More Tales of Ultra Running

03 Wednesday May 2017

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This was my second attempt at the 100k distance at the Canyons. At least it wasn’t raining this year. But after leaving Cal 2 and reaching the river with what I thought might be food-poisoning like nausea, something loud came barreling down the mountain through the understory – headed my direction.

“What now?” I thought.

A large brown bear landed squarely on the trail not ten feet in front of me and gave me a good looking over.

Fortunately, California bears are mellow – not like the grizzly bear in Alaska who still carries a grudge about the extermination of its cousins (ursus arctos californicus). I actually said “hello” out loud. Correctly reasoning that I was friendly, the bear executed what to my eye looked like a perfect pirouette and charged off in the other direction. I once heard it said that bears are not good down-hill runners. I am now in a position to refute this assumption.

But one-quarter mile later, I was on the ground for a different reason. The nausea was not improving, and I had abdominal pain. So I sat down. Then the rapid and shallow breathing that precedes a good technicolor yawn started. So I lay face down. That’s when other runners started coming by.

And this is what I find most endearing and comforting about the ultra-running community. To a person, everyone stopped and asked what had happened. Was I alright? Did I need water, s-caps, anything? Did I want them to stay and help in anyway? Runners were willing to give up their goals of finishing before cutoff to assist, which is why this is such a noble sport.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you. Just nauseous. If you could mention that I might need help at the aid station. Don’t let me hold you up…I need to rest for a while before I get moving.” Since brevity is the sole of wit, I condensed things a bit to “nauseous, resting, will get going, thanks!”

It was relaxing in a way to lay face down on the trail. The river was making river sounds, there may have been some birds chirping…there were lots of mosquitoes (but again, California mosquitoes are mellow compared with Amazonian mosquitoes). I did, however, notice it was getting cold and dark. This thought had me sitting-up debating which direction I should start to walk. Where would help be coming from?

Do I head uphill for two and one-half miles in the dark, or west along five and one-half miles of nice rolling trail? Well, I knew what the answer had to be. It was just hard to convince the body that help would come from Cal 2 (uphill) rather than Rucky Chucky.

Within five minutes of moving, Lesley Dellamonica and Naomi Plasterer came barreling down the hill charging in a way that would have made that bear nod gently in reverent praise. Afterwards, they said my face was white as a ghost, which is a hard look to pull off with a sun-burn. But they placed me between them, and we slowly made our way uphill, occasionally trying to get me to drink some flat soda, and occasionally, me pausing to sit on the trail for a moment.

I could go into minutia about how the rest of the evening went, but I’ll just end by expressing my immense gratitude to everyone who assisted along the way. There was never any doubt that I would get back up that hill. And that was mainly due to the optimism and encouragement of my companions, Lesley and Naomi. They kept me moving. There was also Bill Hunter at Cal 2 who checked that I would be fine and eventually drove me and another bedraggled runner back to Foresthill. There was Carrol Lindsay, the nurse at Foresthill who let me rest on a cot with a warm blanket and tried to feed me various edible tidbits – all the while saying I was looking better as time passed. There was the volunteer who retrieved dry clothes from my car. And finally, there was the Race Director, Chaz, who showed compassion at Foresthill and put on one-hell-of-an-awesome event. All these precious pieces of the chain that pulled me up from the river and the darkness, all these awesome people, these awesome runners…these are the kind of people who get things done! Thank you for making the world a better place…

Will there be a third attempt next year? The adventure continues…

Since there is no photo of me laying prone on the trail, you’ll have to make do with this…

“Running? up that Hill.” Photo courtesy of Naomi Plasterer.

Not Going Gently into the Night – Pacing at Western States

30 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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Pacing, Western States

Bob Halpenny. Photo courtesy John Onate.

This is my friend Bob at the Devil’s Thumb aid station (mile 48) where he had just 52 miles to run to complete the 2016 Western States Endurance Run. Short of the type of asteroid impact that wiped the dinosaurs from the face of the planet, Bob Halpenny was determined to finish. It was my great pleasure to pace him through the night.

Bob gets things done. I’ve seen him tree a bear on the Brown’s Bar trail while out on a training run. I’ve seen him stare down rattlesnakes. He told me he once saw a mountain lion on Quarry trail. To the lion’s credit, she continued on, giving Bob a wide berth. Bob is someone you want on your side along the dusty, hot trails of Western States. Pacing Bob involves, more or less, just following him along the trial as he gets things done. I was taking notes the whole way.

I picked up Bob at mile 55.7 – Michigan Bluff – just after sunset at 9:07 pm. We headed purposefully into the warm and pleasant night which was clear with very little wind.

Time is a quiet sentinel during a night run. There is nothing to indicate its passage. No shifting of light, changing of colors nor lengthening of shadows. No landmarks but aid stations. Just a constant cocoon of light cast by our headlamps, at the perimeter of which is ever present darkness. And only the sound of our feet stirring up trail dust which sometimes glittered in the beam of our lamps.

