Lake Somoma 50 2018
The fun things about racing a course that you’ve done in the past is getting to see progress over time. It’s baffling to think where I was the last time I lined up for the Lake Sonoma 50, both physically and mentally. Four years makes a lot of difference. The goal was pretty similar, but the reality of it is that this time it was attainable.
The month leading up to this year’s race had been a bit interesting and adds an unfortunate asterisk in my mind. Due to illness and a mysterious hip injury, peak weeks of training had to be modified and the two weeks leading into the race were nearly a wash. But I didn’t think that would affect things too much as I woke up the day before the race nearly pain free, feeling rested.
The morning of the race was like many others full of nervous energy as I made my way, with my mother and sister in tow, to the race venue. Starting right at sunrise means getting the chance to keep the mind relaxed and slowly wake up. Seeing old friends that are also racing, Ryan (my coach), Jeff, Mario and Adam, certainly helps settle the prerace jitters. There was sure to be some shared miles out there to look forward to.
As the run begins on 2.5 miles of road, it occurred to me that this was the first time I was running pain free in a couple weeks! It’s a small victory that would hopefully add up to successful big picture. A handful of athletes took off from the front and I hoped we’d be able to work as a group and make up some ground on them as the day wore on. 50 miles is a long way and as this race taught me in the past, anything can happen. A group begins to form on the fun, rolling singletrack trails through the woods. There was a conga line of nearly 10 guys all riding the train. I sat somewhere in the middle on the bunch, recognizing some of the athletes in our midst from other races, trail films, results of races past, etc.
One of the beautiful things about this sport is that there is always opportunity to learn more. In an interview only days before the race I’d heard it explained very well that the first half of an ultra should feel like a training run and then the second half is where the real work starts. On a course with over 10,000 feet of climbing, that was the mindset. Depending on how things felt, there was a chance of beginning to up the intensity a little before the halfway point but only if it all was going tremendously. This relaxed first half mindset allowed me to relax and catch up with my buddy Jeff. His smiling (and glitter-covered) face is always one that perks me up on a run. The nature of the course doesn’t allow for any clean lines of sight, so even the smallest of gaps can seem like marginal separations. The group ebbed and flowed, separated and joined, and each time I was amazed that being only 30 seconds ahead could mean that the other runners are entirely out of sight. But man, those trails are a ton of fun but steady rolling hills.
From the start things felt a little funny, as if I was a little out of breath. Not that I was fatiguing quickly, but a casual pace didn’t quite feel easy. Perhaps some of that was from having not run in a while. But in any case, I tried to just run within myself and remember to smile all the while. Leading up the two main climbs on the way out (on the out-and-back) course, I hiked most of the way and tried to get into a groove sticking on the heels of two other guys that I knew to be patient runners. The following downhill everything seemed to spread out and pace quickened. It was at this mile 22 mark that the heat began to take its toll. Jeff pulled away from me and was out of the mile 24 aid station before I got into it, taking my time to refuel and grab what I needed. My sister was sure to stock me with a handful of Gu gels, full water bottles and a head full of confidence.
“It’s starting to get tough.” I told them, slightly discouraged. There was never doubt that the distance would be too great or even that the pace was too aggressive. It was simply related to that the heat was dialing up and there was a gap both in front and behind me. The aid station captain hollered at me, “Hey Colton! This is an aid station, not a rest stop! Let’s get moving.”
“Yeah, yeah! Hold your horses. I’m comin’!” I replied, still in good spirits. The legs were intact and ready to run. The downhills felt fantastic and climbs were very manageable. Even the longer climbs to follow I was able to run a bunch, only walking the steep sections. The goal was to get through to the mile 38 aid feeling strong and ready to run. That’s where my learned patience would take hold and I’d really make up ground on the disappeared group ahead.
From time to time, I would see a dark figure far in the distance, realizing it must be another runner but trying not to get confused with the runners still headed outbound. A runner headed the other way hollered that I was the 11th to come back through. A jolt of adrenaline hit my system realizing that the dark figure in the distance, Tyler Green, who I knew to be a consistent and smart racer, was the one only slightly in front of me. But the winding trails disguised his 45-90 second lead for something much larger. We played cat and mouse for nearly the next 18 miles, never allowing me quite within arm’s reach.
