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Don't Call it a Comeback - My First 100 - SD100 Training and Race Report

Don’t call it a comeback -- My first 100 Miler Race Report -by Tony Sandoval

******

It was 2:30 in the morning, 20.5 hours and 68 miles in to the San Diego 100 Endurance Run, my legs had completely shut down, and I knew my race was over. Done. DNF.

My pacer and good friend, Sean, and I were facing over 4 miles (with some hard climbing) left in this section to the Pioneer Mail aid station with a 4:30am cutoff time. Coming out of Pine Creek we had pushed hard up a two-mile climb on the pavement section and my legs just died. There was nothing specifically wrong I could pinpoint besides obvious soreness, but all I had left were baby steps.

My legs had been feeling good all race. I had NONE of the issues that bothered me during my training. You can’t train for an ultra and ever be completely injury or pain free going into a race. But it was crazy! I had NO significant issues this far into the race besides some manageable blisters. And now I had nothing left and I could barely move.

******

Thinking about running 100 miles is mind-boggling. It was still ridiculous to think about even when I was at the start line.  Yet, I signed up for this event thinking I had a chance and it was a natural progression for what I had been doing the last 3 ½ years (Only five years previously had I completed my first 5K). I had completed three 50K’s, and two 50 milers since September 2010. If I had finished my most recent 50 miler and was happy with the results I’d go for 100. When I completed the Avalon 50 in January I felt good. I still had gas in the tank that day. I could go longer if I had to. If I put together a smart plan for a 100 it just might be possible. And the SD100 course is on all the trails that I know and train on anyway. There would be no surprises. They say that if you can do 50 miles, you can do 100. That it becomes a mental game after 50 miles. Everything WILL hurt after 50 miles, but it doesn’t keep getting worse, so you adapt and deal with it.

I’m not a naturally gifted or fast runner; I can’t do high volume of training miles. In a race my goal is to finish and be smiling. Middle of the pack is fine. I enjoy the community of ultra runners and how we all work together rather than compete with one another.

To tackle 100 miles I knew I needed “quality over quantity,” and that it was better to be “undertrained than over-injured.” Powerwalk the hills, run when you can, go by feeling. Slow and easy. “Tranquilo.” I wanted to be in the best OVERALL shape of my life, not necessarily faster. For some reason I love climbing hills and wanted to be even stronger there.

I had to have a disciplined four-month training plan:

I ran four days a week. No junk miles. I went back to my running club’s track workout or did my own speed/ tempo work on Tuesdays. Instead of running from home to the top of Cowles Mountain and then back home for my mid-week hill workout, I did a repeat, THEN back home. I did many of my weekend long runs on the 100 course. I decided not to do crazy back-to-back long runs like most training plans prescribe – I didn’t want to get injured from overdoing it. But, I did do moderate or easy back-to backs or hill work. I went up to the LA area and ran Mt. Wilson and Santiago Peak on back-to-back days with my friend Sean. I did the Cactus to Clouds hike up Mt. San Jacinto (10,000+ feet of gain over 17 miles). I did Mt. Miguel repeats until a park ranger told me no one was ever supposed to be up there and almost gave me a $300 fine. I did a midnight to sunrise SD100 group training run (super fun, met great people!) and night runs on Cowles to practice with my new headlamp. I completed two 50K races, and ran my own 50K route at Mission Trails, just before tapering. When San Diego had it’s 100 degree heat waves I went out and did my Cowles repeats and practiced my heat strategies. Our A/C doesn’t work anyway.

For the first time since I started running I signed up for a gym membership (at the local “Y”) for cross training on non-running days. I did time on the elliptical and/ or time on the stair machine. Sometimes I stayed outdoors and did an hour bike ride on those “off” days.

Push-ups in the morning, and push-ups before bed. Stretching every morning and before bed. Core work – crunches/ sit-ups every morning and core work at the gym. Lower back strengthening stretches and exercises.

Foam roller in the morning and before bed, and after runs.