Except for a few expected stumbles late in the evening, or perhaps early morning when our soporific bodies insisted we should be sleeping, we continued along our somnolent journey without event, stepping one foot in front of the other. The red eye of Mars guided us as did the glowing reflectors that marked the trail, sometimes looking like a runner headed the wrong way towards us. Occasionally I would remind Bob it was time to eat or drink, and also occasionally, from one or the other of us would come the question “doing alright?” to which the answer was always a brief “yes.”

Around 2:30 am, I was leading into the Ford’s Bar aid station when there occurred a great roar of cheerfulness from the Fleet Feet staff once Bob’s number was sighted on my pacer’s bib. “It’s number 191, Bob Halpenny,” I called out. Water bottles filled, a cup of soup and slaps on the back all around, and we were quickly back into that good night.

I cannot say whether we heard the river crossing before we saw it, but we rounded a bend and perhaps one-half mile ahead we saw lights strung across the river like stars. At 3:59 am, we arrived at Rucky Chucky, fueled up, put on life jackets and were instructed to keep both hands on the line. Glow sticks were placed at intervals on the river bottom, and gracious volunteers instructed us where to step and when to be cautious.

Upon reaching the far side of Rucky Chucky, Bob’s second pacer Wonkyo Lee, was waiting as fresh as the morning sun that would soon rise, breathing new warmth into the day and giving Bob the boost he needed to finish. Much to my delight, my wife Debbie was sitting smiling on a rock waiting for me. We had a two mile climb to go to Green Gate…

Polar explorer Roald Amundsen said that “adventure is just bad planning.” With Bob there is no adventure. What you get is experience.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

Laura, Debbie, Kim and James at the finish.

Laura and Wonkyo Lee in Auburn.

Bob Halpenny on an early climb.

Bob crossing Ruck A Chucky.

Rick – 4 AM river crossing.

The Map of My Heart

20 Tuesday Oct 2015

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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AV Nodal Reentrant Tachycardia, electrophysiology study, Fast Heart Beat, Running, supraventricular tachycardia

This heart’s geography’s map—this limitless small continent—this soundless sea…
-Walt Whitman

First of all, let’s get all the Latin and cursing out of the way with right at the start. SVT is supraventricular tachycardia which is Latin for Fucking Fast Heartbeat. There!

In my case, my heart clocked in at 238 on September 9, 2015, sometime after five in the evening after five and one-half miles of a planned sixteen-mile run, just as I was beginning to ascend ball bearing. I was running with a heart rate monitor that would do an electrocardiogram (ECG) in case this very thing happened. It was a hot day – probably 95 when I started my run at Quarry parking lot near Auburn. My hydration pack was filled with ice. The moment I felt my heart rate spike from 130 to 238, I pressed the transmit button which sent my ECG to somewhere in Florida, then back to California, and I sat down to concentrate on breathing.

I imagine people experience SVT in different ways. For me, there is a brief instant just before tachycardia when I know – a feeling of what I later learned is a sort of skip in the heart beat preceding a beat so fast that my brain loses oxygen and I begin to feel light headed. An event in medical parlance. So I sat down to breathe…now that I knew. What I knew was that I didn’t want to pass out at the base of ball bearing at that moment.

Near the base of Ball Bearing (Maine Bar Trail).

Here is how my medical team reported the event:

Cardiology was notified of your event and it showed a supraventricular tachycardia. They recommend you be evaluated further by our cardiac electrophysiology specialists to discuss the best treatment options for you.

Specifically, my diagnosis was AV Nodal Reentrant Tachycardia (AVNRT), the most common type. Essentially, this is an electrical short circuit near the center of the heart.

The heart has a natural pacemaker called the sinoatrial node (SA node) which kicks off this wondrous sequence of events that is the heartbeat (your pulse is simply the number of signals the SA node generates each minute). Starting near the top of the heart, this spark of life begins at the right atrium and travels down along electrically conducting pathways.

The first signal tells the heart to contract and pump blood. Electricity then flows along two pathways (the fast and slow pathways) to the AV node, where there is a slight pause to allow the right and left ventricles to fill with blood. It is here that an extra pathway may cause the signal to loop in a circle (the reentrant in AVNRT) and override the SA node’s normal pace-making duties, greatly speeding up the heartbeat in the process.

The reentry circuit – AV node

So, one week later, I was patched into an IV and getting hooked up to all kinds of wires, after having undergone various blood tests and electrocardiograms, in preparation for a radio-frequency catheter ablation of my heart. What you should keep in mind, is that SVT is not considered a disease of the heart and is usually not life threatening. And neither is it caused by running. Although in my case, running triggered SVT. Other triggers can include caffeine, antihistamines and stress. But the underlying cause is an unknown abnormal electrical circuit.

Toward the unknown region…

April 11
During runs earlier in the year, symptoms sometimes presented as difficulty breathing and tightness in the throat. As I was in the midst of allergy season, this was what I naturally thought of as the cause. It even seemed that a bad day at Lake Sonoma on April 11 might have been down to having received the second of three doses of the rabies vaccine the day before (another tale). “Headache, nausea, abdominal pain, muscle aches, dizziness,” are the possible mild problems associated with this vaccine. Yet they are also indistinguishable from the “mild problems” associated with running an ultra marathon. But in retrospect….