Flowing in and out of the woods felt amazing. Only twice before had I felt this physically good coming through the 50k marks of an ultra. After that mark passed, however, a fog seemed to settle itself on my head. The sun was shining but it became difficult to stay focused on the task at hand. My mind wandered and I found myself beginning to walk some of the short climbs that I was definitely capable of running. It took a bit of RedBull and a caffeinated gel to pick me up out of the fog leading into the mile 38 aid.
My sister and mother later said that I looked better at mile 38 than I did at mile 25, which is both fantastic and disappointing to hear. It may have masked the fact that my conscious mind was fading despite my body being intact. The brand new Feetures socks I’d picked for race day were still comfortable and dry, Nike Wildhorse shoes were the proper choice for both protection and cushion, and there were no signs of chafing. Even the hips weren’t tightening much as I slowly trudged along making attempt to just maintain a running cadence.
After mile 40 it all became about just getting it done. With how slow it felt it was only a matter of time before runners came swooping past, but mile after mile there was no position shift or sight of anyone else. There were times when I noticed that my legs felt fine but that I was walking up hills more than others, so I would take a caffeinated gel and moments later I was able to really get into a groove for a short while. Running up, running down, putting in short and fast surges were all totally doable. But before long that same feeling of sluggishness came about and I would take another caffeinated gel to get back up to that high. There’s only so much that can be done and after taking seven gels in an hour, I finally rolled down the out and back section of the final aid station.
To my bewilderment, Tyler was only 90 seconds ahead and on his way back up this short section! How was it possible that after all the goofing off I did that he was still within striking distance? Tyler mentioned later that David Laney was also that same distance ahead of him for that entire while also. I arrived at the aid station and immediately stopped my feet and drank an entire can of Coca Cola for any kind of sugar or caffeine boost that would do anything. While wrist-deep in a container of Jelly Beans, the lead woman comes cruising into the aid, refills her bottle and is back on her way towards the finish with the eye of the tiger. Meanwhile, had I sat down I may have genuinely fallen asleep. That’s really what it felt like. There wasn’t extreme muscle fatigue or dehydration or being behind on nutrition. It just felt like extreme exhaustion and that nothing I could do would perk me up. Through mile 38 I was still on pace and had plenty of time to break the 7 hour mark, convinced I could make it happen. But after that dragging stretch to the mile 45.5 aid, it was still possible but not at the current average pace. In the final 4 miles, I would let two more runners catch and pass as my tunnel-vision got worse and I took missteps off the trail at times truly almost falling asleep while running. But at the same time my legs was capable of running still.
At a point, time seems to not pass. I would run for what felt like five minutes, racing ever closer to that finish line, but it would only actually be 60 seconds of running. The final 12 miles felt as though they took longer than the first 38. Even the “1 mile to go” sign wasn’t enough to perk me up. It was more that there was yet another runner making their approach from behind. There was absolutely no way I could emotionally allow someone else to pass before the finish line. After all, Tyler put a 15-minute gap on me in those last 5 miles. Everything my legs would allow translated to an 8:30 uphill mile to the finish, running casually and totally comfortably all the while. Even after covering that distance there was only moderate fatigue and no cramping. The finishing photos will even show an unfortunately full stride.
Finishing 14th in 7:23 was far from the goal. Yes it was 2.5 hours and 104 spots better than four years ago, but compared to recent results it just doesn’t seem like a properly executed effort. But truly it was all the effort that my mind could withstand. I ran a smart race, not blowing my legs up too early or getting in over my head. There was just no energy in the tank when it came time to hit the reserves. From that perspective the grueling Lake Sonoma 50 was remarkably disappointing. But at the same time, I smiled all day. Even while tired that course is an amazing adventure and challenge to take on and overcome. For however long my ultra career is, this is always a race I’ll use as a benchmark for progress and success.