2011 01 30 avalon benefit 50 mile get happy

Susan Donnelly Ultramarathon Trail Runner. Motivational Speaker. http://www.susanruns100s.com

Avalon Benefit 50 Mile - Get Happy Date : January 30, 2011

So happy to be here, doing this.

January 15, 2011 I didn’t feel like I should be going. I’d just been to Arizona and Florida and this seemed, well…more sinfully extravagant than I deserved. Kind of like playing hooky. I mean, California?

For the weekend???

I got the plane ticket but still couldn’t picture myself there – something was going to happen to keep me from going, I knew it. Sure enough, another event almost cancelled it for me. Then, the morning of the flight, I had to get up at cold, dark 3:30 a.m. to catch the plane, something I would normally only do for a race start, and the iced-up door of my car almost refused to open.

The plane then sat on the tarmac while they de-iced it. I couldn’t even think about California. It

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would be a miracle if I got there.

So it honestly wasn’t until I was watching the water fly by on the ferry ride from Long Beach to Catalina Island that the idea finally seemed possible and okay. Southern California was so incredibly warm and so bright compared to the cold and dark at home, it felt like being in another country. Or another planet. Of course, sitting there in t-shirt, lightweight pants and sandals surrounded by palm trees and sunshine helped immensely. As the shore shrank in the distance, my cares and worries lost their grip, like they didn’t think I’d make it this far and hadn’t bought a ticket to the island. Too bad. All that mattered now was that the sun was shining and it felt good.

Unwinding on the ferry, it was Rob who caught the irony that this was the second time in two weeks we had to catch a ferry to a race around an island. We hadn’t planned it that way. I wondered idly what that meant. Accidentally good planning?

As we approached the island, Avalon came into view, nestled among steep hills in a little cove on the south end of the island. Running anywhere would require a climb. The warmth and the sun and change of scenery were gifts enough, but the views from the ridges above would be spectacular. I love being up high and tried to imagine it here.

We didn’t know many people at this race but the ones we did were special people we didn’t often get to see. We ran into Beth Simpson-Hall, Larry Hall, his daughter Katie and her boyfriend at the boat dock and found Tom Crull later, at packet pickup. Talking to them and picking up the mood on the street, it was clear that no one else’s worries had a ticket to the island either.

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Rob, me, Beth, and Larry, all happy to be here.

New Trail!

The next morning was all so easy and relaxed. A loose crowd of runners slowly accumulated in the dark within a few yards of our hotel, on the narrow, palm tree-lined street across from the beach. People checked in and just kind of hung out. Interestingly, their faces held none of the desperate looks you usually see race morning. It was more of a calm anticipation of the day’s outing. Beth introduced us to friends Kim Gimenez and Beth Epstein, so we now knew two more people in the race. Then, small crowd coalesced like a school of fish and started running towards the hills.

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Rob, Larry and Beth at the start.

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Here for the start, not the menu.

We wove through quaint city streets past cute bungalows, and a golf course, then met up with Beth E as we started gaining elevation past a botanical garden I would have loved to stay and tour. We didn’t need headlamps until well out of town on the switchbacks on the dirt road up the mountain. Thank goodness, because my new headlamp must have been turned on during travel or had old batteries in it, and was virtually useless. There was plenty of light from the other runners but I wanted to see all the plants and new stuff on the side of the trail – now!

Sigh. That would just have to wait for daylight. And really, if I had to re-learn the basic lesson to check batteries before a race, this was a forgiving, low-consequence way to do it.

Once up on the ridge, I glanced around in the dark. The height gave us a spectacular view of Avalon lights, now clustered tightly below, and the first, fiery glow of sunrise behind the mountains across the water, between Los Angeles and San Diego. The red glow looked like embers in a fireplace and was going to be beautiful coming up. It was tempting to sit and watch the rest of that routine yet miraculous show unfold, but we were here for a race and since the course ahead travelled the spine of the ridge, we would still be able to see it.

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This is gonna be good.

If you can imagine, the course is kind of a dumbbell with a out-and-back sticking out of the top.

We started on the bottom loop of the dumbbell, and the out and back was at top, at the far end of the island.

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Our course.

The only true worry intruding into the excitement of it all was the hamstring I pulled at the GUTS Fat Ass the weekend before. It was angrier now than then (probably from over-stretching) and causing my right leg to flop in toward my left. It was also only providing a fraction of the power per stride that it should. Despite playing around with all the form variables I could think of to find a comfortable stride (foot toed in toed out, longer stride, shorter stride, etc., etc.), I couldn’t.

Fifty miles, no matter how beautiful and sunny, was a long way to drag an uncooperative leg.

That left the option of almost-last-resort – meds (DNF being the last, unthinkable option).

