Like a Colossal Squid, the third race of the Winter Trail Run Series is on ice and ready for dissection; let’s see what Baz had for dinner.
According to the official gold embossed WTRS entry form, the trail race was to be an 18k (roughly 10.5 miles) but with Baz, it’s impossible to determine what the official distance will actually be. Baz’s car has no speedometer, clock or gas gauge. He is a man in tune with his surroundings and like Spock performing the sacred Vulcan mind melt. Baz places one hand on mother earth and telepathically extracts distance. He is a living analog version of Google maps. Problem is, Baz thinks Google is still a peanut butter & grape jelly spread. The 18k course map was the same as the 12k, 15k and most likely the upcoming 21k course map. Would you like to know how to get to Disney Land from Blue Jay? Here, have a map. It’s all the same. It’s all good. In true Baz form, he injected a small section of the infamous Chiquito Trail and at the finish line my Garmin 301 read 10.46 miles. Who needs technology? The Baz is a human GPS device.
At the 7:30 a.m. check in, I was given my custom embroidered bib and surprise to see #178. On this day, I didn’t think there were more than fifty runners. I commented to the assistant RD and she instructed me to flip over the bib. Low and behold, in thick point Sharpie was #28. Recycled bibs! I was now having déjà vu with the toilet paper in the lone restroom. Had I seen or used it before? Had someone else? I do prefer an environmentally friendly race. Nobody from Green Peace was going to ram my Jeep in a fishing skiff or sabotage my gill net. I stuffed the two-sided bib in my pocket. It never saw the light of day.
It was a chilldozer in lower Blue Jay. Baz and three cronies struggle for what felt like twenty minutes to raise a simple pop-up tent. I’ve always viewed that activity as a one person job but it was entertaining watching The Fantastic Four balance the erector set with each leg extended at different levels. Baz caught Steve Meriless and I laughing which got us a few choice four letter words. When they eventually raised the Titanic, everyone just kind of stared at the new found shelter. Its forty degrees, no sun, we’re surrounded by trees and now have some very important shade. This was no doubt a sugar shelter for the upcoming post race insulin feast.
Baz stood tall (as he always does, the man projects) on the rock retaining wall adjacent the start with two rangers and a buddy to give last minute trail instructions and words of encouragement before the gun. They looked like an older, hung-over version of the Wiggles. The official starting line was in shade so we all shuffled into a small patch of sunlight fifty feet in front of the actual chalk line. Good thing we had the pop up tent. Somebody please crank up the AC.
Out the abyss of the infamous lower parking lot, we hit the initial dirt single track at the top of Blue Jay. This is the third Feet First (Baz) race I’ve run and we’ve taken the same path out Blue Jay each time. That’s cool. However, this was the first time I had ever seen the massive water reservoir which sits just below the first half mile. It’s huge and stands out. How I’ve never seen this thing before is beyond me. It was such a clear, crisp day the views were astonishing. At one point, you could see from Oceanside to the tip of Dana Point. I watched a large sail boat off in the ocean and thought to myself. Those recreational sailors have no idea that some random dude, thirty miles inland on the side of some obscure hillside was enjoying their boat too. Have you ever had the feeling that somebody was watching you just to turn around and see nobody? I wondered if someone on that boat had that feeling and turned around for a split second. Think they tried to peer thirty miles behind them? I trail run/race because of those little obscure occurrences which I find uncommon and fresh. As of late, I’ve made it a point during races to look around and smell the roses. I pretend there are mirrors around every corner and go looking for myself only to find a more pleasant surprise.
The trails were incredibly dry aside from twenty puddles which were easily avoided. In fact, the rain had made the paths even softer. I don’t think the turf could have been in any better shock absorbing state. It’s a technical course (not like an Excel class, please stay with me) but Baz could do a better job personally clearing the loose debris if he wasn’t so busy panning for Pop Rocks in the High Sierras. Due to the recent rains some of the track was deeply rutted out and jumping from ledge to ledge was the only technique for forward progress. It looked slippery but wasn’t.
If you followed my electrolyte deal last weekend when Rob 100 Cowan tried to kill me, you’ll understand why I only took 22 ounces of pure water on what I figured would be roughly a two hour race. Upper management made the decision (the night before) to freeze my water bottle to insure cold water availability. At mile four, I decided it might be a good idea to absorb some H2O and pulled the Nathan water bottle from its holster. To my utter dismay, it was still frozen solid. Where was Keria when you need her? Like the purebred she is, Keira was most likely chasing the Sprarklett’s truck up and down her street; look out for the tall pipe. I wasn’t totally parched and slipped the flavorless Otter Pop back into my pack crack. Minor setback.
