Golden Gate Trail Classic 100k
From time to time I’ll wonder how far off my dreams are. That feels like a normal thing to consider. Am I progressing? Am I as close as I once was? Have I accidentally lost my way? This year I was hoping to figure it out. A little lost in a fog, Coach Ryan helped guide me to realizing a few worthwhile pursuits. It’s crazy to consider that it has been almost 2 years since my last 100k. Bandera feels both like a few months ago and also the better part of a decade ago. That said, a first-year race on some beautiful Bay-area trails seemed like it would be great to serve as a benchmark for what the last two years of running have really meant in my growth.
Originally when I registered, the race was set to start at midnight under a full moon, which is reason enough for crazies like me to get pumped. But the start time wasn’t the only thing to change before race weekend.. The course underwent two or three modifications, communication was fairly nonexistent, and the website links that were provided only sent me down the wrong paths anyway. With a textbook Type B personality, I just did my best to prepare for what I’d assume the experience would be like and hope the race was even happening. I’ll go into the logistical breakdown of the weekend in another post. But while the race itself is still fresh in my mind, I’m hoping to pen down most of my thoughts on that experience specifically.
Kristen and I parked close to the race start to make for a short walk over in the morning. Toast, avocado, 2 eggs-- the usual go-to for a hard effort. Can’t tell you why it works but it just does and I don’t question that kind of thing anymore. My stomach has been a bit iffy with gels for long runs the last month so any good quality calories I can take in beforehand would be hugely beneficial as the day wears on. Usually I aspire for upwards of 1000 calories before a race like this, but a little less than half that would have to do. Not ideal but I’d rather get it in and let the food digest than feel uncomfortably full. We stroll to the start with a few minutes to spare only stopping at the bathroom before I saunter into the starting corral with the 28 others in the 5am wave (there were also about double that amount that started at 5pm the evening before, a much more accommodating cutoff time). I linked up with Anthony Lee, an old friend that I haven’t raced with since we met in 2017. His blue hair stuck out even in the darkness of the morning. We’ve pursued different races and have developed specific trail running skills differently, but I knew it would be an honest test with him also pushing the pace. With an unknown day ahead, I reminded myself to relax and enjoy the ride.
We were escorted out of Chrissy Field towards the Golden Gate Bridge by Kris Brown, Spartan’s course director for the event and it was great to catch up with the fellow rabbit athlete. We’ve crossed paths a couple times so it was fun to chat and break the tension of the race environment. He peeled off as we squeezed through the freshly-open gates of the Golden Gate Bridge for our north-bound crossing. A few miles of pavement would loosen the legs up nicely for a long day. I just hoped nobody took the race out in sub-6:30 pace. My concern was pushing too hard and trying to hang on right from the start on a day when I hoped to be much more concervative than usual. Thankfully the other guys were interested in chatting a bit and keeping things relaxed so I hung a step behind and made sure my energy output was low. We looped under the bridge to the trailhead and danced up the trail under headlamps and moonlight. This no-rush mindset felt really nice.
While we climbed it was clear that the fog was getting thicker and visibility was worsening. I took my headlamp off and held it down by my waist. We don’t have much (if any) super thick fog in Bend so the improvisation was a learning experience. I’m a big fan of always trying something new on race day. While this is the opposite of what people often suggest, my thought is that if something goes wrong, it’ll be fine because I’m already in the mindset of adapting to some change. Anthony and I ran side by side on dirt roads and very naturally took turns leading on singletrack. I convinced myself that he’s a stronger climber than I am, which is probably true, but it also allowed me to stay relaxed while letting him develop a small gap on uphills. Once things flattened out I’d look for him in the distance and time where he was compared to a tree or rock to see the gap I’d need to cover to reel him back in. I played these games for a few hours and was worried it would affect me in the big picture of the day.
With the sun coming up, I was distracted by my surroundings. Having been living in the 6-foot bubble that the headlamp creates in the fog, I’d forgotten there was such an amazing scene around me. Above the clouds, I could see that the dense fog had wedged itself in the valleys below. It snaked throughout the prominent terrain and refracted the vibrant morning glow. A calm smile came across my face and I tried to appreciate the moment. The weather forecast was a little mixed depending on which source we checked so it was very pleasing to see a clear sky above the light rays.
