Peeking out the window of my stolen car, it appeared Mother Nature was going to go all ex-wife on race director Baz Hawley for the 2010 San Juan Trail 50 km. Grey and cloudy, there was no way “magical” would be today’s weather word. Scrambling for an extra layer, I was out the door and off for the snake-like drive up Ortega Highway. Navigating Ortega (Interstate 74) is daunting and ample justification for a pre-event DNF. I considered turning around and turning myself in to the authorities, and then it happened. As if in the eye of a hurricane, the clouds lifted, the sun broke through and I was in the dog house for questioning Baz’s ability to control weather. How a man with one stolen sweat top, analog cell phone and a 386 computer conjures up these “magical” days while struggling with a pop-up canopy (no assembly required!) is beyond me.

At 7:55 a.m., with runners milling about the starting line, Baz took the pulpit atop the rock retaining wall to address the competitors. How many times do I have to advise people not to speak while Baz is addressing the crowd? It’s suicide and sure enough, it happened. At this point, the race transitions from “viewer discretion advised” to “adults only, graphic language and potential nudity.”

The initial “Candy Store Loop” starting from Blue Jay campground is an ultra by itself. While it’s “only” 19 miles, I’ve run 50 kms requiring less effort. Is it me or should this loop be called the “Parking Lot Loop?” I don’t recall seeing the infamous “Candy Store” unless they’re referring to the aid station’s stale M&Ms. I do recall a large parking lot at the bottom of the loop and a larger one back at the top of the loop. The 9-mile climb from the “Candy Store” aid station back up to Blue Jay requires more effort than reading Twin Peak’s RD Jessica Deline’s personal blog (gonna get killed for that).

Back at Blue Jay, you find yourself in the exact spot you started from 2 to 4 hours earlier. If you’re going to DNF, this is one testing point that challenges your commitment to go the distance. Quietly eyeing you, your car beckons with reclining bucket seats, satellite radio and center console spare change. Baz offers words of encouragement like, “Have you ever run before? Better bring extra batteries for the headlamp, mate.” It’s all so motivational and yes, you have to exit the parking lot and start your move up the dreaded North Main Divide and to your eventual death.

The initial stage of the North Main Divide is a Jamaican coffee grind – you’re 21 miles into the run, and forced to implement the dreaded run-walk strategy. As you attack the steep grade, the valley and ocean views are stunning but irrelevant as your singular focus of reaching the top engulfs your every thought. My heart rate was so above my lactic threshold, I wondered how long it would take an EVAC team to reach me. Nearing the top, I temporarily forgot my name but was thankfully wearing a Road ID: Elliot White (borrowed it from a buddy). Man that thing comes in handy.

I don’t get out much, but the Trabuco Trail is one of my favorite spots in the entire Cleveland National Forest. After trudging up the exposed North Main Divide, the Trabuco Trail is a welcome slice of heaven. Roughly 3.0 miles long, the trail has three distinct zones that provide every look and feel the Santa Ana Mountains have to offer. The drop-in leads into a lush pine tree forest with a nice gradual decline. The initial singletrack is straight and a good opportunity to make up lost time from the previous climb. About when you start to recover, the track gets technical but the captivating tree canopy mitigates the intensity of the situation. This section reminds me of the “Blair Witch Project.” The trees are thick and tangled while you twist and turn over loose rocks and roots. It’s serene, yet deadly. Take a fall here and good luck getting out. For a second, I mentally drift and start freaking out about how draining it is having three young children. Watching my wife raise them is exhausting. After a long training run, it’s hard to nap through the noise. She should really get some help.

I quickly regain my running composure and scan the terrain. The trail crosses over to the opposite side of the steep canyon. The area takes on a Baja California, cactus-type look. This last third of the trail is covered with loose, broken slate. In spots, it looks as if Baz tiled the place but blew off the grout. The canyon floor is now on my left and the decline gets vertical. If your quads are feeling it here, you’re in trouble; evil West Horsethief lurks around the corner. Before stepping off the trail, I gaze back and wonder if this land will some day become a strip mall; Trabuco Cleaners, Trail Nails and visions of Jared the annoying Subway sandwich guy flood my mind. I have to stop watching “Lost” and late night texting with Kirk Fortini.  It’s all making me paranoid.

