Death by Paper Cuts

Healdsburg Running Company

Tucked in the heart of the Russian River area is a quaint little town called Healdsburg.  If you find yourself stumbling around what I can only call Downtown Healdsburg and you’re a runner at heart, your feet will walk you through the doors of the Healdsburg Running Company.  There may be tents outside with people in trucker hats milling around and chatting.  There may be a family fun run about to happen.  There may also be a Salomon Demo Fleet.  Above all else, what you will definitely find is a gentleman by the name of Skip whose warm, fun smile fills his face and whose voice captivates and fills the room.  You’ll be greeted with the familiarity of a regular, and brought into conversations as though you were there from the beginning. HRC isn’t a large store, but it’s the cornerstone of the local running community. In the 30ish minutes we were there, we were given about 10 things we could do and about 10 restaurants, tasting rooms, and breweries to visit. It was like walking into a family friend’s home.



Asking goal times is a commonality among friends when a race is thrown into the conversation, and with this one, I did and I didn’t.  My last race, Squamish 50, was highly unsuccessful, suffering from nausea for most of the day. Lake Sonoma had 2 purposes:
  1. Erase the emotional scar of Squamish 50, and complete a race the way I know how: 100% physical effort and 0% stomach issues.  Time-wise, anywhere between 10:30-12:00 would be reasonable.
  2. To witness a really great friend, Elaine, cross the finish line of her first 50 miler.  We trained together, until the last 6 weeks before the race when she encountered a foot injury.  She was smart during those 6 weeks and didn’t push her recovery too soon.  The main thing I told her was that she would go in under trained a little bit, but she’ll finish.

Death by Paper Cuts

Drive about 20 mins outside of Healdsburg on April 9th to the South Lake Trail around 6am and you’ll find almost 400 runners ready to toe the line at the Lake Sonoma 50 Mile ultramarathon. The field is deep, as this race is a Golden Ticket race for Western States. As I made my way to the portapotty line, I couldn’t help but overhear 2 runners ahead of me chatting about, surprisingly, running! Way Too Cool 50k was a month prior so stories were shared, and then they moved onto the impending race. One talked of how they’ve consistently done a positive split of an hour on the course, even though they thought they were going out conservative. Then, “Death by Paper Cuts” was how it was described. What an odd and unpleasant way to describe the next 50 miles we were about to run.


Without giving it too much thought, we proceeded to go through the morning pre-race motions and got ready for race start. I told Tav that my goal was to hit the halfway mark at 5.5 hours feeling good. So, let’s see how the day would unfold…


There was no California sun that day with rain in the forecast, so I was geared up with a tank top, arm warmers, and a jacket, and off I went. The first couple of miles were on undulating road and Elaine and I were quickly separated. I tried to balance my road instincts with my ultra brain (READ: Don’t run too fast ahead). We then jumped into the trails and it was, again, undulating. I didn’t go into this race with a pace in mind because, as anyone who has ever run an ultra before will tell you, there’s no way to run “a pace” the whole way.  My watch auto-beeps every mile so it gives me a gauge of some average based on whether the last mile was more uphill or downhill.  Seeing the times that were coming through, I felt like I was doing well at being conservative – almost a bit too conservative, BUT, I’ve never actually run a race conservative, so there’s always a first.  I was tempted, and even gave in on occasion, to pick up the pace though, because you gotta have a little fun!


Every ultra I do, I do want to make sure I take the time to enjoy what I see and experience so I always carry a camera. Today was no exception. Along the way, there was a view of the lake and I stopped to take a shot or two. A runner (Oscar!) came up behind me and told me to hand over my camera. It caught me off guard, but I did what I was told. He took my camera, went past me, and then turned around to take a couple of photos of me. “Smiles before miles” was what he said. So very true, and a great reminder.
Smiles before Miles!
I knew the first aid station I would see my crew was at 11.6 miles (Warm Springs) so it would be quite a while. There was a small water-only aid station before that and it came and went – a little earlier than expected – but this is trail and distances are generally approximate. Next thing I know, I’m rolling into the aid station where my crew was, with jacket and arm warmers in hand. No sun, but high humidity had me stripping down layers after the 2nd mile. I looked at my watch. 9 miles.  Something’s not right. But, not something I can do anything about, so I grabbed what I needed and continued on.


