Where I found out I'm not that great at running, but I'm pretty f-ing awesome at suffering!
I apologize in advance for the long writeup. But since this de facto journal is as much for my benefit as well as for a wider audience, I decided to include as many details as I could remember so that I can reflect back on this adventure in the future. :)
PROLOGUE
I’d first heard about the AC100 way back in 2004 or 2005. We were hiking through Millard Campground and happened to see the volunteers there tending to a group of weary runners. I soon learned that these runners were more than 24 hours into a 100 mile race, and that they were only 5 miles away from the finish. Usually, like with the Ironman, when I hear about amazingly difficult challenges like this, I am intrigued. This however, sounded like madness. What kind of people even do this?!
Fast forward a few years, an Ironman, and several ultra marathons later, what had once sounded completely insane was starting to look distressingly possible. But I still didn’t think seriously about this race until after I crewed Louis’ first AC back in 2012. Being out there, watching all of these inspiring runners take on this brutal course for three straight years really put the itch in me.
I think it was the uncertainty of it all that appealed to me. Speaking from the mindset of a newbie back of the packer who’s just looking to finish… If you know you’ve trained adequately for a marathon, a 50k, even a 50 mile or the Ironman, you pretty much know that race day is simply the victory lap after months of hard training. With the 100, that half year to a year of training simply earns you the right to roll the dice on race day, because nothing is guaranteed in a 100 miler. The reason is because most people don't ever run more than 50 miles at a time during training. Those last 50 miles is the great unknown, where anything could happen. I told Nancy shortly after I signed up that part of me wanted to put myself in an extreme situation like that because I wanted to know how I would respond. And it's not even so much in a "Let's Test Myself" kind of way-- though that's certainly a part of it. But a bigger part of it is simply satisfying my curiosity-- I wonder what it feels at mile 75? Mile 90? What would I do?
Oh, and did I mention that as is the tradition with most 100 mile ultras, AC finishers get a freaking bad ass BELT BUCKLE?!
But why the AC and not some other, easier 100 miler? Simple. AC is home. I was a hiker before I was a trail runner. I know these mountains and these trails so well already. Yes, some people may call this a graduate level 100 miler, but I feel like I have the home field advantage. Plus, with the race being so close to Los Angeles, my friends would be able to support me as crew and pacers on race day, AND I get to train on the course as much as I want. If I were to do only one 100 mile race in my life, the Angeles Crest 100 would be the one. No question. The only question was… When? When my good friend Da got it done like a goddamned superstar in his first AC attempt in 2014, I knew the time had come. I joined the registration feeding frenzy and signed up the next day.
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| The AC100 course, from Wrightwood to Altadena |
TRAINING
Training started almost immediately. I needed a plan that would take me through my very first 50 miler to qualify for AC, then on through to AC itself. I looked up several 50 and 100 mile training plans online and put together a sort of a blended frankenstein of all these plans by applying a broad outline of 3 weeks build / 1 week rest. Each week of build would be 5 more miles than the last. Working backwards from the date of AC, including taper, I decided that I wanted to shoot for a maximum weekly mileage of 100 miles and started filling in the calendar from there.
100 miles was an arbitrary number. Many of the beginner plans I’d seen peaked at 70-80 miles, so I wanted to build in some buffer in case I got injured. This turned out to be a good idea because I got achilles tendonitis two months before the race that took me out for three weeks. I ended up peaking at 80 miles.
After factoring tapering and reverse tapering for the 50, then working backwards from the 50, my calendar pretty much told me that I had to get started in mid to late August. My choice of 50 was strictly dictated by the calendar. I had to find my AC qualifying race sometime in January, and was lucky that the San Diego 50 fit the bill nicely. It was relatively close to home, with well-run aid stations exactly 5 miles apart on a very flat course. Some old school folks on the AC100 Facebook page might even call it a “CareBear 50”, but Sean O’Brien 50 and Leona Divide 50 were both too late for me. I knew I wanted 6 months of continuous training uninterrupted by racing (why race when I could spend those 30 miles out on the AC course instead?), so that was what I scheduled for myself.
