2 Sunrises, 1 Village

Introduction

Ultra running is hard. What I love about this sport that simultaneously scares me too is that there is no way to run away from the pain of it. Like a law set in stone, discomfort in ultra running is a given that will find you no matter what you do, and that’s okay. It is this discomfort that makes each race, each distance, a puzzle to be solved. Some days that puzzle may be straightforward. Other times, that puzzle will bury you. My first step into the world of 100 milers presented me with a puzzle that deeply humbled me, hurt me, and gratified me. I missed both my major goals for this race, totally messed up my nutrition, and went out way too hot on legs that clearly were not up to reaching my “A” goal. Yet, for a day that I think could be marred by unaccomplished goals, it instead was defined by compassion and drive from a village of support.

Rio Del Lago is a 100-mile race that takes place in Folsom, California. It’s run in the first weekend of November each year and presents a very friendly course to those looking to run their first attempt at 100 miles. For me, Rio presents the end of a conversation first begun by my friend Baldwyn in July of last year. Baldwyn and I met in Truckee to have a beer and a chat the week that he was set to run Tahoe Rim Trail 100. There, he gave me the confidence to consider signing up for Rio and to more seriously begin training for it. That following April, I began my largest training block for a race in years. Over the course of 7 months, I’d end up running roughly 1,000 miles, getting into shape and gaining more confidence that I could not only run 100 miles but potentially run it well. This was punctuated by a 50-mile race in mid-September that I won, of which I followed up with a big workload volunteering/running at Mammoth Trail Fest the week after. Virgil Crest 50 gave me more confidence that my “A” goal of 18 hours at Rio could be attainable, yet Mammoth Trail Fest almost gave me too much excitement. It felt like the end of the season, and I had a hard time carrying momentum for the last 6 weeks of training. As a result, I went into Rio probably not in peak shape and slightly sick. 

When I look back at this race, I tend to break it down into the good, the bad, and the ugly; of which here I’ll break down as the mistakes, the pain, and the beauty. 

The Mistakes

There’s a couple of glaring mistakes I think I made during the race that played out marvelously during the day. The first was not consistently eating solid foods and being almost too reliant on gels. The second was drinking a ton of electrolyte/water in conditions that didn’t necessarily need as high of a fluid intake. Coupled together, I was both pretty tired throughout most of the day and peeing like a racehorse. I don’t think I’ve ever had to pee so much during a race; it was crazy! Thirdly, I think I went out a little too quick. I definitely banked time early on and was on pace for 18 hours through mile 21 (Beal’s Point), but my left hamstring and foot/ankle felt shot. I’d only get slower through the rest of the race, being at 20-hour pace by Cardiac (mile 42), and then 23ish hour pace by the time I hit Auburn Lakes Trail. Patching up my hamstring with KT tape and a compression wrap for my foot did help a lot, but I ended up beating up my right leg to compensate for the left. I fell behind 24-hour pace by the time I hit No Hand’s again, though by that point I was looking to just finish. Another mistake I made was the lack of layers for my legs. It became very cold, and I severely struggled to stay warm at night (let alone most of the day at aid station stops). With that in mind, I should have also progressed through the aid stations much faster. While I do think the longer stops at crewed locations helped a ton, I think it also made it harder to open my legs up again when starting back up.

Mistakes and errors during an ultra are bound to happen; it’s incredibly rare to have a ‘perfect’ day. Yet, some of these mistakes were easily avoidable and completely humbled me during my 28 hours of adventure. This race chewed me up and grated me for my miscues. It gave me a huge appreciation for those who have this distance dialed and can perform at a high level. The little things matter, and I basically ignored them (though not intentionally).

The Pain

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncomfortable during a race, especially within the first 50 miles. If there is one thing I’ll remember most from this race, it’ll be the tears. I knew going in that I wanted to make an honest effort towards 18 hours, and I feel that I did. Yet, it’s demoralizing to have a beat-up leg so early into the race. Going into problem-solving mode 21 miles in didn’t really shake me mentally, but it did make me realize how much I’d have to adjust throughout the day. What did break me though, was the climb from Cardiac to the Overlook. I felt like I was basically deteriorating between crew locations, and that it was just a death march to get back to them every time I left. A chance at sub-18 still existed at Rattlesnake Bar (mile 35), but when I realized I couldn’t climb well (especially up Cardiac), and that the hilliest part of the course loomed before me, I was intimidated. I spent a long time at the Overlook, and I’m pretty sure I cried 3x there. I’m not even sure if I was crying because I was in pain, because my goal felt out of reach, or because I wasn’t sure how the next 24 miles would go. I was just lost and crying. I so appreciate my crew though! The poster board “I can’t believe your advisor paid for this” totally helped my morale. As did Kat snapping me out of a mental funk after seeing me just completely zone out for a bit. In a bit of sardonic humor, I turned to my dad mid-cry and said, “Ultras are so fun!”.  It may have been sarcasm, but I still think they are. This level of discomfort would subside a little bit, as I ran decently well to Auburn Lakes Trail, but even the climb there hurt me; and the transition to night felt long.

