I don’t even think I mentioned that I was running the Angel Island 25K with Pacific Coast Train Runs, because I had just intended it to be a “real pretty and hilly training run.”   Now, “Trail Runners” in the running world are kind of their own breed. They get dirty, they run with backpacks on, they pee in the woods, they eat potato chips and M&Ms and scarf boiled potatoes at aid stations.  City Smurf and her wetnaps and lil’ mini handheld (I’ll admit I was even wearing a little mascara) was quite out of her element.  Before Saturday, I’d never even run on a trail- unless you count the dirt patch next to the bike path in Golden Gate Park.  But, not to ruin the big ending, I ended up coming in FIFTH-PLACE FEMALE (out of about 35), so in order to brag, I guess I have to write a race report. So, here goes…

Since this race fell about a month out from SF Marathon, my biggest concern was injury.  I’d been convinced by the gang on Runner’s World Online that this run was easy enough (in Trail Runner parlance, “not very technical”) to make injury pretty unlikely.  So, I geared up the morning of the race in my usual long-run gear– Moving Comfort Shorts, Smurfified Super-Pocket Altered Tank (remind me to blog about this nifty/crafty invention!), Injinji Socks, Nike Structure Triax running shoes (I was told I wouldn’t need trail shoes) and my trusty Fuel Belt Handheld (the race directors told folks to carry at least 20 oz between aid stations.  Other than to get a little sport drink into me at around the 10 mile mark, I didn’t even draw on my handheld once, though it did come in handy in other ways– more on that later.  I’ll say other runners took this advice VERY seriously and had all manner of multi-bottle hydration belts, CamelBak backpacks and serious water luggage.)

I picked up my friend, Mae, from Runners World and we drove up to catch the ferry in Tiburon. Arriving at about 7:15, parking was easy (bring a $5 bill, as there was nobody to make change that early) and off we went to check in.  A little bit of a wait for the ladies’ room to change into my race shorts (I was concerned that it would be foggy in Tuburon, so I’d planned to wear sweats on the ferry, but it was GLORIOUS!) Saw Gabe and met Rocco from Runner’s World before getting on the Ferry over to the island and had a nice time chatting on the boat on the way over.

As we were getting off the boat, we were instructed to grab some gear to carry over to the pre/post race area.  I picked up a five-pound can of Stagg Chili.  Like I said, these Trail Runners are a breed apart.  I don’t think I’ve ever been running, or just come from running, and said, “Damn, sure do wish I had some Stagg Chili!”  Then again, some runners that day were going for the 50K- twice my piddling 25K distance- and I guess maybe a bowl of chili would look good at mile 29…  I suspect one day I will find out.

Coming into port at Angel Island

Dropped off the chili, ditched the sweatshirt, and everyone gathered to hear the race director say some stuff about trail markings and whatnot that made no sense to me.  And, with a notable lack of fanfare, we were off!  We made it about a quarter mile before I realized I was in big trouble, indeed… Sharp right directly into the mountain and dirt/beam staircase as far as the eye can see.  Someone counted later and it’s 200+ stairs. Ugh.

Once we got to the top of the stairs, there was a nice asphalt road circling the island where you could see some of the dilapidated historical buildings and stunning views of the Bay.  Another turn onto a trail, which was nice and soft and peaceful and lovely.  “If this is all there is to this, I’m fine!”  I was thinking, as I settled into a nice long-run pace.

After about 5 miles, we came back down into camp and I saw the famous “aid station” for the first time.  Sure enough, a table with potato chips, gummi bears, M&Ms, water, sports drink, pretzels, all sorts of snacks!  Not wanting to take anything I was not used to, I just put some sports drink in my handheld and took off again. I took the opportunity to chat with the guy next to me, who was clearly a trail runner, and he explained that we would “hit the stairs” three times in total- last time we had run around the lower access road, this loop we’d run around a higher fire road, and the third time we’d go all the way to the summit of the island.  OK… that made facing the stairs, knowing I’d see them again, really suck.

Sattelite Map of the Race Course

The trail definitely got more scary the second go-round, with more technical sections, but we were rewarded with even more awesome views.  And, MAN, was it a rollercoaster ride of tight-turns and narrow “single-track” trails on the downhills.