Throughout my training I referred often to Pam Smith’s article, “How the West(ern) Was Won” on iRunFar.com. It’s an invaluable breakdown of her training methods that should be a must read for any newbie 100 milers. I must have read that thing at least a dozen times.
I was also very influenced by a podcast I listened to about an experienced ultrarunner who, due to real life commitments, was not able to run big miles on weekends like she used to. She ended up replacing those miles with a focused strength training program and saw great improvement in her racing. So for the 5-6 months of my own training, I decided to hire a personal trainer to show me how to lift weights twice a week. We focused on the three main power lifts -- Bench Press, Deadlift, and Squat. I have no doubt in my mind that this made me a stronger, less injury prone runner who was able to recover much faster after long training runs.
RACE DAY
The day actually started inauspiciously. I had only gotten about 2 hours of sleep the night before, and had a bout of diarrhea that required 3 bathroom trips. I was pretty concerned that if it continued through the next day, my race would be ruined. Thankfully, my GI finally found some sort of equilibrium by the time the race started at 5am.
If there’s one piece of advice I’ve heard about the AC100 over and over, it’s that I needed to get to Islip Saddle (mile 26) in 7 hours to have a realistic chance at finishing. I worked hard during training to get my time down to 6.5 hours, but after some race strategy discussion with 4x finisher Jack, I was advised to conserve as much energy as I could in the beginning to save my legs for the last 25. So coming out of the gate, I was content to stay in the long, slow conga line near the back of the pack as we climbed the Acorn Trail up to Blue Ridge.
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| Quick in and out at Inspiration Point (m9). Note the race day mohawk! |
From Blue Ridge, it was a series of small, mostly downhill rollers into Inspiration Point at mile 9. From there, it was a runnable 4 mile downhill into Vincent Gap. Again, I remembered Jack’s advice and hiked up some gentle ups that I otherwise would have run during training. I felt really good as I came into Vincent Gap and mentally prepared myself to climb Mt. Baden-Powell.
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| All smiles at Vincent Gap (m14). |
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| Set your watch to me. I'm like an f-ing clock! Coming into Islip Saddle (m26). |
Now here’s the thing with “running conservatively” that I had not factored in. Running fast downhill uses slightly different muscles than running slower downhill. Running slower requires just a tiny bit of braking power from your quad. I had not really done many slower downhill runs during training, so by the time I had gotten to Islip, my lower quads were already a little bit sore. After climbing up and down Williamson and into Eagle’s Roost at mile 30, they were becoming a real concern. From Eagle’s Roost and for every aid station thereafter, Saveria would massage that area, eliciting louder and louder yelps and grunts as the day progressed.
Speaking of quad massages, now’s a good time to talk about the All Star VIP treatment I received from my ridiculously fantastic crew. To give you an idea of what kind of amazing friends I have, Saveria and Ian both requested to be on my crew just days after I signed up for the race, before I had a chance to ask anybody. Natalia was so gracious to make race food for me and to open up her home for the weary crew at crazy hours of the night. Marissa and Da were no brainers. They had just put together a successful race. And besides, we had made a little pact before Da's race and I sure as hell wasn't going to let them follow me comfortably from home while I was out there suffering!
During the race, Marissa, Saveria, Da, and Ian were ON THE BALL with EVERYTHING. All my questions had answers. Massages, ice bandanas, and encouragement awaited me at every aid station. And the food! I literally had a personal buffet table following me throughout the race filled with everything I could possibly want. I know how much work it is to give up 24+ sleepless hours to help out a runner, and there’s nothing I could do to thank them enough for their help. THANK YOU!! You guys are AMAZING!
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| Ian, Saveria, Marissa, and Da at the start in Wrightwood. |
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| My personal food spread at every aid station! |
Then of course there are my pacers, Da, who did double duty as Crew/Pacer, and Raul. I know I’m not the most fun or interesting runner to pace. I KNOW. I don’t talk. I demand answers to hard math problems at 4am. I don’t provide good stories to retell over beers. I make you be my personal butler at aid stations. The only thing I do is suck it up, put my head down, and work. And occasionally yelp in pain. But the thing is, they knew how to handle Grumpy McGrumpcakes, and they got me to the end. Raul even brought some nice Country and 80s jams to help me forget my suffering for a little while. You can’t ask for more. Thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU!!
