SOB 100k Race Report

A week before the Siskiyou Outback 100k I was asked what makes this particular event the one I had my energy focused on. Admittedly it tripped me up a bit. In a classically long-winded response, I found my way to realizing there’s a lot about the Siskiyou Outback 100k that spoke to me. The nature of the course, the beauty of the wilderness, the qualifications the race provides, the friendly competition it would bring, and the sense of possible redemption from previous endeavors. Two years ago I had the pleasure of running and finishing second in the 50k on a buildup to another event. It was time I returned and gave SOB the respect and effort it was truly due. And with this being the inaugural race, there’s no way I was going to turn down more new, beautiful trails!

Race weekend seemed to creep up quickly. Perhaps that’s one of the benefits (drawbacks?) of having only a 3-week turnaround from another race. The Broken Arrow 52k didn’t go the way I wanted, so there was certainly some time thinking about that before shifting full focus to SOB and piling on the emotional fuel. But as the weekend arrived, there weren’t the usual nerves that come with big events. The day was imminent, but leading up to race morning it seemed like any other. After a burrito and last-minute strategy meeting with Coach Ryan down in town, it was time for an early bedtime up at Mt. Ashland. The work was done, the course was studied, the clothes were laid out, and the alarm was set.

3:45am came surprisingly easy and the morning was smooth. The oatmeal, avocado, and banana went down comfortably as I prepared for what felt like any other long run morning. I’ve talked a lot in the past about struggling with the mental games we play around races, but this morning was totally locked in. Only moments before the start I venture over to a last-minute bathroom break and push up to near the front of the starting corral. One of the best things about a local-ish race is knowing a handful of other smiling faces out there also ready to push themselves to their best day. The infectious energy is some of the best fuel you can possibly take in on race morning.

When the starting gun goes off, we trot down the dimly lit parking lot under headlamp and the beginnings of first light. Conversation flowed with a few of us in the first few miles. A buddy jokes about hoping that I know the course because he planned to just follow my footsteps, which truly wasn’t what I had in mind. But I’ll take it if that’s what needed to happen to run my own race. We shared a glorious sunrise above 7000’ on single track with a front row view of Mt. Shasta. It was a pleasant reminder of why we all choose to take on such insane challenges. After a few hoots and hollers, the voices behind me began to get quieter and it felt as though a small gap was developing. There was a slight moment of panic as it seemed like pace was too quick or that the rest of the day was in jeopardy due to going out too fast. Thankfully everything felt relaxed and if the others didn’t want to run this pace, so be it.

The first half of the race is packed with flowing single track. A trail runner’s dream! It’s easy to get lost in the moment and get off the rhythm of eating or following race signs. Both of which almost happened, but a little rock threw me off balance enough for my arm to swing differently and catch the corner of my pack. Oddly enough something as simple as a misstep reminded me to have a snack. A happy accident! It also encouraged me to slow down and focus on the route rather than the views. Nutrition and pacing seemed easy and the early miles ticked away. Steady effort would be the key to success on a day with most of the climbing in the second half.

This year’s preparation for ultra season was a bit different than in the past so it felt like a little bit of a gamble. With credit to a road running background, I grew up running high mileage weeks and using volume to increase fitness. Over the past few years, Coach Ryan has helped restructure the way I approach ultra-distance training and we’ve focused more on concentrated efforts and consistency. Though the volume had been lower, it has promoted more recovery and higher energy on challenging days. This approach has translated to much more success on the trails, especially mountainous or rugged terrain, than I was experiencing before. We always do our best to prepare for course specificity so after a couple years of that mindset, I began spending more time lifting heavy in the gym and piling miles back on. The added strength was to become injury-resistant in preparation for the added stress stimulus of miles. The higher volume approach was to replicate much of the pure running that would take place for lots (and lots and lots) of miles on this course. Despite our efforts, there’s still no way to fully replicate the race day experience. Early on, I doubted that my preparations were adequate and that I’d even be able to cover the miles - especially at the pace I was hoping for. These skeptical feelings are normal. All we can do is trust the training.

Coming through the first few aid stations, I wanted to make sure I was out of sight before the next runner rolled in so they had no frame of reference on my whereabouts or condition. As a mental game, I just assumed the next couple guys were 5 minutes back, not wanting to get greedy and think it was more. It also helped keep the pedal on the floor through the more smooth dirt roads. “This is where the fun begins,” one of the aid station volunteers encouraged me. He smiled and motioned up the road towards Split Rock Trail, probably the most technical and tricky to follow section of the course. It was exactly the spot I’d been looking forward to all morning. The volunteers up the road gave last minute encouragement and shooed me onto the trail.

