It is two weeks post-race. I am standing in my kitchen at home in Portland, drinking a beer, and standing watch over a kettle full of shrimp jambalaya as it steadily works its way towards "lunch for the week." It looks pretty happy in the pot... all sausage-y and shrimp-y and rice-y. Things are good :)
Part of the reason why things are good is because today is Father's Day and I happen to have a wonderful father. Thanks Dad, for being my Dad. I'd be a wreck if I didn't have you and the example you set while growing up. I'm still growing up so needing you and your example extends through now and likely forever.
Another reason things are good is that the running has been truly wonderful. From weekly runs with "my people" (aka TrailFactor and the Portland trail running community in general) to a number of races that have generally been great all spring long. Which brings me to the race I'd like to write about here (my fist writing about anything since last fall...!), the Santa Barbara 100. Sit down, grab an Old Fashioned and maybe some bar meat... this is a long one.
This race was known, up until the day before this year's edition, as the DRTE 100. With the name change came extensive course changes. Last year, depending on who you ask, the elevation gain for the 100 mile distance was between 27000' and 33000'. That is a lot of feet. Assuming roughly half the course is climbing, that is more than 500' of elevation per climbing mile. Which is terrifying! Huge props to the men and women who finished this course last year including our own Trevor Hostetler from the Portland area. That must have been a killer course. This year, while they didn't take the teeth out of the race, they certainly lessened their bite: approximately 22000' of elevation gain to contend with including three big climbs of 2500-3000'.
Flying into Santa Barbara, I got a great view of the Santa Ynez mountains from my seat. Two things happened. First, my breath was taken away. I have seen these mountains before but never just prior to trying to climb them over and over again. They are beautiful... and big. Which immediately led to the second set of intense feelings: fear and respect. After last year's DNF at Pine to Palm, I have a deep respect for big mountains and the long courses that we attempt to cover in them. This was, to be clear, a healthy fear and respect. Rather than, "I am terrified and this weekend those hills are going to kill me," it was more of a, "Wow, those are big. It's gonna be hard. There will be low points and high points (in every sense). This run will require mental and physical strength, good planning, patient and intelligent execution, and maybe, just maybe, those hill won't kill me." Also a great crew. This race would take a wonderful crew. I will introduce those epic people as I came across them.
Steve was there from the beginning. I stayed with him and his housemates and he sat through the pre-race meeting and carted me to the start line early Saturday morning. He met me at aid stations throughout the race and saw me through the last 15 miles as a pacer. Steve: there probably aren't enough words to express my thanks so hopefully beer will do it.
The race started off well. The first miles set the stage for what was the most beautiful course I have ever run. Exposed peaks covered with an assortment of awesome desert flora. Not quite as Dr. Seuss-y as San Diego but prettttty close. Fantastic single track alternating with super runnable double track and dirt roads. The only downside was that the course had some marking issues with some turns being tough to spot unless you were looking closely and one intersection that was completely unmarked. This problem was solved when one of the runners who was with us trying to decide which way to go shouted as loud as he could, "Which way does the course go!??!?!" A second later, the response from a 100k runner ahead, "Take the left firelane!!" Problem solved. Soon thereafter another intersection would turn about 12 runners off course costing some of them as many as 6 miles. I was lucky and saw that one. I'm absolutely certain the race directors will take these issues to heart and make sure there are no marking issues in the future.
So the course was amazing. All. Day. Long. Never a bad view, the ocean on one side and the backcountry with its innumerable peaks on the other. The first half of the course contained two big climbs; the first from the backcountry up to Cold Spring Saddle before bombing down into the frontcountry near Montecito. The second was back up to Romero Saddle though this climb was largely on a firelane with a small enough grade that I was able to alternate running and hiking up. The real struggle began after this climb with a twenty mile section between crew-accessible aid stations, miles 40-60. These miles were run/hiked during the heat of the afternoon and, while it never got sizzling hot, the temperatures did climb into the upper 80s, warm for a pale northwesterner like myself. The aid stations out there in no man's land were staffed by awesome volunteers (all of the aid stations were but some especially motivating characters were helping us out here on top of the ridge!) armed with awesome stuff like cold soda, cold grapes, cold water misters, cold water, cold ice, all the cold stuff!!!! Every single ice cold thing that went inside me made me immeasurably happier than I was the moment before consuming the ice cold thing. I also began spending too much time in aid stations during this stretch, though that time was likely very good for me and kept my spirits up and my mind prepared to continue tackling the challenge.