Hours spent listening to the Trail Runner Nation and Ultrarunner podcasts for tips, tricks, interviews, and ultra wisdom.

Hours spent visualizing and thinking about the course and how I would run it or how I might attack different sections.

*******

I was crawling up the Indian Creek trail but Sean kept encouraging me and I simply had no choice but to follow the mantra of “relentless forward progress” and keep moving. We were lucky to be doing 35 minutes per mile up this hill. I had nothing in me.

Then, I felt my stomach start to turn on me. I couldn’t believe this was happening right now. Most ultra runners know this feeling. However, for 20 hours of this race my hydration and nutrition planned had been dialed in and perfect. I was still urinating regularly, light yellow. Perfect stomach. No nausea. Better than any race before. So, what was going on?

**********

Ultras are sometimes called “eating and drinking contests with some running thrown in.” There’s nothing more important than striking the right balance between calorie intake, hydration and electrolytes. It’s damn near impossible to get it right. It had been four years since my first “ultra” – Noble Canyon 50K, and I had been fine-tuning my nutrition and hydration constantly ever since. I experienced disastrous results in the past. At that very hot Noble Canyon race I managed to finish (the last 4 miles took me 2 hours) but I was severely dehydrated and vomited for hours after getting home. At my first 50 miler – the PCT 50 – the same thing happened but luckily (?) it didn’t hit me until mile 47 and again I did finish. But I lost 13 pounds that day and had major cramping and vomiting again. I learned from my mistakes and kept working on it. Every training run or race I practiced my nutrition plan. I read every Internet article I could find on ultra nutrition. I talked about it constantly with my friends.

I finally had it worked out:

Alternate every hour with one bottle of water then a bottle of Tailwind (20-24 ounces or more). One salt pill every hour. 200-300 calories every hour, alternating between goo’s and “real food” (soup, bananas, hummus on pita, sweet potatoes, rice rolls, Fig Newton’s, PB&J sandwiches). At aid stations I’d sip on coke or ginger ale, and grab a few potato chips or pieces of watermelon or slices of oranges here and there.

*****************

As we continued my stomach got worse. I dry heaved for a while, and then I finally vomited everything on the trail. Ugh. I was afraid that I might now get dehydrated or go into a bad fuel deficit and really hit the wall. I took a sip of water and kept climbing, step by step.

It didn’t seem like I was improving. We saw headlamps below us and then in a few minutes we were passed by a couple of runners and pacers. That didn’t help my morale. There was NO way I was making that cutoff at this pace.

It was mathematically IMPOSSIBLE.

Our crew texted us at about 3am to ask how far we were from the aid station. Sean’s phone had died, so I responded, “3.5 miles. I’m hurting.” Tim replied and said to pick it up to make the cutoff. I texted back, “It’s bad.”

*********

For the first 30 miles of the SD100 I felt solid. Starting at Lake Cuyamaca, the first 12 miles went up and around Middle Peak, down to Paso Picacho, then up and over Stonewall Peak to the Chambers campground. I’ve spent a lot of time in this area, so I was very comfortable and I stuck to my plan of taking it real easy, running and power walking. If someone came up behind me I let them pass – I was not going to spend any extra energy trying to go faster than I wanted.

From Chambers we climbed up to Sunrise Highway and the Pedro Fages aid station at about mile 18. At Pedro I stopped for a few minutes as I felt I need some real food; I had packed sweet potatoes and ate those. From studying the course I knew that the next 26 miles to Red Tail Roost would be critical. Pedro to Red Tail is all Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) with almost no shade. I would be running these sections in the middle of the day and it would be hot and exposed. If I were going to finish this race I would HAVE to keep my stomach good (which meant hydrating properly) and my core temperature down. My two disasters at Noble Canyon and the PCT 50 were my failure to manage the heat and my hydration. The sun was out and very bright and it was definitely getting warm.

From Pedro, we went to the Sunrise aid station at mile 23 and our first contact with crews. I didn’t want to spend too much time at Sunrise, so I headed out quickly. This would almost cost me.

