ABC 50: Take Two - So Personally Impactful the Blog is Back

The decision to return to the Anza Borrego Cuyamaca (ABC) 50 after my inaugural running of the event in 2019 (see last blog post here) came late in the year after having already competed in a full roster of races and taking a down week. Training was going well and the deluge of rain Bellingham was getting from a train of atmospheric rivers made a desert respite sound just right.

Cuyamaca Rancho State Park is a huge wooded mountainous park about an hour east of San Diego with peaks over 6000 ft and Anza Borrego is a huge desert mountainous state park riddled with cactus to the east of Cuyamaca Rancho. The race traverses both state parks and provides for a unique journey from the mountains to the true desert.

The PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) goes right through the park.

Two weeks prior to the race, Tad and I flew down to San Jose, California for an Ultimate Direction photoshoot. We spent the day driving to various locations, taking shots and videos by the sea and along wooded paths. At the end of the day at our final shooting location there was a sign that cautioned poison oak was in the area. It hadn’t occurred to me to be wary of poison oak before going on this trip. I remained unconcerned because I had on pants and thought I had not left the trail. Fast forward two days later and there is a black spot on my leg with a red rash around it. Another day goes by and the rash gets bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Until my entire lower left leg is covered, my left thigh and right calf. I tried every over the counter remedy, but nothing was providing relief. On day 10, my ankle joint started swelling and the rash spread to my stomach and neck so we decided to go to the urgent care. It was Thanksgiving morning and everything was closed so Tad had to take me to the emergency room. I was most grateful for the Peace Health ER staff that day. They swooped me in and on first look at my leg, the doctor said it was infected and I needed to be put on antibiotics in addition to a 14 day course of Prednisone. They said the Prednisone was going to make me jittery and anxious and possibly give me insomnia, the antibiotics would make me nauseous and possibly give me diarrhea and the anti-histamine would make me drowsy. Who wants to party with me?!?!?

Waiting on results of a pregnancy test to make sure they can administer the drugs.

At this point I didn’t know if I would still feel like racing or if it was the smart thing to do. The medications were working very quickly and after 48 hours the swelling was down and the rashes not as red. A week before the race I was feeling pretty good so we decided to make the trip to San Diego for ABC 50 knowing that it could be a very good day because I was in shape, or a very bad day given all of the circulating medication in my system.

The weather this year couldn’t have been more different than my last time racing here. In 2019, the course had to be rerouted due to flooding. It was pouring rain, freezing cold with snow on the high parts of the course. This year expected clear skies and warm temperatures, especially down in the desert canyon. We stayed at the Stagecoach RV Resort, which also was the finish, in a little wagon with only enough room for bunk beds and a pull down board to use as a table. It was small, but functional. The big plus over tent camping is that it had electricity! Just what we needed for making coffee and plugging in the heater in the morning when it was in the 30’s.

The race started at 6:30am from the PCT’s Sunrise Trailhead. Even though it was chilly to start, once the sun popped up over the mountains, it warmed up quickly. I started out feeling good, clicking away some easy miles on singletrack that meandered around the Cuyamaca mountains. It was a beautiful morning and I was able to appreciate the views that were hidden under clouds and rain in 2019.

The course was marked with orange flagging every couple minutes and there were several easy to miss turns if you weren’t paying attention. I followed a guy until the second aid station, helping to point out the way when he was about to blow by a turn. I had the full course GPX programmed into my Sunnto 9 per usual. The first climb started around 13 miles which is when I pulled away and started running by myself. Leading up to the race, I did plenty of long tempo training runs (18 to 24 miles) alone so I was accustomed to the quiet focus. Tad was his usual amazing self and popped up in random places on the trail to take pictures, give me stats and crew, all while managing my Instagram account.

