles to go and at least 3 or 4 more hours of running ahead of us. A few faster, more experienced trail runners have gone ahead, but the rest of us are running this together as a team. I’m sticking close with runner friends who are here just to get through the trail run in one piece, without falling or tripping. One runner on our team is using this 25K as a training run for an upcoming ultra in March. She is trying to maintain the 17-minute mile pace on this course since that’s the minimum pace she’ll need to make the 9 hour cut off for her 50K. That’s my concern for what I’ll encounter in a 50K. We’ve completed a quarter of the course and I’m already exhausted.
Photo credit: Troy’s California Trail Runs
Midway through the 16.2 miles (about 2.5 hours in) we all regroup at the aid station at Rancho Canada del Oro parking lot and there is food. Real food - not just gels or gu like you find at a road marathon, but salty chips, chocolate, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on some abundantly grainy bread. I’m starving and it’s delicious.
Troy has arrived by Jeep, not jet pack, and is there to point us back onto the course. Fortified, we trek on to the second half of the race, following the Yellow Brick Road toward Emerald City. Well…blue ribbons, but same difference. The route remains dry. In a few areas you can see hoof prints in the dried mud from horses that have come through these paths days earlier when the ground was damp.
There’s another river crossing. Or is it the same one we crossed on the first leg? It’s hard to judge where we are. Now we’re following pink ribbons until we reach the end of the 13.1 mile route and the start/finish area is in sight. We run in and meet up with our teammates. A few have completed their 15K run and the speedy leaders have finished their entire 25K. We grab some snacks (roasted little potatoes!) and some other carbs, water, and regroup to go back out for the remaining 5K loop, following the green ribbons. The teammates who ran the 15K join us for the last loop.
About 45 minutes later, we’re in the final stretch to the finish line. Nat runs toward us with an American flag and we charge to the finish line together, crossing as a team. We end in patriotic glory.
Two weeks after the race, the official results are posted and – surprise – I have won my age group for the 25K! Of course, I was one of only two in my age category. I finished a tenth of a second ahead of Cynthia. Ginger has taken 1st place overall for women. The rest of our Too Legit crew came in the next 6, and Irina, Victoria, Ginger and John also took age group wins. There were a total of 15 people in the 25K, and 86 people doing all the race distances.
It took me 4 hours and 54 minutes to finish 26.2K, with an average pace of 18 minutes per mile and I still got a podium finish! It felt like running 26.2 miles on the roads and it took just as long. Someday, I may attempt a 50K. But for now, I think I’ll take my first ever age group placement, my rustic first trail race medal, Proustian memories of the best PB&J sandwich I ever tasted in the middle of the woods, and call it a day, while my trail shoes are not caked in mud.
Successful finish.