Sure, sure, I was pretty nervous a few days leading up to the race. Although, I couldn't say why - I had decently trained for it, I knew it was going to hurt, I had some time goals but in the end I just wanted to finish my first 100. Maybe I was worried it would take me forever and I didn't want to be out on the trails for 35 hours? I don't know.

When I arrived for pre-race check-in, I saw a slew of badass women milling about waiting for the race to start. Holy shit, there's Nikki Kimball and Keira Henninger. And I don't know who those other women are, but they look hard as nails, look at their legs! I suddenly felt like I had gotten into some deep shit way over my head. If these were the women it took to run this race, then I'm in for a lot of hurt.

(The laughably bad picture above was taken by a stranger who seemed strangely pleased by her efforts when she handed the phone back to Andrejs.)

My crew kept me occupied with conversation full of bad jokes and calming platitudes. Before I knew it, I was following the herd and making my way to the start line.

With a small ( < 1 mile) road start, everyone starts out pretty fast to avoid getting stuck behind the slower runners on the technical single tracks. (The first ~47 miles are mainly run on technical single tracks.) I'm pretty decent at the techy stuff, so I did my best to keep up on the road to stay ahead without going at an absolute sprint. For the first 2-3 miles, I would switch positions with other runners until I fell into a comfortable groove behind another woman. 

Around mile 11, as we neared the turnaround for the first leg, we got to cheer the leaders making their way back up. Nikki was killing it, running a close 3rd overall and looking strong. I saw the other women leaders on their way up, looking battered (they looked to have suffered some nasty spills) but determined.

I saw my crew at the turnaround (mile 12) at Hot Springs Canyon and quickly offloaded a few items for them (arm warmers, headlamp, etc.). 

I didn't stay too long. I didn't feel the need to fill my pack with more water (it was probably about 2/3 full anyway, it was cool weather, and I was pretty hydrated before the race), so after answering a few quick questions about how I was doing, I just turned around and headed back up the trail. 

As I made my way back up the trail, I kept seeing Keira (local SoCal badass, prior Chimera winner, etc.) getting closer and closer. I thought to myself, "well, that's weird ..." Eventually I caught her and learned she wasn't feeling well (dizzy, nauseous). It felt strange to pass her, but I waved goodbye and told her I'd see her again when she recovers. She was such a sweetheart and told me "You never know!" and encouraged me to keep running strong.

And then, about a few minutes after leaving her, I took the wrong trail and had to backtrack, adding about a quarter mile to my race. <face palm>

Aaaaaaanyway. The next 10 or so miles back went by rather quickly. There were a ton of people (especially mountain bikers) on the trail. And while I would later learn that a lot of the ultrarunners were annoyed, I didn't mind crossing paths with the mountain bikers. I took those instances as opportunities for walking breaks, and I was just happy to have other people on the trail to say hi to.

Around mile 23, near the next aid station/crew stop (Bluejay Campground) is where Katrin, the eventual first place woman, passed me.  

I took my first real crew pit stop at Bluejay Campground (around mile 25). I gave them some symptoms (quad cramping, belly full of water, not sure what's going on) and they stuffed me full of food, caffeine, magnesium, and even more water. "You'll be fine," they said. "It'll pass. Don't worry." 

Then I headed out for the second (different) loop of the race. I felt really comfortable on the techy descent down to Candy Store, so I ignored the potential cramping in my quads and just pretended I was flying. No worries or care about the outcome of the race!

So much so that I found myself running on a trail and realized that I hadn't seen a trail marker for about half an hour. Trying to stay calm, I decided to slowly backtrack until I saw a trail marker. 10-15 minutes later, I came across another ultrarunner who seemed confused as to why I was confused and lost ("No, turn back around, this is the trail, you're fine."). 

The stress of getting "lost" (for the second time) was starting to get to me. I let myself be annoyed for a few minutes, but I knew I needed to buck up mentally to salvage my race.

Throughout the race, I would realize how progressively uplifting it would be just to see my crew. 

At Candy Store (about mile 35), I found Joel and Andrejs practically jumping up and down. "You're in third place right now! This is so EXCIIIIITING."

As they refilled my pack and fed me, they gave me the conditions of the other women - Nikki dropped out (she had gotten lost, 3+ miles), Keira dropped out, and most of the other girls looked like they were hurting bad (Sada had really beat up her legs with a couple bad spills). 

"Just make it back to Bluejay (mile 47). There, you can put on your Hokas, and you'll have your trekking poles and iPod. You'll be a brand new person. It'll be mint."

Starting the climb back up to Bluejay.

There's not much to say here. I passed a few more people. I saw I was averaging about the same pace I averaged my first "50 miler" (TNF San Francisco 2012), so that kept my spirits up. I was doing fine mentally, I was just getting tired of running alone. I made it back to Bluejay (mile 47) in about 9.5 hours.

My crew loaded me up with all the necessary gear to get me through the night. Under Bree's militant orders, I stuffed my stomach full of hamburger, avocado and rice, sausage, potato chips, and nut butter; I washed everything down with water and coke.

