McCall Trail Classic 40 mile
When I followed the link that Allison sent me, I knew the McCall Classic was going to be a beautiful race. I wasn’t stoked on the dirt road section, as I pictured myself sweating profusely as trailers rattled on past at too quickly a speed. As the race day neared, the Carey family and Jug Mountain Ranch hopped on as sponsors, and the race had a new home. Now, all the dirt road running would be on quieter roads and shorter in distance. The race would take place in several of my favorite spots, too.
Jim flew in from Seattle to run the race. In its inaugural year, our 40 mile field only consisted of 40 or so people. Much less than my last race which had hundreds of runners. Even with the smaller field at a local venue, I didn’t know many people.
The initial climb took us steeply out of JMR and to Louie Lake. From there we climbed more, up and over saddles to wild flower and bear grass covered fields. All exposed rock is granite so it makes for quite a contrast. Before dropping down to Upper Boulder Reservoir, we took photos, cursed at mosquitoes and swatted horse flies. From Upper Boulder on down to the trailhead is a steep and rocky trail. April, another runner, fell somewhere in here but wasn’t badly injured and went on to run on hell of a race.
When there is nearly 10,000 ft of gain you climb a lot, so there we were climbing when we got off the course. Luckily enough our route met back up with the proper course, but it did add a handful of extra miles to an already long day. Not only that but we were now behind people that were once behind us.
Two false summits and one real Boulder Summit later we were still the same place in the pack, but finally half way in distance. We had a steep 7 or 8 mile descent into the Lick Creek valley and although you really want to work with gravity, you still have to try to not wreck yourself on the downhill.
At the aid station I ate enough Nutella to turn a healthy person diabetic and we headed outward and upward at a furious pace. I am not sure what got into Jim but we were on the same page. He said, “let’s just lay it down on this climb,” I said, “hell yeah,” and that was all it took. I asked Jim if he wanted to play a game and he suggested that we just try to move as quickly as possible. Turns out that he knew what I meant, which was to try and catch as many people as possible. As we were gaining on others I could smell their bug spray, which only made me want to move faster. I imagine tracking an animal while hunting is like this, which made me feel a tad bit uncomfortable. We passed something like 8 people, possibly more, which would have felt great had I not wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Jim told me to eat, and I am glad he did because that saved the day for me.
At the pass, it was mostly downhill and the pack we were in now started leap-frogging each other. April, who I mentioned earlier, took off and was never seen again. I am pretty sure she should get some kind of “bad-ass of the weekend” award. Jim started bonking and by the next aid station was feeling pretty awful. You never want to tell someone what to do, or influence their decision cause they might regret it…so I told Jim he should do whatever he felt he had to do. He ended up dropping out, which was a relief to me because he looked pallid, drained, and ready to be done. We’ve all been there, and you just have to know when to call it, which there is nothing wrong with doing.
As I headed out, Jim wished me luck. For the first time all day I was running alone so I pulled out my headphones and started jamming to whatever came on, which I couldn’t really focus any of my energy on listening so I turned the volume down. One hiker criticized my bounding along an uphill by smugly saying, “oh look at you with just too much energy!” I responded with, “Mister, you don’t even know,” and forgot about him and his silly trekking poles and poorly cropped beard.
One would think that the last 8 miles in what turned out to be a 44 mile race would cruise on by, but it didn’t. The switch backs and trails that didn’t descend steeply enough mocked my wishes to be done. Every time I thought the finish would be right around the corner, it wasn’t. At times I slowed to a walk but then remembered that getting passed by anyone we passed on that uphill was the last thing I wanted. Suddenly I felt like the hunted. Turns out, no one caught me on that last stretch. Not even when I had to stop to use the bathroom, which isn’t easy or expedited when your legs don’t want you to squat.
The finish was full of people from different race crews, family members, the race directors, runners who didn’t make certain time cuts, and runners either from different length races or ones who had already finished the 40. It was sweet to be done, and even more sweet when Tenessa told me there were burritos. Really, I was so happy to hear about burritos that hugged her and told her that I loved her. Ridiculous.
Things I decided during the last few miles…
Was this race really a classic? Yes. Will I run it next year? Yes. Should more friends show up for it? Of course. Am I excited to run at Angels? Obviously. Am I ready for a 50M? Yes. Am I ready for 100M? Decidedly no.
Jim flew in from Seattle to run the race. In its inaugural year, our 40 mile field only consisted of 40 or so people. Much less than my last race which had hundreds of runners. Even with the smaller field at a local venue, I didn’t know many people.
The initial climb took us steeply out of JMR and to Louie Lake. From there we climbed more, up and over saddles to wild flower and bear grass covered fields. All exposed rock is granite so it makes for quite a contrast. Before dropping down to Upper Boulder Reservoir, we took photos, cursed at mosquitoes and swatted horse flies. From Upper Boulder on down to the trailhead is a steep and rocky trail. April, another runner, fell somewhere in here but wasn’t badly injured and went on to run on hell of a race.
As I headed out, Jim wished me luck. For the first time all day I was running alone so I pulled out my headphones and started jamming to whatever came on, which I couldn’t really focus any of my energy on listening so I turned the volume down. One hiker criticized my bounding along an uphill by smugly saying, “oh look at you with just too much energy!” I responded with, “Mister, you don’t even know,” and forgot about him and his silly trekking poles and poorly cropped beard.
One would think that the last 8 miles in what turned out to be a 44 mile race would cruise on by, but it didn’t. The switch backs and trails that didn’t descend steeply enough mocked my wishes to be done. Every time I thought the finish would be right around the corner, it wasn’t. At times I slowed to a walk but then remembered that getting passed by anyone we passed on that uphill was the last thing I wanted. Suddenly I felt like the hunted. Turns out, no one caught me on that last stretch. Not even when I had to stop to use the bathroom, which isn’t easy or expedited when your legs don’t want you to squat.
The finish was full of people from different race crews, family members, the race directors, runners who didn’t make certain time cuts, and runners either from different length races or ones who had already finished the 40. It was sweet to be done, and even more sweet when Tenessa told me there were burritos. Really, I was so happy to hear about burritos that hugged her and told her that I loved her. Ridiculous.
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