Perspectives from the Auburn Trails 34 Miler

It was late afternoon, and the sound of the rain on the roof kept increasing in volume. I stretched out on my yoga mat, my back to the floor and legs straight up the wall. After six and a half hours of running that day, it was exactly where I wanted to be.

“I want to start with this pose today so that we can all think about turning things upside down a little,” the instructor explained in a voice like a soothing blanket.

Immediately, that Jack Johnson song, “Upside Down,” popped into my head. (I’m good at finding stillness in my body during yoga, but stillness in the mind still eludes me.)

The teacher asked us to try accepting things as they were. “Don’t fight adversity,” he said, “instead try to look at things from a different perspective. Sometimes that’s the only part of a situation you can control.”

I think he was referring to the endless winter, which has caused no shortage of grumbling around here recently. I’m not entirely sure though, since while he was talking, I was still singing in my head and trying to remember what came after the line “Who’s to say, I can’t do everything? Well I can try.”

Anyhow, both the song and the advice to accept difficult things rather than fight them summed up my day rather well. Circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, but the Auburn Trails 34 Miler had been absolutely brilliant!

Friday morning before race day, I awoke with a sore throat. With Western States just three weeks away, I met the situation with a heavy sense of doom. However, three weeks could be plenty of time to recover from something minor. Suddenly the prospect of running for 34 miles in the rain didn’t sound like such a wise idea. What if I gave myself pneumonia? Then again, what if I was just suffering from drama-queen-taper-paranoia? The whole dilemma just depressed me. I put the option of skipping the race on the table, and headed to bed early and undecided.

The sore throat was still with me in the morning, but no other nasty symptoms had manifested. In fact, mentally I felt great and couldn’t imagine going back to bed and not running that day. The idea didn’t sound like any fun at all. (Know what did sound like fun? Running. In the rain.)

At the start in Auburn, I had some clothing decisions to make. I had recently received a sweet little blue Power Peak Jacket from Columbia – a waterproof breathable number that I’d yet to really put to the test. It was a little much for running I thought: No matter how breathable a jacket is, if it’s waterproof, it never seems to keep up with the sweat rate of a high-octane run. However, I knew I wouldn’t be running too hard that day, (This was merely a last long training run before beginning my taper.) and I was really tired of being cold and wet in my non-waterproof windbreakers on my runs. (Remember that endless winter thing?) Plus, if I was going to protect myself from a full blown illness, it wouldn’t do well to be cold and shivering all day. So I went with the jacket. It was the first of a couple of smart moves that ensured I had a great day.

The race started at the Overlook Park in Auburn, headed down to No Hands Bridge, and then did two laps on a modified Olmstead Loop before returning across the bridge and finishing back at the park. The rain came down steadily as Robert implored us to depart the shelter of a large oak and gather at the starting line. I said hi to a few friends before finding Donald, and we headed down the hill together with a small group of intrepid runners.

I had figured Donald and I might be a good match for running together that day since we would both be taking it easy, so when I lost him a few miles into the first downhill, I was disappointed. We cruised down from Robie Point along the Western States Trail, and I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to run this trail in the opposite direction, the last few miles of Western States,  in just a few weeks time. Or, um, hike it, as the case may be. It was pretty fun to let myself get excited.

After crossing No Hands, the course headed steeply up the training hill, also known as K2. It was a good steady hike – the kind where I usually feel strong and pass people. So it was a pleasant surprise when a familiar voice from behind asked if I knew the joke about the clownfish and the sea anemone. (Well, of course I did.) Donald had caught up!

Now I had my running partner with me, and I figured we may as well stick together. That was my second smart move of the day.

As it became apparent that the rain did not intend to let up, I became more and more grateful for that jacket. My favorite feature turned out to be a little snap at the sternum that allows you to run with the entire thing unzipped for ventilation but prevents it from flapping all around like Superman’s cape. With that and the pit zips opened, I had great breathability! Later in the day I got a little colder and zipped everything back up, which worked out to be excellent temperature regulation.

The little blue jacket that could.