I hit 50 miles at around 10:45, a really solid time for me on that course. I had long ago given up on going substantially sub-24 hours (by mile 20 I had reset myself mentally when I realized how hard this was going to be) but felt that 24 hours was within reach. After the 50 mile point, however, my pace slowed to a crawl and I was plagued by minor but still annoying stomach and bathroom related issues. Rather than push hard through those issues and risk completely exploding or DNFing, I decided to take time in aid stations to get food inside me and rest as much as I could. While that strategy might a poor one to take when trying to take risks and win a race, it proved a good one in terms of finishing the run and doing so in good physical and mental shape. Which is why I did not begrudge the eventual overall winner, a woman from Toronto named Ginna, or alter the way in which I was running my race when she blew past me as I sat on my a** in an aid station drinking an ice cold Coke. She's amazing and I did what I needed to do to continue having a great run.
The best part of the run was the last 40 miles. Why? This is when my crew grew from just Steve (awesome in his own right!) to include other super awesome people. Waiting for me at mile 60 were Steve plus Dan and Kara, old roommates from undergrad and wonderful friends since our freshman year, and Erin, a Santa Barbara friend of Steve's who I had met on my previous visit to Santa Barbara last fall. After a long stop in the aid station to bask in the brilliant happiness these new friendly faces brought and eat as much as I could stomach, Erin and I set off back down into the front country. We didn't descend fast as nagging stomach and bladder issues were making running uncomfortable and Graham from Seattle passed us on the descent (He would eventually finish in under 24 hours but due to getting lost he ultimately ran a different course than the rest of the field and was given an unofficial finishing time). The effect of running in the sun all day started making itself more apparent on the way down... at one point I asked Erin if the crinkling of her pacer bib was her "filing things." The thought escaped my brain before I realized how absurd it was. All part of the fun of running a long race, I guess! Erin was great company, always able to keep my mind off the various frustrations I was dealing with at that stage of the run. I'll run with her anytime, anywhere. Except her short races... I think she'd drop me sooooooo hard at her one mile race distance. Or any other race distance for that matter! We arrived at Montecito in one piece where I would leave Erin and tackle the biggest climb of the course as the sun set: Montecito up to Cold Spring Saddle. But first, we were met at the aid station by Erin's roommate, Lane, who was there to pick her up. After the race, when I thanked both Erin and Lane for their help, Lane mentioned she didn't really do anything, just came to pick Erin up. Besides the obvious assist in the form of making sure my pacer was able to help with that section and then make it home afterwards, she helped in a way I hope every crew member realizes in which they are of immeasurable assistance. She talked to me, took interest in what we were doing, smiled and was super friendly. To all folks who are helping a friend complete the great, wonderful challenge that is 100 miles on foot and who aren't totally plugged into the ultra scene and wonder, what do you need from a crew person? That's it. Support, happiness, distraction from the low points, helping create the highs. Erin provided that for several hours from miles 60 to 65 and Lane and Erin provided that for ten minutes at the bottom. Then I left in such high spirits that I was super stoked all the way to halfway up that big climb. Which is amazing, because it took freaking forever so halfway is a long time.
The last half of the climb was awful. It was now fully dark so my only illumination was a headlamp. I had trekking poles (thanks Steve for basically insisting I use them for the climb... epic assist!! In addition to the smiling, motivating, crew people, it's also good to have someone who is plugged in and knows when it's time to say, "listen dummy, use the poles, that climb's gonna be a big f***er") which helped a lot BUT every time I looked toward the ridge, all I could see was a shadow: the dark ridge silhouetted against the slightly less dark sky. No matter how hard I hiked, how long I hiked, it never got closer. Until eventually, it did. And I was there. And waiting there was Dan, Kara, Steve, and newcomer Alex. Alex, another friend of Steve, was to be my pacer for the next 13 miles or so. Now this is a risky business. I had never met Alex and the pacer/runner relationship is a tricky one. Two compatible people will generally make a good team in this setting BUT two incompatible people would be awful. Talk about a bad time to find out you really don't like someone... those would be some long, terrible miles. I was lucky. Alex was freakin' awesome! Incredibly supportive, content to run in silence when I wasn't talkative, easy to talk to when I was. Couldn't ask for more in a pacer. He talked up our good sections when I was able to pick up the pace and never needlessly pushed when I dropped the pace because something was amiss. Right then, that was exactly what I needed. I'll run with that guy anywhere.
Dan, Kara, and Steve met me at mile 83 and Steve took over pacing for the last long section of the course. This was awesome. Why? Because during every race (that we finish) there is some point where you know your're going to make it. All day long, you've been slaying proverbial dragons in the mountains, overcoming so many challenges both inside and out that there is just no way, at this point, you are going to fail. You are just indestructible enough that this race isn't going to be the thing that destroys you. Perhaps it is a close thing, but you know you're going to make it: Today is your day, the day on which all the miles pay off. It is such a motivating feeling to leave your crew for the last time before the finish, knowing the next time you see them, you'll be done. Thus energized, Steve and I took off.