On the northern end of the loop, the two aid stations were longer out-and-backs that would either prove to be depressing or encouraging. I worried they would drag on, show how far I was falling behind, etc. As it panned out, they turned out to be wonderful. First of all, beautiful views are never a bad thing. But more importantly they led me to the aid stations that I got to see Kristen and Emma. While the race said not to have crew at checkpoints, she showed up as a spectator and was able to snap all the photos used in this post (and many more) and serve as wonderful emotional support. I always am able to relax when Kristen is at an aid station. She helps remind me to relax, to think of the big picture, and to get the hell out of the aid station. With Anthony still within 30 seconds one way or the other, she made sure I got back on the trail without letting him get too far ahead. Apparently I tend to drag a bit when given the option to pause and chat. This surprises no-one. Control the controllables.
I had a couple tentative time goals for my splits of the race but was more focused on even effort. What pace can I maintain all day while slowly dialing up effort level? That’s what I was hoping to find out. I think back to other races of the past when I’ve been patient and then put in too much of a hard push in the middle and been gassed for the finish, times when I just try to hang on while cramping to get to the line, and probably only once when I had the proper balance. Mile 20 was my tentative go-spot. But with a bit more mental energy being exhausted early, I tried to push it back to 30 in my mind. Keep the angst and desire to pick it up on the backburner. There was still a bunch of the loop I was yet to experience, and retrospectively it’s a fantastic thing I kept it mellow for a little while longer.
The next couple stretches seem to develop a repeating pattern. Anthony gets a little ahead on climbs, I stay calm and let him go, make up ground on downhills, and catch him at the aid station, then we regroup and leave together. It happened three consecutive times leading into miles 15, 19, and 24. We joined together at Rodeo Beach aid station and agreed that the hills leaving Muir Beach were way steeper than we expected. Thinking back, he may have sounded a little concerned about the stress output in those miles, but I didn’t read into it at the moment. I really just focused on staying emotionally calm because I was also beginning to feel the miles on the legs. The course was turning out to be no joke. The projected 10,200’ of climbing was likely going to be a solid under-estimation, plus there was a lot more rocky singletrack than we both expected coming in. It was awesome! While I planned for lots of fast fire roads, Coach Ryan prepared me for the steeper ups and downs by prescribing uptempo sessions on Tumalo Mountain, Black Butte, and on the rocky trails at Horse Ridge east of town. So far things were feeling really in control.
Anthony and I left the Rodeo Beach aid station together to take on a handful of very runnable miles consisting of both some pavement and mild-grade climbing on a dirt road-- my favorite. I just kept the legs turning over without much thought. Any terrain that I was comfortable and low effort to run, I would run. Anything steeper I would walk. Fortunately for me there was a ton of running in the next handful of miles and I couldn’t feel Anthony’s presence anymore. A glance behind from time to time confirmed that there was a little bit of a gap developing and I couldn’t see his blue hair in the distance anymore.
Around this time I began passing runners more frequently. The early start of the 100k was finishing up their second loop and it was motivating to keep chasing the next runner as if I was just making my way up the field. A super pleasant distraction. The athletes that had been out there all night purservering, grinding, getting the job done, all inspired me to keep moving to the best of my ability. The right turn to drop down to the Golden Gate aid station where I’d have my drop bag and another chance to see Kristen was a huge sense of relief. While only halfway, it was a chance to mentally reset, triage physical or emotional wounds, restock nutrition in my pack, smile, reassess goals, hit the lap button and get back out there. Once again she helped kick me out just as Anthony rolled in to begin his transition process. I was still in solid spirits, impressed with how intact the body was holding together, and on the faster end of my time estimates. Things were falling into place amazingly. I gave Anthony a slap on the butt and made a joke before bounding up the wooden steps and back onto the trail. The race was really about to begin.
