I’ve really been struggling with what to say about this race, and how much I can, or should, complain. One of the things I love about trail running is the bare-bones ethos, the rugged nature of the sport, the fact that we carry our own water and duct tape our blisters and suck it up instead of crying it out. I love that there’s beer at the finish line instead of fancy Mylar blankets. (And I don’t even drink beer! But I still love what it represents.) The low-key nature is a huge selling point, so it feels a little disingenuous to complain about this race for being too low-key.
But, at the end of the day, this race was not satisfying, was not particularly enjoyable as a race (although it was a lovely casual run) and it made me think long and hard about what I expect from a “race” in general. Here are a few of the ideas I had about what constitutes race necessities:
- Organization: a clear leader, who can answer questions, provide guidance, and get the race started (on time!)
- A well-marked course so runners don’t get lost
- Adequate and well-spaced aid stations
- Safety precautions in place for runners
Now, there are a lot more things that add to the fun, like goodie bags, awesome food at aid stations, post-run picnics, etc. But these four things are, to me, the necessities required to have a successful race. And I’m sorry to say I don’t think the Chino Hills 20-mile race delivered on any count.
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This year’s Leona Divide was possibly the best race of my life. I say this not because my time was great (it wasn’t—it was 30 minutes longer than my previous 50-mile time, and hours behind the race winners) and not because I felt amazing during the whole race (I didn’t—hello, crash at mile 43.) But something about this race changed the way I think of myself, and my limits, and my abilities, and I finished with a euphoric feeling that has stayed with me these past few weeks. This same feeling is making it really difficult to write a coherent race report, though, so bear with me.
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From henceforth this race shall not be known as Sycamore Canyon, it shall be known as the First Annual Knee Socks Invitational.
If you have to ask why, there’s really no hope for you.
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A week after my triumphant return casual slide back into racing at the St. Patrick’s Day Half, I ran another trail half marathon—this one at Irvine Regional Park in Orange County. I’d never been to the park—heck, never even heard of it, despite living less than an hour away—so all I knew was that the race website promised hills, and lots of them. After the flatness of Coto de Caza, I was ready for some climbing. Bring it.
The hills…they was brought.
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So here’s a gross—and sad—but mostly just gross—little story. I took some time off from racing in the fall of 2010, and planned to jump back into things that winter and early spring 2011. My first race was scheduled for February 2011, and I spent some time building up my mileage so I’d be ready to start the ultra game with a bang. All was going well, no injuries, feeling strong, and then, two days after Valentine’s Day, I woke up with a few itchy bumps on my legs.
A day later, the bumps were a full-blown rash. A day after that, they were swollen and infected, and I had hot, swollen, pus-filled welts running up and down both legs. [Pictures redacted to spare you the nightmares.] After several different diagnoses, and many different drugs, my legs were on the mend, but it was a solid 3 weeks before I could run at all, and by that time I had missed two 50ks I’d been planning on running. Plus, the extended downtime made me feel sluggish and I lost a little of my running mojo. I had more big races coming up, and I knew I had to snap myself out of my running malaise and get excited about training again, pronto.
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