Thankfully, Beth E was willing to part with an Advil at the first aid station (Haypress, 5.4 miles).

That simple favor made my race tolerable, if not possible. Once the pain eased, I would just have to force my stride to move as normally as possible to keep everything else working correctly to avoid additional injuries.

According to a sign a short distance later, we entered the Catalina Island Conservancy, and right as Rob said he wanted to see a buffalo, voilĂ , three thoughtfully appeared on the hills to our left. They grazed placidly in the pre-dawn, much less excited about seeing us, than we them.

The runner behind us commented on the buffalo and as luck would have it, we found ourselves running with a most excellent tour guide, longtime ultrarunner Kent Holder. He and Hal Winton were both going for their amazing 29th finish today and had only missed one year of this race.

Hanging in the back of the pack with us because of a recent cold, he told us what we were seeing, explained interesting points to look for ahead, shared stories of years gone by, and generally brightened the morning. He and Rob chatted about races and runners they knew

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from long before my time while I jogged ahead within earshot here and there for photos,. He told us more about the course than I could hope to retain but the bleak-sounding Middle Ranch Road squared with Tom Crull’s description and the ominous climb from Pump House Aid Station to the road we were currently on sounded worth remembering too. Knowing what we were seeing and what to look for ahead was like going from color to technicolor.

Rob and Kent in the pre-dawn. Better catch up!

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Wow, the everyday miracle.

And there was so much to take in! The sunrise, snow capped San Gabriel, San Bernardino, and San Jacinto mountains across the water, odd little succulent plants (later learned these live on Catalina only), twisty trees scattered around the grass-covered hills, deep valleys and side roads to our inland side, campgrounds and little harbors far below on our water side – always something new around the next bend. A faint breeze filled the air with a sage-y, western, herbal scent. And other than numerous ravens (which I love to watch and listen to anyway) and occasional frogs, and it was blissfully, heavenly silent.

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It's good to be alive.

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In the company of ravens.

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So much to take in.

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Sunlight warms the hills.

Our first real outpost of humanity was the Empire Aid Station (11.9 miles) located next to the Airport in the Sky, where we parted company with Kent. Ironically, something called the TransCatalina Trail crossed the road here. A trail? Really? I looked down the path snaking away into a beckoning grove of those twisty trees, then back at the open, hard-packed dirt road ahead of us. Hmm‌

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The road ahead.

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Rob and the IT gang.

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Couldn't pass this up.

Tempting as it was, we were here for the race and since everything was new to us, dirt road we’d never run was just fine. While I was taking some photos, Rob bonded up with a group of three happy guys, friends that all had IT band problems (was it contagious?). The company was nice and we really couldn’t wait to see what was a round the next corner Sure enough, around the next bend appeared Escondido Ranch. My eastern idea of a ranch involved cows but there wasn’t a herd of anything here other than grapes. Good from my vegetarian perspective and much easier on the environment than cows anyway. Overall, the ranch was beautiful, peaceful and a darn nice place to live.

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Escondido Ranch - the 20-year finisher in pink behind Rob.

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Part of the herd.

We found ourselves running here with a woman going for her 20th finish. I envy these high numbers because I love ultrarunning so much and have always wished I’d found it earlier, when they did. But at the same time, it’s fascinating talking with people who’ve been at it quietly for so many years, just for the love of doing it. Especially women. They paved the way for me by growing the sport to the point that I found it and by forging the way for women to run this stuff, and I’m grateful.

Next up was the scenic downhill to Little Harbor Aid Station (18.9 miles) nestled in an unusual grove of palm trees. It was running the race on one hand bottle and with temps predicted in the 80s, about 50 degrees warmer than I’m used to, it was now hot enough to start drinking an extra bottle at every station. From snippets I overheard, the day was warm even by California standards. Not something to take lightly.

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Rob getting braced to take the curve tight.

This aid station was the top of the dumbbell, and we were about to start on the out-and-back that stuck out the top. As a matter of fact, the leader was already standing at the table talking to some of the volunteers. This was definitely a laid-back race. Our one drop bag was here, which we would see again on the way back, so I dropped off my headlamp and jacket, hoping I wouldn’t need to pick them up on the return.

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Only in California - drop bags are arranged by color in a rainbow.

From here, the road climbed slowly up a long, breezeless canyon. The hamstring was grateful for the chance to walk, and even we got to watch a herd of 30-40 buffalo hanging out on an adjacent hill. The trickle of runner on their way back started to flow and we debated when would see Larry, Beth, Tom, Kim and Beth E. Larry soon appeared near the front, as usual, and we stopped to talk him. More climbing past more runners and we finally topped out of the climb to see an equally long downhill to idyllic-looking Two Harbors. As Kent promised, it was a Chamber of Commerce view.