The Olmstead Loop looked pretty green for this time of year, and wild flowers were still out in subtle waves of color. It was also awfully wet and more than a little muddy. We splashed along across meadows and past broad oaks. We went for long periods without seeing anything but grass and flowers and trees. Mostly, it didn’t feel like a race at all, and that was just fine with me. I couldn’t help smiling. Is there much better than a long, rainy day of stomping through mud puddles with a friend?

We talked about training and time commitments, reading and writing books, family, past and future adventures, Catcher in the Rye, shoes, and rabbits that poop jelly beans. 

You know – the important things.

On our second lap, the puddles and streams were clearly wider and deeper, the mud more plentiful. I didn’t worry about hurrying through the pond-sized puddles; I splashed joyously. I turned to swing my leg, aiming a spray of muddy water at Donald. Hey! Where was he? Undoubtedly he'd been held up by some photography mission, craftily escaping my ambush. I just kept splashing along, confident he would catch up eventually.

The return hike up to Robie Point was a breeze. I barely felt like I had even run. I suppose that’s an appropriate situation for someone who will be running 100 miles pretty soon here.

The finish area was quiet when we strolled in, the rain not being very conducive to socializing I suppose. I was ready to get into some dry clothes, while my running partner still had business to take care of. What do you call it when an ultrarunner doesn’t find an untramarathon to be long enough and needs to keep running? Ultra-ultrarunning? I know what some people would call it, but I’d say tenacity is the best word. Donald still needed 16 miles to complete his planned 50 for the day. A few minutes after we crossed the line he was strapping on his hydration pack and heading back out on the trail. Damn, that man has heart. (He’s also a glutton for punishment, but I think that’s probably a good thing since he’s training for the TRT 100 this summer.)

This whole day can be described in one word for me: Fun. Circumstances which could have made for a very bad day turned out not to be challenges at all. I was very lucky to have a friend to share the miles with, and some of my fun surely came from turning the world upside down.

“I wanna turn the whole thing upside down. I'll find the things they say just can't be found. I'll share this love I find with everyone. We’ll sing and dance to Mother Nature’s songs.” 

Oftentimes, finding the fun in a situation is all about perspective.

I am incredibly grateful to Robert, Linda and their team for braving the rain all day to put this event on for us. It got me out on a solid run which surely would have been much shorter without all the support. Thank you!!  

Auburn Trails 50K

I’ll begin this report with the obligatory apology regarding the lack of pictures. I’d left my camera at a friend’s, and didn’t discover until race morning that my husband’s camera apparently doesn’t fit into the pocket on my water bottle. So, once again, no pictures. Sorry. (Personally, I think reports with no pictures are often kind of boring, so if you choose to stop reading here, I won’t blame you. Go ahead.)

As part of my training plan for the TRT 50M in July, I chose two races in June: the Auburn Trails 50K, and the Burton Creek Trail Marathon. Both of these races were to be included as part of high-mileage training weeks. However, by the time Thursday rolled around last week, I realized that I had only run 18 miles (and wouldn’t have time for much more on Friday). How did this happen? I demanded of my self. I have no clue! came the exasperated response. Even I, a notoriously lazy and low-mileage ultrarunner, wouldn’t really call 50-55 for the week “high mileage.” (Although it would only take another 10-15 miles for the moniker to fit, in my world.)

I decided my best plan to make up for my slothful efforts would be to run hard at Auburn Trails. I was essentially well-rested, and mentally ready to push myself at something. It was a good time for a race.

I arrived at Auburn’s Overlook Park on a cool and cloudy Saturday morning with about 70 other runners. Everyone seems to be complaining about the lack of heat-training this spring, but I have been perfectly happy with the unseasonably cool temps. I don’t need heat-training for TRT!

I hesitated at my car, indecisive over my attire for the day. The forecast had said chance of rain, but it didn’t really look like it would do much more than drizzle, and it felt quite warm compared to Truckee. I briefly contemplated running in just my shorts and sports bra, but finally opted for the addition of a short-sleeved shirt. These decisions should not be made lightly you know! There were multiple reasons for my “shirt-on” choice, but, sadly, this was the most prominent:

When I see a woman toeing the line, clad in little more than shorts and a sports bra, she looks fast and I assume she will be the winner. I didn’t want anyone making those kinds of assumptions about me. Who needs that pressure!

