Rio Del Lago

November 3, 2018

Seven days before Rio Del Lago, I noticed I had an itchy throat. Hopefully, it’s just allergies, I thought, and took a Zyrtec. The scratchy throat did not go away, and I was certain I had caught the dreaded cold a week before the big race. At first, the symptoms were mild, but then 3 days in, my cold symptoms began to get worse with muscle fatigue and all. of. the. mucous. It gets worse before it gets better, right?

When I lined up at the start line, I was very stuffy and had an incessant cough, but the muscle fatigue was gone. Just be grateful that you’re not a weakling, I told myself. Sure, I can’t breathe, but once I start running, maybe my sinuses will clear up. After a short race briefing, the countdown to the 5 am start was on, and off we went.

Right before tripping at mile 20

The first 10 miles are all paved bike path and gravel. I planned on sticking to a 10 min/mi pace, which felt agonizing slow on fresh legs. As I saw about one hundred runners zoom past me, I was very jealous of how much fun they were having. I want to run and have fun, too! But with my lingering cold symptoms and my lack of experience in running a race this long, I knew I had to hold myself back. Because talking put me into a coughing frenzy, I couldn’t even chat with the other runners. As I slowly trotted along, I gnawed on the ham and avocado sandwich I packed for the morning.

As we looped around Lake Natoma, we started to hit the trails, running along the bluffs overlooking the lake. It was still dark at this point, and I had be careful over the uneven footing on the trail. I tried to maintain a similar effort for this section, so slowed my pace. Around mile 13, the sun began to rise, and it was nice to be able to see the scenery around us. My cough got annoyingly persistent, so I started taking some cough drops. I couldn’t wait to see my sister, Honoka, at mile 18, the first aid station. I was starting to get bored, and it was nice to have something to look forward to. I had no idea what the aid station would look like and how difficult it would be to find her, but she spotted me right away. I stocked up on fluids and gels, and off I went.

At mile 20, in my typical clumsy fashion, I tripped over a small rock. I slowly baseball dived into the trail, grazing my forearm, knee, and thigh. Embarrassed that I tripped over smooth trail, I quickly got up and kept moving forward. I have no idea if anyone saw me fall. I don’t think I’m even bleeding. I slid into the ground ever so slowly. I glanced at my palm and my arm right above the elbow. I’m bleeding.

I knew an aid station was coming up at mile 23 and my friend, Marty, would be waiting for me there. I saw a bathroom preceding the aid station and rushed to the sink to remove all the dirt out of my freshly grazed skin. I did a quick assessment, and saw that I needed to clean three spots. I tried to raise my knee into the sink, but I was too short to push my knee closer to the faucet. In haste, I threw a bunch of water onto my knee, then exited the bathroom in a hurry. Another lady was trying to get in as I was going out. I apologized. I made a mess in the sink.

As I approached the aid station, Marty called out my name. I told him that I was bleeding in just a few spots because I fell. He wiped the dirt out of my wounds and put some antibiotic ointment over the spots. Just a week before, when Marty offered to come to this aid station, I thought it was absolutely nuts for him to drive from the Peninsula to Granite Bay just to see me for five minutes or less. Now I was so grateful that he was there to clean up my wounds.

Granite Bay (mile 23)

Feeling energized by all the support, I headed toward the next aid station, Rattlesnake (mile 35). Along the way, I met Jennifer, a local who participates in RDL every year. Usually, she volunteers or paces, but this year, she was running it. She gave me a lot of advice about running my first hundred, and it was nice to be taking in some last minute tips. While we were talking, the runner in front of us asked if we veered off course. Uncertain, the three of us started back-tracking, and we found the course markings where we missed a turn. We had not strayed but a tenth of a mile.

Once we were on the right track, I suddenly found myself in a conga line on the single-track trail. At first, we were moving at a reasonable pace, but as the miles tacked on, I felt like the 15-person conga line was moving slower and slower. I was getting frustrated but was afraid to pass the leaders of the line. One girl lost her patience and was zooming past the conga line, almost falling when she reached the front of the line. Even though I wanted to do the same, I convinced myself that I was not well, and there’s a huge chance that I will blow up late in the race. And when I blow up, all these people in the conga line will laugh at me.

With pacer Cameron

At Horseshoe Bar aid station (mile 32), I just picked up some ice then split off from the pack of runners. At last, I was free! I could run my own pace and have fun running! I felt like I was patient long enough, and I could let myself run as my heart desired. But don’t go out like caged animal. The next aid station where I’d see my friends, Graham and Cameron, was just three miles away. When I arrived, I heard my name and found my crew had laid out everything in my drop bag in plain sight so I could pick up what I needed. It was starting to get really warm, so I made sure to carry ice in my buff and my bra to keep my core cool. “What place am I in?” I asked. They weren’t sure, so I asked them to check and tell me at Overlook. They quickly restocked my pack, and I was on my way along the American River.

