I have high expectations for this year’s Way Too Cool. Coming off a finish at Fourmidable, albeit slower than I had hoped, I expect WTC to be an easier run, regardless of weather and trail conditions. I am looking forward to running with friends and there are a lot of them out here this morning.
The most popular trail race in the area, Way Too Cool draws the big names and a lot of runners who claim this as their only ultra of the year. Max King is here to defend his title. Jam-Jam, from Mtn Outhouse is here to cover the story. Jim Walmsley is here with Team Hoka as a spectator and to support the team members running.
The starting area is crowded, but I find some of my friends, including Carina and Cordelia Kool and Edd and Doug and Gary.
On a quick side note, my Cirq rain jacket is amazing! I am warm and dry (except for my feet) and the zip open side vents keep me from overheating and the fabric breathes well. Adjusting the zipper and the hood allow me to be comfortable with the weather changes in during the race. My GOODR sunglasses keep their promise of not bouncing and make it easy to maintain clear visibility when the sun is out. Although they do fog up a bit in the cold when I have my buff up over my mouth and nose. I highly recommend both.
At the start of the race it is warmer and clearer than I expect. Some forecasts call for snow, but the day starts out beautiful. The crowd pushes forward for a little over a mile before veering onto the dirt trail towards Knickerbocker Creek. Before I even get to the dirt, I notice that my truck window is down and have to stop to put it up. Barely into the race I am already behind Edd (whom I had planned to run with) and there is a significant crowd between us. I see 
my friend Joel (many newts were saved this day) at the creek crossing, which is running deeper and faster and colder than normal, so I stop to say “hi” and pet Starburst. Up from the creek, we soon join the Secret Trail and fall into the “Congo Line.” With the slippery, muddy conditions, many people are walking on the downhills and others are walking on the uphills and progress is limited 
by the people in front of me. We slip and slide our way around the Olmstead Loop and back to the start/finish area about the time it starts raining for the first time. I’m about 3 minutes behind my expected time and I’m pretty happy with that, considering the conditions and the fact that I had to stop and roll up my window. I’m 5 minutes behind Edd and thinking I might catch him before the next aid station and finish my run with him. I leave Cool after filling one of my water bottles with electrolytes so I can switch off between that and water. I waste no time at this aid station. The rain is a light drizzle and cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone. Some are bundled up like I am. Some are in shorts and singlets. There’s that “one guy” without a shirt. Jim Walmsley and his crew glide easily past us on the single track, casually chatting as they run in the rain.
In my last race I was able to fly down the hill from the Cool Firehose and make up considerable time, but the mud (and the necessity for an emergency stop in some nearby bushes) prevent me from moving as quickly as I hope. At the Quarry aid station, however, I am still within range of my goal and feeling pretty good. The easy part of the race is over now and the climbing looms ahead. The weather alternates between rain and sun as I head up to the single track on the section of the Western States Trail. I usually love this part of the trail and being here is like coming to visit an old friend I don’t see often enough. I have two thoughts, as I hit the halfway point. First, Max King is probably finishing about now (he was) and, second, I could still make my goal, or at least be under 8 hours.
Running 31 miles is difficult. Things go wrong, sometimes really wrong, and sometimes just a little wrong. Since my last race two weeks ago, I have been busy with work and home, I rolled my ankle on my 10-mile run, and I got sick.
I usually like running in the rain, and even in the cold if I am properly equipped. I later saw many of my friends posting pictures from today’s run talking about how fun it was, big smiles all around. That is not my experience the second half of Way Too Cool this year. My ankle starts aching. I get hailed on… twice. The mud seems overwhelming and I’m having a hard time keeping my footing. I never fall, though, and I feel a little whiny for complaining about the mud while friends I know take full face plants and come up smiling about it. I usually love this stuff, but today I don’t.
I get to Auburn Lake Trail (mile 21) just as my friend, Youa, is leaving as a Safety Patrol. She shouts some word of encouragement to me. I grab some broth and an oreo, refill my water and electrolytes, a couple pieces of potato with salt, and a peanut butter sandwich square. Keep moving! Next stop Goat Hill. The mud is muddy. The rain is wet. The hills are steep. The hail is cold. I get to Goat Hill and realize that I am not going to make any of my goals for the day. More broth. another oreo. Top off the bottles. 5.5 miles to go.
It seems to take forever to get to the last hydration
station at Highway 49. The rain and hail stop and there is a rainbow over the canyon as I enter the clearing before the descent to the crossing. I don’t need anything so I head up the last climb without stopping. 2.4 miles to go. I won’t get a PR, but I am about 30 minutes ahead of the last time I did this race.
Matt is at the finish and points me to the beer. There is no more welcome sight than a Loco pointing to a beer. An IPA and a sandwich and then the cold sets in on the walk to my truck. Heater on and I get to go home.
Ultrarunning is life. There are good days (even great days) and there are bad days; I keep moving. In the last month, two 14-year-old girls, just outside my circle, hung themselves. One is a friend of the daughter of a friend of mine, the other is a daughter of a friend’s cousin. A student of mine and a friend of mine both attempted suicide in the last weeks. I’m reminded, too often, of a woman I met some years ago. It was a beautiful day on the Sacramento River. We were with mutual friends and family on a boat laughing in the sunshine. It was a really good day. A week later she took her own life. I don’t know what causes someone to think they have no more good days.
Truth be told, as a fellow sufferer of depression, I have always leaned into the hope that there will be another good day. What I know I can do is everything I can to make sure that the people within my circle of influence have a good day today. As for me… I’ll keep running;