The course continued to undulate, with varying grades. Reviewing the elevation profile before the race, I knew there were a couple of bigger hills I’d have to deal with at the midpoint, but it didn’t worry me too much because that just meant bigger downhills – my favourite. What I FAILED to see in the elevation map was the lack of flat sections to recover from all the climbing or descending. I hit the aid station at Madrone Point (18.8 miles on the course, not according to my watch though) and my crew was nowhere to be found. I remember Tav mentioning about missing the aid station somewhere but I was sure he was supposed to be here. So I had a drink and a 1/4 peanut butter & jelly sandwich and waited. And waited. And then I decided to just go. The climb out of that aid station seemed long. I asked some people at the aid station if crews were coming from where I was going to be going and they said yes, so I was hopeful. I climbed up the steep hill and at the top of that hill were the familiar faces of Tav and Sean (Elaine’s husband). I was relieved. Tav checked my fuel and fluids, said Elaine looked good, and then sent me on my way. But I was getting tired, and my legs hurt and I knew what was coming. This was a big downhill, then a big uphill to the midpoint aid station, and then turn around to redo what I just did, backwards.


My mind was all over the place. I tried to stay as focused as possible, but my legs and back were hurting a lot more than I was expecting. When I finally got to the halfway aid station (appropriately named No Name), I was so relieved. At halfway, here was a rundown on me:
  • My watch read 19 miles.  I don’t know what was happening with it.  I don’t use my watch necessarily to tell me to go faster or slower, but I do want to know how far I am.  My watch turned into an annoying stop watch at this point.  The distance between aid stations became a guesstimate on what my watch would ACTUALLY read when I got there.
  • My legs.  Oh, my legs.  My quads were hurting from the downhill.  My hammies were hurting from the climbing, which aggravated my back and sciatic.


At this point, I knew I was going to have to fight hard to finish. It wouldn’t be a strong finish, and I anticipated a big fade, but I knew I would finish. And it would hurt. A lot.


Leaving the halfway aid station, it would be a big downhill and then a big climb. The downhill turned into awesome, to ok, to tolerable, to sharp shooting pains in my quads. The uphill teetered between a slow jog, to a strong hike, to a stroll mixed in with aching hammies and stabbing pains in my lower back.
I finally made it to the top of that hill where I saw the guys earlier, about 1/2 km before the next aid station (Madrone Point). I was hoping for a bit of comfort, but I was rushed forward. All day, they kept saying that I was right on pace with the fastest time on my chart so I knew they just wanted me to maintain momentum. What they didn’t know was that my legs were done. But that’s what your crew is for – to keep you moving forward. So there I go, flying down the hill to the aid station, and exhausted from pain when I arrived. Another PB&J sandwich, and I continued onwards. It would be 7 miles before I saw my crew and it would feel like forever. Each step chipped away at what was left in my legs, assuming I still had something in them. But each step forward proved there was more. It would just take more of me mentally.
Finally, the last crew aid station. Warm Springs. 38 miles. Watch: 29 miles. I had 12 miles. Somehow, at this point in the race, I was STILL on pace with almost the fastest time on the pace chart I gave my crew. I have no idea how that happened, but I prepared them for a BIG fade. I told them that I was done and then overdone. I was in a lot of pain. And there would be no hope in hell of me doing the next 12 miles in 2.5 hours. Probably not even 3 hours. But, they are my crew and they are here to not let those doubts seep in too deep. So we parted ways and the next time I would see them would be when I was allowed to stop.


The next 12 miles were not pretty. I could still run the downhills, passing many people, but the uphills were literally just a slow stroll. I had no strength in my step, and I was getting a strange pain in my right foot. I resolved to the reality that this would be the rhythm for the next 3ish hours, with a sitting break at one brief sadistically placed aid station (Island View Camp – 45.5 miles), a 400m out and back section, to stretch my back and legs. I’m going to take a moment to describe this aid station. The 400m was downhill. You can’t access it by car so the crew takes a boat in with the supplies. Think about that. That means, we are at the lowest point possible. The lowest. But I digress, because I have a race to finish.