At Lake Sonoma 50 – photo by John Evans

There was a moment during Lake Sonoma around mile thirty-five when I could not take another step. A tightness in my throat (a symptom of SVT) made breathing difficult, so I sat for a moment. I am going to have to drop, I thought. But to do so, I had to get to the next aid station at Warm Springs Creek, three miles distant. No one could help me get there. So I dumped everything left in my pack into my body. This consisted of two packets of Scratch, two GUs and some Endurolyte tablets. Minutes later, I was moving again and feeling optimistic. Thoughts of dropping were gone.

But wait…weren’t you wearing the heart rate monitor that came with your Garmin? A good question, to which my answer is…no. It took a run on May 28 on Quarry Trail when my throat tightened up and I had to stop short at Brown’s Bar that made me think I should strap the bugger on again. And then nothing happened, until June 16 on a run from the Overlook just before starting up K2.

I stopped to catch my breath, which was short and rapid, and glanced down at my Garmin. It read 235 bpm. Well that’s my max…hold on, isn’t it that less your age? Must be something wrong with the watch! I later saw that my heart rate was 235 for four minutes that day.

There followed three other events: June 23rd, 226 bpm for five minutes; August 23rd, 230 bpm for nine minutes; and August 24th, 233 bpm for seven minutes.

When I met with my primary care physician, I expressed concern since I was planning on running Rio Del Lago on November 7. “Well then, we better figure out what’s going on,” was her response, and she gave me a heart rate monitor to wear for thirty-days.

Since I was wearing only the Kaiser provided heart rate monitor during the pivotal event on September 9, I can’t tell you how long I sustained a rate of 238 bpm. It was probably around nine minutes. I had trashed my Fenix 2 the week before taking what Bob Halpenny called a most spectacular fall which gave new meaning to Garmin’s metric “ground contact time.” Thankfully, x-rays confirmed nothing was broken except the Fenix 2. My doctor, no doubt, was wondering what I was up to again and gave me what I considered to be sound medical advice…“don’t fall.”

Normal ECG waves.

Which takes us to September 16 and the cardiac ablation…

The map of my heart…

September 16
Before the ablation, there is the electrophysiology (EP) study. Since heart tissue will be destroyed during an ablation, it is nice to know that nothing critical is being zapped, which might result in implantation of a pacemaker. The EP study is the process that maps the electrical pathways of the heart, and points to the precise spot of the abnormal circuit.

Access to the heart is gained from an artery or vein near the groin (good grief!). Since I must remain awake during the procedure, something special is dripped into my IV to keep me calm. Conscious sedation is the medical term. Which works well. In order to get the catheter into the artery (think of a plastic tube not unlike spaghetti), some lidocaine is used as local aesthetic. After this, I feel more like an observer than a participant.

The tachycardia must be triggered to identify my aberrant circuit. My heart is now in my doctor’s hands. He controls its beating – as like a switch he effortlessly turns on and off. Painlessly, I feel my heart being fiddled with, speeding up and slowing down, as my electrical circuits are mapped. At one point, my heart feels like it is trying to leap out of my chest. “That’s nice,” I think, without a bit of concern. Then some ablations begin which I sometimes feel as warmth in my chest. Afterwards, for sometime, I will occasionally feel as if someone has the barbeque on when I take a deep breath. After two-hours, the procedure is done. Several spots were ablated.

Normal sinus rhythm from 12 lead ECG.

Recovery takes four hours. My doctor turns my heart from his hands into the hands of my nurses. Poetry is insufficient to describe their care. I know, because I have searched for some to use in this piece, and the words always fall short of what I feel. Nursing is one of the noblest pursuits. A major complication during recovery is bleeding from the puncture sites in the groin (good grief again!). But I am well looked after, and there are no complications.

This precious heart set in the silver sea…

September 24
One week later, I laced up my Altra’s to take my first post ablation run. The first mile was good, but there followed a skip, and my heart rate instantly spiked to 220 bpm. Pressing briefly on my femoral artery, I was able to bring the heart rate down and walked home – feeling blown about like the fall leaves that swirled in the warm Sacramento breeze. That was the moment I knew I should drop from Rio Del Lago.

After another consultation with my cardiologist, we both felt it was worthwhile to go back into my heart and take another look around. He doesn’t like to be too aggressive when he does these procedures. There is no line over which he can backup if he goes too far. He had ablated about one-dozen spots in my case, which is quite a lot. I have a stubborn heart, he noted. So, the usual blood tests were ordered and another date set.

You again…

October 7
Glenda and Jack instantly recognized me when I walked into the Cath Lab. We proceeded to have a grand time – like old friends. The preparation and electrophysiology study were done as before, although the procedure took longer at two and one-half hours.

My doctor accessed my heart from arteries on both sides of the groin this time (good fucking grief!). Despite this, I felt more relaxed in recovery. My pulse was hovering in the 60s, and somewhat tired, I took a yawn. My heart rate leapt to 120, and the alarms started ringing.