With a few more encouraging words and hugs, I set off for a lonely run in the dark.

Except that my crew surprised me about a mile later. They wanted to make sure they took care of everything before leaving me out on my own for 36 miles. First and foremost they wanted to make sure I hadn't vomited up the smorgasbord of food they forced me to eat. 

They took care of a nagging blister, gave me an extra emergency headlamp, and sent me on my way (again).

I spent most of the next 36 miles trying to keep up with a few people ahead of me, not to race them, but to avoid getting lost again. Another girl passed me, and I didn't have the energy to hold on. I figured I was sitting pretty comfortably in 4th place, and if I felt okay after all the big climbs, I'd try to put a bit more effort then. My legs were getting more tired, so I employed a run-50-steps-walk-10-steps-repeat tactic that I mainly do just to keep my mind occupied with all the counting. I could still glide on the descents (as opposed to stumbling/stomping), so I was feeling pretty good until about mile 57. 

At that point, I was about midway up the long climb to Bear Springs. I was feeling pretty tired at that point and I could sense that I was losing it mentally. My high-pie-in-the-sky goal was a sub 24 hour race (and then anything close to that), but during this section, I knew I had to reevaluate. I stopped thinking about the race as a whole and just aimed to make it to the next aid station. The temperature was dropping and the winds had picked up to the point that when I closed my eyes, I could easily imagine myself fighting the weather in the notorious White Mountains (NH). 

At each aid station Bear Springs (mile 58), Maple Springs (mile 65), Modjeska Peak (somewhere between there, last minute addition, not shown in profile), Bear Springs again (mile 72), I made it a point to talk as much as I could to the (overwhelmingly amazing) volunteers, if only to keep myself mentally alert. I allowed myself a few minutes at each station to sit down by the heating lamp and warm myself with a cup of soup. When I first got to Bear Springs, I learned that I was "the Asian with the fluorescent shirt." I chuckled to think that someone (assumingly in the front pack) was describing me that way.

The aid stations were quickly looking like low rent versions of medical tents in battle zones. Ultrarunners wrapped in blankets, in chairs or cots, staring off into space as they tried to recover enough to keep going. I was so tempted to take a cot, wrap myself in the heavy blankets and conk out for a few minutes, but I knew that if I let myself get comfortable, I'd never be able to get back up. 

Because there was a lot of out-and-backing, I was able to see the leaders on their way back. I saw Katrin had passed Sada, and was progressively putting a lot of distance between her. I would keep waiting for the other woman to pass me, but I never saw her again. I didn't think too much of it, as I wasn't sure how much I could trust my own consciousness and comprehension of the situation. I couldn't know for sure if anyone dropped out or if I just passed them at one of the aid stations. I wasn't too concerned about my placing at this point.

After the last Bear Springs aid station is a long massive descent down to Corona (mile 82). It was mentally tough going down it because all I could think about was the fact that I had to climb back up it to get to the finish line. Without a pacer to push me, I found myself "taking it easy", even walking some of the downhills. Again, I saw Katrin on her way back while I still had a couple miles left to the turnaround. Just a few minutes from Corona, I passed by Sada and her pacer just starting their way up.   

At Corona, I learned that Joel was planning on pacing me the last 18 miles, which was a HUGE boost to my spirits. Bree ran around getting everything I needed as I sat down to take a break for a few minutes. 

Other than being tired, they were shocked to hear me talk and engage in conversation with them. They said that compared to most of the runners ahead of me, I was surprisingly alert and lucid. This immediately kind of freaked me out, like, "well, shit, maybe I'm not trying hard enough?"

With Joel as my pacer, I could turn off my brain and just follow his instructions. He had memorized every single turn by turn direction, studied the map and elevation profile, and could tell me exactly what to expect and how to tackle each section. 

It was around here that my left achilles started to hurt. Like, searing hot knives in the back of my foot kind of hurt. I asked Joel if my achilles could snap and he took a little too long to reply, "uhhhhhh ... nooooooo?"

Side note: We're 99.9% sure it wasn't actually a tendon injury. My left foot is bigger than my right. Most shoes rub against the back of my left foot, creating a very slight pressure point right on my achilles, which, over the course of 20+ hours, would understandably be increasingly painful.

I've rested for a couple weeks, and have run some since then, in modified shoes that Joel took the back plastic heel cup out of. I've been able to run and do plyometrics with no issues.

Under Joel's instructions, I was to run all downhills and flats, fast hike all the uphills, and only if my legs cramped and seized could we stop/slow down. At Indian Truck Trail (mile 87) Joel gave me his extra jacket to keep me warm. I ate as much fruit as my stomach could handle and continued mainlining coke at the aid station. 

Around mile 90, we could see 2 sets of headlamps in the distance. Periodically they would stop and look back at us. I think Joel suspected that was Sada and her pacer, but I didn't think anything about it (it did turn out to be them) - I had lost track of everyone ahead of me and all I wanted was to get to the finish line. It's probably important to note that Sada had never seen me with a pacer, and at that point I was wearing Joel's dark gray running jacket (compared to my bright blue one). 