Coming up to Overlook (mile 44) with Nate

I was really looking forward to getting to Overlook (mile 44), where I would pick up a pacer. I knew Cardiac Hill into this aid station would be a long three mile climb, but this section went by very quickly because another runner, Nate, kept me company. He was raised in Wisconsin and lived in Minnesota, so it was fun to chat about all things Midwest. I could tell he really looked up to his grandfather and the research he had done.

So happy to see crew

Graham, Cameron, Honoka, and my pacer, Bill, greeted me at Overlook. I was elated to see them and sat down to put on some fresh socks. “You’re in fifth place,” they told me. As I reached over to put my shoes back on, my abs cramped. That’s uncomfortable. The cramp lasted no more than a few seconds, and it was a reminder that I should take some salt. I tried to eat off the table since I knew I would get sick of gels later in the evening. The oranges looked good. I should pack more fruit next time.

I was happy to be back on the trail again, and while there would be a long ways to go, I thought it would be easier with pacers. My first pacer was Bill, who I met at the Avalon 50 in January. He was super chatty and made the miles go by very quickly. Once we crossed No Hands Bridge (mile 48), the race started to thin out. The heat was really getting to me, and I started to get sick of drinking the Roctane drink mix. I was trying to get half my calories from fluids and half my calories from gels, but I could feel the nausea starting to creep in.

Cameron, Honoka, me, Bill, and Graham

As we made our way to Auburn Lake Trails (mile 59), I kept brushing my forearm that was bleeding earlier in the day against the branches that poked into the path. Every once in a while, I would shout out in pain, and I hope I didn’t startle my pacer too much. At one point, I was startled by some loud rustling in the woods, and Bill noticed me staring into the forest. “All the sounds you hear today are from squirrels and cute bunnies,” he assured.

A blister on my pinky toe and a bruise on the top of my foot started to take a toll on me. We stopped on the side of the trail in an attempt to address the foot problems. Wrapping the blister only intensified the pressure, though, and I immediately had to take pad off my blister. On the plus side, sitting for a brief moment did magic to my quads. It was like I had new legs and could run again without taking frequent walk breaks. What a great discovery! It helped me power hike through Goat Hill, a short but steep section of the course.

Around mile 64, the sun began to set, and the sky turned a glorious hue of deep oranges and reds. The sky was on fire.

A while after it got dark, we caught up with Brady who was running sans headlamp. I was impressed with how he got through all the uneven footing without a light. We stuck together to No Hands Bridge (mile 70) so he could see the trail better between our headlamps. It seemed to take forever to get to the Highway 49 aid station (mile 67), but then the excitement of getting to No Hands and closing the hilly lollipop of the course made the time go by more quickly.

At No Hands, I picked up Cameron, my second pacer. I was surprised to see Calvin, my third pacer at this aid station, too. “You’re in fourth place,” they told me. I got to this aid station about 40 minutes later than I projected because I didn’t account for all the breaks I would take at the aid stations without crew. As a road runner, I never stop but a few seconds at aid stations, but of course I needed to take longer 10-minute breaks for a race this long! We took the Western States trail up to Overlook. There was more climbing than descending in this section. Only 30 more miles to go. Wait 30 more miles? I don’t even want to run a marathon let alone 30 miles. Don’t think about that. Just get to the next aid station four miles away. I was eager to see Annalisa and Marilyn there. Also, it was thrilling to know that I had surpassed a personal distance record.

Restocking at Overlook (mile 74)

At Overlook (mile 74), I was surprised to meet my entire crew. I was relieved to get into new shoes that were a half size larger than the ones I was wearing. I should have put on these shoes at mile 44. At Overlook earlier in the day, Graham and Cameron got on to me about not eating enough over the 9-mile section from mile 35 to 44. I had only eaten one gel and 3 cough drops. Now I found myself asking my crew if I could get enough calories from the cough drops because the gels and drink mix were really not settling well in my stomach. “The cough drops are maybe 10 calories,” Annalisa said. I hope the broth and orange slices will carry me through the night.

I was overwhelmed with the love and support I had at Overlook aid station. To see my gang of seven supporting me in the race inspired me to keep my eye on the finish line. There is a three mile descent on road and gravel out of this aid station. I was clinging onto this sliver of hope of being able to run this section, and I was ecstatic to find out that my legs could still turn over with good cadence. As we cruised down this hill, we passed the #3 female, who was walking down this section to Cardiac aid station (mile 78). I’m so glad I still have my running legs.

