The Big Alta 100K: Through the eyes of Alex

The race started off quite casually, believe it or not. Darren Thomas and I took to the front at what felt like a relaxed enough effort, enjoying a casual conversation about bee keeping, fruit trees, and of course Terignota. We led a big pack up and over the first little climb and down into Rodeo Beach, the first aid station at mile 6.7. After a quick stop to grab a pre-loaded pack from my crew, I headed up the next climb and things began to separate. Darren and I quickly established ourselves at the front and enjoyed the next few miles of beautiful coastline together. Around mile 10 or so, we noticed someone closing the gap to us and figured it must be Kellen Blumberg. This was indeed the case.

photo by: @tonywithasony

The group dynamics felt good. Everyone seemed loose with conversation and generally in good spirits. Running through Muir Beach aid at mile 12.6 and heading up the next climb together, I started feeling like maybe I should let the guys go and relax my pace a tad as Darren was climbing incredibly well. But every time we hit a flat or downhill section, the pace seemed to relax significantly, so the thought of letting them get a gap dissipated quickly. 

We had a good groove going, swapping leads, flowing in and out of the trail together, and moving as a unit. We all stopped for a quick refill on fluids and a good dousing of ice water at Cardiac Hill aid (mile 19.8). Kellen then headed to the front and seemed to start pushing the pace on the flats and downs leading into Stinson. With this uptick in pace, I figured he was about to step on the gas up as we neared the biggest climb of the day up Mt. Tam.

photo by: @jamesholk

Rolling into Stinson at mile 22.8, I did a quick vest swap, iced down, hugged my friend Alden who had popped over from SF to crew me, and headed out in the lead unsure of where Kellen went. Darren, who had been climbing strong all morning, quickly caught up as we started the ascent. At this point, I figured I should make my dialed aid station transitions count and put a little pressure on Kellen, assuming he’d catch back up in another minute or so, but wanting to make him have to work to do so. I figured Darren would be the one dragging me up this climb, but as I pushed the pace a tad I noticed him starting to slowly fade. This gave me some confidence that somehow I was now feeling the strongest on the climbs.

photo by: @tonywithasony

Leading the whole climb up to the summit of Tam, I felt smooth and strong and it passed quickly. I’d felt like I’d maintained a steady effort up the entirety of it, and given the fact that Darren had faded and I hadn’t seen Kellen since the Stinson aid, I figured I must have put a decent gap back to second place. Unfortunately, that thought was quickly squashed as, about 15 seconds after I reached Mt. Tam aid station at mile 31.1, a certain Kellen came running in behind me. 

I knew I’d pushed up that climb, and mentally, I thought I’d gained a decent gap. I thought Kellen and Darren had faded. I thought I might just be ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for a while and could regroup alone on the descent down the backside of Tam. So when Kellen came rolling into the Summit aid station just seconds after me, it was a bit disheartening. 

I got out of the aid a few seconds ahead of Kellen, and tried to reset my brain mentally, accepting the fact that there would be no letting off the gas. I started down the long descent with Kellen maybe 10 seconds back, catching glimpses of him at every switchback. I was quite happy to find that this long fire road descent was much more technical and rocky than I had expected. With my confidence in descending and knowing Kellen comes from a road background, I hoped that a little extra push down this section would finally snap the elastic. I flowed down the descent but even after 4 or 5 miles, I’d only managed to expand the gap by maybe a few seconds. Once the descent eased up, Kellen quickly closed that and we were back together once again. 

We rolled into Lagunitas aid station at mile 36.7 stride for stride. Once again, I got out of the aid ahead of him after another vest swap and kept it rolling. This time around, I had no illusions I’d keep my gap, so I tried to take the couple minutes that I would have to myself to relax and be ready for what was to come. As expected, we were back together again quicker than I would have liked. And it didn’t last.

After just a couple short minutes running a singletrack together alongside Lake Lagunitas, we dropped onto the top of a dam at the end of the reservoir. It was a dead straight, perfectly flat, wide-open, 200ish-meter section of gravel road. I made a little joke about it being a perfect drag racing strip, as 38 miles into a race the thought of drag racing surely couldn’t be appealing to anyone. KELLEN, IT WAS A JOKE! 

This god damn ‘drag strip’ across a lake is where I realized my time racing was coming to a close. Kellen dropped me like I’ve never been dropped before. I thought I was still moving quite well but the difference between us at that moment was night and day. Maybe he was just putting on a show, but nonetheless, it worked. A few moments later, I saw Ryan Thrower, who said “He’s just a minute or so ahead of you!” in an effort to motivate me. Little did Ryan know, Kellen had dropped me just a minute or so before. It felt like I’d played all the cards I had. I absolutely smoked the guy through aid stations, I put in a sizable effort up the biggest climb of the day to try to beat him mentally, I did my best to dial in my nutrition and hydration to outlast him, I used my decade-long enjoyment of downhill running to try to blow up his quads. I tried my damndest to break Kellen. But the dude broke me.

photo by: @tonywithasony

The rest of my day wasn’t all that exciting or noteworthy. The race in me was gone and I simply enjoyed getting through the rest of the course as best I could. I wandered around in 2nd place until about mile 45 or so when a few folks started passing me, giving mutual encouragement as they did so. (I’ve never felt more honored to be passed by someone than when Matt Zupan came cruising on by. Thank you for that, Matt.) I crossed the finish line in 9 hours and 20 minutes, ending up in an arbitrary 7th place.

Looking back, when it became abundantly clear to me that Kellen had me beat, I stopped racing completely. I wasn't bothered in the slightest when folks came up behind me and easily proceeded onward ahead of me. It didn't matter if I ended up in 7th or 70th, if I finished in 9 hours or sometime after dark. At mile 15 of the race, it felt like a game between Darren, Kellen, and myself. By mile 30, it felt like that game was down to just two players: Kellen and myself. And by mile 40, the game was over. It felt like the winner had already been declared. 

Writing about it now, I feel some sadness for this ending to the day. Even though the game I'd been playing for 40 miles was seemingly over, I didn’t make even the slightest effort to come up with a new game or to give myself a new goal. Of course my legs were tired and I was going through a low point mentally and energetically, but everyone else had or was having those moments too. When I knew I'd been beaten, I didn't have the willpower to get myself back into a mode of focus. I told myself that I'd played the game as best I could that day, that I’d played all the cards I had. I simply gave into the fact I'd been beaten. In hindsight, I wish I’d let myself have a few minutes of mental downtime and given myself an opportunity to hop into the next game that was available to me.

At the same time, I hold a lot of gratitude for the day I had out there. It excites me that I gave myself the opportunity to play at the front. I’m happy I was able to enjoy the last 20 miles of the course, even with a tired body, running across beautiful landscapes, being inspired by everyone around me doing their own hard things, and feeling the simple joy of getting to spend a full day doing very little other than running. And maybe most of all, I appreciate the fact that I've gotten to a place in my running, and in life, that I can have a day where I fair and square get my ass handed to me and still come out smiling at the end of it. 

While graciously accepting defeat is something I can be proud of, it feels like there was more in me that could have been squeezed out. So here’s to continuing the endless journey of getting every last drop. A journey that wouldn’t be possible without each other.

photo by: @tonywithasony