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| Waiting at Cloudburst (m38). |
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| Still waiting... |
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| Quick, get out of here! We're trying to make it to Newcomb's Ranch for dinner before it closes! |
I managed to get to Cloudburst about 35 minutes before cutoff, but not without first seeing some carnage along the way. A poor runner I had been following up the hilll had to stop several times to dry heave. Each time after retching, he would stand up and announce, “Almost there guys!”, as if to convince himself that everything would get better if only he could get to that infernal aid station. It was here where I also saw Alison Chavez for the last time that day. We had trained a few times together this year, so I was happy to see her still trucking along. She expressed some concern about making this cut off, but I knew we shouldn’t have any trouble and told her so. She ended up arriving into the aid station with a good 30 minutes to spare, just as I was on my way out to Three Points.
This next 5 mile downhill to Three Points was the runners’ reward for making Cloudburst. With smooth single track and fire roads all the way down, I was able to pass several runners and gain an extra 15 minutes on the cutoff. What’s funny is that I might not have even chosen to run all of it had it not been for the fact that my watch started to indicate low battery only a half mile out of Cloudburst. I was not expecting to have to recharge for another 13 miles, so I decided to just go for it and hope to get to Three Points before the battery ran out. My quads paid a price, but hey, at least my epic 100 mile Garmin recording was still alive!
From Three Points, there is a very nice runnable section of downhill before we start climbing the 2.5 paved miles to Mt. Hillyer aid station. I kinda fell in behind Beth about half way into the climb. We had leapfrogged a few times during the day, but this was when I first learned her name. I found out later from Saveria that I actually kinda already knew who she was. Beth is an instructor at the San Gabriel Valley section of the Sierra Club’s Wilderness Travel Course. I had taken this excellent course back in 2007, and I’m sure both Beth and I have come a long way since! As you can imagine, Beth is an excellent hiker, so I let her set a strong pace up to the Hilyer aid station at mile 49.
Hilyer is the first major aid station that didn’t have crew access. I sat down, had some hot chicken noodle soup (my first official aid station food of the race), and got out of there. The sun was setting, and there is a tricky downhill section through some boulders that I really didn’t want to have to navigate through the darkness. The goal was to try to get to Chilao without having to break out my headlamp. As I was picking my way through the boulders, Beth caught up to me and we kind of silently agreed to run down into Chilao together. This “Beating the Sun” downhill section, although short, were some of the most memorable miles of the day for me. Just the combination of the sunset, the gorgeous scenery, the anticipation of friendly faces and hot food at Chilao (mile 53), and the temporary pain relief that seems to come with shared miles with an equally determined partner seemed to all come together to make some beautiful race magic.
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| Nice Carlos Pick-Me-Up at Chilao! |
Chilao was where I got to have the hot porridge I packed into my thermos bottle that morning. My mom made a special batch for me that I ended up eating here and at Chantry, and… Holy Crap did that hit the spot. If there was one food that powered me through the race besides Tailwind, it was rice. From Natalia’s miso pork onigiri, to the lotus wrapped sticky chicken rice from the local dim sum place, to my mom’s preserved egg and pork porridge, it turns out that rice is what a Chinese boy needs to get through 100 miles!
Chilao was also where I picked up Da as my first pacer. I told him that even though I could barely run steep or technical downhills anymore, I could still motherf-ing climb. But with my belly full of rice, I was feeling relatively good despite the pain. Together, we got to work and passed around half a dozen runners on our way to Shortcut (m59) almost 45 minutes ahead of schedule.
From Shortcut, runners enjoy a long 5 mile downhill on a wide fireroad followed by a 3 mile climb up to remote Newcomb’s Saddle aid station (m68). When we left Shortcut, we caught up with Fila and his pacer and ended up leapfrogging with them down and up into Newcomb. Fila is one of the many awesome people I met this year on training runs. We traded dark jokes about our rather unique situation and generally helped each other pass the time. He ended up finding a second wind in the last 25 and finished super strong. I was really happy for him!
