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Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run – Part 2

I left Eagle’s Roost feeling great. I was 30 miles in and through some of what I believed would be the toughest parts of the course. I was confident but also knew that I had two challenges ahead of me.  First, it was about to potentially get hot and second, and more important in my mind, I was now entering the unknown. I had never run on any of the rest of the course. Seventy miles on trails I’d never really seen.  I took my two bottles, had a few pieces of fruit, Elizabeth tied a wet bandana around my neck and I headed up the Highway, first at a slow jog, then, as soon as it became an incline, at a brisk walk. Mom and Dad passed in their car and said Hi, Drew and Ashley passed and congratulated me for slowing down and then Elizabeth passed with a quick cheer.

It’s probably 2 miles on the road but it felt longer. The turn off back towards the trail was well marked but the way through Buckhorn Campground was not. In the campground I stopped and sat down for the first time during the race – on a campground table just for a minute to dump some rocks from my shoes. I got to a poorly marked intersection, but thankfully some campers told me which way the runners in front of me had gone. Next was a section on the Burkhardt trail; it wasn’t really better marked, and the markers that were there alternated haphazardly from yellow to orange to blue and back, but at least the trail was generally easy to follow.  There was one point where I felt certain I was lost but not too much further down the trail I hit a major left hand turn back onto the PCT which was marked with tons of flags and chalk.

It was around here that I had my first “down” moments of the race. I didn’t know where I was or how much longer until the next aid station. It was getting a little hot. Also, my two bottles were running low. I wasn’t dehydrated but I was terrified of it happening. And I kept thinking back to advice I’d gotten that I should carry a pack through Cooper Canyon. It was too late now, but I started kicking myself. All this mental strain started to wear on me. By the final climb out of Cooper Canyon, I was out of water. I didn’t even know if it was the final climb until I saw Sada waiting on the trail taking pictures. Then I heard the aid station commotion. Thank goodness. I made it to Cloudburst (mile 37.5) at 12:49pm.

Elizabeth and my parents had another nice spread laid out for me.

I filled up bottles and tried eating some sweet potato. The first bite went down OK so I stuffed a second big piece in my mouth but instantly realized it wasn’t gonna take. I apologized and spit a nasty partly-chewed orange mess out on the ground.

The next five miles – from Cloudburst to Three Points is the part of the race I remember the least. In fact, I don’t really remember it at all. From the course profile I know this section is a descent and I think I was moving OK through here, but I couldn’t tell you what this section looks like.

All I remember is coming to Three Points (mile 42.72, 1:49pm) and seeing that the checkpoint was at the top of a hill across the Highway. I crossed and climbed the path and my crew was screaming for me.

This time, in addition to the usual suspects, Cat and Jeff were there!  I checked into the aid station and went over to the car. It was time to change my shoes. I got my Brooks Launch out of the car, knelt down and changed shoes.

I thought about changing socks, but my feet were still feeling good and frankly it just seemed like it would be too much trouble. Getting up was a little dicey, but once I was up, I felt great. It was fun to see Katie and Brian on my way out.  A quick high five and I and was off.

I left Three Points with two bottles. My mom shouted something like see you in 10 miles which caught me a little off-guard until I remembered that the Mt. Hillyer aid station was in between and there was no crew access there. This section starts downhill but then has a long climb on the road up to the Mt. Hillyer aid station. The main thing I remember about this climb was that it twisted around a lot and there were chalk smiley faces on the road. When I saw the first one, I assumed it meant that the aid station was right ahead. By the third or fourth smiley face I was a little pissed off by the teasing!

I wasn’t feeling great when I got to the Mt. Hillyer aid station. But the crew there were saviors. I had some potato slices and watermelon with salt (there’s a first time for everything and it actually tasted great!). I spent a minute or two talking to them, my first human interaction in what seemed like a long time. Also, Hal was up there hanging with the aid station crew. On my way out I asked how far it was to Chilao. One of the volunteers told me it was 3.5 miles, “3.5 hard miles,” Hal said “because of all the boulders.” The volunteer also asked me to tell the Chilao staff how well (or poorly) this section of the trail was marked. Off I went up a dirt road hill and then onto the trail. I was feeling pretty good, knowing I was getting close to Chilao and my first pacer of the day, Kristin. But this was where things got interesting.

From the Mt. Hillyer aid station, I hadn’t seen a single trail marker. The trail was straightforward enough. Or so I thought. But then it turned nasty. Lots of boulders, no clear trail, a dead-end, a small path between bushes that could be a trail, another dead-end. But I kept moving down the hill, following false trails. Kept moving, that is until I realized I’d gone way too far. And what was I supposed to do then? I didn’t know where the trail was, didn’t know where I’d gone wrong and didn’t even know how to get back to where I’d started. I thrashed through bushes, mostly ones with thorns. I climbed to the top of the biggest rocks I could find and shouted for help. At first, a little timidly and later with much more gusto. I thought about just going downhill and hoping to find the highway. I knew that would result in being disqualified. I was definitely in panic mode. Panic of being lost. Panic of missing out on sub-24. Panic of embarrassing myself because I’d gotten lost and then panicked. Eventually, I got my wits about me and started back up the hill. Not necessarily the same way I’d come down, but I hoped up was better than down. Every big rock I found I climbed and shouted a loud “HELLO!” And finally, I got a response. It was the volunteer from the Mt. Hillyer aid station, he’d come out to re-mark the trail. I was only a few feet below the trail, but when I emerged through the bushes he was a little shocked. And he was at exactly the point where I’d taken the wrong turn. He pointed me the right way. And there, about 5 feet down that path was an orange flag. The first flag on this section and I still believe an easy one to miss. But that doesn’t mean I’m kicking myself any less.*

Thank goodness for that volunteer.  If he hadn’t come out to re-mark the course and hadn’t been exactly there when I shouted out, I don’t know what would have happened.  I probably would still have found the trail, but it would have taken me longer and having him send me down the right trail was huge.  I owe him a lot and don’t even know his name.

I was pissed. And had tons of adrenaline rushing through my veins. I motored down the course. Muttering to myself, feeling sorry for myself and pissed off at the race directors. I’m guessing I lost about 30 minutes. I got into the Chilao aid station (mile 52.8; 4:29pm) to the cheers of my family and crew. Kristin and Colin and Billy were all there. They’d all been there waiting a lot longer than I’d told them I would be. And I announced my presence with some choice curse words and a general bad attitude. Scott Mills told me to calm down and let it go. The Chilao volunteers told me to get on the scale. As I was stepping onto it I realized that I needed to get rid of my bottles.

I was about a half-second from just throwing them to the ground in sheer frustration when a volunteer reached out his arms and asked for them. I weighed in about three percent down, which was fine as long as I was careful from then out.

My crew walked me to where they’d set up my cooler and had to listen to me bitching the whole time.

I imagine they were hanging back a bit here watching out for an outburst.  But after all that time complaining to myself, I definitely needed to vent.  And I did not have an outburst.  Not a big one anyway.

As pissed as I was, I needed to let it go. In the grand scheme of things I really hadn’t lost that much time. And from this point forward I would have company to run with.  Good company.

After loading up with gels and some chews and getting a new bandana tied around my neck, Kristin and I took off on a 6.5 mile leg to Shortcut Saddle.

I’m not sure which is worse, breaking this into four parts or making less parts longer. Or maybe I should just write less… 🙂

*Not to be a jerk, but here an excerpt from the official race booklet about this exact section of the course: “This portion of the Race Course is well marked on race day, but can be tricky for the newcomer on training runs.”  Sweet.