Finish Line
The moment I heard the sound of cheering in the distance, I was filled with happiness and relief. But I still had to move forward. So, forward I moved. One step at a time, until the trail finally ended and it was a straightaway to the finish line. I stepped across the line, high fived the race director, and took a huge sigh of relief into the arms of Tav. It was over. Finally.


Watch, I hate you.
Legs, you hate me.
Body, you hate me.
Stomach, you’re hungry but we did it.
11:17:59.  30mins on flat according to my data.


Death by paper cuts.  Spot on.


Note: 30 minutes after I was done (a pattern throughout the day), Elaine and I shared our finish line hug.  I couldn’t have been thrilled and proud of her!!

The long lonely road

Four ultramarathons and close to 2000 miles of training – after all that, some assume that each one gets easier than the next and training somehow gets easier.  That’s a myth.  To get to the start (and eventually the finish), you still need to put in those miles.  And each training block leading up to a race is still a test. Athletes constantly test themselves and see if they can train more efficiently and perhaps improve on the areas that they feel are the weakest. And sometimes, the thing that needs improving most is your mind.

I’ll be the first to tell you that my mind has not always been in “the game”.  I’ve struggled to get through weeks of running – yes, I said weeks. Getting mentally prepared to walk out the door and go for that long run, especially in the winter when the weather is not necessarily ideal, is not an easy thing. And even during runs, for whatever reason you’re struggling, it can be the most challenging thing to convince yourself to push through it. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. In that regard, we are no different.

After running many races, I feel the only thing I’ve mastered at this point is my mindset going into the race and getting myself to the finish line. With 4 ultramarathons completed, I’ve definitely not mastered the training. Or, rather, I’ve not mastered the mindset of training.

I still get excited about the prospect of ultramarathons, whether it be the challenge of conquering new distances or exploring new places. When I signed up for Way Too Cool 50k, although I wasn’t sure whether I was quite ready to want to train again, I was excited about the possibility of running a race that had a great reputation for being very well organized and had a beautiful and fast course – elements which made it very popular and attracted some darn, speedy people. All reasons why registration was a lottery.

I had a few other friends who were interested in running this race, but the main reason why I was motivated to run was because one friend wanted a training partner. This was paramount. For my last race – my first 50 miler – I had friends who would jump in and run with me for parts of my long runs, but there was no one person who I was sharing the whole experience with and someone who kept me accountable and motivated. So, to have that agreement going in was a game changer.

Sadly, a couple of months before the race, she had to cancel. She was devastated, and my heart sank. My training suffered; without needing to go back to my training log, I know it was evident, with some training runs cut short or even missed. More importantly, my head was no longer in the game.

The only thing that kept my spirits high was the trip as a whole. Way Too Cool is located in northern California and we (Hozumi, who was racing, and Greg, who was supporting/spectating)  had planned to spend an extra couple of days in San Francisco. Now, some may say that SAD (Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder) is a farce, but it’s not. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, we are all affected by the weather. Look at how the mood of Vancouver changes when the weather changes – from Raincouver to Suncouver. You’ll all of a sudden see people smiling with heads held high even when the temperature is nipping at our noses and fingertips, which is a far cry from the glazed reflection of defeat in our averting eyes when the clouds roll through and rain envelops the city.


The Way Too Cool 50k was located about 2 hours north of San Francisco in a great little town called Cool, CA. With a high of 16-18 degrees Celcius, I couldn’t complain. I was happier, more energetic, and slept better.

The morning of the race, the sun was shining and, as with most events, everyone was in good spirits.


Even finding tears in both of my shoes en route didn’t dampen my mood.  We arrived at the race about 45 minutes early, unbeknownst to us that the line up to park would have us rushing to the start line with only 15 minutes to race start. To add insult to injury, I needed to to park myself at the back of a long bathroom lineup. Stress levels were not good. With 5 minutes to go, Hozumi came by and wished me luck as he took his position at the start. I, however, was still patiently but not so patiently waiting in the line to the loo. Finally! In and out as quick as I could, I rushed out of the port-a-potty and ran to the start with less than 30 seconds to start. In fact, they were mere seconds from doing the 10-second countdown. At this point, I was positioned right near the back. Now, I’m not expecting to win the race – far from it – but I knew I wasn’t in the right spot. And then the gun goes off! So, what do I do? Run a little hard to fight for a spot further up along the chain.  The course was quite runnable, especially in the first 8 miles.  It was a large expansive meadow with single track trails and a few creek crossings.  Some took the extra minute to cross the creeks, while others splashed through them to get a bit ahead.

