Race Recap: PCT50 Trail Run

Posted May 18, 2007 at 04:32 PM by Charlie Nickell

Section: News

If you really want to confuse someone, tell them you’re running the Pacific Crest Trail 50-mile race through the beautiful Laguna Mountains in east San Diego. Before entering this race, there were no mountains in San Diego that we were aware of, Laguna was a place to meet overly friendly men with perfect cuticles and Pacific needed an “a” on the end to become a beer. The world made perfect sense.

After running in the 2007 PCT50, we’re singing a new geography tune. With an elevation gain of more than 7,500 feet, the PCT50 definitely runs up and down something large; if it’s called the Laguna Mountain range, than who are we to argue? The PCT50 delivers some of the most spectacular topography in the most unexpected area. Having driven Interstate 8 to transport Mexican families into the U.S., we’ve passed this area a dozen times and thought it was just another place for America’s Most Wanted to assimilate into some obscure community.

This seems to be a re-occurring theme but the PCT50 is less than two hours from Orange County and once again we had never truly visited the area before. Leaving silk plants and cell sites resembling palm trees is tough, but venturing to the PCT50 reminded us that we need to leave our home theaters and experience everything this planet has to offer—even if it means doing it by foot.

It was freezing standing around after check-in at 5 a.m. I was bundled up, but Kyle Hoang was shivering so much he made me cold. He reminded me of Alexander the purple Otter Pop that my kids drip all over the house. Kyle looked like he was having a seizure but then I remember he had no insulation with a body fat composition of negative 7%. He works at REI and doesn’t have the warmest jacket in the entire universe? Is it me? As I’ve documented many times, Kyle is a running machine and the official human gallstone; sooner or later, he’s gonna pass. Kyle would place 5th in this year’s event (8:36). Not bad for a Popsicle.

Seconds before the start, Kirk Fortini introduced himself to me as a fan of The Run Down. Maybe he doesn’t have cable or still lives with his mom. I’d never met Kirk before but remembered him from Twin Peaks 50/50. He’s the Arnold Schwarzenegger of trail running and looks like a personal trainer who got lost on his way to the gym. His biceps are the size of my ego and his bulging green shirt was ready to explode. With absolutely no desire to do squats or inverted curls at Todd’s 24 Hour Fitness, I ran a few meters ahead of Kirk and noted his presence as a possible source of anti-inflammatory steroids, a gold foil bikini or post-race body shave. Kirk looked haggard (that’s being kind because he can beat me up) two miles before the turnaround as we passed each other going opposite directions. I figured he was terminating early but in true Arnold form, he managed to mumble “I’ll be back.” And, 13 ½ hours later, he was!

There would be no RD race instructions on this chilly May morning. After the three- minute warning expired it was “GO” from race director El Cubano and we were off. The race begins adjacent to Interstate 8 so it wasn’t surprising when we immediately hit gridlock. Too early for road rage and having left my 9mm Glock in the glove box, everyone quietly stacked up and then spread out, stacked up, then spread out again. Dean Dobberteen cut over the double yellow line to get out in front but he did it with such style and grace I doubt it was a ticketable offense.

After negotiating the first half mile, it dawned on Mike Mazza that he left his hat and iPod on the starters table. Accustomed to direction-filled street race check-ins, Mike was obviously thrown by the personal nature of the PCT50 early-morning greet and had problems multitasking at dawn. And he claims to live in Orange County? I saw him turn around and figured he was setting the new course record for earliest DNF but in actuality he was going back to fetch his precious belongings. As he disappeared toward the cars, I found myself humming a Men Without Hats tune and it all seemed very ironic. After next running into a tree and falling approximately three times, Mazza then passed me at mile four. Trying to see if he would turn around again, I told him one of his car windows was down and someone might jack his ride but he sells insurance and told me to get lost. I wouldn’t see the recently converted street speedster until well after Penny Pines. Mike finished his first 51-mile run in (9:53). I like it when people go the extra mile for me but am not sure how it feels to go the extra mile for oneself.

