I need to set the stage for this one, because you can't understand this race without it. At the time of this race I was at the tail end of closing my business, Hanu Health. I was desperately trying to save it, realizing I couldn't, and walking through the process of winding it down and telling investors the money was gone. It was one of the most emotionally consuming (and confusing) stretches of my life. I had technically started training for this race, but my head and my heart were somewhere else entirely. I was horribly prepared and I knew it.
But I had promised my buddy Justin I'd do this race with him, and there was no way I was leaving him high and dry. So the deal I made with myself was this: I'll drive out with him, I'll pace him for a few miles, I'll hang out, and I'll drive him home. That was the plan. Keep that plan in mind as you read the rest of this.
The Race Start
I picked Justin up, we swung by the 7-Eleven, and we headed up to the start. I wasn't even thinking about running the whole thing. I brought everything I was supposed to bring, but half my gels had spoiled from sitting around so long. That's the kind of prepared I was.
Then we missed the start. We were using the bathroom and chatting, and by the time we walked over to the start line, EVERYONE was gone. The entire pack. We looked at each other like, I guess we go this way? Sure enough, by mile 2 we were lost. The course took such an odd path out of the chute that I think we cut a corner without knowing it, and we spent a while hunting for the little pink ribbons that mark the trail. Justin was frustrated. I was frustrated. But eventually we found our way back on track.
Honestly? Given where I was mentally, it was the perfect start. It was a mess. So was I. Let's go.
Sending Justin Off
Somewhere around mile 5 or 6 I told Justin to head off without me. I knew I wasn't running a fast race, and at this point I was still planning on running to an aid station, turning around, and heading back. So Justin split, and I settled into my own pace, alone with my thoughts.
At mile 7 I rolled my ankle HARD. I mean a really bad roll, the kind where you immediately think, well, that's the end of that. I was running through a stretch of trail where there were some branches crossing the path and I went to swat one away and missed my foot placement, stepped on the side of a rock and THUMP. But somehow I ran it off. It never bothered me again the entire day, and I truly believe that was a gift from God, because there is no other explanation.
And then the bargaining started (me vs. me). I got to an aid station and thought, well, I made it here, maybe I'll just keep going. I got to the top of Cuyamaca Peak, where there's an aid station at the summit, and thought, well, I made it HERE. And that's how the whole day went, one aid station at a time, until I found myself at mile 13.1, at the very bottom of a hill, staring at a decision.
Deciding I Would KEEP GOING!
Mile 13.1 was the decision point (Sweetwater). From there the course does what they call a lollipop, a big loop out and around through a valley that seems to last forever. And keep in mind, this was July in the San Diego desert. It was NOT cool out.
I figured I'd have another opportunity to DNF when the loop brought me back through, so I said, let's give it a shot. I headed out through the valley, really hot, really tired, really undertrained, and not doing great. It took me the better part of two hours to get around and back. And now I was at mile 18, standing at the bottom of that same huge hill I'd come down earlier. Except this time, I had to go UP it.
What followed was one of the more interesting experiences of my life.
The 6.5 Mile DEATH March
This is one of the hardest things I have ever done. From mile 18 it was miles of what felt like pretty much straight up, back to the peak. The only good news was that once you summit, the finish isn't far, and it is more or less (not all) downhill. So I got myself cooled down, looked up that hill, said we'll see how it goes, and started climbing.
About a mile up, I was seriously second-guessing the decision. I couldn't see the aid station I'd left anymore, and I remember thinking, man, if I have to turn around and get back there, that's going to be tricky. But I was a third of the way up. So I kept going.
I did not feel good. I couldn't run. I could barely walk. I was finding every little window of shade I could and just sitting in it, trying to get my heart rate down, right at the edge of that I-think-I-might-pass-out feeling, which is a horrible place to be when you're alone on a mountain. I had just sat down in some shade when a guy came cruising up the trail out of nowhere. "Hey, what's going on? You doing okay?" I told him I was doing all right, which was a little bit of a white lie. We got to chatting, and for the next three or so miles, he and I just cruised together. I'm telling you, that was EXACTLY what I needed. Just a little bit of help, right when I needed it.
Then, about a mile and a half from the aid station, I still don't know how this happened, an amazing lady came running DOWN the trail with icy waters and handed me one. I chugged the whole thing. I was carrying as much water as I could, but I was burning through it fast, and that icy water was incredible.
This is also about when the carnage started. Near the top, people were just laying on the sides of the trail. Bodies everywhere, runners completely cooked. Not a particularly fantastic thing to see when you're struggling yourself. But somehow, some way, I got up to the top of that hill for the second summit of the day, and I knew the hard part was mostly behind me.
FINISHING (not so Strong but…. FINISHING!)
From the peak it's a sizable downhill, the kind you can almost roll down. I was jogging it, but here's what nobody tells you: after that many miles, the downhills hurt MORE than the uphills. From there it's a winding path all the way back, switchback after switchback after switchback, and it just kept going. I remember thinking, my gosh, please, WHERE is the finish? Still about 6.5 miles to go.
Then the good news. I got word to Justin that I was about two miles out. And Justin, who had already finished his race and gotten himself right, RAN BACK UP THE TRAIL and met me about a mile and a half from the finish line. He rolled with me all the way in. I started the day planning to pace him for a few miles and drive him home. He finished the day pacing ME across the finish line.
I rolled in at 9:02:59. Just over nine hours out in that heat. What a day.
It's one of the crazier accomplishments of my life, because I never in a million years thought I'd run the whole thing, and I never in a million years thought I could finish it. Nine hours, badly undertrained, in the July heat, in the middle of the hardest professional season of my life. And I got it done.
But for the record: being trained is better.