A letter of gratitude to a friend and a stranger.

The Eldrith Gosney 50k race review.

This race came to me by way of Adam, my running partner and best friend who was likely trolling Ultra-signup after the North Face 50 mile looking for an upcoming local race. He messaged me about it and a few hours later we were both signed up for the 50k distance.

Pacific Coast Trail puts this event on every year in honor of Eldrith who is a local ultra-running legend. Located in Mill Valley, the course climbs almost 9,000 feet over 31ish miles, following the famous Dipsea trail and hitting all the big names in Marin trail running such as Cardiac, Heather Cutoff, Steep Ravine and others. There are a few other distances in this race, including a 34k, a 22k and a 14k. All burly, all hard.

We arrived at the start around 7:15 for an 8am luxurious start, a welcome difference to the 5am gun time a month before at North Face. Adam and I were running the 50k, Melissa the 34k, Julianne the 22k and Sarah the 14. With only the 50 and 34 sharing a gun time, we lined up in the middle of the road and counted down.

3

2

1

GO!

We jostled down the street for about a quarter mile before we hit the famous stairs. The first mile or so is mostly stairs and steep trail. With Adam in front, we took the stairs 2 at a time with our hands on our knees and made quick work of the first set. I began to find a rhythm, using my long lanky legs to my advantage and taking them 3 at a time. Slowly I focused in and got into my favorite racing headspace, only focusing on my breath and the 5 steps ahead. After the mile 1 marker I had heated up quite a bit and removed my pack and slipped off my jacket. I gave a quick look around and noticed I was alone, the sun was rising up out of the fog and the rain was clearing away. It was going to be a beautiful day.

The trail became familiar about 3 miles in when I started running on some of the same trails the 50 miler had taken me on. It was about here that I made a wrong turn as a very indifferent course marshal refused to look up from his cell phone. I stalled for about 3 minutes and waited for another runner to show me the way. Lo and behold Adam came crashing out of the woods not that far back looking relaxed AF and he showed me the way. We ran together for a while as we clicked off a fast pace. We both knew the course was a killer for elevation so a flat section was welcome and a great way to bank some time. At the next hill I began to go again and was alone for another section. A mile or so later a man joined me. “50k?” I inquired, trying to make it sound casual. “yeah, you too?” he said, not out of breath as much as I would have liked. We chatted for a while as we ground our way to the top of Cardiac. He was so nice, and complimented Adam and myself on how strong we were running, especially downhill. “I cant keep up with you guys on the downhills” he said.

Boom.

Once we hit the Cardiac aid station I slammed some hydration and took off down the trail first. I remembered this section very well as we had done it but in reverse for my last race. It was a brutal climb last time but the way we were going today it was going to be where I put some distance in-between me and 2nd place. This was now my race to lose and I had no intention of doing so. I opened my stride and squared my shoulders, bobbing and weaving as the trail began to curve and drift downwards away from me. The next couple miles flew by as I cruised down switchback after switchback looking back only once at a long straight away with no one in sight.

A brief uphill section out in a field and then it was back to business as the trail crashes back into the trees and takes a turn for the gnarly. This last section before the Stinson Beach aid station is steep, made up almost entirely of old mismatched wooden stairs that curve through the dense forest lazily. Iron rods poke up through the dirt, some spray painted bright pink, others camouflaged in the complex root system creeping over the stairs. Hitting one of those at top speed would send you flying, or even worse, stick you like a pig, so I did my best to keep a sharp eye. A steep gulley hugs the stairs on the right side and a few feet below I can hear a gentle stream navigating its way to the ocean.

I knew it had to happen eventually.

DING, my watch notifies me of mile 7 passing and I look down briefly to see my split. I am taking the stairs 2 at a time, absolutely stomping my way down the trail. A big stupid smile smeared on my face, “maybe today is my day” I think. It’s early in the race, but I am feeling strong as hell and pretty fresh considering the 2500 feet of gain since the start.

A quick right turn and then a sharp left turn. Too sharp… As I crash around the corner, my right foot connects with a wet wooden stair and begins to slide out from under me. As if in slow motion, I saw it all unfold before me. The left hip was next, smashing into the stair where my right foot just was, with my left forearm not far behind. Out of control, I fell from the trail and launched myself feet first into the gulley below. Immediately I felt it go, and a deep crunch confirmed my worst fear. Frantically I scrambled upwards and back onto the stairs. My left ass cheek was pissing blood and my left arm had a deep gash. My gaze then drifted downwards and I almost passed out. My right foot was funny looking, and the tip of my muddy shoe was pointing much further to the right than it’s supposed to. Panicked, I bounced back on my one good leg to steady myself and when I did so, I felt my ankle crack and slip back into place. A warm relief flowed up my leg. Holding myself back from throwing up, I put some weight on it to see what the situation was and I was promptly flat on my face again. I pulled myself up and sat gingerly on the accursed stair, breathing heavily as my vision blurred slightly, the day was over as fast as it had started. I screamed out in anger and frustration as the pain came flooding in. Looking down I saw what looked like a few pulsating golf balls in my right sock, “Fuck that can’t be good” I thought. I was alone, in the middle of a staircase, in the middle of the woods. This was going to be tricky. Luckily, I didn’t have to hop alone for very long as Adam came shooting down the stairs only a few minutes later.

Without a question he grabbed me by my underarm and pulled me up, steadying me as I began the longest most painful game of hopscotch to the aid station. We were only a moment into the endeavor when the other runner from a few miles ago stopped and grabbed my left side. Together they helped me down the gnarliest part of the trail. As other runners began to pass, I kept telling the other runner to go ahead and leave me but he wouldn’t hear it. When we got within sight of the aid station he eventually took off. Adam brought me over to the side of the road and with some begging of my own I told him to go on as I was now in the care of the EMTs.

A tear came to my eye as I watched Adam bound away into the forest looking strong and running well. He had sacrificed his placement in the race to help me. I don’t know how long it actually took for him to get me to the aid station but it felt like forever. His training in Maine, logging 18 milers in 6 inches of snow, fighting sickness and coming off the best block of training he had ever had, and here he was helping some idiot down the trail who couldn’t control himself. Thank you for being a great friend.

This blog post goes out to you, and to the stranger who also helped (he went on to win). I am deeply grateful for what you did, with smiles on your faces and kind words of encouragement.

I came back from the hospital just in time to hobble over and see Adam finish the race. Kinda glad I got hurt, he looked tired as fuck.

And a major congratulations to Melissa, who came in 2nd in her first trail race! Julianne also crushed it, winning 2nd in her age group. Adam had a rough middle section, but managed to stay focused and strong, also gaining 2nd in his age group.

Thanks for reading, now go out and run! (carefully)