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A "real" herd.

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Speedster Larry takes time out to talk. Good to see him!

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The Chamber of Commerce view with our road on the left.

Downhills were the easiest on my hamstring so I took the opportunity to get some pictures of the fantastic view while it wasn’t too hard to catch up with Rob. While I was taking photos and catching back up to him, Rob caught back up with the IT Gang.

The downhill normally would have been super easy but running faster to catch Rob required extra concentration to keep the leg working remotely close to right. In a welcome distraction about halfway down, we caught up with Hwa-Ja Andrade. Runner after runner coming back the other direction greeted her with a smile and encouragement, so it was clear we were in the presence of a celebrity.

We stuck near her to the bottom of the hill where one of those weird, magical confluences occurred. Hwa-Ja woman complimented my running (ironically, I’d complimented her muscular legs last year at Miwok). That was all the award I needed on a good day. My form must at least look normal. Seconds later, we got to see and talk to Beth Simpson-Hall, always a bright moment. And a few moments after that, I ran into Shannon Farar-Griefer, who owns Moeben, the brand of skirt I was wearing, and she complimented my legs. I almost laughed, as it was like hearing my Grandmother affectionately call me by her nickname for me, “you long-legged

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thing.� I hadn’t thought of that in years. All combined, that five minutes made my head spin but gave enough pick-me-up to make any amount of painful leg-dragging tolerable.

Meeting beautiful Beth on the course.

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Shannon in front of the Two Harbors Aid Station.

The out-and-back continued a short stretch from Two Harbors along the water’s edge of the The Isthmus to the turnaround (26.7 miles) three coves past town. That’s where we saw Tom Crull on his way back with friend, and stopped to talk. In a short few moments, he pointed out the kelp beds below us, Mt. Baldy across the water, why they call it Two Harbors (two harbors on opposite sides of this narrow strip of land), and several other points of interest on the course ahead. This race clearly has more long-term customers and tour guides, all very enthusiastic, than the usual ultra.

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Ravens sabotaging the race markings and swallowing the evidence. Who knew?

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Can do!

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Rob, me and Tom, on Tom's way back.

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Passing Kent Holder on the out and back. What great trail company!

Once back at Two Harbors, we filled our bottles and made the long climb and descent back to the Little Harbor Aid Station (33.2 miles) for a last shot at our drop bags. The Advil was long gone so I picked up a Motrin and was careful to continue drinking an extra bottle.

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Back down the looooong hill to Little Harbor.

Not far out of the aid station, we turned back onto dumbbell part of the course, but now along the opposite side of the island. As we stopped to watch a buffalo near the road, the woman Tom had been running with earlier passed us and told us he’d dropped at Two Harbors shortly after the picture I took above. Bad news. Thankfully, he was ok, just too hot today.

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The deepest canyon we've seen so far on the course. The trail descends down to the bottom.

We passed sea cliffs and a private little beach, then rounded a corner toward a fairly deep canyon. Hm. This must be the one with the springs and pump house. The mileage was about right and a continuously running spring would cut a deeper canyon than a wet-weather creek.

Down in the narrow canyon, it was shady and cool, with a confidently running stream lined by cottonwood trees. It was so different than the open grassland we’d been through thus far. And directly ahead ran someone that had to be Hal Winton, the other runner here for his 29th finish.

We got to talking and unbelievably, Hal’s family came from a town right outside mine in Tennessee. They’d even left their name on nearby Winton Chapel, and even more unbelievably, I’d worked with the organist there a few years back and he had given me a CD of him playing the organ at that very chapel. All I could do is shake my head and marvel at what a small world it is.

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Hal Winton en route to #29.

Next up, the Eagle’s Nest Aid Station (38.8 miles) was playing bluegrass, Flatt and Scruggs even, another curious coincidence since this is typical at home but not exactly typical here in southern California. When I commented on the choice of music, the guy filling my bottle said he was from Kentucky. What next, I wondered. What next indeed? As we were leaving, the radio introduced the next song, about the Cumberland River in Tennessee. The small world shrank even smaller.

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Eagle's Nest, full-serve.

We were followed out of the aid station onto the dreaded Middle Ranch Road by a party of three amusing guys. I expected to outrun them but as we all ran-walked the road, which wasn’t nearly as bleak as either Kent or Tom had described, Rob began to fade. A cold he’d had that week was taking its toll and I kept the conversation up (“if you could have 5 days of this weather, when would use them, all at once or spaced out?”) but it helped having the comical entertainment to fill in behind us.

We saw plenty of interest while the band of three guys laughed and joked along behind us.