What nasty comment can you make about West Horsethief that hasn’t already been said? It’s lunacy – and nearly impossible — to run up this steep, rocky, singletrack but some of the front runners do just that. Two thousand feet of slippery climb less than two miles is sherpa material. Why horse rustlers used this trail to haul stolen livestock and not the 241 toll road is confusing. I had planned on doing a run-walk up this section but immediately altered that plan to a shuffle-lift-drag. My Garmin’s 20-minute mile was going to be impressive to post. The views down the canyon are spectacular. But who cares? You can’t think of anything aside from “who turned off the oxygen.” Two thirds up the trail, a ground squirrel zipped in front of me. Instead of fearfully diving into a bush, it stopped shy of safety and confidently stared me down. I could read its parasite-infested mind: “I can take this guy.” I thought to myself, if I see a mountain lion I’m going to stick my head in its mouth and call it day.

The top of West Horsethief is bizarre. The landscape shifts to sandy trails and beach-like foliage. Exiting West Horsethief, you’re rewarded by one of the more friendlier sections of the North Main Divide. This particular stretch looks out to the Inland Empire and directly over polluted Lake Elsinore. Apparently, Baz also controls smog and haze. It was one of the clearest Inland Empire days I’d seen since meth labs became vogue. It was so crisp that I could almost make out the dead fish lapping up on the foam-riddled shores of Lake Elsinore. By the time my kids are old enough to fish, we’ll have to do so in Canada.

What goes up must come down. Nothing could be more true when it comes to running the SJT50k. The return trip down The North Main Divide makes the previous 29 miles of pain and suffering worth it. Flying down this stretch is evangelical and you can bask in the glow of your efforts; you’re going to finish. The view boasts San Clemente, the Pacific Ocean, Hawaii, unending forests, multiple valleys and a million neat things you can’t experience on the Internet.

As the heart rate drops and the brain receives adequate oxygen you suddenly think more effectively. During these infrequent times, I actually stop analyzing my body fat and reflect on how fortunate the trail community is to have access to these remote areas. Ultras like the SJT 50 km help everyone mentally escape the hustle of mainstream life. It may only be for a few hours but it’s a few hours where the world’s unlimited tracking devices have no bead on your location. There is nothing and nobody holding you back. It’s you and the spinning Earth and no text message can chime in and steal the moment. Get lost Mr. IRS, come out and find me, you desk warrior. You’ll last 20 minutes.

Front running in style all day, “How’s my hair?” Dean Dobberteen (4:41:43) would defend his 2009 SJT 50 km title by edging out better-known Brian Krogmann (5:02:54). Gary Harrington (5:13:47) would record third. Girl’s Tesoro High cross-country coach and 1999 Tokyo marathon winner Carey Edge (5:05:26) would earn first female and third overall. Carey is pictured here with, joined-at-the-head, Siamese Twin sister Marisa Willment (6:26:16). Shouldn’t they have the same finishing times? San Diego Bad Rat  Rene Roberts (5:14:19) would “Chick” San Diego 100 RD Scott Mills (5:17:37) with a late downhill running lesson for 2nd female. OC trail newcomer, San Diego Bad Rat and funny gal Angela Shartel (5:21:20) sneaked in third; lots of well groomed rodents this year! The Dean affect.

Confined to a flimsy green wheelchair, Wade Blomgren (5:55:12) would tire torch the technical course only to have Team INKnBURN runner Michelle Barton (5:49:26) sneak up and steal his orange pop with her patented hair diversionary move.

NFL referee Craig Slagel (6:39:30) would give the “it’s up, it’s good” signal while crossing the finishing line for what appeared to be one point. Someone please tell Craig that in the ultra world you always go for the two point conversion.

By the time I hit the finish line, the wood plaques and gold medals were beginning to tarnish. The crowd offered the obligatory applause and then dead silence. The running chatter cranks back up and it’s time for an off brand cola and some stale donuts. I find myself appreciating the shade of the pop-up tent but don’t dare mention it.