As the sun rose, we admired the view and laughed and joked about how I had no business being in the front of the field anyway, so fuck it, let's enjoy this.

Finally, finally, we made it to Trabuco Trailhead, which, from there is about a 2-3 mile technical descent to the finish. As we climbed up to the aid station, I noticed a woman in running clothes (no bib) nonchalantly glance at Joel, then at me, and did a double take, as if trying to figure out who I was. One of the volunteers insistently asked me if I needed anything. "No, I'm fine, thanks! I'll just suffer through it, I just want to get to the finish."

As we left, Joel told me, "that's Sada's pacer, by the way ..."

"Hmmmm. Maybe Sada started to feel better and left her pacer at the aid station? She's probably already done."

"I ... doubt that ... but ... maybe." Joel turned around to look back at the aid station. "Oh shit. You're in second place." 

I turned to see Sada and her pacer sprinting after us. 

Joel immediately sprints off, yelling at me, "Jen, if you've ever dug deep in your life, now is the time! Come on!"

I didn't argue. I just followed. As we navigated down the undulating, rocky fire road (Joel would later tell me how worried he was that I would just completely wipe out), I felt like a brand new person - no more aches and pains, all I had to focus on was solving the puzzle of techy terrain ahead of me, one step at a time. For the first time during the race, my lungs burned more than my legs and I was actually enjoying it. 

After running for about a quarter mile, the RD (who had also been at Trabuco Trailhead) had caught up to us in his car. Sure, part of our race instructions were to yield to race support vehicles, but NOPE. For 5-10 minutes I took up the entire breadth of fire road, every so often yelling "sorry," hoping they could hear me. Eventually, the road opened up and he was able to pass without slowing us down. I never looked back. I just imagined Sada breathing down my neck and did the best version of hauling ass that I could. 

Joel was fantastic. He and Andrejs had run this section earlier, so he was able to tell me, "5 minutes to that road section," "2 minutes on this single track." "Keep pushing keep pushing keep pushing."

As I made my way to the finish line, I finally turned my head to look back, catching glimpses of Sada and her pacer behind us on the trail, reminding me not to let up until I crossed it.

Finished:

25:14

2nd overall woman

15th overall

Also, to date, I have the 6th fastest women's time on the course, which is kind of exciting!

I had envisioned collapsing into a chair at the end of the race, but I was so hyped up on adrenaline, I just wandered around, babbling excitedly to anyone who would listen for the next half hour.

I am forever grateful to these guys for sacrificing a whole weekend to help get me to the finish line. I really could not have asked for a better crew! 

+ I'm so excited for a long day (and a few hours) of supported running.

+ I've got all kinds of Excel spreadsheets, aid station checklists, and organized/labeled supplies to make it as easy as possible for my crew.

- I haven't written much about my training or some of the long run/adventures I/we've been on in preparation for this. I'm sorry!

+ I think I may have set the women's unsupported FKT on the Timberline Trail. Not that impressive (10:31:43), but it doesn't seem like many women run and report it on social media. (So if you know of any, let me know before I make a fool of myself on the FKT forums.) I can name at least a hundred women that can bring it down to sub 9 hours if they wanted to. But I'll give it a shot again next year. 

+ My long runs have been 10-20 hours up and around mountains to back-to-back 30/20 mile runs on the (dun dun DUN) treadmill. Long days on my feet and long days losing my mind (for the mental toughness, you see).

- I have no idea if I'm going to have a pacer. I had 2 options and they both managed to injure themselves just a few weeks ago. Also, the race tops out at 150 on the course (including pacers), and there are about 140 people registered. So I don't know how that will work out. So that's exciting. I'm just gonna look at this as the biggest physical challenge of my life.

+/- I've been having some foot pain during my taper, which has caused me to cut back even more on mileage. I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. 

+/- The cutoff is 35 hours, which translates to a 20:59/mile pace. I'm pretty sure I can maintain that pace for 100 miles no matter how much I'm suffering, unless I've broken a bone or something equally catastrophic. But seeing as I've never run more than 49 miles, I have no idea how I will feel at mile 50 and beyond.

+ I found an awesome AirBnB nearby with an endless pool and jacuzzi. So the idea of being able to eat everything sinful in sight while soaking in that jacuzzi on Sunday night will be my driving force for miles 51-100. (And Joel wanted to camp. HAAAH.)

Franconia and Colchuck

"Frankie and Chuck"

FEAST PORTLAND!

I've been fighting a cold and slight fever this past week. As soon as I thought I was getting better, I went out for a 12 mile tempo along Eagle Creek to Tunnel Falls which was stupid stupid stupid and I ended up feeling worse the next day. So ... fine. I took a break and decided to "listen to my body" and "take care of myself" and "recover" instead of continuing with training.

The past few days, I've drank a ton of water and juices loaded with extra vitamin C and zinc, eaten bowls and bowls of soup (homemade bone broth!) and marathon-watched episodes of BoJack Horseman.