Oddly, every time I took a deep breath, my heart rate jumped, sometimes up to 130. A 12-lead ECG was ordered, but the rhythm on the monitors looked different from that of supraventricular tachycardia. The doctor said he ablated quite a few spots for a total of nine minutes of burn time. At one point, he said he didn’t think he could do anymore without risking a pacemaker. In my consciously sedated state I thought “hmm…” But then he took another look and zapped a few more bits after which he was unable to induce tachycardia.

The general consensus was that after two ablations close in succession, my heart was essentially saying WTF (latin again)! A stress test on the treadmill was scheduled, and I was temporarily prescribed some heart medication.

October 13
Although it was no Goat Hill, the stress test did get my heart pumping. Strapped into all sorts of wires again, and with a blood pressure cuff on my arm, the treadmill gradually increased its speed and slope. Thankfully, the technicians were unable to induce SVT. Although I did have palpitations and some skips in the heart beat originating in the atrium. These may be a result of bruising and swelling from the procedure and should subside. Looking over the before ablation and after ablation ECGs with my doctor, he pointed out that these skips were happening before the first ablation.

October 20
It was not without some trepidation that I went on my first run following my second ablation today. At the start, my heart rate jumped to 150, and you probably have a good idea what I thought…I stopped and walked whenever it spiked. But after three-quarters of a mile, as I deepened and slowed my breathing, it started to stay below 130 in my aerobic range. I still experienced palpitations, but I managed four miles, which was all I set out to do. In two weeks, I’ll take another heart rate monitor from Kaiser out for a spin, and we’ll see if the ECG has calmed down.

Until then, keep the trails warm for me. I have big plans for 2016 which include a 100-miler. The trails and ultra community are lodged deep within the map of my heart.

Saint-Exupéry was a pilot in the early days of aviation. He was also an author. Although he was writing about flying, to me, this quote captures an important reason to run “…it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things.”

Heart and ECG graphics are courtesy Life in the Fast Lane.

Take me to the River

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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Overlook Endurance Runs

Overlook Endurance Runs
Saturday, September 6, 2014

Water as salvation. Water as redemption. Water as…oh hell, somebody just give me some water. After leaving the Peachstone aid station (mile 28), all I could think about for the next ten miles was reaching the river crossing. There, for a few minutes, I would lay in its cool embrace – water running over tired legs, plunging my head below the surface and letting water roll off the back of my neck.

At Rucky Chucky, the traditional Western States river crossing, angelic volunteers refilled hydration packs, offered up a feast at the table and proffered words of encouragement and sunny optimism in the comforting shade of the aid tent. True saviors. The reported 103 degree heat reduced me to a brisk walk, but there were only three miles to the crossing of the Middle Fork of the American River where life would soak back into my body.

So it was more than proper that upon reaching Poverty Bar, it was none other than Himself, Gordy Ainsleigh, who clipped me into the line I would follow to the other side. Gordy gave me a considered look, and selected from among the carabiners hanging on the rope – pausing at one, before choosing another. I had infinite faith in his decision, and as this was my first official river crossing, I gratefully accepted his baptism.

Trail marker just after Poverty Bar.

Gordy cast me into the swiftly moving, waist high current and passed me to the next volunteer, thirsty legs now drunk with water. “The river’s getting higher. Be careful, some people cramp up.” There were just twelve miles left in Ann Trason’s inaugural Overlook Endurance Run.

I was doing the middle distance – the fifty-miler. The 100km and 50-mile runners began at 6AM in front of Stone’s Brew in Foresthill just as faint light in the east began to obscure the beautifully clear starry night. “The run starts on this side of the clock,” remarked Ann as she motioned to the time piece informally sitting on the back of a vehicle.

Ann cautioned that the decent to El Dorado Creek would be steep so “…be careful and don’t blow out your quads.” When fourteen time Western States winner Ann Trason says something is steep, you can regard it as a proven, scientific fact.

Back on the Quarry Road and mile 43, four of us were keeping the same pace as we arrived at Brown’s Bar aid station. Our reception was ecstatic, and I wish I got their names, because each volunteer is due a huge thank you for looking after us like the weary travelers we were. They inquired after our health, replenished our supplies and sent us on our way with rousing cheers that I am sure startled the bear one of the 100km runners saw up on Auburn Lake Trails. Someone mentioned that we were in the top ten, which I quietly shelved at the back of my mind…never having been in such a position before.

For the next three miles, I tried to keep up with Sean Garbutt, who was running his first 50-miler. Four birds of prey were circling overhead as we reached the Highway 49 crossing, but we denied them an entrée. As we reached the single track on the other side, he looked at me asked “do you want to take it?”

“No, go ahead,” was my response. When we reached No Hands Bridge, Sean did not stop and began to blast up the final four-mile hill to the Overlook. An impressive finish. As for myself, I placed tenth out of thirty finishers in my tenth ultra. Some of those stars in the canopy over Stone’s Brew at the pre-dawn start had briefly aligned…

In all aspects, this was a brilliant event, lovingly assembled with care taken at each step. There were achingly steep sections of trail, but also very runnable sections of soft, shady trail where the voices of rafters enjoying a paddle echoed up canyon walls. There were blisters and there was nausea. But what jaunt in an ultra is without these companions?

