Ohlone Wilderness 50K - 20th edition.

I took part in the 20th running of the Ohlone Wilderness 50K, the fourth time I had chosen to embark on such a daunting scramble. My crazy decision was made while running through Death Valley with the race directors, Larry England and Rob Byrne, who reminded me that it was the 20th aniversery of the race and they had plenty of "special surprises" in store for those who dared to enter. They caught me a great time. The run from Echo canyon to Slot was fantastic and I was intrigued as to what they might have in store. Sure, I'll sign up.

The day began with a little less than an hour drive from my apartment in Mountain View to Del Valle park in Livermore. I enjoy the drive due to the east bay foothills and lack of traffic at that hour (5:00 AM) and enjoyed it even more this time with my itunes piping "My Top Rated" songs through my Miata's stereo. The beautifully serene setting and the combination of bands like The Mountain Goats, Decemberists, Belle and Sebastian, The Hold Steady among others, made me wish the ride would never end. Maybe having to run 31 miles through hellacious fire roads and single track trails had something to do with it though as well. :-)

I parked my car at Del Valle around 6 AM and snoozed through a few more songs, enjoying the last few moments of a gently beating heart and gentle breath. A woman parked beside me and appeared to be doing the same as ultra runners collected around us. I could hear their laughter and lively conversations. These folks seem to have much more energy at 6 AM than most might have all day.

I finally pried myself out of the car to get myself ready. The air was cool, but not as cool as I had hoped. If you're about to start a long race, it's a great sign if you feel the need to say "Brrrr" when you first meet the morning air. If it feels comfortable outside at 6 AM, that can be a very bad sign, indicating some warm temperatures to come. The air was closer to comfortable than "brrrr"

I saw some unsual vehicles after locking up my car and making my way towards the public transportation. There were some luxurious looking buses parked and standing around them were some men dressed in suits. An SUV limo drove up and the driver asked a volunteer if he was in the right place. A runner in front of me took a step into one of the buses, then came right out. It was as if she had accidently gone into the men's bathroom. I took a step in myself and almost felt the same way. Inside were leather sofa-like benches. There was a stone-tiled floor and champagne glasses stacked against the wall. The ceiling was purple with funky disco-like lights. In the back were controls for the stereo. This was a party bus. It was our party bus.

I plopped down on the cushioned leather with a smile while other runners did the same. Unlike your typical two-to-a-seat bus that makes it easy to put your head against the seat in front of you to doze, this bus begged you to interact with the other runners that were seated across from you and two your sides.

"From Madison, huh?", the man to my left asked, who was with his wife, both running Ohlone for the first time. "Yes, at one time", I responded, realizing I had my typical red shorts on with "Wisconsin" proudly printed on them. It turned out he was from the twin cities with family that had gone to my fine alma mater. I caught his wife's attention when I said, "I usually do this one every two years, after I've lost my senses again". "So do you think we need two bottles?", she asked. You betcha.

A young asian woman sat across from us, looking bright-eyed an bushy tailed. She sat with just one water bottle, just bought from the store. From the sounds of things, she had only done a few half marathons and maybe a marathon. This was her first trail race. She sat wide-eyed, soaking in as much knowledge as she could as she engaged with other runners. At one point I heard her say, "I feel a bit out of place".

We arrived at the Stanford Avenue parking lot, which was filled with cars. Runners were ambling around, getting their last loose ends tied up before a call to the start would be made. A long line to the porta potties had formed, a very familiar sight at most races. I jumped in the queue as we were all getting a little pressed for time.

Rob Byrne spotted me while I waited and came over to chat. He was wearing a very loud orange volunteer t-shirt, loud because it's hard to believe that something could be so bright of an orange without having some sort of energy source. It's fun to know the race directors of a fairly well-known ultra. We chatted for a bit before he went back to his race duties.

It would not be a stretch to say that Rob is an elite ultra runner. He's not going to impress anyone with blazing speed these days, but his ultra resume' has very few peers that I know of. This year he'll be trying to complete his 10th Western States in under 24 hours (though this will be his 12th time doing it) and will also do a 7-day endurance run in Viet Nam in November. Competing in 100-mile races and navigating through foreign territory are common place to him and are what he considers to be fun. "He's living a great life.", his wife Chris told me, when we chatted after the race, adding, "as long as he stays alive" In the few times I have talked with her, I can tell she still hasn't quite come to grips with her husband's need to run outrageous distances in outrageous places.

