Tamalpa Headlands 50KM

The day breaks

Pulling into Santos Meadow in my rental car those quick lines from a scene in the film, ‘Airplane’, surfaced to the front of my mind. It always brings a smile to my face and I needed some light distraction as I was apprehensive of how the day would unfold.

While the race had been in my calendar for quite some time after having read about it in the Ultra Running magazine, it never escaped my thoughts at least once a week since May of this year. The month where I’d toe’d the line in Snowdon and walked away with a lesson (or two) learned.

The magazine cites the Tamalpa 50KM race as one of their Old School Ultras but, what drew me to it was the route. I’d visited the Marin headlands last year at the Double Dipsea race and noticed the Tamalpa shared some of the same trails I’d previously explored. As luck would have it the race coincided with a business trip to Nevada so I opted to travel ahead of my work commitments, grab some accommodation in Mill Valley and give it a go.

Race registration was between 6:00 – 6:45am and whilst I had collected my bib the previous day in Mill Valley at the San Francisco Running Company store (and made numerous purchases) everyone was required to sign-in. Looking past the sign-in area I noticed the swag bags had been neatly lined up, a reminder of our finishing line reward.

With sign-in complete, I headed back to my car and had breakfast. The ‘fAugust’ mist (thank you to lady that brought this new ‘local’ term to my lexicon) was still firmly settled in the valley with every set of arriving headlights illuminating it.

Time to start

Leaving the shelter of my car I headed to the start area, the race scheduled to begin in fewer than 10 minutes. For the USATF runners their age group banding bib was clear to see. Scanning around the nearby runners I spotted many in my ‘time of life’ plus quite a few way ahead of me, 75-79 was the highest I observed. Overhearing many conversations in the starting area it was apparent this race is a boomerang for many and while writing this now I can understand why – the course is addictive, you want to do it more than once.

Before I knew it the countdown timer hit 00:00:00 and we were off. Leaving the cheering supporters behind we headed out of the meadow and onto the road that brought us all here.

The smoothness of the road was soon replaced as we veered off into the trails. There was no end of chatting as the fresh and enthused feet snake train began its first ascent and in spite of the cooling mist, the humidity could be felt even only a couple of kilometres in.

(photos taken at approx. 3.4km)

The track was wide which helped the faster of the pack find their pace and space. The surrounding conversations had ebbed as the gradient increased. I grabbed my poles and set into a rhythm. The mist now morphing into low cloud that enshrouded the hills. The undulation of the route provided pockets of respite and had the cloud not been so low, I imagine we’d been spoilt with picturesque valley views. It was eerie seeing runners in the distance disappearing into the cloud. As the hillside trails weaved their way around the contours the sea could be heard but not seen.

(photo taken at approx. 4.6km)

The route continued in this manner for quite some time. Occasionally, I pulled to one side to take a picture of what lay ahead and of course, where’d I come from. Capturing the gradients can be a little awkward but I think this one does quite a good job.

(photo taken at approx. 5.3km)

The field of runners had found its natural rhythm, the people around me remained the same for quite some time. The Wolf Ridge trail soon intersected with the Coastal Trail at around 9.3 KM and I saw that a few runners were stood talking, others continued ahead and to my left I noticed some were heading down the Coastal Trail to my left. After a brief conversation it transpired that the runners descending down the fire road had missed a turning point so were heading back the way they came to join the course correctly. It shows how things can quickly get missed when you’re in the moment. That said, it reminded me to pay attention which couldn’t have been more timely. I had caught another runner up and we stayed in lock-step along the trail until reaching its natural exit whereupon he zoomed off down a rough road. I happened to notice an orange route marker to my left, I stopped and looked for further evidence of where to go. Other runners now came up behind me who also started down the road. I called them back and pointed out the route markers on my left. I whistled to the man who was happily descending. Fortunately, he stopped and with his attention caught I waved him back up. Well, that was one less person getting lost.

Negotiating this descent was interesting as running water had removed the dirt from between the last handful of wooden steps, caution was needed so as not roll into a dip and twist my foot.

(photo taken at approx. 10.3km)

A service road now replaced the trails and the crashing of the sea could be heard. As we descended from the low cloud line the grey vista expanded significantly and passing the dis-used Townsley Battery a huge canon lay alongside it.