I think it was on this downhill portion of singletrack where a guy was breathing down my neck– standard protocol is to say “on your left” and then the person in front steps aside so the person can pass.  He was practically clipping my heels, and I felt like my footing was really unstable.  If I’d just stepped aside, I’d have inevitably slowed in the process and I’m sure he would have shoved me off the cliff (about 300 feet down into the ravine.)  So, I yelled out, “I’m going to step aside and let you go past, because otherwise I’m concerned I’ll…” and, at that point, I step to the side and the loose dirt starts to give way and I yell out “… DO THAAATTT!!!”  Neck breather and his friend don’t even glance back and, thankfully, a guy three folks behind me catches me under my arms as I’m sliding down the hill and pulls me back onto the trail.  Yikes! (This was the first point where I thanked my lucky stars for my handheld… even though I wasn’t drinking out of it, it’s nice to have a hand you can throw down without fear of getting your palm scraped up!)

After that, I have to remind myself that the goal is not to get injured, and I really try to keep it safe– though it sure is thrilling to fly down those trails feeling like a wood nymph, only with far more polyester and sunscreen.

We come into the aid station again well past the 10 mile mark, so I’m thinking the rest is going to be a piece of cake.  I grab a couple of Clif Shot Blocks, though I don’t think I need them for just 5ish more miles (I’ll admit… I wasn’t entirely sure how long 25K even WAS, so I was just kind of guestimating.) And then hit the staircase again.  Motherhumpin’ staircase… I was shoving the front of my thighs to get up the darned thing this time.  As much fun as those superfast downhills were, I was regretting them on the stairs and hoping the rest of the climb wouldn’t be too bad.

Man, was I wrong…

The worst thing about thinking there must only be a few more miles left is that it makes every glimpse of runners in the distance, hundreds of feet up, feel like a soul-crushing disappointment.

“Are you f*&ing KIDDING me?!” I’d catch myself yelling out every time we came around a corner to see more runners, small as ants, even further up the mountain.  And, it was rocky, and my feet were starting to feel pretty pounded up from all the sharp rocks in the trail.  I fell in behind a nice fellow in a grey shirt and another fellow in a red singlet, bike shorts and hydration belt.  I’d pretty much stick with them to summit, using them to pace me, walking when they walked and running when they ran. They seemed like they knew what they were doing.

On the way up, I had two more bails– well, one bail (bloody knee) and one twisted ankle that scared me enough to get me to stop that blasted climb and really take an inventory.  A few deep breaths and I continued on.  My friend in the grey checked in on me when I fell, and seemed pleased to see me when I caught back up.  Definitely way more camaraderie in this trail running thing than at your average road race…

The final assault on the summit was tough, with runners coming down the same single-track that we were going up, with thick prickly branches on either side. Finally, though, I was at the summit… and the views were totally worth it.

View from the summit... crappy cellphone photo.

And, it was… as they say, all downhill from there!  After the turn-off where we were no longer running “into oncoming traffic,” I noticed that I had somehow lost my friends.  In fact, I noticed I was all by myself on the trail. But I remembered them saying that there would be a solid-colored ribbon marking the trail and a striped ribbon where you needed to make a turn, and I kept on seeing solid ribbons, so I kept on running.

My legs were getting pretty tired and there were lots of scuffs and near-misses– again, needing to remind myself to take it easy. I ran for what seemed like forever all by myself, before finally I saw a striped ribbon and a friendly fellow in a lawn chair acting as “crossing guard” of some sort.  He assured me I was on the right path, so down, down, down, I went.

I was sure the course must be way longer than I thought for as long as it seemed like I was running.  (I was expecting “about 15 miles.”) Finally, I could hear noises coming up from the base camp.  But there were more twists, turns, and treeroots to go to the finish.

I came around the corner to the finish area. Everyone was picnicking, I don’t think anyone noticed a runner was coming in… or, if they did, they didn’t care.  One fellow waved me towards the cones and another fellow logged my number in the computer, looked up and said, “Nice job, Heather.”

And that was that.

No firemen with Tiffany necklaces, no Juan Rapido shouting out jovial encouragement, not even a gaggle of highschoolers handing out bananas.  There was, however, another table full of junk food, chili, soup and a cooler of Cokes.  For some reason, a Diet Coke looked awesome right then, so I grabbed one and ran into my friend Gabe and we headed for the ferry back to Tiburon.

Only later after times were posted did Gabe point out that my 2:42:05 finish (15.9 miles by Garmin) netted me fifth place female!  Out of 35 other woman, many or most of whom had probably actually set foot on a trail previously, I have to say that I’m pretty pleased with my showing!

Who knows, maybe I’ll even buy an overly-large hydration backpack, some compression sleeves, and start peeing in the woods!

My Badge of Honor