At Cardiac, I sat in a chair and tried to consume more calories. I can only eat broth and orange slices. This is going to get ugly. I told Cameron that I was eating a Jolly Rancher, twice the size of a cough drop. That’s double the number of calories. “There’s a girl who just left this aid station. Go get her!” said one of the volunteers. I assumed they were telling me that I was leap-frogging with the girl who was walking down the hill into the aid station. She seems to be fading, and I still have some running left in me. I can get back in third place. That seems reasonable.

Once we got back on the trail, Cameron clarified my confusion. “You’re already in third place, Asuka.” They were telling you that #2 left the aid station, and you can catch her. Well, I don’t know about that.

A couple miles later, we came upon two headlights moving along the trail. Is that the #2 female? She was walking along a flat smooth section with her pacer, so I was able to maneuver past her. She asked Cameron, “Is she the runner?” I imagined that she had been holding on to the #2 position for most of the race, and it must have been painful to hear Cameron respond, “Yeah, she’s the runner.”

The trek to Rattlesnake aid station (mile 83) seemed to last forever. I was leap-frogging with two other runners and at one point, we weren’t sure if we had missed the aid station. I checked the map off my phone, and we were less than half a mile away. When we got to Rattlesnake, the aid station seemed quiet and empty. I scoped out the parking lot and didn’t see my sister or pacer, Calvin. Where is my crew and pacer? I had my essentials in my drop bag, and I had some broth and orange slices from the table. In my hydration pack, I carried a hard copy of my projected times at the aid stations. The spreadsheet said Rattlesnake at 11:30 pm, and it was 11:32 pm. I hope they didn’t get in a car accident.

Once we were both sufficiently fueled, Cameron and I started discussing the elephant in the room. “Did we get here too early?” Cameron asked.

“I don’t know. I asked them to be here at 11:30 pm, so I don’t think we’re early. I’m not sure what to do,” I replied.

“Well, I’m not going to let you go back out there by yourself.”

“Ok, well, let’s leave them a note on the drop bag, since we don’t have reception here,” I suggested.

Meanwhile, Graham, Marilyn, Honoka, and Calvin were on their way to Rattlesnake. Since I arrived at Overlook 40 minutes past schedule, they decided to leave later for the next aid station. While they were driving, Honoka got a notification from the tracking app that I arrived at Rattlesnake at 11:25 pm. “Did anyone bring the food bag?” Marilyn asked. Realizing they didn’t have crewing supplies, Graham, who was driving, turned the car around back to the hotel. They grabbed the bag, then Graham sped toward the aid station. He ran a red light and drove down the windy road leading to Rattlesnake aid station like he was driving a race car. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down,” Calvin told the crazy driver.

When Calvin arrived at the aid station, the volunteers immediately asked him if he was looking for the Asian girl who is #2 female. They told him that I had already left. Calvin grabbed my thermos of coffee and sprinted down the trail. Cameron and I had not made it very far, so he caught up with us easily. I was really happy to see him – to know that my crew was ok and that Cameron could be relieved of his pacing duties. “What happened?” I asked Calvin.

“Nothing happened. We were just chatting at the hotel and left a little later because you were behind schedule. Do you want some coffee?”

When I learned that the volunteers told Calvin that I had already left the aid station, I asked him how they knew to tell him that. “How did they know that you were my pacer?”

“I don’t know. You’re Asian, and I’m Asian, so I must be your pacer. That’s all I can think of.”

The volunteers must have been eavesdropping on the conversation Cameron and I were having.

The trail crossed paths with a road that led to the parking lot to Rattlesnake aid station. Here, I parted with Cameron. Calvin and I made our way toward Horseshoe aid station (mile 86). I had some broth, an orange slice, and a third of a banana. I braced myself for the technical section called meat grinder. I knew it was coming up, and the worst of it would be only two miles. I prayed that I would have the mental strength to power through that section. I met Calvin about two months earlier when I joined a group run that he led at Mt Tamalpais. Even though I had only met him once, he graciously agreed to pace me for this race. At this point, I could feel all the aches from my quads, ankles, and feet. Calvin barely knows me. I need to be on my best behavior.

Meat grinder did take forever. All the big rocks and uneven footing intensified the pain in my quads and put pressure on the blister I had on my pinky toe. I don’t know how Calvin had the patience to stick with me the entire time because I was going painfully slow. I was afraid that I would fall or get a cramp if I misplaced my foot, so I was being very careful. The course markings were not obvious at every fork, so Calvin ran up ahead and made sure we stayed on the right path. Around mile 89, I sat on a rock for one minute then stretched out my calves. After taking advantage of the trick I learned earlier in the day, I got my running legs back.

When we got to Granite Bay (mile 96), Calvin dumped out most of the drink mix out of my hydration pack to lighten the load. Whoa, my body feels so light with so little in the pack. Home stretch! I was going to make it.