(photo taken at approx. 10.8km)

Looking ahead the coastline came into view with an occasional cove within metres to the righthand side of where I was running.

(photo taken at approx. 11.5km)

The descent to the coast didn’t take very long and soon I was at sea level, Rodeo Beach, where a handful of surfers lay prone, bobbing in the water, ready to spring to life.

(photos taken at approx. 11.8km)

The first of the aid stations wasn’t too far away and now that I was on a level surface I upped my momentum a little and took the time to stretch my legs out. I caught up another runner and then shortly after, a group of walkers. I adopted their pace which offered a brief couple of minutes to reduce the pounding on the legs. It was also at this point where one of the photographers was positioned.

(Photo?)

Reaching the first aid station and crossing the timing mat I double-checked my time position relevant to the cut-offs. I was in good standing. The aid station crew were offering good humour and a great spread of enticing food. I honed in on the watermelon and inhaled a few slices….

(photo taken at approx. 13.8km)

The next section began at the Miwok Trailhead and setting off I knew my next stop was an important one. A further 5KM to get to the aid station and with a reasonable amount of height gain. This would be the first cut-off point, which was 4 hours. I felt confident I’d be ok based on some man-maths fuelled by the sugar from the watermelon. Which, incidentally, was the nagging song (by Harry Stiles called Watermelon Sugar) in my head that I’d heard on the radio the day before.

As the ascent returned I pulled out my poles and began a light trot up the fire track, slowing on the steeper sections to conserve some energy. I came alongside a runner and we chatted while pushing through the metres of distance and gain. Originally from Auburn he explained how living by mile 99 of the Western States 100 race and seeing the energy had converted him into a runner and that “here he is today”. Given my British accent, conversation switched to his family visit to London next year and we chatted through ideas of itineraries.

Soon we parted as I was mindful I had a clock in my head for the first cut-off and no idea what the interim KMs held in store for me. Now, while I made good time ascending, the man from Auburn caught me up on the descent a few turns before the aid station. The watermelon once again called to me, as did the other melon variety, so I took the chance to collect myself, speak to the volunteers and prepare myself for the next stage. At this point I’d been on my feet for 2h 30m, well under the 4 hour cut-off.

I checked my route notes and after having a friendly joke with the volunteer safe-guarding the timing mat and high-fiving each other I continued back on the trail.

The weather remained unchanged with the mist from the low cloud still lingering. I, like many others, were quite wet through but the heat from our exertion seemed to balance out any notion of being chilled.

(photo taken at approx. 19.5km)

The KMs ticked by and after passing the next water-only aid station the gradient increased, significantly. This was the first ascent for Cardiac Hill and definitely a ‘poles out‘ section for me. Around KM 27 my left knee began twinging with a slight sharp pain on the outside. There seemed no reason for this to begin as I hadn’t twisted my leg awkwardly on the route so far. I continued with the mild niggle until the aid station at the top of Cardiac Hill, now 31KM in.

The weather and conditions up there took on a different personality altogether. A keen wind brought light rain and battered the (still) enthusiastic aid station volunteers. Delving into the varieties of melon I re-fuelled and watched as the first few lead runners returned into the area to sounds of whooping and cheering of the people all around. I was in total awe. I had 19KM left and these runners just needed to get down the hill to the finish line, just 4 miles away. I walked from the aid station to cross the timing mat and reviewed my route notes, next stop was 37.8KM at Stinson Beach. Having run the Double Dipsea race in the same area last year I had a grasp of what lay ahead of me. A steep descent awash with roots, switchbacks and steps followed by quite an aggressive climb back up Cardiac Hill (because once up Cardiac Hill in a day isn’t enough!) negotiating a similar amount of steps, switchbacks and uneven footing.

Putting my notes away I set off but, to my horror, when I tried to lift my left leg nothing was really happening apart from the twinge had been replaced with a much sharper pain. I stopped, composed myself, and then walked. Even that was uncomfortable. I stopped again. An initial moment of being distraught washed over me. This couldn’t be happening. Physically and mentally I felt fine. I was pleased with my timing and had made the cut-offs with good coverage. And now this? I pulled out my poles and proceeded to walk slowly. All the while more of the lead runners were heading toward me. Shouts from them as they passed, “Great work”, “Good job”, “Keep it up”. I replied to each and every one along the same lines, even to those who were deep in concentration staring straight past (through) me.