When we finally reached Newcomb, I sat down and tried to put in as much calories as I could from aid station food. I started shivering even though it wasn’t that cold. I guess this my body trying to tell me that it was just about done. Da told me that he wanted to get me into Chantry by 3:30am so that I could have at least 10 hours to finish the last 25 miles. He said that we had to average a 25:00 per mile pace to make that happen. Normally, 25:00 is a walking pace, especially considering that we were going downhill. But in my condition at that point, I had to carefully pick through the rocky, rutted single track in order to 1) Not fall in my sleep deprived state, and 2) Not elicit any jolts of pain through my poor feet, ankles, and knees. We were going at a 30:00 pace on the 1 mile connector from Newcomb to Chantry, so I promised Da that I would make it up on the last 2-3 relatively non-rocky miles before getting to the Chantry Flats aid station. Even though my knees and feet were screaming bloody murder at that point, I kept my end of the bargain and got into Chantry at 3:30am.
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| Marissa and Raul waiting at Chantry Flats (m75) |
Leaving Chantry was tough. I’d been at this for 24 hours by that point, so I was f-ing tired as hell and a little out of it. Besides, my right IT band and the tendonitis in both feet were just KILLING me. I couldn’t get out of my chair under my own power. Nor could I lean forward even a little bit without having to take a step or topple over. Two of my crew had to lift me up out of my seat to send me on my way. I gingerly limped out of Chantry with Raul like a broken man. Still, I knew even at that low moment that I would get this shit done, one way or another.
Turns out, “one way or another” meant drugs. I had read some articles before the race strongly advising against the use of ibuprofen (Advil) during ultras because it could end up messing up your kidneys. The article suggested acetaminophen (Tylenol) as a safer option. But the Tylenol I had taken so far was just not doing the trick. So about 100 yards out of the aid station, before I even made it past the gate, I finally said “Fuck It” and sent Raul back to the crew to pick up some ibuprofen.
In the back of my mind all day, especially as my right knee and both feet got gradually worse, I knew that I might have to eventually revisit my self-imposed ban on ibuprofen. So as the day progressed, I made sure to drink more and more water until I was able to pee clear. I’m no doctor, but I figured that if I’m going to stress my kidneys, at least let’s go into this with relatively normal kidney function, right? Eventually, Raul returned with the largest damn ibuprofen pill I’d ever seen. “Da said to just take one”, he said. “They’re 800 mg each.” That’s like 4 normal pills. No problem. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Looking back now, that pill probably saved my race.
The climb out of Chantry to Mt. Wilson toll road is heartbreakingly long and steep. But by that time, I was too tired and too focused on finishing to feel sorry for myself. I signed up for this shit. Nothing I can do about it now. It was during these last couple hours before sunrise that I felt the sleepiest all day. On more than one occasion, I caught myself about to topple over from exhaustion. Some people asked me afterwards if I hallucinated at all. If I did, it was during these wee hours. I didn’t see any flying elephants or anything, but I definitely saw a lot of things that didn’t make any sense to me!
When we finally got to Dead Man’s Bench at mile 80, I had the presence of mind to remember a piece of advice I read online. DON’T SIT ON THE BENCH. Bad things can happen when exhausted runners sit on that bench. Nobody needed to remind me that bad things will definitely happen if I sat down now. There was no way I would be able to even physically get up again. Raul was a little surprised when I just kept marching on, but it was for the best.
When we finally topped out, the drugs allowed for a relatively (everything was relative at this point) pleasant 3 mile downhill into Idlehour station (mile 83). Add in the sunrise which banished all the remaining sleepiness, and I felt… well, not exactly like a new man, but definitely a little bit rejuvenated. It would be the last stretch of downhill I was able to run comfortably.