Some Arabian horses Tom told me about were grazing in a nearby pasture, a kestrel flew low overhead, we passed a native plant nursery, saw trees protected (from deer?) in cages, and started seeing new type of conifer tree along the pleasantly refreshing creek. There were also clear signs of road damage from the epic rainstorm that hit the area around Christmas. Middle Ranch Road definitely wasn’t bleak or boring.

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They aren't out in winter here...are they?

We finally reached Pump House Aid Station (44.0) that signalled the start of the also-dreaded Pump House Hill that would connect us to the middle of the dumbbell, and on the climb out got to talking to the band of three. It was refreshing to run with some other people who were just happy to be out on a beautiful day enjoying a run together. When we reached the top of the hill and could see across to the mainland again, they said we were extremely lucky because you usually couldn’t see that well across the bay to the eye-catching snow-covered peaks.

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The entertainment on our climb up Pump House Hill. Joel Pepper(?) giving the thumbs/arms-up.

They’d run the race before but weren’t from the usual ultra community. At least two were firemen from across the bay. One was named Joe Bark, and had won the Catalina Classic paddleboard race from Long Beach to Avalon twice, and makes world-famous paddleboards.

Not knowing much about paddleboards, I checked out the website after the race pretty impressive. Even a friend getting into paddleboards on the North Carolina shore knows the name.

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Rob and the Joe Bark Gang, heading toward the finish.

We eventually left them shortly before the last aid station – Haypress again (46.0 miles). We knew the finish was different from here in (the last part of the bottom of the dumbbell) but couldn’t picture where we would turn off or how it would take us into Avalon. The long downhill into town was the first thing Larry and Tom had both warned me about, so we were curious. We both threw out ideas and debated on the possibilities.

Though we never saw where our road diverged from the road we came in on, the road to the finish was obvious once we were on it. It turned a corner to reveal a vertigo-inducing view of the shoreline and Avalon far, far below. The road ahead snaked what looked like miles ahead down the iffy side of the hill. It looked like it could fall off the hillside any moment and the road surface itself had been patched so many times it was now just an asphalt quilt. To make it a little more difficult, we shared the narrow road with cars and yes, even buses. Thank goodness for the trees acting as guard rails that at least gave the sense of safety to it all.

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Yes, they DO need a mirror on these turns.

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Thank goodness Rob's so thin.

As we descended down the hill, one of the Bark threesome passed us (Philip Ambrose) on his way to a sub-12 finish. Neither Rob or I had a concept of how far we had to go, didn’t feel like pounding in on the pavement and missing the last sights of the race, and honestly didn’t care about the time, so we took it scenic pace. We watched people on a zip line and checked out the houses coming into view. Then, suddenly, we rounded a shoulder of the hill and found ourselves behind the impressive Avalon Casino and Theatre with the outskirts of town right in front of us.

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Coming into town. Wow.

We crossed the line in 12:03, three minutes after our almost non-existent goal but clearly, nobody really cared about the times, including us. In fact, my immediate feeling crossing the line was a big picture of the sunny, relaxing day packed with beautiful sights and smiling people, like one big bubble of happy. No stress, no rush, so much new and beautiful, and so much sun and warmth. Ahh. Beth and Kim and Beth there to greet us. Hwa-Ja came out of nowhere to cross the line immediately after us and Joe Bark and his remaining companion Joel Pepper finished right behind her. Everyone smiling. It’s great to spend a day with so many happy-to-be-alive people.

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Hwa-Ja finishing right behind us. Awesome run for a mere 70-year old.

We showered and joined Larry, Beth, Katie, her boyfriend, Beth, Kim and a restaurant full of happy, relaxed finishers for a superb dinner and the finisher’s awards. By my tally, I only ate 3 GUs, one cookie, 5 mini pretzels, 4 peanut butter-stuffed pretzels, a few bottles of Gatorade, so I earned a nice dinner. As they made the announcements, we learned that Kent had finished, though we didn’t see him, and Hal Winton crossed the line during the awards ceremony to great applause.

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Tom and Rob at the awards dinner.

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Not a better looking couple on the entire island - Larry and Beth (yes, they ran 50 miles today).

Wherever the feeling came from that I didn’t deserve something this fun and refreshing after so many other great trips, was bogus (as these feelings always are). The world didn’t come to an end. Not even close. In fact, I got back home and back to work after spending the Monday holiday at home feeling remarkably relaxed, like I’d been gone two weeks instead of a couple of days. When friends at work asked if I’d gone anywhere over the weekend, it was a little strange to answer “California,” but I grinned and felt the sunshine every time.

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Relaxed and waiting on the ferry home the next morning. Whatever brings this much happy, play, and joy together can't be bad.

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