Okay, I know this is probably just a stereotype that I have, but I swear it’s true! Let’s look at the evidence from my racing schedule so far this year:

AR 50—Well, I wasn’t near the start when the gun went off, but according to photos, all the top women were decked out in singlets covered in sponsor logos. Okay, score one against my theory.

Billy Dutton—Um, it was too cold to go sleeveless!

Diablo Marathon—Prudence: Sports bra, 1st place. Score one for my theory!

Escape From Prison Hill Half—The top two women (Elizabeth Lyles and Shannon Rahlves) both wore sports bras. Can this count as two more points for my theory?

Rock N’ River Marathon—Elizabeth Lyles: Sports bra, 1st place.

So anyway, I guess you can see where I get this idea that shirtless chicks run fast.

Gathering at the start, I saw a few familiar faces. I spotted Joe Palubeski, and scanned the crowd for the rest of Sunsweet’s “Team Red Bluff,” but they were conspicuously absent. In fact, I noticed that the vast majority of the runners were men. Where were all the women?

I positioned myself slightly back from the front line, and was soon joined by Peter Lubbers. He hadn’t been feeling well all week, and consequently he was holding back enough that I got to run the first few miles with him.

The course headed downhill for the first four and a half miles to No Hands Bridge. After crossing the bridge, we did two laps on the Olmstead Loop, beginning with a steep hill known as “K2.”

By the first hill climb, Peter had moved ahead, and I found myself running with a runner from Davis named Mark. We passed the time sharing training and racing tales until we hit Norm and Helen Klein’s aid station, about half way through the loop.

I was feeling relaxed and enjoying the weather. The wildflowers seemed abundant for this late in the year, and I wondered if that was due to the cool, wet conditions we had been experiencing.

The tallest grasses had already turned to dry wheat, but there was a new growth of green underneath. They whispered softly under the wind’s caress, rolling waves across a golden, green sea. I was running alone now, and filled with the peaceful escape of time on the trail.

At the Cool aid station, I was told that I was in second place for the women. As I headed back toward No Hands, I wondered how far ahead first place was. Approaching the aid station, there is a very short out-and-back section. I was disappointed that I didn’t see the first place woman on this section. I figured that meant she was at least five minutes ahead of me, and possibly quite a bit more.

The day was warming up a bit (although temps would top out at about 71) and I decided to leave my shirt at No Hands. At the aid station, I sucked down about my 8th GU of the day. For some reason, I ate way more Gu’s than usual for a 50K, and little else.

Hiking up K2 for the second time, I realized I needed to let go of the idea of catching first place. She could be miles ahead for all I knew.

After the hill, I was bounding pleasantly down the trail, when I remembered my pledge to run this race hard. Was I running hard? I asked myself. I only had about 13 miles to go, I figured. If this was a road marathon with only 13 miles to go, how hard would I be running? Certainly harder than this! I picked up the pace.

Somehow, making the analogy to a road marathon changed my perspective on the race. The course had a few hills, but most of it was pretty fast and runnable. It was here that I realized this axiom: Most 50K’s are more akin to a marathon than to an ultra. The flip side of this idea is that some marathons (like, um, Diablo!) have more in common with most ultras than with other marathons.

Anyway, the point is, with 13 miles to go, I finally started running at race pace.

At the next aid station, Norm asked if I wanted a tattoo. Having no clue what he was talking about, I said, “Sure.” He proceeded to whip out a sharpie and write his name on my thigh. As I stood there and laughed, he added to the artwork with hearts and arrows and such. The best part was Helen standing there rolling her eyes at him.

“Oh God,” she chided. “He thinks he’s such a big shot!”

I know Norm has a bit of a reputation as a grump, but he cracks me up. He has also done me some kindnesses over the years, and I think he’s great, in spite of the fact that he never remembers my name.

He sent me off with instructions not to bathe for a week. (I promise, Norm. I haven’t washed it off!)