As soon as I left Sunrise I realized I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. It got hot really fast and we were exposed. I had two bottles of water and two bottles of Tailwind. I was drinking one bottle of water and using the other to pour on myself and keep cool. But with about 3 miles to go I was out of water and had only one bottle of Tailwind left. I was already seeing the effects in other runners – some were sitting on the trail, and almost everyone was slowing down.  I could tell I was getting uncomfortable myself.

I thought it would be better to run hard and get out of the sun as soon as possible, as opposed to conserving my energy, but being exposed for longer. I started pushing and came in fast to the Pioneer Mail aid station.

I made a decision to spend at least 30 minutes at Pioneer so I could get my core temperature down, re-hydrate and refuel, and switch to a cotton shirt. I really like Western States winner Pam Smith’s heat strategies that she used to win in 2013. I read her training and race report very carefully. I loved her idea of switching from a wicking tech shirt to an old cotton t-shirt and then completely soaking down, shorts included. The cotton holds the water better and sticks to the body. I would have one bottle of water at all times to constantly pour on myself. I had practiced this strategy in 90-100 degree heat and felt confident.

At Pioneer I was a bit frantic, anxious, and loopy, but my crew - Michelle (my girlfriend), Bel, and Apryl - were on it. At one point I completely zoned out in some weird trance, and they snapped me out of it real quick. They calmed me down and made me drink a full bottle of water and eat a sandwich. My parents were also there and that was great for morale.

A half hour later, I completely soaked myself from head to toe, had ice in my hat and bandana, and I took off again feeling better. There would be no crew access for 14 miles and it was hot, so I knew I couldn’t make any mistakes. I made it to the next aid station, Penny Pines at mile 34. There I saw some runners in the medical tent suffering from the heat. Up to that point I had not been thinking about cutoffs, but one volunteer told me I was 1 ½ hours ahead and that I should not waste time; I was glad that she reminded me of that. They refilled my bottles and I did a sponge soak again.

The next 10 miles went really well. I wasn’t moving particularly fast, but that was okay, because I felt solid and in control. I ran a lot of this section with a couple of other more experienced runners and it was nice to keep pace with someone and have conversation. As I approached the mile 44 aid station at Red Tail Roost I was feeling VERY confident.

*************

Sean and I were close to mile 70 and I started to break mentally. As Sean and I worked our way up Indian Creek negative thoughts flooded my head.

What was I thinking signing up for a 100 miler?

Why did I think I could do this? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!

 Maybe there are things in life we just aren’t meant to do.

I didn’t train hard enough. I just wasted four months of my life and all the time of my crew. What would I say when I had to face them after missing the cutoff. What would they think about me on that long drive home in the morning?

I thought about where I might go to lay down when I finally made it to the aid station. I thought even if I COULD make the cutoff, why would I even want to try to keep going like this for 27 more miles?

I even wondered if it would be faster to just go backwards, downhill to the previous aid station and turn in my bib.

Maybe I fooled myself. Maybe I never really wanted this.

Sean kept saying, “You can do this. C’mon. Let’s go.”

I think I said, “Sorry, I’m trying, but I just don’t have it. It’s not gonna happen.”

********

I know that in ultras, especially 100 milers, there are ALWAYS low points and high points. They say you can always recover from a low point. It happens to everyone. Every elite runner I read, or listened to, related how they had low points and suffered like the rest of us. My favorite pro, Timothy Olson, described stopping in the middle of the UTMB ultra marathon and crying on the side of the road from the fatigue and pain he was feeling.  He still finished in third place. I had experienced low points, but had never recovered -- I always suffered to the end. This was different. I was 20+ hours in and had most likely 10+ hours more ahead of me. I didn’t even know what was wrong with me, so how would I get out of this hole?

*********

Still moving, I wanted to check the time on my phone. It was on silent mode and I saw a bunch of text alerts on the screen:

Bel: Tony, you can do it buddy.

Tim: Rally! Rally! Rally! You have the power HE-Man

Apryl: You can do it Tony tony tony!!

Bel: We love you. Do it Do it Do it.

