Have you ever seen an overweight man hauling ass down a steep trail while struggling to get his legs under him in time to keep going and not crash, yet somehow keeping it together? Well, that was me in 2019. Man boobs and all. I felt like an elephant ballerina in a tank top gingerly making my way down the trail. In all seriousness, I was uncomfortable on most of my runs and this one was no exception. But I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was finishing the race.
At the time, my diet wasn’t something I paid much attention to. Consequently, that put me in the unhealthy 190-to-200-pound range and not a good 190 for my height. I was a short Mexican guy who lived off pizza, burgers, fried foods, and beer for so many years without any exercise that changing my old behaviors wasn’t easy. So I had to get myself used to the uncomfortable feeling that takes over when I’m pushing my body too hard.
That’s what took me to the Trailquake 10k at Sanborn Park in Saratoga, CA.
Before Trailquake, I had only been on a few hikes on trails in the San Jose area since the Race Thru the Redwoods a year earlier, but I hadn’t done any trail runs and very few hills. I seriously had no clue what I was getting myself into.
I was so new to running that I didn’t even look at the course and incline sections before the race. But I’m not sure it would have made much of a difference since I was still pretty much out of shape. It wasn’t until after the race and was asked the question about elevation that I decided to look. What I found was that the course reached its peak elevation at just over 2,900 feet with a total elevation gain/loss of approximately 1,846 feet.
In other words, the entire first half of the course was uphill.
When I arrived at the park, I was welcomed by giants in the forest, the smell of clean forest air, and a nice, cool temperature. The birds were chirping and the crowds of trail runners seemed to respect the quietness of the moment, speaking lower than usual to each other.
It was a different vibe than the road races but not any less competitive. I could sense it from the way people were looking at me and at other runners, sizing them up, probably imagining themselves running past them.
Most people looked really prepared with trail shoes and running vests. Some had hiking poles. And then there was me in road running shoes, a belt to carry my phone, and no water to take with me.
This is what happens when you don’t read the pre race information—you’re unprepared.
We lined up in our corals moments before the race with the people running the half marathon in front to head out first. I was in the front of the 10k pack stretching and trying to sike myself up. But looking at the group of people running the half marathon was a little intimidating.
I still remember feeling overwhelmed at the thought of running a half marathon on the trail.
When the 10k coral moved up to the start line, my toe was physically on the start line and I thought I heard the announcer say to start at 8:45am. So I plugged in my headphones, cranked up the music to drown out the people talking next to me, and I watched the clock.
I watched the seconds build every minute that passed like a kid waiting to get out of class. As soon as it hit 8:45am, I bolted down the trail and didn’t look back. The cold wind brushed my face and the free space of being in the front of the pack put a smile on my face.
At the first big hill, I glanced to my left and right and realized that I was so far in front of the pack that nobody was around me. For the first time in my race career, I was actually in first place. At the top of the hill, there was a Y in the trail with two flags, one on each side. So I went left.
Now, I was going down hill. So I let myself go and flew down the hill. Then I realized that there were not any flags along the route. I turned to see if anyone was behind me, but I didn’t see anyone. I finally decided to turn back until I saw someone just in case.
Back up the hill I went, anxious to see someone so I could turn back around and fly down the hill again. But there was nobody. When I got in view of the Y in the trail again, my fear came to fruition—I went the wrong way. Then I passed the camera man at the top of the hill.
“I tried yelling to stop you from going that way, but you didn’t hear me,” said the cameraman from behind his lens while snapping away at the runners.
Yup, I went the wrong way.
Later in the race, another runner notices me and says, “hey, thanks for the laughs, man. You took off and the announcer tried to stop you. But you just kept running.”
I laughed it off in embarrassment.
Thanks for telling me. I didn’t know that but now I know why nobody was around me.
“Yeah, then someone said you sent the wrong way. So they let it slide. You can’t make this shit up,” he said laughing with the runner next to him.
During the run, it was difficult not to soak in nature. I might have been a little embarrassed, but that went away after a while. I ran around redwoods and sequoias, over small streams, climbed over logs and up rocky paths. The fresh air was intoxicating, giving me a runner’s high in perfect weather. It was exactly where I wanted to be.
As difficult as the run was at times, I had a great time moving over those obstacles. There was a great water and aid station near the halfway point of the race that offered water, GU, and some fruit, so I took a couple bites of fruit and some water before heading down.
Now this was the fun part of that run—the downhill.
On the way down, I really let my feet get under me. There were moments when I was in a full sprint and barely trying. Then there were times during the descent where it hurt to stop because my knees took the weight of my momentum. It might have hurt at times, but it sure was fun.
I was exhausted by the time I got to the bottom, but there was still another mile to finish the line. My legs were jello and it had started heating up, so I had started to cramp. I had to walk with less than a mile left in my 10k, so I went back to the walk/run strategy I discovered earlier. That gave me enough energy to run across the finish line instead of walking. When I crossed the finish line, I was beat and embarrassed but I felt good.
That was the first time in my running career that a trail made me upset with competitiveness mixed with my sweat still coming out of me. But first thing was first, I had to run more trails and definitely more hills. I also needed to lose weight and work on my core strength. The pain in my legs going up and down the hills was eye-opening.
I finished the Trailquake 10k in 1:26:00 and was determined to beat that time in the following year, but that didn’t happen thanks to a pandemic.