I was excited to be four miles away from the finish, and the excitement carried me for a couple of miles. Around mile 98, my mental state got worse before it got better. Would I still make it under 24 hours? Calvin asked me what time it was. “It’s 2:20 am,” I said. Since day light savings ended around this time, it made it even more challenging to calculate the finish time.

“If it’s 2:20 now, that means it’s 3:20 on Saturday time, so you’re on track for sub 23-hours,” Calvin calculated. Calvin is doing the math all wrong. I only have 40 minutes to finish 2 miles to make it under 24 hours. No point in correcting him now. He’s been so patient with me already.

When we hit the bike path that leads to the finish line, I could see the finish line arch lit up to my left. According to the official RDL map, we were supposed to go through the campground, not the bike path. “Are you sure, this is the right route?”

“Yes. I’m going to tell the group that you’re coming!” Calvin said and took off running. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him about the official race course map. Oh well. I was super stoked to cross the finish line as second female, still with some running legs left in me. Sub-23 hours. Calvin was right.

With pacer Calvin

I feel super lucky for how the race played out. Even though I was stuffy with the cold, I was able to survive the race without much of a hitch. I got nauseous but didn’t throw up, and I remained reasonably coherent to the end. I didn’t hallucinate or get mauled by a bear. Life is good.

I could not have done it without my pacers Bill, Cameron, and Calvin. I am so grateful to my crew, Honoka, Marty, Graham, Annalisa, and Marilyn, who gave me the strength to stay focused to the very end. Knowing that they sacrificed their entire weekend to support me was truly inspirational.

Time 22:41:41

Overall Place 39/251

Gender Place 2/80

Headlands Hundred: 50 Miler

September 8, 2018

Leading into the Headlands 50-Miler, I was not feeling very confident. In early August, I started nursing some niggles (shin splints on my right and plantar fasciitis on my left foot). The soreness did not prevent me from running, but as soon as I felt them, I knew I had to cut back on training if I did not want them to turn into full blown injuries. So rather than ramping up 3-4 weeks before the race, I was cutting back in both intensity and volume. In addition to cutting back, I was icing, rolling, wearing orthotics in the shoes I wear at work, and wearing a boot to keep my calf stretched during the night. All of these tricks ended up paying off, and I was able to show up to the start line injury free.

The Headlands event is a series of 25-mile loops, run clockwise, then counter-clockwise. I had gone up to the Marin Headlands four times in training, each time completing one 25-mile loop. Being familiar with the course, I had three goals in mind for the Headlands event:

1. Run the middle 30 miles hard because the first and last 10 miles are less runnable.
2. Do not trip and fall on my face.
3. Eat consistently, and try not to get nauseous.

The days leading up to the race, I was working long hours and was very sleep deprived. This was a recipe for disaster, but I had started some long-term experiments that I could not forgo. To make things worse, I made cheesecake two nights before the race, adding to my sleep deficit. Not thinking things through, I had promised friends who were coming to the finish line that I would celebrate my birthday with home-made cheesecake. The night before the big day, I was frantically packing all the things I would need for the race and the party at the finish line. After I went to bed, I kept remembering things that I forgot to pack, so I got out of bed repeatedly and tried to fall back asleep again.

When the alarm went off in the morning, I felt surprisingly refreshed and excited. I did not get enough sleep, but I felt ready to conquer this race. I had a game plan. My little sister offered to drive me to the start line and cheer me on at the midpoint of the race. It was very kind of her, and it was fun to share my excitement about the race during the 50 min drive. For my sister, it was an early morning, and she was also sleep deprived, so she booked a bed at the hostel at the Marin Headlands. The receptionist was a bit confused when she explained that she wanted book her stay for just the day and not the night. “You just want to sleep all day??”

The legendary Eldrith Gosney, who finished her
seventh 50-miler. She has also done three
100-milers at the Headlands Hundred.

It was pitch black when we got to the start line. I got my race number, then took off my layers. I was surprised that I wasn’t cold in my shirt and shorts. In all my training, I was shivering at Rodeo Beach with the strong winds and dense fog. Maybe it was going to be an unusually warm day.

Race Director, Greg Lanctot, made his announcements for the race and made sure we all knew the order of the ribbon colors that marked the trail. After he made his announcements, he told everyone that it was my birthday the previous day and gave me an Ultimate Direction hydration vest as a gift. When he called my name, I had just smeared sunscreen all over my face, so I was trying to rub all the white cream off my face and onto my arms in haste as I approached Greg. One person started singing “Happy Birthday” and before I knew it, all the runners were singing in unison as they watched me slap sunscreen from my face to my arms like a maniac.