The guy in front of me had a "2006 Boston Marathon" hat on, a good conversation starter, since I did my first Boston this year. It turned out he had done 4 in a row, including this year, which we agreed was a lot better weather wise than the media had claimed. He said this was his first ultra, which I told him was quite a race to pick, and wondered how marathon times would translate to Ohlone times. Though he blew me away with his P.R. of 2:52, I told him, "Walk every inclinde, including the one we see right here. This is a very different breed of runner that you're going up against." He seemed to take the advice well and I thought he was very well prepared with a camel back and a stategy of staying with the back of the pack at least for the first half of the race. "You'll be fine", I told him.

As I continued to step through the line, eyeing my watch, I spied my friend Jim walking around the parking lot, camera in hand. He said he'd try to come to the start and indeed he made it. Jim is one person that I typically associate the Ohlone wilderness with. He usually runs up to Mission Peak on New Year's day and I've had the pleasure of joining him a few times. He actually used to do weekly training runs up to the peak, which is astounding. The Ohlone 50K has conquered him with 90+ degree heat in the past and in turn, he has conquered the 50K, running a very strong 6:17 time in a year where we were all rained on through most of the race. He knows the wilderness very well.

We chatted for a bit and he wished me luck, then minutes later, I could hear the megaphone broadcasting Rob's voice, calling people to the start. We all moved through the gate like cattle into a realm where 31 miles beckoned. Rob gave us some simple instructions, mainly reminding us not to litter and to be kind to the volunteers, some of which had camped over night in the wildnerness for the sake of providing an aid station.

After a 10 second count down, we were off. Ultras tend to not have quite the explosive start of road races and given the beginning incline, most runners, including myself, began with a gentle trot at best. Unlike other races where the speedsters in the front are gone if you blink, the Ohlone front runners were visible for quite a long time as we scrambled on. They looked so close, yet I knew that they were traveling at speeds that would probably have my breakfast asking (actually, telling me) to be let out.

I could see the young asian girl I had seen on the bus, running free and easy up the incline, one bottle in hand. As I continued to march through the hills, the distance between us was shrinking. By the time she was 50 feet away, she had her jacket wrapped around her waist. I passed her about 2 miles into the run, then she skipped past me later as I decided to step to the side and start my GU schedule. About a half mile away from Mission peak, she stepped aside on the single track and urged me to go. As I went by her, I said, "Lots of climbing today", to which she responded with what I'd maybe describe as a sigh. It was a combination of confirmation and exasperation, mixed with heavy breathing. As locquacious as she was on the bus, Mission Peak had caught her toungue. "Get used to it", I added, and that was the last I saw of her. I wondered if she would survive.

Boston Marathoner was quietly losing ground behind me, following my advice of walking the hills. He seemed very focused and disciplined at this point in the race. As I ran on some of the flats and down hill, I wondered if he'd ever shoot past me. With a 2:52 marathon speed, I'm sure most speeds on this race would feel like a crawl to him.

At the mile stone of Mission Peak, stood the unmistakeable form of Catra Corbett, cheering on the runners. She appeared to be dressed to run, but I'm not sure what she was up to this time. There had been times when she had traversed the course 3 times in one running. She stood with her tatoos and piercings along with a partner that held a sign. Funny enough, I never even read it, I just wanted to get on my way down the other side of the peak.

After walking most of the first 4 miles or so, it was nice to be able to run hard again. The slope coming down Mission Peak is technically challenging at first, but then becomes smooth as you work your way down to Laurel Loop. There were some pretty single track trails to navigate through as we left the fire road. This is definitely one of the more enjoyable areas of the course.

I hit the Laurel Loop aid station at a 1 hour and 15 minute clip. The orange t-shirts nicely illuminated the respit and the friendly volunteers inside them were ready to serve. I saw my first familiar face in Valerie Doyle, a charter member of the Tullamore Dew Running Club. She was enthusiastic as usual and it was great to see her. My first and most impresionable memory of her is of a Benedict Arnold adventure through Yosemite on trails whose names elude me now. I do remember some incredible views of the Hetch Hetchy river and a very rigorous run which toasted all of us. Valerie, as a 61-year-old, dusted us all. It really struck me at the time that age doesn't have much affect on an ultru runner. She proved that.

I refilled my bottles and picked up some Succeed salt tablets (very good for ultras) before hitting the trail again. I was feeling good, but reminded myself of a time when I felt just as good and decided to pick up the pace, enough to catch the leading woman (What a mistake!). I ended up cramping at mile 14 and turned the rest of the race into a 17 mile death march. I was going to use some wisdom this time.