I was running hard now, and both my heart rate and breathing had increased noticeably. The downhills were smooth, and I felt awesome.

After a short while, I approached a pair of runners ahead of me. I was shocked when I realized that it was Peter and the first woman, who turned out to be Lainie Callahan-Mattoon. I had totally given up on catching her, and now suddenly here she was.

I gave a few friendly words and ran right on by them. I felt a little rude not slowing to chat, but I had a great pace going and I didn’t want to break my momentum. As I headed down the trail, Peter called out behind me, “Watch out for Lainie! She has the afterburners!”

I contemplated the fact that I was now leading the women’s race, and I felt kind of nervous about it. It’s not unusual for me to compete for a top five spot in a race, but when was the last time I had worked for first place? I’d won the Burton Creek 20 miler last year, but I’d led the entire thing from start to finish and never once saw any of my competition. This was way more nerve-racking.

I tried to focus on just holding the same, steady pace, but the entire time I was wondering if Lainie would catch me. As I ran into the Cool aid station, I could hear people cheering for her behind me, so I knew she was still close.

I didn’t waste any time at the aid station, and as I ran out, I looked back and still couldn’t see her on her way in.

It was mostly downhill to No Hands, which isn’t really my strength in running. I figured if I could hold her off until I crossed the river, I could probably hammer the last 4.5 uphill to the Overlook and hold my ground.

I moved through the aid station with a mission, and I think the volunteers could see it in my eyes. As soon as I approached, they jumped up and moved fast to get me out of there quickly. They did a great job!

As I ran up the hill on the other side of No Hands, I glanced back at the deserted trail behind me. For some reason, I was surprised to be still in the lead.

I had recalled this section of trail to be fairly steep, but as it turned out, it was quite a runnable uphill. I stayed focused, and enjoyed the feeling of really pushing myself.

Near the top, I passed Roger Laesure, and he called out to my retreating form, “Oh, you’re killing me, Pippi Longstocking!” I had to laugh. Do the pigtails keep me from looking like a serious runner or something?

As I crossed the line, the ever-smiling Jeff Barbier was there to cheer me on and congratulate me! Hooray, I had support! Hmm, it felt just like AR 50, finishing in this same park.

Robert Matthis immediately handed me a certificate for a pair of Innov-8 shoes, and I was stoked. RD’s take note here—please give useful prizes like this instead of plaques! It doesn’t even have to be as fancy as a pair of shoes, (although that is pretty darn cool). It should just be useful, you know, like socks, or insulated coffee mugs, or whatever!

I had a wedding reception to attend in the evening, but I still had enough time for a little socializing. I sat around in the sun with Joe, Peter, Roger, Greg Bomhoff, and a few of the other men and enjoyed Linda’s freshly grilled hamburger and a Coke. Such a nice way to end the day.

I was a little disappointed with my finishing time of 5:44, until I found out that the course was nearly 3 miles longer than 50K. Last year’s course started from the fire station in Cool, and ran about three and a half loops on the same stretch of trail. This year, we started at the overlook, ran down to No Hands, and then did only two loops before running back up to the overlook. I didn’t ask Robert why he changed the course, but I suspect it had something to do with the novelty of getting to run across historic No Hands Bridge twice, plus the scenic aspects of that stretch of the Western States trail. It also made for a cool race logo. I have to say, I think I like this course better, in spite of the extra miles (or perhaps because of them).

I felt tired, and it was a good feeling. I was happy with my day.

I’m pretty sure I can attribute my win to one of two things (or perhaps the combination of both). It was either A.) running with no shirt for the second half of the race (score another point for my theory!) or B.) Norm Klein’s tattoo. We’ll never know which one was the deciding factor, but sometimes Norm works an aid station at TRT, and I definitely plan on asking him for a tattoo on race day.

Thanks to Robert, Linda and their team of volunteers for another professional event!


To make up for my lack of photos, here is some footage from the wedding reception later that evening. It was a cowboy themed party, thus the mechanical bull. If you can’t tell in the video, I was having a hell of a good time.