Michelle: Good job! Just concentrate on getting to Pioneer Mail babe!!

My friends are amazing. They had no idea how bad I felt or where I was, but they were STILL trying to help me in the only way they could.

I texted back, “Moving.”

I never thought about stopping on the trail to rest. Maybe that was worth something?

*********

At Red Tail Roost, mile 44, I made another risky decision to stop for longer (almost 30 minutes) and reset and get ready for the nighttime sections. I changed socks and Michelle popped some blisters (!). I had some soup, changed my shirt, and got my headlamp and jackets ready. Friends and training partners Brendan and Lina had come up to see me at this aid station. Tim and Kevin, part of my crew had also arrived by this point. We had a full team and that gave me confidence.

I knew these decisions to stay longer at some aid stations were dangerous. This goes against the rule that you have to get in and get out quickly. But I felt that staying for longer might save me later. It was a decision that I would pay for.

I left Red Tail Roost and arrived at mile 51, Meadows, at 8pm. The cutoff for Meadows was 9:30. I was still 1 ½ hours ahead. Bel would be my first pacer for the next section to Penny Pines #2. I would now be running farther than I ever had before.

We took off as the darkness settled in and had a fun run together. She’s another great friend, and super strong runner and ironman triathlete and we were joking about random stuff the whole way. We got to Penny Pines #2 and I was feeling a little anxious because I knew two very difficult sections awaited me: 7.7 miles down Noble Canyon to Pine Creek, and 8 miles back up to Pioneer Mail #2.

Michelle was supposed to be my pacer for this stage of the race. We’ve done so many miles together and she knows me better than anyone. Everyone calls her the “Real Deal” because she’s tough and always comes through. We’d run our first road marathon together and our first two 50K’s together. She’d also done the Avalon 50 with me. Unfortunately, she got really sick the week of the race. I had to switch things around and have Sean for these two sections instead of later in the race. He’s a great friend and we had also trained many miles and completed our first 50 miler together.

Ready for a long night ahead, and no crew access for 16 miles, we left Penny Pines and headed down Noble Canyon. We had a 1:30am cutoff at the Pine Creek aid station and made it close to an hour early. I was getting tired for sure, and I think I had not been drinking or eating as much as I should so I tried to have some soup and a start on a banana. Blisters were bothering me, but my legs had no specific problems.

From there we had a very hard eight miles to Pioneer Mail #2. The cutoff was 4:30AM, and we had 3 hours and 45 minutes to do it.

Very doable, but months ago I knew this section would be a major challenge. Now it was here.

*********

I was moving SO slow.

We were still moving forward, climbing up Indian Creek, and it was probably close to 3:30AM. I had just read some inspiring texts from my crew, and was feeling slightly better in the stomach.

I knew we were getting close to Champagne pass where the climbing would be done and it would be a rolling descent to Pioneer Mail. If I could make it to that point, it would get a little easier, and maybe that would make me feel better. From there it would be only 2.4 miles to the aid station. I started hiking a little harder, and Sean kept telling me to push forward. I now simply wanted to get to Champagne Pass. We kept looking up and saw headlamps far above us at Champagne Pass. It looked so far away.

We finally got there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The climbing was done. This was a minor success. We turned left and hit the Pine Valley Trail. It would now be more single track, rolling up and down, with a net drop in elevation to the aid station. Okay, maybe we had something here. Sean said I was looking better.

I thought about those text messages. My crew had no idea where I was or what was going on, but they had not given up on me.

Why had I given up on myself earlier?

I immediately became angry and ashamed. How could I even consider quitting? How could I put in all that work and training, and not think I could do it? All that work couldn’t have been for nothing.

How could I have my friends sacrifice so much for me, and not give them 100%?

I wasn’t injured, and I wasn’t sick.

If by some miracle I made the cutoff, and I was completely destroyed in the process, at least the race would still be in MY hands. In fact, wasn’t that why I had picked Tim to pace me after Pioneer Mail? He was the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. If anyone could rehabilitate me and fix the situation it was he.