I always find all the energy right before a race so invigorating. As I made my way to the start line, I noticed the legendary Eldrith Gosney wearing the #1 bib. She is a local celebrity going strong at the age of 77. She was toeing the line for her seventh Headlands 50-miler. She has also completed three Headlands 100-milers, the last one when she was 70 years old. I was really excited to spot her and asked for her picture. A bystander commented, “See, you’re famous.” Eldrith looked abashed and brushed off the comment.

A rare blue clear day at the Marin Headlands

Greg did the count-down to the race start, and we were off. Since there were four different events going on (marathon, 50-miler, 75-miler, and 100-miler), I was careful to pay attention to the color of the bracelet each runner was wearing. The people running 50-miles were wearing a red bracelet, and I was on the look-out for that color to identify my competition. Early in the race, I saw one woman wearing a red bracelet take off. I tried to keep her within sight, so I picked up the pace. By mile 2, she was well out of sight, and I kind of settled into a pace that seemed more reasonable. Then at mile 3.5, another woman with a red bracelet passed me, and again I picked up the pace to keep up with her. It was dangerously early in the race to be chasing the leaders, but I convinced myself that if I wanted to win the race, this was a risk I had to take.

At mile 4, we hit our first aid station in Tennessee Valley. Not needing anything at the aid station, I kept going, settling into a pace that seemed hard but sustainable. I expected the woman who had just passed me, but then stopped at the aid station, to catch up with me at any moment. As I ran along Coastal Ridge into Muir Beach, I felt the sun beating down on me. It was going to be long day in the exposed trails. Zero fog. No wind.

SCA Trail overlooking Golden Gate Bridge

By the time I hit the mile 12 aid station, I felt drained from the heat. I told the aid station volunteers that the unexpected hot temperatures were really getting to me. The volunteers gave me ice, and I continued my way toward the aid station under Golden Gate Bridge (mile 18). At one of the switchbacks, I saw that the third female was tailing me. The volunteers told me I was five minutes behind first female. Before the race, I was really looking forward to running up the paved road from under the bridge back to the trail, but something was off. I suddenly felt exhausted from going out too fast in hot weather. I really needed to back off the pace.

As I made my way up the SCA trail, the third female caught up to me and ran past. I intended to run this section, but I needed to take some walking breaks to manage my core temperature. I was not going to be able to follow through with my plan of running the middle 30 miles hard. As I ran down Bobcat Trail, I noticed a woman in a light blue shirt walking down the hill. She was wearing something similar to the lead female, but I told myself that she was running too strong to be walking down the hill at mile 22. I was eager to get to the finish line and close loop 1. I knew my sister and friends, Amanda and Marilyn, would be there to send me back out.

When I arrived at the finish line, the girl who passed me near the Golden Gate Bridge was on her way back out. I found my sister and Amanda near the drop bag, and I whined to them as I restocked on fluids and gels. “I didn’t expect it to get so hot. I’m feeling waaay too tired for it to just be half-way in the race.” They looked concerned and didn’t know what to say. As I rushed back out for loop 2, I braced myself for a long afternoon.

              The Headlands 50 has total gain of 10,000 ft and equal loss

Loop 2 goes in the counter-clockwise direction, so on the way out I ran into all the folks that were wrapping up loop 1. To my surprise, I saw the woman in the blue shirt running toward the finish line. The “#1 female” was the girl walking down the hill at mile 22!

I noticed my arms caked with dried sweat, and I realized I needed to be taking salt. I searched in the pocket of my pack for the salt capsules, but they were nowhere to be found. Oh no! I must have dropped them on the trail! Litterbug. Also this is bad news for getting hyponatremia. Around mile 31, I started to feel very nauseous. The heat was really getting to me. When I got to the aid station at mile 38, I asked for salt capsule. For some reason, the volunteers were being so stingy. They gave me one capsule, and when I pleaded for more they gave me another two for the road.

One of the volunteers encouraged me to eat off the table. “Pick anything that looks good to you!” I chose a slice of a PBJ sandwich, then dipped it in salt. “Oh, eww, ok. That’s one way to eat it,” the volunteer exclaimed. I felt like she was judging me. Then, another volunteer shrugged and said, “That looks perfectly reasonable to me.”

A guy named Mike, who I chatted with during the first loop, was climbing out of Muir Beach (mile 42) while I was making my way in. “Looking strong!” he cheered. I definitely did not feel strong. I did not cross paths with the now lead female. She must have been more than a mile and a half ahead of me because there is an out-and-back section near Muir Beach aid station, where I would have seen her if I wasn’t fading so precipitously.

Then, at mile 43, I tripped on the trail and caught myself before I fell on my face. The calf above the foot that caught the rock immediately seized, and I laid myself perpendicular to the single-track trail, trying desperately to regain control of my cramped calf. Lying on my back, completely blocking the path, I could hear voices of hikers coming from the right, and I knew a runner I had passed just three minutes ago would be coming from the left at any moment. Please please please let me get control of my calf, I thought, as I stared at my stiff muscle. Then, just before the hikers made the turn around the bend to be within sight, I stood up and started trotting toward them.

