I’d been racing up and down Cougar Mountain all summer, finishing toward the front, and occasionally pulling off an age group win. I was amused by the fact that the folks I’ve been finishing close to all summer are around 35 years old, which is about what I’d expect as 35 is about where the downhill slide starts, but…wait a minute…even a 35 year old is almost 25 years younger than I am. Yikes. Anyway, I find it interesting how perspective changes over the years…and that I can still keep up with “kids” that young.

With that background information out of the way, it was time to wrap things up with a final 50K on Cougar Mountain. I’d been training specifically for the race, including a trail marathon at Deception Pass just four weeks before as a final long training run. I dragged Katherine’s ass out of bed at 05:00 to drive down there for an 08:00 start. As I sat in the outhouse for one last pre-race poop, I ran through my mental checklist and…realized that I had left my drink flasks in the refrigerator at home. These flasks go into little pockets on the front of the vest I wear for trail races. These flasks contain magical fluid that keeps me hydrated and fueled. To make a long story short, I can’t race without them (aid stations are too far apart), and no substitute was found. So home we went.

But, another 50K was in two weeks, and not all that far from Cougar Mountain. I had tapered for the the Cougar race, so in two more weeks I might end up a little out of shape, but not so much I couldn’t do the distance. It was also a multiple lap race, so Katherine could see me a few times instead of like it would have been at Cougar: “have fun, see you in six hours!” Cougar Mountain makes for fun racing, but it’s not a very good spectator course.

The race website said two laps of the half marathon course, then a five mile loop, for a total of 31 miles or 50 kilometers. The website also mentioned that the loop is a bit long, “closer to 14 miles than 13”. Well, that’s trail racing. If you want an accurate-to-the-meter course, go find a road race. I scouted the trail two weekends before, and my GPS watch said the loop was more like 15 miles, but I obviously took a wrong turn somewhere. Regardless, plan on it being a bit long, I guess.

Race morning was predicted to dawn clear and cold (cold for the Pacific Northwest, anyway). With a low of about 32F, I debated long and hard on wearing tights. I decided against. With a predicted high of 50F, I predicted one trip up that hill and I’m going to be hatin’ life in those tights. So bare legs it was to be. It turned out to be the right choice, cold as it was.

One of the reasons I like trail racing these days is because I’ve grown a little weary of racing with 30,000 of my closest friends on the roads (one of the primary reasons I did not sign up for the Boston Marathon next year, despite easily qualifying for it). Trail racing, on the other hand, is racing with about 30 (with no modifier after the “30”; nope, just 30) people, some of whom actually are friends. Therefore, I felt no need to edge my way to the front for the start. I’ll just stand back here a ways from the start/finish banner, and let others fill in the front. 60 seconds before the start, I look around, and I’m still at the front of the pack despite being a good 10 meters from the start line. The races starts, and I just let some folks go around me before I started running. And around me they did go, some of whom are “only” running the marathon distance, and some of whom are simply faster than I am.

The Grand Ridge race is named, as one might imagine, after the ridge along which most of the race runs. But one must first ascend to get to that ridge, and this race doesn’t make you wait long: less than a mile in, and up you go.

Despite there being about 6000 feet of elevation gain in this race, there never is a point at which the hills are terribly steep, just long. For a lot of trail races, I’ll bring my fancy-schmancy carbon fiber trekking poles for the long, steep grinds. Poles are great for taking the load off the legs on a long climb. But the hills for Grand Ridge are mostly just a steady grind, so poles won’t be of much use. I brought poles on my scouting run two weeks prior, and basically never used them.

The course is basically up the hill from the start, gradual downhill for a while to the turnaround, then back up the way you came down, then the steep and treacherously rock-and-root-infested downhill to the start/finish. Do that again, then the five mile loop. I hit the turnaround aid station and just turned around. My hydration flasks still had juice left in them, and I wasn’t ready for a snack just yet, so back to the finish. Did I mention the treacherous downhill to finish the lap? Yeah, on a trail like this there are a thousand opportunities every mile to catch a toe on a rock or a root, and you only have to miss one. And miss one I did. Well, I sort of missed it. I saw it coming, but at my age those reflexes didn’t work fast enough to do much about it. With that much advanced notice, I managed to roll with it, but still caught my knee on a rock. I guess if you’re not bleeding, you’re not racing hard enough. My knee hurt, but it was the kind of hurt that you know will go away in five minutes if you just keep going. So on I went, and the knee did get better before I hit the bottom of the hill.