There were also hot dusty stretches, but this just increased my gratitude for the kind volunteers at those oases we call aid stations without whom it would not be possible to undertake such an experience.

At the end, Mistina Sayani from Calgary expressed it in just the right way as she crossed the finish. “You people are all crazy to run in this heat,” she shouted while flashing a big Canadian grin. Yes – crazy – but in a good way.

With Roy (who personally knows Bob Halpenny) near Highway 49 on an earlier training run (photograph by Bob Halpenny).

With about a mile to go to the river, hence the smile, at mile 37 or so (photograph by Joe McCladdle).

Almost Skunked – American River 50 Mile Endurance Run

21 Monday Apr 2014

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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American River 50, AR 50, Running, Trail Running, Ultra Marathon

The line of runners was being held up by a skunk. Our fearless cat from Kauai had recently tangled with a skunk and had come out on the wrong end of things. He required a good dousing with Skunk Odor Remover followed by a vigorous bath. This thought was on my mind as I was somewhere along the last ten miles of the American River 50 on Saturday, April 5, 2014.

Kekoa from Kauai

In the later stages of an ultra, you tend to swap places in the line with the same runners. You come to know them as they pass you and then you later pass them as walk breaks are taken. The process is repeated a number of times – somewhat like the instructions on Skunk Odor Remover – rinse and repeat.

Stopped ahead on the single track trail were two runners with whom I had been keeping company. They were pointing at something just ahead in the middle of the trail, and there was an odd smell. With a precipitous drop to our right and a steep slope to the left covered with poison oak, there wasn’t anyway to get around the skunk which had its back to us – tail up.

What it feels like to finish sans skunk.

“Throw something at it,” was suggested by a voice from the group that was now piling up behind us.

“Don’t kill it!” was appended to the first request by another.

The lead runner tossed a small rock in the direction of Pepé Le Pew who moved to the side of the trail but still with tail up ready to fire.

“It’s unusual for them to be out at this time. Perhaps he is ill.”

Great…now we have to deal with a rabid skunk.

One of the two runners ahead of me uttered an expletive and started to run up the left bank.

“You’ll get poison oak!”

“I’m probably already covered with it.” True, leaves-of-three were vibrant along the trail all day.

As I was weighing the merits of poison oak versus skunk spray, the other front runner made a dash for it. I instantly decided to match his stride reasoning that the first runners past would confuse the skunk before action could be taken. This proved correct. And as far as I know, the rest of the pack came through unscathed.

It was another superb day on the trails. Perfect temperature, outstanding volunteers and flawless organization on the part of Race Director Julie Fingar. Several news articles repeated a remark that AR50 is now the largest 50-miler in the country. Well done!

P.S. Much to my surprise, I did not get poison oak on me…Next up, the Canyons 50k on May 3.

Way Too Cool, It’s the Real Thing

22 Saturday Mar 2014

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Goat Hill, Running, Way Too Cool 50k

On my way to Goat Hill on the Auburn Lake Trail.

“I don’t usually drink coke, but man…this tastes unbelievable.”

I can tell you that this was said to me by a comrade in ultra running at the Auburn Lake Trails aid station, 21.1 miles into my second running of Way Too Cool 50k on Saturday, March 8, 2014. At nine minutes past noon, to be precise.

The runner was enjoying his refreshing beverage. After all, Coca-Cola Revives and Sustains, according to its 1905 advertising slogan.

Now, ordinarily, I’d be right there with him on this. I love coke and have been a two to three can a day man. But back in June, it seemed to me that my weight should have been somewhat less than the figure indicated on the scale…what with all this running.

Contrary to popular belief, us runners do need to watch what we put in our bodies. And all that daily sugar was just so many empty calories adding to the tally. So I resolved in June to give up sodas for awhile – just cold turkey it. I had no plan on how long this would last, but at 12:09 on Way Too Cool Saturday, it had been just over nine months…

So as I was draining the contents of my water bottle and inhaling one-half of an orange (these taste unbelievable as well), I glanced back at the table that was covered with cups of coke, The Pause that Refreshes. All I had to do was back up a few steps, and they were mine for the taking. No one would notice, and no questions would be asked.

In fact, I recalled that at my first running of the Dick Collins Fire Trails, I asked for more coke and was handed the bottle to finish off. Talk about The Best Friend Thirst Ever Had! Since You Can’t Beat the Real Thing, you can understand my dilemma.

The finish.

So what did I do? I don’t mind telling you that I experienced a moment of doubt. What were all these cups for, if not for drinking? But the call of the trails beckoned, and the leaves of the trees rustled in the wind while a lone eagle soared on the thermals, or perhaps it was a scrub jay…or maybe a squirrel in the bushes. So I refrained from partaking of that Ice Cold Sunshine and began to make my way toward my old nemesis – Goat Hill – that 20% grade that feels much longer than a quarter mile.

When I finished, I had knocked ten minutes off last year’s time. But I did have the celebrated frog cupcake. Because after all, one is entitled to some indulgences.