By mile 69 (Cool Aid Station), it felt clear that I was just going to work aid station to aid station. I was way ahead on time and knew I could still finish. It was just going to take a while to get there. Climbing out of No Hands to the Overlook hurt and was very cold. I had hoped that the cold was a microclimate issue and moving further inland would help, so I didn’t change out of my shorts. That one decision put me in the lowest spot of the night. Moving from the Overlook back to Rattlesnake (about 9 miles) took me 3 hours and 45 minutes. I felt frozen and was barely moving at all. I’m not sure how Jenny put up with me during that portion. I was trying to move; I just did not feel like I could run one bit and was mentally shot. This was the one point I’m pretty sure dropping could have crossed my mind, but we were still very far ahead of cutoffs.

Reaching Rattlesnake at mile 86 felt incredible. It was so nice to try and warm up, to listen to Pitbull/Dolly Parton and Chappell Roan, and to also see my dad, who I wasn’t expecting to see at all again after mile 45. When I look back at the race and realize that it was 3 a.m., that he drove back up to see me, that my crew was still pushing for me while also having incredibly long days, it becomes hard for me not to cry. That moment, and that aid station, meant a ton to me. This race was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt during a run; it’s also the most emotional run I think I’ve had too (and there have been MANY good cries on runs this year). However, I don’t think I would have wanted this run to be easy and smooth. I for sure did not want it to hurt so much, but I think Rio punched me in my gut and showed me how special it is to finish 100 miles.

The Beauty

I know for a fact that this is only the first of many 100 milers to come for me. The pain will always be something that I remember from this race, but there are many little moments that come to mind that made this day so special.

For one, seeing the sunrise two times in one race is just surreal. Something about seeing the sun come up again is energizing, yet the resulting cold from the morning dew evaporating is a bit rude.

Sharing miles with Megan and her mom between No Hands and Auburn Lakes Trail, and the guys I ran with for 3 miles into Cool also provided a bit of levity into the day. Megan’s mom crewed her and paced her from the Overlook all the way back to the Overlook again (BEAST!!!). The crew I ran with into Cool helped drag me and keep me moving in a way that I needed at the time. It’s the conversations and the people you interact with during the race that I feel add a sense of pride to the task everyone is working on together. I got passed by so many people, and in my own head a ton, yet I never really felt alone during it. Communal suffering is still communal after all.

It is also hard not to get stoked about being outside all day. It was just so breathtaking to see both sunrises, the sunset, the transition from an arid climate to a rainforest-esc one. Seeing California Bays and Madrone adjacent trees in an area I wasn’t expecting provided a strong sense of familiarity that was unexpected. It reminded me of when I worked in Mendocino County for 4 years, sampling these same trees in almost the same environment. A good distraction from the day at hand, but also a solid reminder that I do these things because I love to be outside.

Another thing that always amazes me whenever I sign up for something absurd like this is just the amount of support from friends, family, and colleagues that I receive. Having people from Ithaca genuinely care about me running this felt wild, but also heartwarming. Knowing I had family coming to visit me, but also staying up to track me through the night means more than I can describe. And in a similar fashion, what can you say to a group of people who drove hours or flew across multiple states to sacrifice their weekend and their sleep with the sole goal of getting you across the finish line? I don’t think “thank you” suffices. I’ve always had a hard time understanding why people would go out of their way to help me when I ask, and it’s something I’ll never take for granted. To me, it’s a type of love, either to this sport, to doing hard things, or to the relationship I’ve built with them over the years. Maybe it’s just great people being great persons, but every single time it fills me with love and inspiration.

I try not to read too deeply into things and let feelings pass through me as I appreciate what they provide me. Rio Del Lago happened. I finished it, and I had a lot of bad moments and great moments throughout. I totally missed my mark on my primary goal, but instead was introduced to a puzzle for me to eventually solve. My mistakes and pain could easily have defined the day when I look back upon this race. Yet, instead of being marred, it’s my crew, family, and little moments along the way that will forever keep this day in my heart.

When I do solve this puzzle, it’ll feel great because it wasn’t my first, and that’s exactly how it was meant to be.

-Hunter