I started audibly grunting as I pushed up short little uphills. Anything to dig deeper. Sean kept pushing me. We kept looking back, there were headlamps scattered behind us further up the hill. It seemed like they were chasing us.

*********

“We train and work hard and endure so that we may know pain and suffering. This is the gift we give to ourselves - the ability to say to the world, ‘There's nothing you can do to me that I haven't already done to myself.’ ”

I wrote this in a Facebook post once. I think I was trying to say that we control what happens to us by knowing adversity. We determine how the world affects us if we work hard enough. If I kick my own ass, no one else will be able to. You can’t challenge me more than I’ve already challenged myself.

Pain and suffering. That is why we do this. We need to test our limits. It’s not supposed to be easy. I didn’t want it to be over yet. No, it was too soon. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try.

*******

We kept pushing harder now. I was suffering and full of fear and anger -- fear of failing, and angry with myself for wanting to quit earlier.

I was moving a lot faster now.  Fast shuffle. Maybe there was a chance. We had lost track of the exact distance remaining  - a mile and a half? Again, we looked back, and there were more headlamps behind us, coming down the mountain faster than before.

*******

A short while later I looked down at my phone again. It read 4:10am. Time was running out. We still didn’t know exactly how close we were. I knew when I saw Sunrise Highway, we would be close, but we still weren’t there.

Again, I looked back and there was now a line of at least ten headlamps coming down the trail, maybe half a mile back. They were MOVING. I thought they were going to blow me off the trail.

Faster. We had to go faster. I started running. Adrenaline is an amazing thing.

“KEEP GOING! C’MON!” I yelled at Sean. “GO!”

Faster and faster we went. Soon we were bombing down the trail. I was yelling at Sean and probably making noises like a madman. My mind was on fire – I so badly did not want to fail.

I never wanted anything more in my life.

“KEEP GOING!” I screamed at Sean. He was doing a great job of leading me out.

I looked back and the headlamps were farther back now. They were not gaining on us anymore.

What time was it?! I looked at my phone again:

4:24am.

 I still could not see Sunrise Highway. I yelled at Sean, “I’m not looking at the time anymore, JUST KEEP GOING!”

We were going even faster, flying over the rocky trail. I felt like I was running for my life.

Then it was in our sights -- finally!

 I saw Sunrise Highway. Across from it was the Pioneer Mail parking lot and campground. However, I knew we had to run parallel to the highway, down a hill and back up, before we could cross over.

Someone was out there on the road above us and Sean told me later that he said, “You have a minute.”

On a small rise up to the highway and I blew past Sean and hit the pavement and crossed the street. I saw blinking lights pointing to the entrance to Pioneer Mail and I heard my crew screaming at me as I made a sharp left turn, but I didn’t know exactly where to go, and I had to cross a long parking lot.

I saw Tim! I screamed, “WHERE IS IT?!”

He pointed me towards the aid station tents.

I was over 22 hours and 72 miles into this race and I was literally running as fast as I ever had in my life.

I kept shouting, “203! 203!” Hoping someone would hear my bib number and check me off and give me new life.

I got closer to the aid station tents.

I saw a race volunteer and he pointed at me.

******

Anthony Sandoval #203, Pioneer Mail 2.

Check in: 4:30AM. Check out: 4:30AM”

******

I was the last one let through at exactly 4:30am. I was literally the last runner on the course. It didn’t matter -- I MADE THE CUTOFF!

******

I burst through the aid station area and stopped about 50 feet up the trail. I’m not ashamed to admit I was crying and hyperventilating and cursing and babbling nonsense. I thought my heart was going to explode.

I was a complete mess.

I can say that last 20 minutes of running was probably the most intense, visceral, emotional experience I’ve ever had.

Unbelievable. Amazing. I was shaken to my core.

The volunteer told me as I ran by, “You made it, but you can’t stop.”

I kept moving up the hill, but I then bent over feeling like I was going to die when Tim, Michelle, Bel, Apryl and Sean ran up to me. There was no time to waste. I had to keep moving. I had another cutoff at 7AM and it was over 7 miles away. I exchanged bottles and Tim had food. We started walking up the hill.