I continued onto Sunol, feeling fresh and enjoying the cool morning air. I encountered some hikers along the way who gave us ultra runners a second look. It was good to see people enjoying the Ohlone wilderness. As I was running through the course, I noticed the familiar site of golden poppies. It seems this part of the bay area tends to hold onto this California flower for a little longer than most. It must get a little more moisture somehow.

The Sunol aid station was one of the few that contained no familiar faces, but it made up for that with my favorite food of the day, strawberries. They had sliced up a big bowl of them and I was nearly swallowing them whole, they were so good. My favorite ultra food is water melon, but strawberries have just taken a close second. After squeezing a few GU's into your mouth, ripe strawberries serve as a nice way of rejuvenating your taste buds.

I continued on through the single track trails, encountering a boy scout troop, which was smart enough to realize that we bib-wearing folk wanted to get through fast and kind enough to oblige us. They looked a puzzled, but didn't question. Some gave encouragement in the form of a "good job".

The climbing was starting up again as I strode into the Backpack aid station, nearly 13 miles into the course. I heard the familiar voice of Debbie Mayhew pushing runners to eat everything that the table had to offer. She has been through many races like this one and knows what it takes to get through. Her aid station mates were none other than Ann Trason and Carl Anderson. As Rob Byrne is an elite ultra runner, this husband and wife are world class. They were an extraordinary pair to be filling up water bottles at an aid station.

Much walking took place between Backpack and Goat Rock, which stood at the half way mark. I found myself starting a game of cat and mouse with Don Lundell, co-owner of Zombie Runner, one of the race's main sponsers (In fact, our bibs said "Zombie Runner"). I passed him before coming to the Goat Rock aid station, but could tell he was still brimming with energy, seeming to be on a leisurely stroll. He blew by me at the aid station while I refueled and chatted with Helmut, who said, "I think you should stay with Don. That would be good for you." I had no idea of who he was, but sarcastically replied, "Thanks Helmut".

Goat Rock to Maggie's Half Acre is one of the stretches where you earn your finisher's plaque. You just keep rising and rising and rising. There comes a point where you wonder where the peak is, because it's fairly well hidden until the end. Where are you Rose Peak?

It was during this part where I appreciated how beautiful this wilderness is, maybe because I was fresher than usual and didn't have any running partner to talk to. The views of Mission Peak and the bay from the east side are spectacular. The hills are decorated with long golden grasses that move in waves through the cool breeze and the wild flowers up at that height have not given up to summer quite yet. As rigorous as the climbing becomes, that's my favorite part of the course. It's just gorgeous and you feel so far away from everything.

It was also during this time that took out the most road kill. Ultra runners are tough to kill though. In most races, even marathons, generally when you've overtaken a runner, you might see some fight from them, trying to assume your pace, but usually they will die within a minute and that's the last you'll see of them. Ultra runners are much more resilient. They may let you get ahead, even out of sight, but their second wind (or third wind or fourth wind or...) is coming and if you daudle at an aid station like I do, you'll see them again.

It felt like I had just gotten to Maggie's half acre when sure enough, a collection of kills that I had strung together came and went. This included Don Lundell (I called him "Zombie" to myself), who continued our cat and mouse game, which I think I'll rename tortoise and hare. But who was who? Only more time and more running would tell.

Coming out of Maggie's half acre offers runners a time to fly, repaying much of the downhill for all of that uphill. It took a while before I started seeing some of the bastards who gave me the job of passing them again, mainly because I think my strength that day was uphill speed. I took a cautious gate when navigating down the gravel frosted fire roads, choosing to save some energy and my knees.

After taking down a few runners and getting back to a world of climbing, I saw the zombie again. He was out for his afternoon stroll, looking like he just started. He uttered something along the lines of "nice job...lots of hills today" as I passed him for the 3rd time. "Yep...you too".

"This is my favorite part of the run", I heard a runner say to another as I approached the final ascent to the second last aid station. "Why is that?" the other responded. I feel the sarcasm from the 50 feet I was away. "You'll see", he replied. Yes he will, but will the joke be funny to him by then.

The "You'll see" is this ungodly part of the run where their a few false summits at the end of some brutally steep climbs. The air is so stagnant and hot as hell that you feel as if you're at the beginning of summer in Death Valley. I took my hat off and dumped water over my head a few times. I was amazed at how quickly my hair was drying.

I finally climbed out of the valley and into a nice down slope, seeing some familiar fluoresent orange shirts in the distance. This was Larry England's, aid station. He greeted me with his always friendly, "Mr Taylor!". "Mr. England", I said, as I had my water bottle refilled by Ian, another familiar running friend.