First lap down, I was feeling good and thinking this might not be so hard. The course was long, though. My watch said it was about 15 miles, as it said two weeks ago. I didn’t get lost on my scouting run, the course is just way long. No matter, “I guess it’s just going to be a 35 mile day”. Katherine got me a flask refill of water, I grabbed a few gels from my drop bag, and traded heavy gloves for lighter ones. (A “drop bag” is a bag one can pack with supplies to be waiting for you at pre-determined spots along the course. In this case, the the bags were at the start/finish.) Resupplied, back out I went for another lap.

The big hill after the start didn’t get any easier, but it wasn’t all that much harder, either. I walked about half of it, and my hip flexors were feeling a lot better than they were the first lap. “I think I’m actually feeling better than I did the first lap.” I gave the volunteers at the mid-lap aid station a wave and a thanks, but kept moving on. At the turnaround aid station, however, it was time for a little break. I dumped a package of Tailwind into the now-empty hydration flask, double-checked with the volunteer that the container was, indeed, water (don’t want to find out three miles down the trail that it was actually Nuun). A couple of other racers were standing around when I got there. They were still standing around when I left. I don’t want to stand around any more than I have to, lest I grow too comfortable with the idea. In fact, that camp chair was starting to look pretty inviting.

I did hit the mid-lap aid station on the return trip. I was starting to get a little hungry, and liquid food wasn’t cutting it. Orange slices would hit the spot, and what is this that I spy? I tell the volunteers, “I’m a vegetarian, but today I’m going to pretend these Slim Jims are made of plants.” As if they gave a shit. Also, note to self: don’t eat Slim Jims mid-race anymore. There is absolutely nothing to equal burping up meat chunks in the middle of a technical downhill section.

And by the time I hit that technical downhill section, I was kinda toast. My arms were kind of tingling, I was tired, and having to pick my way down this rocky section that has already landed me on my ass once. There was always the option of calling it at the finish line and making it a marathon distance race. Just tell the timing person, and they’ll mark you down for a shorter distance. I mean, given the long course, even the “marathon” is 30 miles (and not the standard 26).

When I hit the bottom of the hill, I really didn’t want to do this anymore. On the other hand, I could crawl on my hands and knees for five miles if I had to. Or, less dramatically, I could walk it, too. But I sure didn’t want to be out there for what was likely going to be another hour, after an already difficult six hours. Before I could quit, I still needed to get to the finish area, though.

Once to the start/finish, a volunteer grabbed my flask to refill, and another offered a cheese quesadilla. Katherine came over with a pep talk. I’m guessing I was beginning to look about like I felt. Katherine said the remaining five miles was just an easy training run for me. I figured it was going to be the hardest five miles I’d ever run. We were soon to find out who was right.

I was. Up the same big hill for the third time, I began to wonder where the 1500 feet of elevation gain for the five mile loop was going to come from. The big hill isn’t that tall. But after the turn at the top, the trail began to head down the hill. Down, and down, until I could hear the traffic along I-90. Those fuckers made us go all the way back down to the bottom, that’s how the five mile loop has that much elevation gain. Because we have to go back up to the top of the ridge so that we can head back down to the finish. It was at that point that I wished I had brought the trekking poles. The climb back up had fewer switchbacks and more straight up the hill than the trail on the other side of the ridge (the “big hill”). Oh, well, I knew there was no one anywhere behind me to worry much about (if they hadn’t caught me by now…), so I power hiked it. Okay, I walked most of it at a moderate pace. It got better enough to run again, but still uphill. “Yeesh, how much longer to the top?” The paper map I had wasn’t much help, so I just slogged on. Eventually I reached the top, but still had to navigate the downhill to the finish without face planting. I managed that, then the flat mile to the finish. It was at that point that I noticed that I had about five more miles than I did when I finished the first two laps. But I still had about a mile to go, meaning the “five mile” loop was long, too.

At the end of the day it came out to just shy of 36 miles, and 7:06. That is the most miles I’ve ever run, and the most time I’ve spent on a race course. And there was a fair bit of elevation gain to keep it interesting. My watch said 5300′, the course map said 6900′. But we already know how accurate the advertised course measurements were. I finished mid-pack, and didn’t even take my age group. I was, however, the oldest person out there. I’m not sure if there’s a hint to be taken there or not. Full results are here.

Speaking of watches, the Apple Watch Ultra lived up to its name. It still had about half battery left at the end, and that’s with all of the radios running and no “low power mode” or anything. I simply charged it up before we left the house, and left it set the way I do every other day. I even sent and received a few text messages while I was out there. In my advancing years, I don’t plan to do anything longer than a 50 mile race, so that’s all the battery I need out of it. Now that I’ve got some miles on it, I’ll write up a comparison with my Garmin 945LTE later.