XTERRA Point Mugu

Having now lived in Southern California for seven weeks, I've learned to expect two things from every trail run: hills and heat. I've done my best to acclimate to both, but were seven weeks enough to prepare for my first race out here - the XTERRA Point Mugu 18K?

I took a scouting mission to check out this set of trails the weekend before the race. Wow. Here were my takeaways:

No, not this Ray Miller. (But this card
immediately came to mind when I saw the name).

• Dangerous single track. The first and last two miles of the race are up and down the Ray Miller Trail - a winding single-track along the flank of the mountain, rising up from the ocean. The trail itself is smooth and well maintained, but you are never more than two feet away from a terrible fall off the side of the mountain. Not really an issue on the way up, when your speed is moderated by the steep grade, but coming down is a different story. Even at a relatively slow pace during the scouting run, I nearly skidded off the trail around a number of turns. I could only imagine what race day would bring. Not to mention that passing someone on this trail seemed like it would be nearly impossible. 
• Hills! You climb 1000 feet over the first two miles. Then descend 1000 feet. Then climb 1000 feet. Then descend 1000 feet. It's cruel.
• Exposure. No trees anywhere, thanks to the Springs Fire of 2013. This makes for some spectacular vistas all around, but also for a lot of time baking under the sun.

From the top of the Ray Miller trail, looking back down to where the race starts and ends. 

Being new to the area, I haven't yet figured out where I rank among other trail runners, which means I'd be going into the race blind. Who was the local Gazelle, Jonny, Muddy, Tommy 5K, etc.? Which guy would set a good pace? Who would go out too fast and blow up? Who would be lurking behind? I'd just have to go out and run my own race and watch the pieces come together.

On race day, there were two major wildcards - my IT band and the weather. The IT band mysteriously started hurting the day before the race. The pain was bad whenever I sat down, stood up, climbed stairs, or descended stairs. Heading into a race with 2000 feet of elevation gain, these symptoms were worrisome. I babied it all day, used my magic potions, foam rolled, and hoped for the best. It was still there in the morning, but this was an expensive race, and I wasn't about to quit before I started.

As for the weather, did I mention it has been HOT here? There average high since we moved here has been 85 degrees - and this is for the months of September and October. From 10/8 - 10/12, just a week before the race, the daily highs were 92, 108, 99, 94, 91! I love running in the heat, but this has been brutal. Would race day bring more of the same? As it turned out, not even close. Race morning temperatures were in the 60s, with 90+% humidity and full cloud cover. It felt like every summer morning in Rhode Island. Maybe it wasn't quite home field advantage, but it wouldn't hurt me.

The race course this year was apparently changed from years past, due to closure of one of the main trails used by the course. We'd instead be running a lollipop loop, with the first and final 2-3 miles on a single track called the Ray Miller Trail, which climbed 1000' from the start line. Because of the narrow trail, we were sent off in self-selected waves of 20ish. I started with the first group (I must think I'm pretty special) and, not knowing who these guys were, settled into fifth place before we hit the trail. Up we went, the leader immediately gapping the field, while I stayed at the back of the chase train. I noticed that all but one of the runners in front of me were donning backward caps. This discontinuity in the backward hatters (of which I was one) bothered my inner Monk. I remedied this as soon as I could, moving into fourth after a half mile and sitting there for a bit as we ascended, now content with the symmetry. The two guys directly in front of me looked like solid runners with efficient strides, and they were staying strong, though gradually slowing. They mustn't have liked me sitting behind them, because at around the two mile mark, they pulled over and let me go by. I felt a gap open up quickly and hoped it would be the last I saw of those guys for the rest of the race.

A mile into the race - up, up, and away

After exiting the Ray Miller single track, there's a water stop (I took a swig), and then a long descent down a dirt fire road (2.5 miles at -7% grade). There are points along this part of the course where you can see maybe half a mile in front of you (or, really, across a canyon to the trail on the other side), and I could see just how impossible it would be to reel in the leader. He had 2-3 minutes on me already and wasn't showing signs of slowing down. Behind me, the pursuers were maybe 10-15 seconds back and not going anywhere.