The first six miles to the initial Fred Canyon aid station is a nice rocky ascent. At this juncture, you’re so rested and pumped that you don’t really pay close attention to the technical nature of the trail. It’s something you’ll definitely notice on the return trip. If we had one dollar for every runner who said, “I don’t remember that” on the back portion of an out & back, we’d be rich. “I don’t remember that hill” is a good one. The early downhill portions take on a whole new flavor going back up them 6 to 11 hours later. How soon we forget.

Miles 6 (Fred Canyon) to 13 (Dale’s Kitchen) include some of the most challenging sections of the PCT50. The trail gets steep in areas and has numerous turns and loose rocks. Eric Kosters and I got a whiff of something and figured it must have been a rotting deer or someone cooking menudo. Just then some guy c omes bolting out of the brush and bounces off looking light as a feather; we don’t think he flushed or put the lid down. Because of the high shrubs or just the time of morning, this area seemed to be the favorite restroom stop for the runners. At first we figured it was just the animals relieving themselves but the odors reminded us of our grandfather’s bathroom and we held our breath and picked up the pace.

From Dale’s Kitchen to Todd’s Cabin is some of the prettiest forest you’ll see – short of hanging out with Bambi and sharing an Otter Pop . The trail has a roller coaster flow and the shade is a welcome savior

By far, the hardest part of the course is the steep single track in and out of Todd’s Cabin. You know John “El Cubano” Martinez (unstable) gets a big kick out of this little arrangement. Fine John, you have your RD fun and inside jokes with KM, GH and GK. On behalf of the participants, The Run Down has filed with the runners union and next year’s entrance will be blocked by lazy Teamster members; half of whom will die of heart attacks just reaching the trail. This is almost America and we have rights.

Todd’s Cabin to Penny Pines is extremely exposed and on some of the ridges you get completely cooked. This is the first opportunity you get to see the awesome desert view to the east. The only other time I ran this trail was during April’s preview run when it was completely covered in snow. Needless to say, the contrast in weather from my last encounter was the difference between heaven and hell – or, “American Idol” season one and this current crappy version (come back, Sanjaya!). Snow was replaced by dirt and rocks, crisp air was replaced by oven-hot dragon’s breath and cloud cover was replaced by the nonexistent ozone layer.

To say I was disappointed to find out that Penny Pines wasn’t an adult movie star is an understatement. Penny Pines to the turnaround is as vast and barren as it gets. It reminded me of my checking account. The awesome desert view is hard to enjoy when you feel like having a baby – without an epidural—would be a more pleasant experience than what you’re currently doing. At this juncture, there are lots of runners headed the opposite direction and you better get over or get ran over. The trees in this section were obvious victims of a massive forest fire. All black and lifeless, they suddenly reminded me of my legs. That was good because I had forgotten about the pain for 10 minutes and was ecstatic to get back to more self- pity and internal doubt. What a great Saturday! Maybe I’ll get hit by a car tomorrow—driven by a hamburger-seeking Paris Hilton, of course—and feel better.

The turnaround is rather uneventful. I had expected a band or at least a sign, “Good Luck You’re Halfway Home.” Instead, the grim reaper with an umbrella greeted us, recorded our bib numbers and pointed to the end zone 25 miles away; great, go long. This ridge was hot and the only shade was being used by some lost fisherman. We felt like grabbing the umbrella like in Capture the Flag but resisted and moved on.

The return trip is a game of survival just trying to stay alive from aid station to aid station. I felt like a sea lion swimming from iceberg to iceberg avoiding predators. The Penny Pine drop bag area was good for a few laughs. I knew Kirk Fortini (Arnold) was at least 45 minutes back so we rifled through his drop bag only to find a 5 x 7 glossy picture of Jessica Deline (Twin Peaks RD), a naked Ken doll and a Nicole Simpson Pez dispenser. To each his own, live and let live, judge not thy neighbor…I hope he gets some help, that sick son of a gun.