There was a course change this year, adding some mileage and vert. Next came a long climb after the third aid station off West Mesa Trail. As I climbed up the dirt service road, I could feel the first heat of the day start to hit me. Nothing major, I just noticed the warmth and my hands started swelling a bit. I made note to get some Tailwind at the next aid, mile 25. The road reached close to 6,000 feet and I could see Cuyamaca Peak in the distance. My chest was feeling more worked than usual, but I attributed that to running around at 5,000 feet for over three hours. There was nobody in front of me or behind me and for a split second I got anxious and the “what if” stories popped into my head. What if I get heat exhaustion… what if I get eaten by a mountain lion… what if I pass out…? This is where my work in acceptance and commitment therapy paid off. Instead of paying attention to those stories, I acknowledged them for what they are (meaningless words) and focused on one foot in front of the other and breathing. Eventually, I could see the other side of the mountain and familiar landmarks. I am very proud of my mental work during that section. This is something that would have stopped me in my tracks just a couple years ago.

I started the descent to half way and took a gel before reaching it in 4:00, about 20 minutes faster than in 2019. The next 10 miles of the race had more climbing but the 15 miles was downhill overall, dropping into the desert so if I could maintain the current effort, I would be looking at around 8 hours which would be awesome and very doable as I ran the second half in ~4:20ish in 2019 while running into a Cholla cactus which accounted for at least 10 minutes lost trying to rip them out of my skin at the aid station. I had no plans of running into another one of those this year and I was in much better shape so it wasn’t a far out goal. Tad met me with fresh bottles and I told him my stomach wasn’t sitting right after my last GU. I got my Tailwind and then was out, crossing the road to climb up Stonewall Peak. The pain in my stomach got better as I climbed so I thought, “Great, the worst of it’s over!” Even better, once I peaked Stonewall and started the descent, I was caught by JJ, an Instagram acquaintance whom I was hoping to meet. What luck! I was going to have somebody to keep me company on the long stretch down into the canyon and on the sandy, hard to navigate parts of the course. This was his first 50 mile and he had the sense to run very smart from the start, gradually working his way up to me. He also was local so knew the trails and was used to the conditions. JJ was going to be my trail angel. IF, that is, I could keep up.

JJ and me coming into the Pedro Fages aid station, mile 36.

JJ and I chit-chatted through miles 27-30 and then my stomach started to scream again. I had to walk to see if it would pass. I told JJ to go on without me, but he was running a patient and smart race and knew how tough those last 6 miles are so he was happy to keep me company. My trail angel. Even though we walked, we were still catching the second place guy, Brian. With two miles to go until the Pedro Fages aid station, mile 36, my stomach calmed down and I thought, “Okay! I got this! Glad that’s over!” I don’t think I’ve ever run a race where I looked forward to aid stations so much. When we finally got there I was so thirsty. I drank two cups of ginger ale and got more tailwind as I couldn’t take any more gels or solids without gagging. Tad dumped water on my head and I took a cup of coke to go and JJ and I left before Brian, tied for second place overall.

This is when things really got tough for me. The landscape changes drastically, with no shade to be found. I was telling JJ how strange it is to run somewhere with no water sources. In Washington it’s hard to run 5-minutes without crossing some waterfall or body of water to dunk in. The descent down into Oriflamme Canyon was so much longer, rockier, and rugged then I remembered. My left calf started cramping which made it even more difficult. I needed to drink more, but still had 4 miles to go before the next aid station. It was not an ideal situation. We heard someone coming and it was Brian flying by. He asked how we were doing and I said I was hot and he encouraged us with “It’s only going to get worse from here!” Super. JJ was moving along fine, not phased by the heat. He kept going while I had to walk again to try to feel okay. I watched him drift away into the abyss.