A Foggy Morning in Castro Valley – Dick Collins Firetrails 50

25 Friday Oct 2013

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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Dick Collins Fire Trails 50

Castro Valley
October 12, 2013

My goal was to finish before dark this year, and I am pleased to report this was accomplished. Twenty-six minutes were knocked off last year’s time, and this with walking the last six miles due to a nagging tight spot in my hip. But goals are just way points that get checked off an arbitrary list…usually they lie somewhere in the near future, then are briefly in the present moment, and finally consigned to the past. To stay in the present moment is richer and more fulfilling. It is to become open to the unexpected without preconceptions.

There are blissful moments of solitude in an ultra, wonderful encounters with wildlife and nature, and genuinely respectful encounters with new friends. It is that experience of shared endurance that perhaps inspired C.S. Lewis to write – “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too?’” And these small revelations are what continue to draw me in.

You see, I am, by trade, an accountant and not naturally a people person. I am sometimes mystified by them, even though I am one of the tribe. But share a bit a trail with someone, and I become a better person. It was my great pleasure that day to share some of the Firetrails at various times with two people, and my world has expanded a bit for the better because of it.

Sanborn Hodgkins and I shared parts of the first half of the run to the turnaround at Tilden Park. We talked of people who inspire us. She mentioned a friend who had completed Arch to Arc, which I had not heard of before that moment. It is perhaps the most demanding triathlon, beginning at the Marble Arch in London where one begins an 87-mile run to Dover; waits for the tides to be just right; then swims the English Channel; and, after toweling off in Calais, hopping on a bike and peddling to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Sanborn will be running her first 100-miler at Rio Del Lago in November. Best of luck!

My secret is to sleep-run the part of a race (evidenced by closed eyes). With Sanborn Hodgkins jut above the morning fog.

My secret is to sleep-run the first part of a race (evidenced by closed eyes). With Sanborn Hodgkins just above the morning fog.

On the return to Lake Chabot, Jim Austreng and I traded places at various times, until we both decided to walk the last six miles to the finish. Jim, who has an impressive running resume of thirty ultras, including three Western States finishes, was good company as well. The hours passed quickly in stimulating conversation as he regaled me with stories of time spent in Afghanistan working with the Army Corp of Engineers.

So, like the trail runs I have come to enjoy, when you can be breathlessly surprised by the view just around the corner, or when you are out on a run in the mountains with a friend, never seeing another soul for four hours, this sport has surprised me.

…………………….

I am again in debt to the wonderful staff of Fleet Feet in Sacramento. The list keeps expanding, but special thanks this time to Bob Halpenny (with whom I shared those four hours) for introducing me to one of the Western States’ canyons and setting me a new challenge: Michigan Bluff to Devil’s Thumb and back again.

I could of course not do this without the loving support of my wife, who I occasionally regale with wildlife reports whenever I have been on a long run.

“I will run like a madman to the west all night until I begin to fall asleep; then I will walk back, being careful to correct for the tilt of the earth, the force of Coriolis, reading my breviary by the precise arrowlight of stars, assured of my destination…You will always know this: others have made it.” Barry Lopez – Desert Notes

Beginning a downhill stretch.

We are such stuff

27 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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….in dreaming,

The clouds methought would open and show riches

Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d

I cried to dream again.

– William Shakespeare, The Tempest

My dream was slipping away as consciousness intruded upon the restful warmth of sleep. You know that feeling you sometimes have at dawn? The room begins to glow with the sunrise, and your mind slowly stirs. You waver between the comfort of a dream and the awakening routines of morning. Well, in my case, something was licking my cheek.

It was as if a shaggy, slightly moist towel was dragging across my face. Odd dream this…just the sensation of a good scrubbing, steadily increasing in pressure. Feeling like I ought to be getting on with the day, I opened my eyes and saw nothing but deep blue sky.

I don’t know about you, but when I wake, I usually see a ceiling, or perhaps the wall if I have been sleeping on my side. So the view of a cloudless, cerulean sky was mysterious.

My left eye sensed movement, and when I turned to look, the damp towel revealed itself to be a tongue connected to a medium sized dog. Like a Saint Bernard engaged in an alpine rescue, this dog was doing his canine best to rouse the spirit in me.

Then a voice spoke from out of the sky, or slightly stage right in relation to the dog…

“Are you alright?” Readers of my other running reports will recognize this as a frequent question and theme.

“I’m not sure,” seemed the proper assessment, since I was on my back lying on scattered pebbles at the top of a river levy on a beautiful summer day.

“Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

That was on August 17, 2006, the first time I passed out while running (yes, there was a second time). I had no idea that almost seven years later, at 5:50 AM on April 6, 2013, I would be standing towards the back of the pack at the start of the American River 50 Mile Endurance Run, ready to begin my fourth fifty-mile run.

But here I was on a warm Sacramento morning. The excitement buzzed through the crowd as old stalwarts greeted each other and strangers made new acquaintances. There was Bob Halpenny, who was looking for Richard Hunter, a tremendously accomplished visually impaired athlete, whom Bob would be pacing over the second half of the course (please do read Richard’s inspiring account of his day here).