I smiled at the hikers, who cheered me on, and pretended like nothing happened. I was so relieved that they did not find me lying on my back across the trail. They would have been worried to see a runner in the horizontal position.

Even though I had regained control of my calf, it still felt stiff and was painful to run on. As I slowly hiked up the hill, I felt the lack of sleep weighing down on me. Why did I not get any decent sleep this week? Why did I make that stupid cheesecake? You cannot be both a scientist and a runner. You did this to yourself. You set yourself up for failure.

As I thought about all the things I did wrong, I started to cry and feel sorry for myself. This was not the way this race was supposed to go. I told my friends that I would finish between 9 and 10 hours. I looked at my watch, and there was no way I was going to break 10 hours given the pace I was going. From mile 46-49, I didn’t see a soul. Not even the occasional hiker. I turned to see who was behind me. Running along an exposed section of the ridge, I could see almost half a mile of the section I just covered. Not a single person in sight. Where are the 100-milers? They should be making their way out by now. I felt very alone.

Finally, as I approached the last mile of the course, I stumbled on a group of people starting an evening hike. “Civilization!” I shouted. They laughed at my excitement to see other human beings. Then, as I got closer to the finish line, there was a set of stairs leading to a paved path. Going down these steps was so painful. “Ugh, so many stairs!” I said out loud to some hikers.

Coming down the home stretch

Once I was on the paved path down to the finish line, I saw three of my friends cheering at the turn. I was so excited to see them. Suddenly, all the pain in my quads and calf dissipated, and I got my running legs back. My friends started running alongside me until I realized I wasn’t allowed to have pacers. “The 50-milers aren’t allowed to have pacers,” I told them with all the focus I had left. Mammen joked, “We were waiting for you tell us you don’t want to be seen running with us.”

As the leader of the 100-mile race made his way up the hill, I shouted at him. “Where have you been?! I’ve been so lonely out here!” He responded with a faint smile. Now, the adrenaline rush from seeing the finish line at the beach below made my legs turn over faster. I was super happy to see all my friends at the finish line. I crossed the finish line just a minute shy of 10 hours.

Finish chute at Rodeo Beach

This race was supposed to be a build-up to Rio Del Lago, my first 100-mile race. I intended to run a solid race on a difficult course, so I’d feel more confident about RDL. Instead, I crossed the finish line filled with new fears. This was the most poorly executed race I had run in six years, but I learned some valuable lessons: 1) Do not chase the leaders. Running my own race ultimately fares better in the end. 2) Adjust the pace as necessary – be flexible toward deviating off the plan.

I was not able to avoid nausea or run the middle 30 miles hard, but I did succeed in not falling on my face! Later I found a bloody scab on my knee. When did that happen? If you don’t remember, it doesn’t count as a fall, right?

I ran alongside some very strong 100-milers who finished their first two loops before I got to the finish line. I was so inspired by their amazing talent and willpower to go back out there when they had the option of dropping down to the 50-mile distance, calling it a day. They have some true grit.

I had some ambitious plans for RDL, but now it’s time to reassess.

Time 9:58:33
Overall Place 6/57
Gender Place 2/28

Comrades Marathon 2018

June 10, 2018

What an experience. The pre-race celebrations started with singing of the South African National Anthem and shosholoza. They played Chariots of Fire, then, boom! Confetti was everywhere, and off we went. I was in the second wave, and it only took me about a minute to cross the start line. This was important because this race is measured in gun time (not chip time). It took us a few minutes to settle in and spread out the 20,000 runners out of the bottleneck. 90% of the runners were South African, 4% were from the rest of Africa, and 6% were from the rest of the world. 80% of the runners were men, and 20% were women.

In South Africa, runners are a part of a team. It was really cool to hear all the teams singing their fight songs together during the first half hour of the race. My bib, colored blue to indicate that I'm international, also had my name and the number of finishes: 0. Runners nearby came up to me, gave me a warm welcome to South Africa, and wished me well on my first Comrades.

Elevation profile of down run

We ran the first hour and a half in the dark. The sunrise was absolutely beautiful over the green hills. I was afraid the sun would be in our eyes as we moved east but soon found the sun was positioned slightly hidden behind the trees and hills. We got very lucky with the weather. Typically, the temperatures get into the 80s (F), but this year, the high was only 72F with plenty of cloud cover.