There began to be a TON of people out enjoying the beautiful morning. Hikers, gravel bikers, and runners flooded the trails. It was a pleasant distraction to know that I wasn’t out there alone. Leaving the Highway 1 aid station around mile 38 I jockeyed for position with a group of gravel bikers up the climb. With a long out and back I would time how long it was before I saw second place, assuming I’d have almost double that of a lead. It was just over 7 minutes by the time Anthony and I slapped a high-5 heading opposite ways. Somewhere in the range of 12 minutes is what I expected. But there’s still steep climbing and a third of the race left so I wasn't comfortable with that gap. If things went south, that could close in a matter of a few miles. I just kept my head down and moved with a purpose.
It was hardly more than a blink and suddenly I rolled into the Muir Beach aid station. If I hadn’t felt the effects of them in my legs, I would have said that those miles between aid stations didn’t exist. Mile 43 is where reality began setting in that a couple more hours would be a pretty painful experience. Someone at the aid station asked what else they could get me and trying to be funny, I responded something like “not 15 more miles, that’s for sure.” But deep down I knew it would be just fine. Tough, but fine.
In a conversation recently, an athlete I greatly admire told me that I just need to convince myself that in the depths of discomfort, I’m going to be fine. So that’s exactly what happened. I repeated “Pain is impermanent. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” It was incredibly powerful. On the climb out I timed the distance back to second place again. But this time I didn’t see him at all before dropping onto a different singletrack trail. The miles were a couple minutes slower per section than on the previous loop and it was clear that I was dragging. Just trying to hold on. It felt like I was hemorrhaging time to not just second place but the whole rest of the field. Just keep moving and it’ll work out. RELAX. Get through the hills and to the pavement. After Rodeo Beach it’s a lot more smooth the whole way home. So when I came down the steep road and saw the aid, I realized there was only about an hour left. An hour.. You can do anything for an hour. Wait-- am I going to have a shot to break 8:30?! If that was the goal, it was going to be an hour of pain. Good thing pain is impermanent. You’re going to be fine.
It was almost a surprise when the final downhill back to the Golden Gate aid came into view. As uncomfortable as it all, it didn’t feel like this should be almost the end. The day was flying by and the race was actually almost over. There wasn’t a moment to celebrate though, as I carefully made my way down the switchbacks. Sharp little twinges had penetrated almost every muscle of my lower legs. Each step was a dance with disaster. But onward I pushed, more intentional and deliberate with my footsteps than before.
The Golden Gate Bridge is a monster. One that requires a ton of patience. It’s long, at that point it felt like a mountain to trudge over, and was also crawling with tourists. Handfuls of other racers were also making their way across the bridge but people didn’t seem to notice, everyone caught up in their own world of marvel at the massive wonder. I dodged selfie sticks, families, waving arms, timed up my passes so as to not break stride, and tried not to plow into any kids. The chaos was overwhelming and my achilles and underfoot ached from the pavement pounding. It’s safe to say that being able to see the finishing arch in the distance on Chrissy Field was both thrilling and infuriating.
I did my best to remember the route we followed that morning, tracing flags back down the winding hill that was also dense with people oblivious to my frantic state. The path opens up to a hard packed dirt track, the same one we’d taken out of the park. There it was-- the finish line. I found a comfortable stride and allowed my mind to finally relax. How could it already be here? Also how is this still going on? It seems like pain really is impermanent and I’ll be fine because that was a lot of pain and here we are.
After taking a couple calculated steps up a steep, grassy embankment nothing stood in the way of the finish line. A crew of guys were posted up to hype up finishers and they started losing their minds. It felt like I might be losing mine as well because the reality I was living didn’t feel real. Everything went too well to plan that it couldn’t be real. A very patient first 20ish miles, Gu gels all day, getting to see Kristen at all the checkpoints we had hoped for, slowly dialing up the effort on the second loop, running loop 2 faster than my first 50k on the same trails, setting a full 60 minute 100k personal best, no specific concerning aches or pains, and taking home the win.
While there’s still a long way to go, this was a pretty cool indicator of progress. It feels like those pipe-dream goals are coming into a more clear focus.