Another runner standing at my side served in the first Gulf War and told me he took up running to conquer the disabling headaches he suffered from an explosion which left shrapnel in his skull. The running worked better than all the medicine the VA had given him. He was hoping to finish by the cutoff time.

And then I remembered a woman I spoke with at last year’s AR 50. She ran in remembrance of her child who had been lost to cancer. Her tears of sadness at the memory were indistinguishable from her tears of joy at the finish. How do you begin to answer the daughter who met her at the end of the run and asked “why are you crying Mommy?”

“Mommy just accomplished something that was very hard” – an answer that worked on many levels.

My journey to this spot was relatively easy by comparison and has been guided by the most compassionate group of people you could hope for – the indispensably marvelous staff of Fleet Feet on J Street.

Perhaps I’ll plot the map of this adventure in another blog and take you around the hidden shoals and exposed reefs of this ocean. But in truth, I fear it may be somewhat boring. The beginning is what matters. You draw the contours of your own map, and your destination is never certain. Only when you look back can you see that there has been a path. Which is deceptive, because the swells and storms that have brought you here can only be ridden, not conquered. They have their own mind and cannot be bent to your will.

We stumble, and we sometimes fall. We may even lose consciousness. But we also accomplish the worthwhile which tends to be hard. Such things are neither good nor bad. They are the stuff of life and are not to be feared. For in losing consciousness, we also dream.

We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

– The Tempest

Managing enthusiasm for the photographer.

…………………..

Although my time was similar to last year at 10 hours, 30 minutes, I surprisingly finished in the middle of the pack placing 417 out of 836 finishers. Next up – a rematch with the Dick Collins Fire Trails 50 on October 12, 2013, where the goal is to finish before the sun sets.

Way Too Cool

25 Monday Mar 2013

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Running, Way Too Cool 50k

March 9, 2013

So there I was at the side of the trail about mile fives into the 31.2 mile run with my hands on my knees, choking on an electrolyte capsule. I tried to inhale, and for one moment I couldn’t breathe. The only thing that went into my lungs was salt. Well, should this happen to you, you’ll find that the body rebels and somewhat forcefully and involuntarily tries to get everything out – as it should.

What may look to some like vomiting, is really more an expulsion of the contents of the lungs. Which in my case included a partial gelatinous capsule and some white foam caused by all the salt. The look was not unlike a mad dog frothing at the mouth.

And what flashed through my mind in that instant? Two things. The first was that I didn’t wish to keep Debbie waiting at the finish, so I had better get on with things and start moving again. The second was that runners going past me must be thinking that it’s a bit early in the race to be throwing up. A runner stopped to see that I was alright. I thanked him and explained that a capsule had gone down the wrong pipe. Of all the things that could go amiss during a run which one tries to anticipate and prepare for, this wasn’t even on the list.

Thankfully, the moment passed, as they all do. When I could breathe again, it was a glorious feeling. But for the rest of the day, every in-breath tasted of salt – and not like the fresh salt laden ocean spray that one delights in at the beach. Whenever I took a really deep breath, I felt as if the other half of the capsule was stuck somewhere, and I would start to gag.

Making a splash at Way Too Cool and looking slightly distressed.

Despite all that, it was a brilliant day and the course was gorgeous. The weather ideal. Ultra running is about carrying on in spite of things. So if misfortune strikes…well so what…the journey must continue.

Way Too Cool 50k starts on the 8.6 mile Olmstead Loop Trail which crosses two creeks. The American River Canyon Hikes guide explains that the trail was named for Dan Olmstead in 1993, who “was a local avid mountain biker and hiker.”

From Olmstead, it is a swift downhill to the Highway 49 crossing and the Quarry Road Trail which follows the middle fork of the American River for about six miles. Gold was pulled from the river here in the 1850s. Before then, the Paiute and Washoe tribes used these trails. Tucked away behind some rocks at just after one mile on the Quarry Trail is the gated entrance to what is left of Hawver Cave. From this cave in the early 1900s, Dr. J. Hawver recovered fossilized human remains dated at 10,000 years old along with the remains of a saber-toothed cat. So these are well traveled trails.

But the descendants of saber-tooth cats still call these woods home. After Quarry Trail, the run heads uphill to the Auburn Lake Trail which is where the Auburn Lake would have been had the Auburn Dam been built. I was running behind a gentleman who had a few years on me. He asked if I wished to pass, but I told him that I was just trying to keep up. Then we passed a bench alongside the trail to which he pointed. He asked if I knew the story. It was near this spot in 1994 that accomplished ultra runner Barbara Schoener was tragically killed by a cougar. The bench is a monument to her memory. I reflected on this for some time.

And then we came to goat hill. You’ve seen goats. And no doubt you’ve seen goats on hills. At least you could hear the cow bells ringing from the top announcing the next aid station. Hope amidst goats! I had to stop twice to catch my breath, and I’m sure a moan came from my mouth at one point.

“I’ve learned to love that sound,” came a voice from behind.

“What, the moaning or the cow bells?” was my response.

“The cow bells!” was his Pavlovian answer. Like Pavlov’s dogs, distance runners begin to salivate at the sound of cow bells.