I remember during those miles that, while the going wasn't always easy, the distance was passing and we always made good progress toward the finish. Our spirits were high and our combined optimism only served to entrench the feeling that this would all end spectacularly well (or, at least end with a successful finish, which is spectacular in my book!). Every time I managed to get past a walk into a run, Steve would call out encouragement. When I was walking on terrain he knew I could run, he pushed me, sometimes subtly by picking up his pace behind me, forcing me to work a little harder (but never in a overly pushy way). In this manner, the miles ticked by until the sun rose and we approached the final aid station. (These nighttime miles featured a headlamp fiasco that conveniently occurred just before sunrise and another crinkling pacer bib causing me to wonder if Steve was casually looking at a map as we ran...) The sun was fully up and I had a strong sense of deja vu. Perhaps this was because only 24 hours previously I had run this same terrain as the sun was rising on Saturday. Now it was Sunday. And time to finish. After some amazing Chicken broth at the aid station to get me going again, we set off up the final small climb. One half mile up the hill and then ~5 miles down to the finish. Right at that opportune time something happened to me. I found new legs. New lungs. A new heart. A new, strangely settled stomach. And we said, Steve and I did say, "Let's finish this." "Now." "Fast."
We ran the final five miles in about 45 minutes. This might not seem terribly fast but consider this: some of the previous sections had seen 5 miles pass by in a run/hike that took in excess of 1.5 hours. This represented a speed boost of amazing proportions and resulted in an exhilarating downhill blast to the finish. From whence this boost came, I cannot tell. But it was wonderful. I felt so alive pounding down out of the mountains after 95 HARD miles. We hit the hardtop in Upper Oso campground and ran what was for me, at that moment, all out, 100%. My heart pounded and my deep, sucking breaths fueled the fire. I felt like I was on the track doing 400s. My mood swung wildly during this final stretch; it wasn't clear if I would cross the finish line sobbing or laughing. But what was clear was that I would cross the finish line and that, after not having been caught since the sun went down, I would not get caught during that last section. Finally, the finish line came into sight and there were Dan and Kara waiting. My mood was on an upswing as I crossed so my wonderful friends were faced with tired happy Gordo (five minutes earlier they likely would have had a sobbing Gordo). I immediately leaned against Steve who helped me to a chair and, just like that, I was the second official finisher of the Santa Barbara 100 with a time of 26 hours, 44 minutes. Ginna, first overall official finisher had smoked me and the rest of the field by just over two hours. What an incredible woman! My friend from L.A., Marshall, finished about 20 minutes after me, despite having missed a turn and adding 6 extra miles, for a solid finish (that dude is a stud). Hats off to Graham as well for running a great race; it's disappointing that his time couldn't be included in the official results as he was likely the fastest person in the Santa Ynez mountains that day. And, of course, to every single person who toed the starting line. That was a beast of a course. Everyone who gave 110% out there, whether or not they finished, is a stud.
Meeting Dan and Kara at the finish was great for me. They have been such wonderful friends for so long and are among the few people I always feel truly at home around (much to their chagrin, I'm sure). Their contribution towards my successful run cannot be overstated. Seeing their smiling faces every ten miles or so sustained me more than I suspect they'll ever know. A hundred mile run brings us into touch with a veritable lifetime of emotions in a short period of time. It can be so overwhelming. Just writing about it now makes me choke up just the littlest bit as I relive and feel again what those miles do to us. Just as having wonderful friends softens and gets us through the low points and raises the high points to new heights, so to during an ultra. And this is why I will keep running these events: I rarely feel more alive or more connected to the people who matter most to me than I do during these epic adventures. Thank you to Steve, Dan, Kara, Alex, Erin, and Lane for making that race one of the most positive experiences of my life. Everyone move to Portland, please :)
The race was great, I recommend it to anyone who wants to run a challenging yet doable course. There were issues with the course marking but the race directors are very passionate about their event and I'm sure they will ensure those issues do not occur in the future. The aid station volunteers were great and made sure I got what I needed so my crew could focus on me. As I was the first official male finisher, I have the distinct honor of having my name added, alongside Ginna, 1st overall and 1st female, to the Vicky DeVito trophy, named for a woman who had a wonderfully positive impact on the Santa Barbara trail running community.
What a wonderful run. It's events like this that make me fall in love with this stupid sport and the crazy people who do it all over again :)
Here are some pictures... we only got them at the finish so they involve me, other finishers, and hardware.
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| Ginna, the overall winner and 1st female, and I plus some hardware with the Vicky DeVito trophy alongside. |
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| Marshall and I showing off our sweet buckles. |
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| With one of the RDs while wearing my super awesome Go Beyond Racing shirt. |
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| Very honored to have my name added to a trophy in memory of someone who had such an impact on my new SoCal running friends. It is very humbling and seems almost intrusive to be added to this award. I suppose this is what gives it such meaning. It was a trophy I held very reverently. |
I say it again, what a wonderful run. And what wonderful people. Peace, world.
