Race Report: Skyline to the Sea 50k — 2017
This race report is being reposted here on Medium along with several others, many years later.
This past October I ran the Skyline-to-the-Sea Trail in Northern California. It begins at Saratoga Gap and traverses Castle Rock and Big Basin State Parks, ending at Waddell Beach in Davenport, just north of Santa Cruz, CA.
Ready to run
There were 235 runners on the trail, doing a marathon or 50k race. I opted for the latter, which ended up being a 28.5 mile journey — a bit shorter than a full 50k — with 4,300 feet of elevation gain and 6,700 feet of loss. I assumed that “running downhill” would make this a fast race but once on the trail, I discovered otherwise. The Skyline to the Sea trail traces a winding single track studded with hazards: gnarled roots, slick sandstone, thickets of poison oak, day hikers. And that’s to say nothing of the hornets’ nests the race organizers warned us about. It required a level of concentration I have never experienced in a race before. Tune out and you might find yourself face down in the dirt, something I had already done during my training and was determined to avoid repeating.
For this reason, it’s hard to remember much about my surroundings for much of the race. My eyes were fixed on the ground. With the focus I had remaining, I tried to manage my performance. Every ultra marathon involves some form of mental warfare, but this battle lasted most of the nearly six hours of racing.
It started right away when I went out way too fast, thinking it would be better to be passed than to have to pass others on the single track trail. This was a departure from my typical approach of going out at a conservative pace and making up for it at the end of the race by passing runners who hadn’t saved anything for the finish.
Trying to keep up with these faster runners led me to run the first five miles at a nine minute mile pace, much quicker than my body was prepared for, even though we were descending. I was feeling jumpy and uncomfortable, and couldn’t seem to shake it off, though I tried to relax and settle in for the long haul.
Runners on my heels
The other reason I went out faster than usual was that I actually thought I had a chance to do well at this race. This isn’t something I normally think about. In the three other trail ultras I’d run, the focus was on finishing, or improving my individual performance. But this was a smaller, more local race. I’d seen the past winning times online and thought I might have a shot at finishing near the top.
I’d really put in the training this time around, getting up with the dawn patrol to do five miles of hill repeats or hard-effort tempo workouts. And then there were the hours spent on long runs in the heat of late summer. During my ten weeks of training, I’d covered more than 300 miles. Of course I could have done more, but I’d made those miles count as much possible. I’d had to be smart, given that this was the first race I was training for while juggling a full-time job and parenthood. Going into the race, I shouldered the knowledge of all the time I’d missed spending with my son because I’d been running instead.
It was disappointing that I wasn’t performing the way I’d hoped. But I knew I couldn’t keep racing and feeling terrible, so at mile seven I slowed down and let other runners pass me by, resetting my expectations with the aim to just feel better and enjoy the day. One thing was clearly nagging me: I needed to go to the bathroom. It’s a reality of trail running — the urge can hit at any time and facilities are literally few and far between. Just after mile nine, I began scanning for a spot to pull off, keeping in mind the warnings about the hornets’ nests. Taking care of business turned out to be the right thing to do. I felt a lot better as soon as I got back on the trail and wished I had listened to my body earlier.
Going over the sandstone
I picked my pace back up, but the relief was short lived. I had expected an October day on this stretch of the Pacific Coast to bring cool weather, maybe even some fog. Instead a sluggish heat crept into the redwood forest and settled. Around 12:30pm, I hit the Gazos Creek aid station and then began the climb over a stretch of exposed sandstone, which had been baking in the sun. I slowed from running to power hiking, to keep my nausea in check. My heart went out to another runner I saw retching on the side of the trail. I knew it would be a challenge to keep eating, but necessary if I wanted to make it the remaining 12 miles to the finish. I arrived back at Gazos Creek a second time, inhaling watermelon, refilling my hydration pack, stuffing my sports bra with ice. I was daydreaming about running into the cold Pacific surf.
On the bright side, I knew that having completed the last climb, the rest of the trip to the sea was downhill. What I did not consider was how technical it would continue to be, especially given that the past winter’s heavy rain had thrashed the trail, bringing down trees and eroding the soil around rocks and roots. Forget going into cruise control. I concentrated on placing my feet carefully to avoid tripping or sliding. A tumble would probably have depleted my small reserve of morale. A twisted ankle was unthinkable. I wanted to finish this thing, the sooner the better.
Trying not to let the heat get the best of me
I’d mostly given up thinking that I would have a good result, or at least one that matched my expectations. My plan to finish in under five hours had blown up. I’d failed to account for the fact that downhill doesn’t mean easier in the context of trail running. Other than that, I tried to figure out where I had gone wrong. I’d gone out too fast. But there were also factors out of my control: the heat, my digestion issues.
It was disappointing to put in the training and underperform, but it happens to every runner, amateur or professional, at some point. It’s a bit of a gamble. You put in the hours and hours of training and do everything you can to prepare so that things go well on race day. But there are no guarantees.
Facing this reality led me to reflect on the tradeoffs of spending my time training for ultra races. Since I’m now a working mom, most of my quality time with my son happens on the weekends, and I’d given a lot of that time over the prior two months to training and the accompanying exhaustion. Yes, it felt good to do this for myself. But what special moments with my son had I missed out on, and was it worth it? That’s a question I’m still asking.
Using the downhill momentum
On the trail, things got a bit less technical and I found a hidden pocket of energy as I gave into the downhill momentum. I actually did end up passing several people in the final 10 miles. Good job, they’d say, as is the custom with trail racing. Looking strong, they’d say. If only they knew how much I was hurting, clenching my stomach to fight off the cramps. But I guess strength is relative. Or rather, strength is as much about the appearance of strength, to others and to yourself.
I’d run the last six miles of this trail before, from Berry Falls to Rancho del Oso, three years prior, so I knew that much of it was on a wide, fire road. I finally found a rhythm, ticking off the miles to the final aid station, where I was treated to a cruel discovery: There was one more climb up a ridge before the finish. I remembered that this was an optional side trail we’d decided against taking when I’d last been here. It was exposed, a bit technical, more sandstone. Not too difficult but coming this late in the race, it was a struggle. Still, I knew the finish had to be around the next bend. Or the next one. Or the next one.
Finally I heard the cowbells and cheering, and the desire to just be done, to stop moving, took over. I spotted the inflated arch over the finish line and picked up my pace for the last hundred yards, listening for the announcement of my name and my hometown. I crossed the line, took a few moments alone to regroup, then joined my friends Christina and Alex and the rest of the dusty, limping runners, exchanging congratulations and smiles of acknowledgment.
The finish line finally in sight
My time was exactly 5 hours, 54 minutes and I was the 10th woman to finish the 50k, coming in 36th of 135 finishers (full results here). It wasn’t what I had hoped for and there was no knowing how I would have done if I had been feeling great instead. But having been able to push through the discomfort now seems just as meaningful. You can see a cool visualization of the race here from the data uploaded to Strava by runners.
I doubt I’ll race Skyline to the Sea again, but I’d like to return to the trail for fun, to hike with my son and to take in the forest’s beauty. I’m deeply grateful for all the parks and open space near my home, and for the trails that allow us all to explore and appreciate this land.
The day after the race, a fire began in Northern California that scorched more than 160,000 acres, destroying lives, homes and businesses. As the smoke spread down the Peninsula that week, I kept thinking about the power and indifference of Mother Nature, and how fortunate I’d been to meet her on more favorable terms, just days before on the trail.