As the team chants quieted, the spectators began to line the route. In South Africa, I don't think there are many Asians. I had no idea that my experience would be incredibly unique and bizarre because of my race and gender. Very quickly, I became kind of a celebrity. Among a sea of men, I was the only female runner, and spectators would cheer me on with great enthusiasm as I ran past them. Young teenage girls were especially excited to see me. At the same time, because of their lack of exposure to Asians, they were shouting racist words that took me by surprise. They nicknamed me "China" and "nunchucks" and kept chanting "ching chong" as I approached. I soon realized that the spectators were being extremely supportive of me, and that their seemingly inappropriate word choices were due to a lack of familiarity with Asians.

My fan base seemed to grow as the miles went on. In addition to China, nunchucks, and ching chong, I heard them call me lady, sister, mama, sissie, and baby girl. Because there was such overwhelming support for me, I thought it was really funny to hear a male runner respond, "Go men, too!" in response to a spectator's focused cheers. I said to him, "Yeah, you're working just as hard as me!"

One young teenager ran with me for a while and told me that I was her favorite. "I really want you to win this race. Would you do that for me?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I told her that the winners are waaay up ahead.

Comrades Wall of Honour near Drummond

The aid station at mile 31 went absolutely crazy for me. They were all shouting my name as well as screaming "Go, China" and chanting "ching chong." The volunteers at the aid station and the spectators - probably over 100 people - were all cheering for me and shouting "I love you!" It almost felt like I was the only one running the race. Their support overwhelmed me with intense emotions.

Plaques from Wall of Honour

Then, at mile 35, I tripped on a light reflector on the road, and managed to scrape my shoulder, knees, and hand (photo after the spill). I barely scraped my face, but that's all the spectators noticed. When I tripped, my calf seized into a cramp, leaving me on my back. It was like time stood still, and 6 faces appeared above me. Someone asked if I was seeing stars. I said, "No, I just can't get up because my calf is cramped." Then someone else asked what kilometer marker I just passed. I was going by my watch set to miles, and I vaguely remembered I was around mile 33. I responded, "I think I'm at mile 33. Sorry, I'm American, and I don't know my kilometers." The person who asked seemed mildly aggravated but felt reassured that I was not experiencing a concussion. "She's fine," he announced to the group. The time I spent laying on my back seemed to last an eternity, but a runner later told me that he saw me fall and by the time he caught up with me, I was up and running.

I seemed to regain control of my calf and off I went to a hobbling trot. The bruise on my knee was painful, but soon the endorphins masked the pain. Someone asked if I needed a medic, and I said, "Yeah, I'll go find one." An aid station was nearby, and I went from table to table, asking for a medic. Someone said that his first aid kit was behind the water table, so I followed him only to be told that he must have given it to someone else - just keep running. So I ran almost another mile to the next aid station, yelling that I needed a medic. Finally, after asking two more tables, I finally got access to a first aid kit. Two kind ladies nervously cleaned my wounds with alcohol and covered them with Vaseline. Cleaning the scrapes stung like crazy, but I knew I didn't want them to get infected. Here, I probably lost 3 minutes searching frantically for a first aid kid and getting cleaned up.

Official splits

At this point, I was still on track for an 8:30 finish, but now I was not sure if mentally, I was in the game. At the Pinetown aid station, the crowds went wild again. A woman grabbed my hand that was still injured from the fall and ran a good 100m with me, screaming and flailing her other arm the whole time. I was touched by her enthusiasm, but worried about how grossed out she would be to find bloody Vaseline on her hand later.

I was able to keep my pace consistent for about 13 more miles, but in the final 8 miles, the soreness in my quads really got to me. The morning of the race, the lower part of my quads just above the knees were sore from the two 10-hour flights. I had arrived a day and a half early, but it wasn't enough time to allow me to recover. I definitely did not feel fresh when I started the race, and now I was paying for it. The last 6 miles of downhill were brutally painful.

As I got closer to the finish line, the crowds were screaming, "China made it!" I was scaring small children with the wound on my shoulder. "Why does China have a big wound?" "Look, China fell!" they cried out. At this point, I could no longer run the downhills without taking frequent walking breaks. Surprisingly, the intermittent uphills were still runnable for me, and it almost felt soothing on my ankles. I could still keep a solid ~9 min/mi pace only on the uphills. The runners around me must have thought that I was insane. Walking when everyone else was running downhill and running by myself on the uphills while everyone else walked.

Splits in miles. My watch stopped when I fell at mile 35.74.

I began whimpering in pain as I ran the downhills periodically. A runner passing by heard my cries of pain, and said to me, "I've been watching you since the start, and I really admire you as a runner." I assumed that he was referring to my fall and recovery from it. His words, combined with the frustration with my inability to run downhill, made me get very emotional. I was grateful for his words of encouragement, and at the same time I hated him for almost bringing me to tears when I should be focused on the race.

