To a non-runner, it must have looked strange to see me stuff several small gels into a pocket of my pack, only to pull them out again moments later, contemplating the order of which I may or may not want to eat them during my race. Espresso gel first thing in the race with no nearby bathrooms? Maybe not the greatest of ideas...

I wouldn't necessarily consider myself to be the type of person who is overly attentive to detail, but with racing, I'm downright OCD at times. I find this stage of race preparation oddly therapeutic and calming. It makes me feel better have everything ready to go and organized the night before the race. That left me with more brain-space to dwell over other important things like whether or not the ice in the cooler will keep the beers cold until the end of the race. 

For my nutrition, I planned on using Tailwind (a sensitive-stomach friendly electrolyte / nutrition powder you put into your water-- think of it as Gatorade on crack), a Bison EPIC bar, Salt Stick Tabs as needed, three  or four gels (some with caffeine, some not), five Medjool Dates, and a chocolate-covered marshmallow egg (because things like that make me really happy in the middle of a race). I figured I'd also be picking at the food at the aid stations, but in general, I liked to be fully-prepared by myself. I also had my headlamp (we would be starting in the dark), sunglasses and my trusty Dirtbag Runners trucker hat.

Even with my obsessive packing and scanning over the map, I still I went to bed that night feeling restless. I wanted to run.

Race Day Morning - A Crab-tastic Beginning 




Peter woke up early the morning of our race (around 3:30 am!) and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. After a few minutes, I dragged myself out of bed, still sleepy-eyed and feeling like I didn't really sleep at all.

After a cup of coffee each and a few bites of food, we filled our thermoses with the leftover coffee and drove to the starting line of the race.

The event start and finish was set up just below the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. We arrived forty-five minutes early to give ourselves plenty of time to finish our coffees and handle business. As we wandered around killing time before the start, we walked to the shore's edge, taking in the sparkling reflection of the bridge in the water. It was beautiful.

As with every race start, I found myself observing other runners and their gear. What kinds of hydration packs they had, what types of headlamps they used, the shoes (or lack thereof). I looked down and realized I was probably the only person running in Luna Sandals. While at the Born To Run Ultramarathon my feet would disappear among a sea of Lunas, in the Marin Headlands of San Francisco, I looked mildly out-of-place.

Regardless, I felt confident that the model I was wearing / testing out / breaking in -- The Gordo-- would hold up well on the terrain. It was thicker and burlier than the typical Lunas I ran in, and had a sole that was specifically designed for trail running. I was also planning on wearing them for the Leona Divide 50, so this was the perfect setting to put them to the test.

The race director called for the runners to head to the starting line --the 50 mile and 50K would both start shortly after 6 am.

Peter and I wished each other good luck, and soon we were all off running into the darkness.

Peter happily bounded towards the front of the pack, and I hung back a little (okay, a lot), finding a comfortable pace and making sure I kept a reasonable heart-rate. 

It was still pretty dark out, and my headlamp was doing a bad job of lighting up the ground in front of me. I tried to carefully watch where I was stepping.

I was only maybe half a mile out when my right foot landed on something large that crunch-SMASH-squished and I felt my center of gravity change drastically. It happened so quickly that my arms didn't even have a chance to brace my fall.

My left shin hit the ground first, dragging against the pavement to stop my forward momentum.

I hadn't even made it to the trailhead yet.

I'm technically running on the road right now.

Running down a steep single-track whilst channeling your inner Kilian Jornet? Worthy of a wipe-out.

Flat paved road? Nope.

A nearby runner stopped for a moment to make sure I was alright.

"I'm fine! Just a little scrape!" I said, quickly standing up and brushing the rocks off my legs.

I inspected my now stinging shin and saw dark red streaks run down my leg. 

The scrapes looked more like an animal had slashed the front of my shin. 

Thankfully, it didn't hurt too bad.

I pointed my headlamp in the direction of where I slipped, and I couldn't believe what had taken me out:

A fucking crab.

Like, the kind of crab with big claws you might find steamed and served alongside melted butter at a seafood restaurant. The back of its shell was cracked down the middle and it's insides were spilling out through the sides.

Brutal way to go out, little dude.

It made my scratched-up leg look like a paper-cut in comparison.

I thought about taking a photo, but the mob of runners was still pretty dense and I figured it was better just to keep moving forward. I had an important task at hand: running. Far.

The Marin Headlands 



The next few miles passed like a blur.

Up up up, down down down.

Up down, up down.

I watched as the twinkling headlamps bobbed in the darkness of the valley in front of me. 

As the sun started to peak it's way out from the mountains behind me, I was able to finally see the surrounding mountain ranges. It was gorgeous.

Everything was green and vibrant. Spring was in full bloom and I was grateful to be able to run during such a perfect day. The weather was set to be the low 70s during the day with some clouds, so needless to say, I couldn't ask for better conditions!

At around mile 8 we began to climb along the coast and I couldn't help but stop and take a few photos.

As I made my way up the biggest climb of the day, I felt my legs slowly loosen up. I felt strong. It was strange to think about the fact that I started to feel my best around the four hour mark. Talk about a long warm-up period!

After an exhilarating descent into the next valley, the trail twisted and led to an expansive grassy field where the grass grew higher than my head. It felt like wonderland and I could barely see more than a few yards ahead of me. 

Suddenly, I was climbing again, and the trail had become a thick canopy of trees covered with vines and flowers. It reminded me more of a jungle in the Amazon than in the mountains above San Francisco. The quickly changing settings was a little shocking but amazingly entertaining. 



I tried my best to walk as normally as possible over to Peter, who was standing in the shade of the finish line aid station.

"Dude! Good job!" I said, giving him a high-five. "How was your race?"

I could tell by the look on his face that he was feeling the same pure joy I felt at the end of my race. 

He told me that he pushed hard the entire time and hit a PR for the 50 mile distance by a little under an hour. It was a challenging course and I was happy to see him so pumped about his finishing time. 

He noticed my leg. "What happened?"

"It's a funny story..." I started, wondering if I should just tell him that I wiped out, Kilian-style while running down one of the descents.

"I slipped on a crab."

He didn't look surprised. 

We shared our stories from the day and sat in the shade of the finish line tent. We talked to few other runners and enjoyed a couple beers. It was a rad ending to a pretty rad day. 

I think I earned my stripes on this one.

T-minus thirty days until the Leona Divide 50!