As soon as I was alone, I had to jump into the scrub brush to go to the bathroom. “Alright!” I thought, “Now I’ll feel better!” Until 10 steps later, I had to do the same thing. Shit. This was going to be a long day. I started walking and, like a mirage, Tad appeared in some random spot in the desert (we got lucky renting a Jeep which he took full advantage of off-roading a mile down a sandy “road”) and said the aid station was just ahead. I told him I was struggling to run and he told me just to keep moving, that he would be able to drive near the course the rest of the way pulling over periodically to see me. Finally, finally! The aid station appeared and they were calling my name. One of the race directors, Sean, was there and was super kind to me. I had to sit down and drink while they put ice down my back and in my hat and put cold water on my legs. Then I started shaking from being cold. Ugh, what a mess. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared to be on the most exposed section of course alone in this state. I knew it was going to be hard to navigate and the person behind was a long ways away. The aid crew tried to get me to eat, but nothing sounded good. After a bit, I got up, took some pringles and Sean walked with me a little bit to get going. I’m very appreciative of the care they took of me.

Mile 46 was in Box Canyon. Picture walking on a white sandy beach sinking in to your ankles with cactus and you’re there. Every step was a struggle. I walked on and then heard Tad call my name from some 40 feet up above the canyon. “I don’t want to do this anymore!” I yelled. “Just keep moving and get this thing over with!” he yelled back. I would run a few steps and then the nausea would force me to stop and bend over. At one point I was out on the highway, off course. I had to look at my GPX map in my watch to get back on.

Wandering through the canyon contemplating life.

Once out of the canyon, there is a large open space where you can see for miles and there is a primitive camping area. I didn’t know at the time, but campers had taken down all the course markings. At this point I was just using my watch to navigate because it was too difficult to make out the trail. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a woman sitting at what looked to be a stage scene in a play. As I got closer, there was a photographer with her taking pictures. I remember thinking, “I think I’m going to get sick in this woman’s picture.” And that’s what I did. Tad had just appeared and was lucky enough to get it on video! Three times. I had nothing left in my stomach so it was just this neon yellow Tailwind which sucks because now I’m never going to want to drink that again. Tad was there and said, “maybe now you’ll feel better!” But I knew better at this point. I was so glad he was there because I didn’t know where I was going. He pointed me in the general direction, got me through a low pass and then headed back to the Jeep leaving me with 2 miles to go? 3 miles to go? Who knows at this point. I just followed my watch feeling as if I would be wandering through the desert forever. It was a surreal experience, walking alone through a sea of cacti as the sun was setting, just my long shadow in front of me.

Sweet finish line relief. Now, where’s my wagon?

Finally, I crossed the highway, into the Stagecoach Resort and the finish line was in sight. Running through that finish line was just raw relief and joy. I was so happy to be done. I was so happy to be sitting. That was a long 9 hour and 38 minute battle. I was first woman and 4th overall, same as in 2019. Full results here.

Pale as a ghost wondering WTF just happened.

Despite being some 50 minutes slower, I feel really proud of this race. I feel stronger because of it. More capable. I feel like a real ultra runner having puked and pooped my way through the final 10 miles. The race made me extra appreciate how smoothly the OCC 56k in Chamonix, France and the Dent du Midi 57k in Champery, Switzerland went this summer.

A couple of gear shout outs: the La Sportiva Kaptiva, perfect for this course with just the right amount of traction while still feeling light and nimble; and the Ultimate Direction Ultra Vesta 5.0, perfect for the many times I had to switch out bottles (the new bottles are great in that they easily slid in and out full or empty).

Thank you to Second Wind Trail Running race directors, Jaymes Chuderski and Sean Scace, and all the volunteers who made this event possible. The San Diego running community is awesome.

Thank you for being my trail angel and congratulations to JJ Goodrich for crushing his first 50-miler and placing second.

Thank you, Tad, for putting up with me before, during and after the race. It’s not an easy job and I’m grateful for your patience.

Thank you to all of my long-term sponsors and support this year: La Sportiva, Ultimate Direction, Trail Butter and Bellingham’s Align Chiropractic, Active Points Wellness and Terrain Gym.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for your support. I read each and every social media comment and appreciate all of them. Thank you for your enthusiasm and concern and interest. I wish you many happy trails in 2022.

After two years, I’ve made my peace with the Cholla Cactus.

Maria DalzotDecember 8, 2021