But we also salivate at the thought of the special frog cupcakes awaiting us at the finish. My official time was 6:25, placing 581 out of 853 finishers.

Immense thanks must again go to my adoring and supportive wife, who, although she doesn’t quite understand why someone would willingly run 50k or 50 miles, nevertheless encourages these endeavors. She could have slept in that morning, but drove me up to Cool. And more importantly, back to Sacramento later that day.

Next up is the American River 50 on April 6, where I plan to carefully swallow everything I put in my mouth.

Dick Collins Fire Trails 50

03 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by Richard Watson in Running

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Tags

Dick Collins Fire Trails 50, Fire Trails 50, Running, Trail Running, Ultra Marathon

Saturday, October 13, 2012, Contra Costa

Somewhere along the Bridle Trail close to the half marathon mark. Photo courtesy of Pete Beck Photography.

“You should hate your pacer.”

Diane Forrest was explaining her philosophy, or art, of pacing as we were running somewhere along the last portion of the Dick Collins Fire Trails 50 mile run. She was telling me how she had unleashed a torrent of foul language at her pacer during the later stages of the Western States 100, when from behind us came a kind of proclamation.

“I am going to hurl.”

There was to be no argument with this defiant announcement. Although not a literal statement of fact, the emphatic challenge of this remark was – “I am going to walk for awhile. See if you can make me do otherwise.”

Diane was pacing Jennifer Blake over the last thirteen miles of the course, and Jennifer had clearly reached a moment when she needed to stop, dig deep, and summon her reserves. But the pacer is relentless. It’s the job.

Then my watch made a chirping sound.

“What’s that for?” – came Diane’s query, her ears missing nothing.

“That’s to remind me to eat,” was my response, although I made no effort to do anything of the kind.

“What have you been taking?” Diane inquired very reasonably.

“Usually a Gu… (awkward pause) …I suppose I ought to have one.”

You see, a pacer also thinks for you. After a time, there is no blood flowing to your brain, since your muscles are not very good at sharing. They tend to use every drop of it, leaving nothing for non-vital functions such as thought and digestion, which is a pity, because all that food you’ve been ingesting has not been digesting. Think of an air traffic controller with planes stacked up for miles attempting to land in foggy weather and you’ll have a sense of the resulting stomach nausea.

“What have you been taking for electrolytes?”

“Umm….doesn’t Gu have electrolytes?”

“You need more than that.” Digging into her pack, she handed me a few S! Caps.

“Let’s run to the next uphill!” And so it goes…

Perhaps most importantly, the pacer looks after you. It is a selfless act that is paradoxically usually not appreciated until well after the finish. But I was secretly elated to be running with Diane and Jennifer. They graciously let me tag along for the last six miles. To minimize the level abuse hurled (that word again!) in my direction, I resolved to wait until after we finished to tell Diane that I was having a good time. And, at the risk of revealing something that could be used against me during some future run, the truth is that pacers are Angels.

The day in the Bay Area was angelic as well – clear skies and moderate temperatures with beautiful views of San Francisco from the ridge line – what pilots might call “ceiling and unlimited visibility.” The Fire Trails course is an “out and back” run that winds through several East Bay regional parks. Over 50 miles the vertical ascent is 7,800 feet. Since you finish where you started, the descent is also 7,800 feet.

The most daunting hill in my mind occurs after leaving the Steam Trains aid station. Here, you begin a 1,500 foot descent to the turnaround four miles later at Tilden Park. This didn’t seem too bad on paper. But the thought rolling around my head as I carefully wound towards sea level was – I am going to have to come back up this hill. But another truth about ultra running is that most people power-walk the up hills. Perseverance and patience are the necessary skills.

The three of us persevered and finished after dark with our headlamps lighting the way. My official time was 12 hours 39 minutes – a rather nice day spent on the trail.

…………………

I would like to thank my wife who, since her leg was in cast (something to do with rescuing a cat from Kauai), was with me in spirit during the run, and my parents who let me park my weary body for the night in Vacaville.

Many thanks go to all the volunteers who are also Angels. At Sibley, I asked for two cups of coke and a wondrous volunteer handed me the bottle to finish. And thanks to Chuck Wilson, heir to the Dick Collins legacy, who volunteered at Steam Trains and filled my water bottle both times.

Lastly, to that efficacious pacer, Diane Forrest, you kept me going, and I am thankful. By the way, I also had a good time!

Ultra running makes me a better person in that I become more compassionate, thankful and understanding. At the beginning of each run, I have faith that the sun will set at the end of the day, and at that moment, I will find that I have finished the race.

The course.

Looking a bit stiff on a slight uphill just after Fish Ranch Road and about 20 miles. Photo courtesy of Pete Beck Photography.

Richard Watson

~ Commentary

Category Archives: Running

More Tales of Ultra Running

Not Going Gently into the Night – Pacing at Western States

The Map of My Heart

Take me to the River

Almost Skunked – American River 50 Mile Endurance Run

Way Too Cool, It’s the Real Thing

A Foggy Morning in Castro Valley – Dick Collins Firetrails 50

We are such stuff

Way Too Cool

Dick Collins Fire Trails 50