Normally, we don’t cover our personal race day escapades but, we’re making an exception because this was my first 50-mile run and I made so many errors that it served up too much editorial material to pass on. I ran the entire race with buddy Eric Kosters, the glamour stud from north Orange County (chicks dig him; he’s also popular in Laguna). Eric and I met during our first 50K back in November 2006 so it was appropriate that we experienced the new 50-mile frontier as a team. We were the slow-motion version of “The Nielsen & Moore” show. Finishing was the only goal. Eric was smart and fully supported by his Mom, Dad, fiancée and son who were also gracious enough to assist me in various ways. If there was a book on what not to do in a 50-mile race, this would be one chapter:

Never give out your Friday night accommodation plans to fellow nomadic participants. Rob Cowan, Michelle Barton and Kevin Nasman, easily zeroed in on my whereabouts and were my floor-dwelling roommate s at the Laguna Mountain Lodge. These are three of the greatest human beings I know and I wouldn’t trade Friday night’s pre-race gel, tabs, electrolyte product face off for the world but… I couldn’t sleep with so many bodies in the room. With an eerie feeling that someone was standing over me, I felt like I was getting robbed. Plus, the lodge owner warned me that max room occupancy was two per room and I feared a power tool, goalie mask and some homemade sausage might be in the works. “The Laguna Chainsaw Massacre.” End result, rest but no sleep. Running 50 miles with a pre-existing injury isn’t the best idea. With tendinitis in my left ankle I had prepared myself mentally for some pain. Six miles into the run, my ankle felt so bad I considered dropping. I started popping so many anti-inflammatories I looked like Robert Downey Jr. at breakfast. Nothing worked. I eventually had to run at a slight side angle while doing my best impersonation of the illusive snow crab and today I would be the PCT50’s “Deadliest Catch.” While it looked completely lame, my bizarre running technique occasionally cut the pain for 10 seconds here and there. Wearing new 2-in-1 compression shorts was a recipe for disaster. Michelle Barton had helped me locate these shorts and I had forgotten she’d do anything to beat me. It worked. The crotch blew out at mile 25 and chaffing isn’t a word to describe the friction. At times I was shooting sparks and had become a serious forest fire threat. Handfuls of Vaseline brought intermittent relief (and fond memories of pre-adolesence) but it was so global that I ended up driving home on a wet towel in my birthday suit. I envisioned some nice family driving by in a raised SUV and having to explain to the CHP officer why I was naked. I wondered if you could still enter the PCT50 as a registered sex offender. I made the huge mistake of using the bathroom at Todd’s Cabin and ignoring the ultra credo, “Beware the chair.’’ After running 30 miles, I don’t recommend going inside any fixed structure. Out on the trail, I couldn’t tell how tired and hot I was but sitting down on a nice cool toilet I began to realize how wiped out I really was. The bathroom carpet was floating and undulating like an ocean swell and when I reached out to grab it I got nothing but air. Running around in the forest, it’s hard to tell if your focus or perception is off due to the vastness and undefined nature of the surroundings. Go in a bathroom and its “Poltergeist” with fixed objects moving around like the inside of a pinball machine. Having never used hand-held hydration carriers, my arms weren’t prepared for the thousands of mini-curls 50 miles would produce. Sunday, I struggled to pull a few Post-Its apart. Never having a blister in my entire life, I figured there were rocks or twigs in my shoes and just blew off the various burning sensation from mile 33 on. The stinging sensation actually took my mind off the tendinitis. Taking my shoes off at the end of the race, I was shocked to see five toes completely obliterated. Looking over to my left, I noticed my never-opened Body Glide dispenser sitting undisturbed in the car door pocket. Good thing I brought that. I would use it later on my face cheeks while slapping myself silly during the ride home.

Read the rest of the race recap at : TheRunDown.Net