Now that I made it, I was worried I would have a complete blow up when the adrenaline wore off. I was going to pay for redlining it this far into the race. I thought my stomach would turn on me and my legs would start cramping.

Tim quickly got to work on me like I knew he would. He told me to calm my heart rate first. He had me start drinking and eating.

I actually started to feel a lot better. There would be no crash after that frantic run for my life to Pioneer Mail. Somehow I had gotten a second wind. I can’t explain it. I was pretty much back to where I was hours earlier.

Tim was leading me out at a decent pace and we started passing other runners.

It was getting warmer and lighter out, and as we turned our heads east, the desert was spread out for miles below us and we saw a most beautiful sunrise.

I knew we fucking had this.

****

Tim paced me into Sunrise #2 aid station 26 minutes ahead of the cutoff. I quickly dropped all of my night gear and put on a new cotton shirt and got soaked up – the temperatures for Sunday were forecast in the 90’s.

We headed north towards the next aid station at Chambers #2. This was mostly downhill and we could make up some good time. We passed a lot more runners. I was nowhere near last on the course anymore. Tim kept me eating and drinking constantly.

We hit Chambers #2, now 45 minutes ahead of the cutoff. The next section would be tough, as we had to go back up and over Stonewall Peak. This would be a very hard and steep climb after 90+ miles. We had some time banked, so I spent 15 minutes resting at Chambers. Another friend, Jessica, had joined the crew and our team was even stronger.

Tim’s wife, Apryl, was my pacer for this section. I call Apryl the do-it-all “logistician.” She takes care of business. She had crewed me for the PCT 50 and, for some reason, was inspired to do a 50 miler after seeing how much I suffered. She immediately signed up for the Avalon 50, having no trail running experience. Long story short – she trained hard for 5 months and killed it.

Again and again, Apryl kept scolding me to drink and eat in her own funny way and we kept moving forward. She then paced me perfectly up and over Stonewall. (Near the top wasps attacked us, and Apryl was stung. I had a stick and was trying to get them out of her hair, but mostly beat in her in the head. It was hilarious.)

Down the front side to Paso Picacho we went. We made this last aid station 40 minutes before the cutoff! I would now have over 2 ½ hours to go the final 5 miles. I didn’t want to take anything for granted. This was no time to ease up. And I would now have Bel’s husband, Kevin, with me. I had Kevin as the backup, secret weapon final pacer. He is another great friend, and a freakin’ machine triathlon coach and competitor. I had a diesel truck towing me to the finish.

We took off and I was now moving well, but in a lot of pain from a right leg issue I had for the previous 20 miles. Kevin was pushing me to my limit, constantly coaching me to pump my arms and breath deep and keep drinking. We passed more runners and pacers as we headed up another climb to Azalea Springs and then down Milk Ranch Road.

Off of Milk Ranch we crossed highway 79 and hit the grassy meadow. We saw the “1 mile to go” sign. It wasn’t until I saw the sign that I knew I would make it. I had been so focused for the last 8+ hours that I had not let myself think too much about finishing, only on being consistent and getting from aid station to aid station.

We came onto a large grassy meadow, wide and open, on a perfect sunny day, and I could see the finish area. No one was behind us or in front of us.

Michelle came out to meet us at about ¼ mile to go. She had supported me so amazingly during all of my training and I am really happy she could run me in.

I saw my friends and parents as I approached the finish area.

I had visualized this moment for so many months and so many miles. I would visualize no more. I ran 100 miles.

*******

I finished in 30:59:32, with one hour to spare on the cutoff. It wasn’t pretty, or fast, but I’ll take it. I owe it all to my friends and crew. I had the best support ever.

The race volunteers and organization were amazing. My fellow runners were amazing and inspirational and it was an honor to run alongside them. The ultra running community is the reason why most of us do this, I think.

My first 100 mile race was a crazy, incredible, emotional,  once-in-a-lifetime experience. EPIC!