Another couple of runners came barreling down the hill, both of whom I had passed at one point. One of them had salt all over his face, which isn't usually a good sign. "What do you need?", asked Larry. "Everything", he said. He looked spent and I think "everything" included a new pair of legs.

Larry England is the other half of the race directing team and very accomplished as a runner in his own right. Four kids and some injured knees (this is an understatment...His knees are visibley mangled) have probably kept him from being at the same level as Rob Byrne, but his boundless energy has given him an accomplished running career nonetheless. He's done over 150 marathons, which is mind boggling and has a few Western States 100's under his belt. Probably the most amazing story I know of him, is when he kept his Big Sur Marathon streak alive (he's done every one) with a broken foot, doing the whole course on crutches. When he came into the finish after 7 hours, he went to the medical tent and asked for some band aids for his blisters. They asked him to remove his shoes. "No, they're on my hands", he showed them.

Without much further chatter, I continued on, ready to tackle the last 5-6 miles of the race, still feeling relatively good. I started down the slippery single track and quickly caught a woman ahead of me that was none to pleased to be passed. Usually when see someone closing on me fast, I step aside and let them through. She was having nothing of it and gave me an insincere "Nice job" (at least I thougt it sounded insincere) when I found a way of getting by her. C'mon lady, I'm working hard in this race too!

The slippery single track became and issue for me as I took a couple hard falls, bruising a hip on each. As I write this, my right hip looks decorated with some sort of abstract art, a collage of scratches and bruises. An ultra just isn't an ultra if I haven't gotten lost or fallen hard enough to come away with some souvenirs. My falling a couple times didn't allow that woman to catch me, but another runner did. I did practice what I preach and stepped aside for him. What's a few seconds when you're out there for 6+ hours?

I caught him anyway when we had our last round of tough uphill, which leaves everyone incredulous. As you're looking down on Del Valle park (which is a spectacular view, by the way), you're wondering if there's enough mileage left to get you down there or it someone will have a parachute waiting for you at some point.

I took down my last road kill not too far away from the last aid station. "This is just not my day, he said, "I just can't run uphill anymore", he said. I was able to amble by him and keep pushing towards the finish. The end was near and I was starting to think about a cheese burger.

I whizzed (ok, so it was a little more like "shuffled") past the last aid station, where I saw Lorri Paulsen, who reminded me the next day that I didn't even use the aid station. I had everything I needed and just wanted the last two miles to be done. "Thanks for being here", I yelled.

The last couple miles are were mainly steep down hill, navigating around hikers, who were using their poles to keep from slipping down the fire roads. A few of them encouraged me as I ran by. But downhill wasn't all that was left, there was actually still some uphill to be had. I thought the climbing ended after the 29th mile, but I need to amend that recollection. It's a little over 30 miles when you can actually stop using your calves.

It's one of the greatest feelings to finish a long race and see the finish line. I was through battling the beast of the howling Ohlone wilderness and saw Rob Byrne awaiting me at the finish line. "Mark! Good job", he said as I crossed the line, starting to zone out after being focused on running for so long. "Here, let me make it official" he said, handing me the wooden plaque that now sits two others on my bookshelf (my first one is at work). I was done.

I lightened my load, which included my pack, goodie bag, plaque and hat and headed straight for refreshments. I pounded a coke and then a water and sat in a fog for a little while. A way-too-fresh-looking finisher asked me if I was ok and told me to drink more. I was fine. Just give me space, lady. :-)

I filled my plate with a beautiful cheeseburger garnished with chips and water melon. What a wonderful lunch to enjoy after toiling in the hills. I sat back and watched others cross the line, sympathizing with that feeling of relief they were expressing. I wondered when the last runner would cross the line and how the others were doing.

Not one to let the grass grow under my feet, I took my wares and headed to my Miata, which was baking in the Del Valle sun. I cranked up the air conditioning and my itunes and made my way out the exit which carried a sign which said, "No re-entry allowed". Don't worry, I'm not coming back. See you another another time, Del Valle, perhaps. :-)

Epilogue

139 out of the 140 starters finished, including the Asian girl I was concerned about. Apparently Debbie Mayhew set her straight on eating right and grazing at aid stations, so I think that must have helped. Larry England said she told him that she had lost 3 toe nails, not realizing she needed some bigger shoes for trail running. She made it though and I give her a ton of credit. The Boston Marathoner finished at a time a little over 7 hours and I saw him basking in the sun, lying on the grass. He said he couldn't hold anything down, including GU, about 10 miles into the race, but rallied and recovered. He said the remaining 20 miles were a lot of fun and felt that he could get into ultra running. Good for him.