Ten minutes later, I spot Marisa Wilmett closing in fast behind me. I like it that way because it makes me feel like Jessica Simpson, Pamela Anderson or Paris Hilton is chasing me down. I continue being disciplined to run my race and wait patiently to speak with my South African friend; I met Marisa on this very trail last November along with Eric Kosters. About two miles later, not seeing Marisa, I started to think I went the wrong way or maybe she fell and needed help (where the hell is Skip?). There is no way she shouldn’t have caught up with Don Johnson by now; I look stunning but am slow in the white blazer, pink tank and loafers. As it turned out, she had taken a potty break which for female runners is a complete hassle. Guys have it much easier. One, we don’t care if anyone sees us going to the bathroom. In fact, we kind of prefer if that happens. Women have to first locate an optimal hiding spot and then peal down. I took my potty break while running. If you’ve noticed, I buy yellow trail shoes for a reason.
Around the eight mile mark, I think it would be nice to have a drink so I retrieve the bottle and low and behold it’s still frozen. Where are we, the Antarctic? Only Anna Nicole Smith’s water bottle is colder than mine. I know, that’s bad taste so feel free to run in the Anna Nicole Smith 86K sponsored by Vicodin & Good Parenting Magazine. I get pissy and figure, I may as well loose the added weight and dump the glacier. I unscrew the top and try for two minutes to dislodge the iceberg for ejection; no go, this thing isn’t budging. I ponder, why does the ice in a cooler melt in twenty minutes but in seventy degree weather in direct sunlight my water bottle seems to be morphing into dry ice. I could be a fog machine. Oh well, looks like my “you don’t need electrolytes or hydration during a two hour run” is going to the test. I return the ice bucket to the pack crack. The march of the penguin continues.
As usual the event was won by Eric Frome (male winner) and Michelle Barton (female winner). I’m not sure why these two actually show up. They should send a representative to pick up the trophies before hand and go eat breakfast instead. I’ve run against Eric F many times and have yet to see him in any portion of the race. Literal
ly, thirty seconds into the run he is completely out of eye sight. To put it in proper perspective, I’m going to see a sailboat in the Pacific Ocean before I see him again. The guy is fast but, I still like Kyle’s chances if he’s not base training.
I don’t like to center things around myself (I’m a Libra, enjoy candle making and long walks on the beach) in these re-caps but will on this topic. Its training related and will help others run faster, easier and injury free. In the first 12K, of the WTRS, I disregarded my heart rate monitor and focused on pace. I ran a decent race but was tired at the finish. My average heart rate was 168bpm (my max heart rate is much higher than most folks so don’t use my rate to compare with yours. My doctor & psychiatrist say I’m an anomaly {or was that abnormal}) and my average trail mile with the ups, downs and turns was 10:34. OK, big deal. For the 18K, I decided to never exceed 168bpm and had to power walk a few inclines to stick with my plan. However, because I never got anaerobic, my legs didn’t get tired and I literally flew on the straight-aways and down the hills. My legs were always fresh and I felt in control going down technical areas I hobbled over three weeks prior. This is the same track and the numbers don’t lie. At the end of the run my average heart rate was 158bpm (10bpm less) and my average pace per mile was the same at 10:34. Go figure. After 1:51:54, I was not fatigued and despite zero water and lugging the Zamboni machine around wasn’t thirsty. Whatever that’s worth.
I really like these shorter trail races. You have the ability with Baz’s events to go out and test some things so you’re not doing trial & error inside a 50k or 50 miler. Learning the course, you can relax a bit and enjoy the run. Baz is a fun guy and super human being. I would have liked to see him run in his prime. I understand he was quite the animal. The post race answer trivia questions for prizes is legendary. It’s like playing Jeopardy in the 1950s. The questions are so far off topic that the twenty year olds can’t win a thing. I swear the water bottles Baz gives out for correct answers he finds while marking the course. One bottle had a Cinzano logo on it and the name JEFF on the bottom.
As the OCTR goes, E-Rod did his best to fool the judges but his 4.5 landing at the finish gave him away. I trained for six months prior to my first trail deal and that was scary enough. E-Rod just jumps right in and figures it out. Mark my words, he is a fit man and once adjusted to the trails is going to look like Derek Jeter chasing you down. If I was a female, I would have finished in second place. Unfortunately, my sex change was vetoed because my doctor said I was already a chick (sorry Greg, get in line) and Marisa took the honors. Linda Kessman managed not to re-open her leg wound (from the 12k) which I must say still looks rather painful. When I get my personality reduction surgery, I’ll ask my plastic surgeon to save some skin for her knee cap. Leon Gray did his normal thing and won his age division. Next year they should just call this event the Frome, Barton, Grey Invitational where second place is as good as it gets.
After reading Baz’s recap, the 21K is obviously going up the North Main Divide, down the Trabuco Trail (rarely run due to it’s remote access point) and up West Horse Thief (yikes). If you’re running the SJT50K in April, you’ll want to practice this particular section of the course. If you’ve never run a race, come out and walk the darn thing just to get a feel. With lots of fun folks and one aid station, it doesn’t get any safer or friendlier on a very less traveled part of the mountain.
Your health is your wealth,
Chaz me Boy!
Category: Winter Trail Series