I am not a great downhill runner. I always feel like my feet are slapping loud enough to be heard from outer space. My pace was hovering in the 5:20s, which didn't seem nearly fast enough for the gravitational advantage I was getting. Sure enough, I got caught by the third place guy (Mario Lopez - AC Slater?...this is Malibu after all) right as we reached the bottom of the hill and turned onto the only flat part of the course - a 1/3 mile stretch on Sycamore Canyon Road. He got some space on me, but I tried my best to stay on him, hoping I'd again be stronger on the uphill that awaited. I closed on him little by little as we headed up the Fireline trail (1.5 miles / 750 ft). The many switchbacks gave us too many chances for awkward moments of eye contact. The last part of this trail is the most difficult of the course - 1/4 mile at 20% incline with poor footing. According to Strava, my pace dropped into the 13:00s(!) here, yet I managed to catch and pass the guy back. This trail terminates back at the fire road, but there is no respite from the climbing. Another 200 feet still awaited before we'd drop back down the Ray Miller trail. Much to my dismay, my adversary still had something in the tank. We ran side by side up the trail until he reached down for a little more before we hit the single track. I knew I was toast at this point, as he was clearly a better downhill runner based on his earlier performance. He seemed to put 10 seconds on me within the first 1/4 mile of the final descent.

This is the view for nearly half the race. Makes it hard to focus on the trail.

I was content to cruise to a third place finish when I noticed that I had more company. There were two guys only 5 or 10 seconds behind me. This was the worst-case scenario -- a runaway train on treacherous trails trying to hold off another two runaway trains. I started going as fast as I could go without feeling like I was risking my life, and then I went faster. At first, it seemed I was keeping the gap constant. Then, I noticed that the guy in fifth had passed the other guy (who'd been in fourth for the entire race) and was closing fast on me. In an instant, he was on my heels. He was everything I was not - a smooth, efficient, QUIET, downhill runner -- and now he was poised to take the final podium spot. I did everything I could to delay the inevitable while I waited for him to ask to pass. Instead, when he finally spoke, he said, "Boy, that guy's just not cracking," referring to 2nd place, who was still 10-15 seconds ahead. I laughed and said, "Go after him. What are you waiting for?" To my surprise, he replied, "Oh, I'm not in the race, just trying to help you out." Good lord. Not in the race? I'd nearly fallen to my death several times because of this guy, but he's not in the race? On the flip side, if it wasn't for him, I'm almost certainly have been caught by the next guy. We continued on like this for a bit until he finally passed, saying, "Let me pull you for a bit." But I couldn't match his incredible pace no matter what I did. I continued to pound the final half mile, my quads screaming, occasionally glancing over my shoulder, until I was finally sure I wouldn't be caught. I crossed in third place, 25 seconds out of 2nd and only 6 in front of 4th. My final mile on the single track was 4:49! I still can't believe that. For perspective, when I scouted the course the previous week, I ran what I thought to be a reasonable pace for a sane person. My split for that mile was 6:28. It's amazing what we'll do for a meaningless place in a meaningless race.

A few hundred feet from the finish, legs fried from the downhill

I was fairly satisfied with the race, but it's hard to know if this was a good performance or not, having never run the course before and knowing none of the competitors. I have a couple of road races planned in the next two months, and those should be better gauges of my fitness. Still this was a fun race, with pretty strong competition. I'll probably try a few more of these XTERRA races before the season is through.

Final time: 1:10:19
Place: 3rd
Results are here.

Post-race notes:

1. The swim in the ocean afterwards was really refreshing. Got a scare when something large and soft-bodied was thrown into my legs by a wave. Still not sure what it was. I also saw a sea lion playing in the waves a few dozen feet away.
2. I was nearly as sore from this race as I was from Ragnar. I was hobbling around the office for a few days afterwards, getting funny looks from my coworkers. Good thing Jeff wasn't there to comment. 

Seb wondering why Daddy isn't on that tall box

3rd place is almost as good as National League champs. Let's go Mets!