(c) 2013 Meeth Photography

With seemingly less training in my legs, I projected a time close to 6 hours – hopefully under.  My pace for the first 8 miles, which loops back to the Start/Finish area had me finishing just over 5 hours.  Big mistake.  And boy, did I feel it.  After the initial 8 miles, there was a good downhill section, which most people know I love.  So, throwing caution to the wind, I barreled down earning myself a handful more spots.  Note the photo of me sideways on the trail – this would be due to a lack of control running downhill.  SO FUN.

My legs were starting to fatigue and the hamstring which had been giving me problems for almost 2 years started acting up and I hadn’t hit halfway yet.  By the time I was halfway in, I checked my watch and I was at 2:29 – uh oh.  And this was when the wheels starting falling off.  This was also when most of the downhill was over and it was time to start climbing back up to the Finish, including a ridiculous hill called Goat Hill, meaning it’s a hill that’s meant for 4 legged animals naturally inclined for climbing ridiculous hills.  FYI, I am NOT a goat nor am I feeling like a goat at just over a marathon distance in.

Up until this point, there was really no chatter on the trails, which added another element of difficulty to this race.  There is a lot of self talk that happens on runs, but the tone of that self talk declines rapidly the longer the run.  The best cure for that is to distract yourself by some great chatter with others who are also suffering.   Sadly, I didn’t get to enjoy this aspect and was stuck in my head, until I heard a voice that broke through it all at about 28 miles in.  My first reaction was one of relief and rejuvenation because I was feeling very much beyond my abilities.  But then the voice got clearer and clearer.  And it wasn’t good.  Unfortunately, this woman who was also in the race who was just behind me was told by someone on the course that the next aid station was 300 yards away.  When I first heard it and looked down at my watch, I knew it was off.  And by quite a bit.  I quickly told her that I think it was more like a mile .. at least.  This didn’t go over well.  We passed another person on the course, either a volunteer or spectator, and she confirmed this.  I all of a sudden heard a broken record of negativity behind me of how she had been wronged.  Don’t get me wrong – it was wrong and I can empathize with how she was feeling, but I also couldn’t be around it.  I had to get away or she’d weigh me down mentally.

I knew the next aid station would be coming up soon, and from there, the finish was very close.  When I first looked at the course map, I questioned having an aid station less than 2 miles from the finish.  At this point, it was a Godsend.  I got to the aid station first, saw her come in and heard her start her rant.  She started the final 1.4 mile uphill trek to the finish just a bit before me, but I passed her within the first 5 minutes.  There really was no running to be had on this section, as it was very rocky ascent so it was more hiking and scrambling.

All smiles to the finish line!
All smiles to the finish line!

A very enthusiastic volunteer just a bit ahead was announcing that we were a mile to go and I was ecstatic.  Energy is contagious and this volunteer was giving it away like it was nobody’s business.  Thank you – I’ll take what you got!  But then, the woman behind me started her rant and I had to get away as quick as I could.  And at this point, there was really no speed until I got to the top of the rocky ascent and was back on a single track packed dirt slightly uphill trail that led to the finish line.  Now, THAT was a glorious sight.  I had left every single ounce of my being out there and my hamstrings felt as though they were going to snap.

I hate to end to race report with a negative tone and everyone has good and bad days, and clearly, this woman was having a bad day.  So, I’ll end off thanking her for giving me that extra little push to get me to the finish line with all smiles.

IMG_2168Hozumi, of course, did amazing.  He finished 13th overall with a time of 3:56, which only shows how strong of a field he was up against.   After I managed to hobble my way around the finish area, we got to have a quick sit on some hay bales before heading back to the hotel for a quick turnaround to our trip to San Francisco!

The shoes, in case you were wondering, never came back from California.  🙂