North Face 50 Mile
The raw, unedited first person account of my first 50 mile race…
Every review I write starts the same, with me waking up early as fuck and questioning why I even signed up for the event, however I woke up on Saturday morning at 3 am ready to go. Strange…
After Ironman in September, I wanted something else on the calendar that was going to scare me. A new challenge, an adventure, another way to push myself. What better time to tackle my first major ultra? With Airik telling me how awesome the course was last year I signed up immediately. Nothing like a little suffering in the woods to cure those post race blues.
Once my feet hit the heated floor of the incredible Airbnb we were staying in (thanks Peter) I felt wide awake and scared out of my skull. 50 miles is a long way to go I kept reminding myself as I choked down some oatmeal and payed my homage to the fantastic heated toilet seat… seriously thank you so much Peter your house is amazing!
I was with my crew of Adam, Julianne, and my sister Shannon. Also racing was my good friend and fellow Ironman Melissa and her husband Airik who had run this last year and was crewing her along with their friend Sarah. We arrived at the start around 4 am and I quickly realized how cold San Francisco can be before dawn.
I️t was pretty amazing to be there, almost surreal and otherworldly as famous and accomplished ultra runners that I had only ever seen on YouTube casually mingled around and warmed up, getting ready to push the limits what most people think is possible, but for them it was just another Saturday. I was nauseous at the start, with uncertainty flooding in. Time was slipping away too fast, before I knew what happened it was 4:58 and time to corral up. With a quick good luck and some info from the race director that I couldn’t hear we were off. As soon as the gun went off, all the anxiety and fear melted away and was replaced with wonder and confidence. I know how to run, just put one foot in front of the other and you’ll get there eventually. Right off the bat I saw runners take off like a 5k pushing low 6 min pace uphill before we even hit the trail… “run your own race man…” I kept repeating to myself. Easier said than done.
The 5 am start was rough but once I got a couple miles under my belt we all started to warm up. It was one of the most beautiful mornings I’ve ever seen with the clear twilight sky shining bright and twinkling stars all over the place while the sun started to fight its way over the mountains and illuminate the trail one slow second at a time. I took the opportunity about 4 miles in when it was still pitch black to switch off my headlamp for about a mile or so and glance about as the string of other runners bounced up the mountain behind me creating a dancing snake-like trail as far as the eye could see. It brought a tear to my eye.
By mile 5–6 I started to fall into my groove and feel really good and opened my legs up on the downhills, clicking pace faster than I knew I should. I couldn’t help myself, but I knew that this wasn’t the pace I could keep up all day. I stop at an aid and take a quick piss, its strangely dark for being so well hydrated, or so I thought… After going under 7min pace for 4 miles and flying down a massive downhill into the first crewing aid station at 5:39 I decided to back it off. I see Adam and he hands me my second hand-held bottle, nutrition and sunglasses. Its still early but I feel amazing. I go through mile 14 at 6 flat.
I pick up a small pack of 4 runners as we hit a road section and begin to gel, together we rocket up into the woods off a small path and the terrain becomes a little more wild. “lets climb this fucking mountain!” yells one of the guys behind me. Holy shit I had never seen anything like this in my life before, as I came around a corner the trail opened up before me and ahead lay a mountainside with what looked like 50 switchbacks, each one with a runner heading in opposite directions. It was like a human pin-ball machine of pain. I push the pace but keep it conservative as we tackle the longest climb of the day, about 5 consecutive miles to the Cardiac aid station.
I left Cardiac, knowing that I would be back before long and headed down the only familiar trail of the day as I made my way down the 2 mile descent to Stinson beach. I hiked a portion of this trail a while back so I knew it was a fast section with lots of stairs and switchbacks. As I pulled into Stinson at mile 27 my stomach was beginning to rear its ugly head and I had to slow way up and walk to my crew. After a few minutes at the aid with some salt and peanut butter and 2 full bottles of passionfruit Skratch I was away again across the road and onto the Dipsea trail… Holy fuck. This was the section that separates the people like me from the people who actually train for ultras.
By the time I limped back to Cardiac 7 miles and well over an hour later, I was a shell of the runner that had started. The freshness was gone miles ago, the strong run had transcended to a shuffle now and my stomach was one gel away from tossing itself. I trudged into the aid station and knew the next few hours and 20 more miles were going to be fucking rough… I hadnt peed at all since that morning and I had stopped sweating on the final climb back into Cardiac so I chugged 2 full bottles of lemon Skratch and almost 2 full bottles of coke to settle my stomach. Then it hit me, “fuck I need a bathroom asap!” I barely made it to the porto before it all happened. Have you ever died and come back to life? Well I have, and I died on Saturday around noon in a toilet in the middle of the woods, and I came back to life on the side of that hill. 5 minutes later flying down the trail like a new man, face covered in salt and peanut butter. All the aches and pains gone, my legs felt fresh and new as everything was so fluid with the trail opening up before me. I was swallowing up 50k runners now as I buzzed by them on the single-track sections, sometimes not even saying anything as I concentrated on not eating shit on tree roots and snarls in the brush.