I increased the cadence of my walk slowly to see what I could tolerate. It wasn’t much but I wasn’t walking. After a couple of minutes I increased the pace but immediately hit a ceiling of what was comfortable. Reigning the pace back I pressed on although now the trail narrowed and began its evil twisting descent. The ground underfoot was no longer smooth. Roots, ruts, strewn rocks and make shift steps were my foe for pretty much the whole descent to Stinson Beach. Reaching the aid station I felt confident I had a good enough buffer of time to complete the race, time no longer mattered. Completion was my focus.

The enthusiastic team, who sponsored and ran the aid station, were great. While I scooped up copious amounts of melon I chatted with nearly all of them. One was very taken with my tattoos and specifically of the chemical breakdown of the runner’s high, photos were taken!

The brief rest and chatting was a good distraction as I’d completely forgotten about my knee until I crossed the road and set off up the hill, it was steep and littered with steps.

(photo taken at approx. 39.7km)

Marching up the hill with poles to support me I found a rhythm and it wasn’t long before I caught up another runner, a person who also looked like he was struggling. For him, it was his back. After the more severe gradient tapered off he resumed his pace however, it wasn’t long before we were back together. The open expanse of heathland turned into a forest with steep and narrow twisting turns, steps and even ladder section.

(photos taken at approx. 41.6km & 42.5km)

It remained much like this most of the way until nearly 800m before the Cardiac Hill aid station.

Whooping and hollering ensued as myself and a couple of others arrived back to our final checkpoint. The wind was a lot stronger now and the light rain could be seen to be sheeting over the ridge line. The team’s morale remained buoyant as ever, gushing with enthusiasm. With my final intake of melon and a very wet Oreo cookie I took to the final descent.

Rain blew into my ear with great force as I traversed the ridge following a fire track, it was quite a perculiar feeling. All I had to do now was complete the last final 4 miles. I had plenty of time and frustratingly I felt like a had a fair amount of energy left to give but my knee wasn’t having any of it.

The trail flipped from being flat one moment, to a washed out gully the next, and so this continued. I struggled with my footing and balance as my poles were snagging in the tough heathland that edged alongside the path. For the most part I descended on my own with the occasional runner passing me and then I saw the final marshal. He welcomed me with a beaming smile despite being battered by the wind and rain. This last section, he informed me, was just 1.3 miles until the finish. Inwardly, I was relieved. My man-maths calculation assured me I’d be back in time but to have an acknowledgement of the distance helps a fatigued mind an awful lot.

(photo taken at approx. 49.3km)

I’d heard from one runner the last section opened out and was full of fun zigzags, the thought of which horrified me but as it transpired they were smooth and swooping. I was desperate to run as the trail looked a hoot but I could now see the meadow and finish line below, so I curbed my enthusiasm.

(photo taken at approx. 49.7km)

With the finish line now clearly in view I pushed my poles back into their holder and trotted the last 20 metres to the sounds of cheering – I’d done it! The relief. Now, the discomfort could stop. My own celebration could begin.

Looking back

After a much needed warming shower I headed into Mill Valley and ordered a VERY large pizza. I was buzzing with the joy of my achievement and thoughts of the day flew around my head as I sat and ate slice after slice. In spite of my knee pain and slow progress for the last part of the route I was really pleased with how my race prep and planning had worked out.

The single most useful item (aside of fuelling) was having a small piece of paper with the route breakdown. I knew I’d need to rest along the way and the importance of the cut-off times. Although, having this written down had the opposite effect of what I intended it to provide. All I focussed upon was the Distance to next aid and not once did I consider how much distance I’d travelled which is a common trap of mine. Typically, I’d look at my watch, see a number then work out what’s left which I think psychologically is not a good thing for me. Always counting down (when fatigued) with a long distance remaining can seem like there’s a monumental task ahead.

So this is what I printed and placed in a clear ziplock bag.

Now I have this template I’ll be applying it where I can for future distance runs and, perhaps, I’ll keep this one handy for my boomerang start line experience ;-).