At Idlehour, I was surprised and happy to see Danny volunteering there and personally taking care of me. Thank you so much for all your work that day! Again, I didn’t dare sit down in a chair, so I stood around while Raul loaded up on donuts and refilled my bottles.
The last 20 miles can only be described as a grind. Raul had given me a pace that I needed to hit in order to make the 33 hour cutoff, and I promised him I’d hit it, come hell or high water. The climb out of Idlehour up to Sam Merrill (m89) was fine. If nothing else, I was still able to climb at a healthy pace. But the last 11 miles from Sam Merrill to the finish were crap.
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| Louis found me stumbling down the cursed Upper Sam Merrill Trail. Where's my hat?! |
When we finally arrived at Millard aid station (mile 96), Raul let me know that all I needed to do was to maintain a 30:00 pace and I would finish. I told him I would get it done.
Remember how I said that part of the reason why I ran this race was to satisfy my masochistic curiosity? Here’s something new I discovered. In theory, I understood that pain is just your body's way of trying to protect itself by telling you to stop doing whatever the hell stupid-ass thing you've been doing. It’s a fantastic self-preservation mechanism. The thing I discovered is that it’s also a mechanism that has an override switch. This switch is simple in theory, but hard in practice.
Here's the secret: You just… ignore it.
The way I think about it, your body is like a factory that will keep producing pain widgets (something you can’t control), but you just keep tossing all those widgets into your pain bucket (something you CAN control). When you do this, the pain sort of fades into the background, which is great... but you can only keep it up for so long. Sooner or later, your body will produce pain widgets at a faster and faster rate because back in the real world, there is some serious real world damage being done to your feet, ankles, and knees. At the point when your pain bucket starts to overflow, you have two choices. You can either WILL yourself to increase the size of the bucket so you can keep tossing in those pain widgets, or you can let the bucket overflow and let the pain control you.
It’s interesting that through all the pain, the thought of quitting never really entered my thoughts. I’m very good at compartmentalizing, so it was always... let’s get to the next aid station, finish the next climb, take the next step. I never stopped to ponder the enormity of it all because I knew that would be pointless and demoralizing. There’s also the fact that I had invested SO much into this race. Time, money, and my social life were thrown at this project for an entire year without a second thought. If I only have it in me to do this once, so I better f-ing make it count. The last thing that really drove me was the fact that I had told EVERYBODY I knew about this race. I not only couldn’t let myself down, but I couldn’t let everybody else down.
I was able to mostly hold out until the end of the El Prieto trail at mile 99. That was when I knew that even if I limped home from there, I still had plenty of time to finish before cutoff. I let my pain bucket overflow, and suddenly I was unable to do no more than a gimpy walk for the last mile home.
I don’t often get emotional at the finish line of races, but I have to admit that I teared up a little bit when I crossed this one. The relief of finally getting it done after a year of relentless training, the sight of all of my friends there to congratulate me (my crew and pacers, Waymond, Tara, Lisa, Rene, Vu, Roxi, Carlos, Chai, Maggie, Yvonne, James, Paul, David, Ted, Kevin, Chandra, Kiley, Ryan, Lisa, Tawny, Charles) was simply overwhelming. Thank you so much for coming out to the finish line!
And THANK YOU to all of you who followed me online all weekend and trained with me (special shoutout to Sawna here!) and encouraged me with words of support all year. Without a doubt in my mind, you gave me the strength to see this through to the end!
And THANK YOU to all of you who followed me online all weekend and trained with me (special shoutout to Sawna here!) and encouraged me with words of support all year. Without a doubt in my mind, you gave me the strength to see this through to the end!
EPILOGUE
The race ended on Sunday afternoon. My right foot, ankle, and knees were so inflamed and hot to touch by then that I knew this would be a long recovery process. I was confined to a bed all of Monday and Tuesday. I wasn’t able to lift my leg even an inch above the bed, nor could I flex my foot a tiny bit. By Wednesday and Thursday, I could move around very gingerly on crutches. Friday, I could walk with a cane. Three weeks after the race, I still have the tendonitis in both my feet.
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| Was it worth it? Yes. Yes it was. |
My GPS stats