The next 5 miles flew by, I only broke pace for a small river crossing and climbing over a downed massive redwood tree laying like a giant in the middle of a canyon. Just as quick as it came, the freshness was gone. I was walking again by mile 40. I hiked and hiked as this climb seemed never ending, until finally I came across an aid-station where all the volunteers were dressed in animal pajamas… Was I seeing things? I still don’t know. But I did know that it was one climb between me and my crew who was waiting at 42. I walked the whole fucking way, trying to get as much fluid down as possible without losing it all over my shoes. By the time I got there they were slightly worried that I had either dropped or ran by them, I assured them that neither one of those was possible. I ate some oreos and drank more coke, and asked Adam if he would walk with me to the finish line from there. I was absolutely dead, my legs were beyond jello and I had this extreme feeling of fatigue that I could have fallen asleep right there on the trail if they let me. Adam rushed off and before I knew it he was back with a pair of ambulatory scissors and had turned his jeans into jorts. Just the hero I fucking needed.
We rolled out of that aid station and I told my sister and Julianne that we would see them at the finish line, “Probably going to be a couple hours at the pace, but ill get there” I assured them. Adam and I started to pick up my hiking pace as we began the last climb of the day, it was right around the 8 hour mark for me and I was just happy to have a familiar face around. As we climbed my spirits also climbed and the food I had piggishly stuffed into my desperate face a mile or so ago was starting to take hold again, my strength was slowly returning but the tension in my legs wasn’t going anywhere. Every extended step felt like my ligaments were going to snap, I had roughly 10,000 feet of elevation pounded into my quads and calves at this point and my body had said enough. Sometimes though, if all the magic aligns perfectly your brain can tell your body to fuck off and push through it.
We crested the climb at Alta aid station and I saw the Golden Gate bridge spanning the shimmering bay, a beacon of hope after almost 9 hours of pain. I saw it and smiled as a shot of adrenaline coursed through me and I got goosebumps as every footfall brought me closer. With Adam behind me letting me dictate the pace, I began to run scared out of the aid station. Adrenaline only lasts so long and when its gone its gone, and I didn’t want to shit the bed before I reached that finish line. with 5 miles left to go I relaxed my shoulders, leaned them back as I tilted forward and opened my stride up slightly. Steadied my breathing, focused on as good of form as I could and shut my eyes. I began to float along the trail smashing past worried 50k runners wondering who this crazed dudes in collared shirts were… Did one of them have fucking jean shorts on? Damn Right. DING blasts my Garmin…7:37 min/mile. Adam began yelling ahead for me as the runners parted in front of me, graciously letting me pass them at breakneck speed. I could not slow down, the valve was fully open and I was in full kick mode. The blur began, a time warp as time started slipping away in fragments, my focus only semi coming into play on switchbacks as my body numbed and my brain grabbed the reigns and guided me down to the Golden Gate Bridge. Mile 48 goes off at 7:26.
I flew out of the trail and onto some pavement as Adam yelled something at me but I ignored him. Absolute mayhem followed, down a full set of stairs 5 at a time chock full of tourists, quick left under the bridge and then back up the stairs. Another quick left and I was on the sidewalk of the Golden gate bridge. I’d like to tell you that this was some amazing moment where I had this epiphany “oh my god I’m running on the Golden Gate!!” and enjoyed it but it was not. I was deep, deep in the fucking pain cave. Adam was great, screaming at tourists to move as I fought my tunnel vision. My Garmin chirps again as I hit mile 50 and sneak a peek at it through the fog…6:53… “How long is this fucking bridge?” Of all the miles I ran the last mile was absolutely terrifying, full of twists and turns as we wound our way to Chrissy field from the bridge and hit fucked up staircase after fucked up staircase, batting away selfie-sticks and hurtling over dogs and toddlers. I ran with a panic, the dashboard had every red light blinking and screaming at me to stop but I dug to the bottom and began to sprint as I saw the finishing arch in the distance. With one last turn I came around to the finish line and blasted across it. Mile 51 clicked at 6:45. I was gassed and my vision blurred as numbness gave way to the pain and I let it envelop me as I stood there unaware of everything.
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51 miles and 10,500 feet of elevation, my official finish time was 9 hours and 41 minutes…
It was hard, it was beautiful and I cant wait to do it again next year.
A very special thank you to my crew. Shannon, Julianne and Adam, I truly would not have been able to finish this without your support both on and off the course.
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