The previous half hour was a strange situation because though it seemed like the race was slowly going down the drain and anxiety should have crept in, there was a period of total bliss. While it would have been nice to roll through that section quickly, taking the time to make sure footsteps and turns were accurate acted as a refresher. Admittedly, leading into mile 25 a little foreign knee pain developed that threatened the mythical 5-minute gap, but some less frantic miles seemed to work it all out. The descent to dirt road after the course markers began again was the most peaceful experience of the day. This section also acted as the 50k point and so far things were going impressively well. So well in fact that the volunteers at mile 30 happily shared some of their Fireball whiskey! No doubt it would throw off those behind when the aid workers say “Here! Even the leader took some!”

With the change to the second half, so began regular long stretches of dirt roads broken up by bits of fun single track. After some strong sections I let my mind stop thinking about the rest of the field knowing they would have to be putting down some serious miles to gain ground. Through at least the mile 45 aid station, climbing was under control and the body was holding together.

Unfortunately some stomach issues were arising and taking down gels became a little troublesome. And by troublesome, I mean impossible without gagging. Extra water, bacon, orange slices, Ginger Ale, more bacon, and especially watermelon became the substitutes. This lower altitude section was hotter and put much more stress on the system. Even filling my pack with ice didn’t quite ease the strain and pace slowed to adjust. It made the thick texture of gels feel like mud, so for the next 2 hours it was all aid station food. I could feel the hole I was digging in nutrition deficit grow deeper and deeper but there wasn’t much else to try for troubleshooting.

It took truly sitting down at mile 50 to regain some focus and a few chairs were waiting in the shade. Especially this late in the day, there’s no way I’d want to get up from a comfortable chair in a cool breeze. “Beware the chair”, as they say. 50 miles of stress on the body is deserving of calling it quits, but this seat isn’t where my day was to end. I dragged the chair into direct sun, reapplied sunscreen and got to business. I changed shoes to something with a little more padding because the bottoms of my feet ached and there was no better excuse to slow down now. This drop bag station also contained preplanned liquid calories that my system was very overdue for and thankfully they went down without a problem. The volunteers were a wonderful help in getting me back out there with high spirits.

While I sat, a 50-mile runner came cruising through effortlessly and disappeared around the corner without more than a bottle refill. The rest of the race, our course was the same so this provided a bit of late-stage motivation to latch onto his back. Changing focus from being hunted like the antelope to hunting like the lion was a more than welcome surprise. It took four hard road miles but eventually I caught up with Nico and we had a chance to lazily chat for a bit. It turned out that he was the lead 50-mile racer and was also worried about his pursuers gaining ground. We made a verbal agreement to link up and fist-bumped to solidify the deal. We would compete against and with each other the rest of the way home. This is just another example of why camaraderie and community triumph over singular efforts.

The final section of the course is a sadistic climb gaining 3000’ in somewhere around 5 miles that touches the high point of the course, and also the summit of Mt. Ashland. Nico and I jockeyed a bit before he trotted out of sight and cramping begin to pierce my quads. There was no way 4 more miles (and still over 2000’ of climbing) would happen without more fuel. And without an aid station ahead it was back to gels, if possible. The struggle is never having food settle in the stomach but getting it past the back of the throat. It turned out that a big gulp was a no-go but smaller nibbles of gel was productive. One down. Another? Yup. One more for good measure? Do it. Taking three gels in six minutes isn’t usually recommended, but then again neither is running 63 miles. We out here.

The Siskiyou Outback 100k was a bit of an anomaly in some ways. It’s silly to say, but it all went rather smoothly. With something of this magnitude there will be little hiccups like nutrition failure or surprisingly sore feet, but we plan for those and adapt. While the course was a bit more challenging than we all anticipated, splits were still nearly as projected, effort was on par with expectations, and the outcome is one that I had been scripting for weeks. There’s a feeling of relaxation that comes when reality lines up with expectation. It’s not an overwhelming sense of joy like I had guessed, but a crooked grin hidden beneath the brim of my hat. “Good,” I think to myself. “That’s what we planned. One step closer to the best I can be.”