The last mile had a very slight incline that gave me the resolve to find my running legs. As we entered Moses Mabhida Stadium for the finish, I finally started passing people. It felt incredible to cross the finish line. I was 7 minutes and change short of my goal time, but all things considered, I am very happy with my finish with a Bill Rowan medal. I can't wait to go back in an odd year for the up version of this race!

During the 11th hour, 50% of the finishers

complete Comrades.

Time 8:37:03
Overall Place 1943/16478
Gender Place 113/3371

Mt Diablo 50k

May 19, 2018

This race was the hardest trail race I have done so far. The climbs were very steep, and the descents were gnarly and technical. The first mistake I made was wearing long compression socks that turned out to be so tight, they were rendering my calves useless. At the San Jose 50k a month before, I had gotten really bad poison ivy from the trails, so I wore these long socks thinking that they would protect me from brushing against poison ivy directly. I had not done a test run in these socks, and it turns out they were too snug a fit. I was hiking up a hill, and I felt a tremendous tightness in my ankles and calves as if they were too stiff to be engaged. At first, I was confused because I was feeling very light and race-ready. Then, it dawned on me that the compression socks were giving me problems. I quickly folded them down to my ankles, and my calves felt instant relief.

Climbing the first hill, I knew I was positioned as second female. Gabi Maudiere in first place was off to a running start, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep up. Early in the race, I got passed by several people. I knew it would be a long day of climbing some steep hills, so I held myself back. Around mile 3, Gabi and two other runners took a wrong turn, and I caught up to them as they found themselves back onto the race course. It didn't take long for Gabi to be out of sight, and I kept running on down the rugged hills. Thankfully, the weather was not too warm - in the 60s (F) - so the exposed sections were not as brutal as years past.

View of the quarry from Mt. Olympus

I had previewed a section of the Mt. Olympus climb and descent a couple weeks before, so I was familiar with how technical the descents were going to be. I wore gloves so that I would not be afraid to grab onto branches or brush while I was sliding down the hills. I learned later that trail shoes would have helped gain some traction in the super technical single-track sections. I was wearing Nike Vomero road shoes because I didn't know any better.

Photo by Edmundo Pacheco

The ascent up Mt Diablo was sort of an out-and-back, and I looked for the lead female, but she was so up ahead that I never saw her as I made my way up to the summit. Around this time, I caught up with a new trail runner, Kenny, who was doing his first trail race. Pretty bold to choose Mt Diablo 50k as a first. We ran together until the Juniper aid station, then I was on my own again. The descent down the fire roads after Juniper aid station were quite steep and made of loose gravel that made it easy for my feet to slip underneath me. I kept grabbing onto the grass on the side of the fire road so that I wouldn't land on my butt.

Photo by Edmundo Pacheco

It was really quiet for the next four or so miles, then I ran into the leader of the race in the out-and-back section to South Gate. Wow! Loren Baker was a good one hour ahead of me, I guessed. After seeing him, I carefully counted the people running towards me to find my position in the race. I was in 13th place overall! At this point, Gabi was at least 30 minutes ahead of me. Just before hitting mile 17, I hit a runnable downhill section, and I started moving. I was able to see a runner just ahead, and caught up with him. Shortly after I did, I missed a sharp turn, descending straight down a hill. The guy I just passed yelled, "RUNNER WRONG WAY," which was on the sign I overlooked. I turned my head and saw the string of ribbons I missed indicating a sharp left turn. If it wasn't for that runner's warning, I probably would have been off course for a good half mile before realizing I was not on track. So grateful for him putting me on the right path!

Photo by Frederika Villacarlos

As I approached the aid station at South Gate, I noticed that two people were within reach of overtaking. I quickly grabbed some ice and water from the aid station and started my descent. The next mile or so was quite runnable, and I felt my legs going strong in the excitement of catching the runners ahead of me. Passed one guy, then another guy. I was on my own again for a while. Then, as I made the climb out of North Gate, I saw a runner away in the distance. I felt a surge of energy as I realized the possibility of catching up with one more runner. Slowly, I started inch forward until I finally caught up with him at Juniper Aid Station.

2nd and 3rd place females

The next few miles to Eagle Peak, we leapfrogged one another until we reached the summit. The descent down Eagle Peak was windy and technical. The other runner passed me in this descent, and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up as I fearfully tiptoed down this section. At this point, I just wanted to stay vertical and not fall on my face. It seemed to take an eternity to see the end of the twisty section of Eagle Peak Trail. I was so relieved to get off it and make way towards the short runnable trail to the finish line.

After the race, I chatted with some runners who had done Rio Del Lago 100, the next big California race on my calendar. They gave me so much advice, and I feel very lucky to have met them.

Time 7:16:50

Overall Place 10/22

Gender Place 2/4