The Push to be your Best: The 2024 San Diego 100
Ann Trason, 14-time Western States Endurance Run winner and one of the greatest ultra runners of all time, famously characterized 100-mile races as “Life in a day. You have all the trials and tribulations of life in one day.”
Indeed, so much happens during a day spent in the mountains – so many highs and lows – that it’s hard to capture all of it in a single piece of writing without it turning into a painstakingly long, gratuitous memoir that no one wants to read (i.e. check out My 100-mile recap: Part 1 of 10). In fact, it’s nearly impossible to appreciate every poignant moment and do each one justice. So, for this reflection of the 2024 San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run, I’ll highlight some key moments from this “historic effort,” as Strava calls it.
There are two themes that stick out the most from San Diego, the course and the people.
The Course
“It’s harder than it seems.” –Gabe, San Diego 100 Finisher
“You can’t take your eyes off the trail. There is nothing like it around [Orange County] that you can train on.” –Rob, 2x San Diego 100 Finisher
“The race has been described as the biggest discrepancy between what it looks like on paper and how hard it actually is.” –San Diego 100 officials
When glancing at the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run, the course looks like a great opportunity to run a fast time. On paper, the big climbs are front-loaded in the first 60 miles of the race, with the high point hitting at mile 19. And, except for a couple of sections, the climbs are runnable.
On paper.
Reality is a different story. Much different.
With the start and finish at Lake Cuyamaca, just outside of the picturesque mountain town of Julian, in East San Diego County, San Diego 100 takes runners on trails traversing sections the Mt. Laguna Recreational Area, Cuyamaca and Anza Borrego State Parks, Noble Canyon, and a 20-mile swath of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). It is a gorgeous tour of this slice of heaven, but not an easy one. “It’s a very challenging, technical course in hot and dry conditions,” advised the race book.
The descent from the first climb, with rocks strewn across the trail, was a preview of what we’d see off and on throughout the race: a minefield of rocks deadset, it seems, on thwarting your plans. Other parts of the course, with drops carved into the trail, were reminiscent of South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon, where moving over them took significantly more focus and coordination than a typical trail.
There were sections, albeit short ones, where the trail was a pile of rocks that we got to navigate. Good times!
Other topographic features included a dozen or so water crossings (I welcomed these cooling refuges late into the hot afternoon, however), super narrow single-track trails with long blades of grass that whipped our ankles, as well as chunky sections that were exposed to the heat of the day.
If this sounds like complaining, I’m not. I’m just offering context for how the race unfolded. All told, it was a stunning course, and it was a privilege to run, walk, and stumble through that part of San Diego County.
The People
In many respects, ultra marathons aren’t about the individual runner; they’re about the community that comes together and helps each other achieve their goals. It’s more about “us” than “me.” At San Diego 100, it was no different, where I met inspiring runners on course, and I was honored to have two selfless souls guide me through the second half of the race.
In the early miles, I ran with a group of runners, and we clipped off a similar, relaxed pace. One such runner was Doug G., a recent grad from the U.S. Naval Academy. While in Annapolis, Doug ran on the service academy’s marathon club team, regularly clocking off sub-2:50 marathons. While San Diego marked his first 100-mile race, this was Doug’s second ultra. Earlier in the year, he ran the legendary JFK 50 miler, the longest running ultra in the U.S., and finished in a very fast 7 hours and change.
He was both curious and confident about the 100-mile distance. I asked him if he’d ever suffered before. “Not really.”
This made me legitimately excited, for he was going to get to experience life in a day for the first time. “I’m super pumped for you,” I told him. “Just wait – and then hang in there.”
Doug went on ahead, and we’d leapfrog for the next 5 miles. Then, I didn’t see him until a knee-deep water crossing around mile 40, where he’d taken off his shoes and socks and was soaking in a pool of water on this very hot day. When we crossed paths, I was so zoned out that I don’t even remember if we made eye contact when I exited the water ahead of him. He’d later go on to finish over 3 hours after I did.
Early on, I also ran with a 100-mile veteran, Eric, and we were running together at a sub-24-hour pace (too hot for me, but a tad slower than his targeted 23-hour finish). He and I ran together through mile 30, where he then pushed ahead while I power-hiked the climb out of the aid station.
A few minutes later, he reappeared out of nowhere, walking toward me.
“Is this an out-and-back?” I asked, perplexed.
“It’s not. I just got super dizzy, and my lips are buzzing. The heat got to me, so I’m heading back to the aid station. I’m dropping.”
I grabbed his shoulder and wished him well: “Man, I’m so sorry. Get back safely, and good luck.”
Eric wasn’t alone. In fact, of the 256 runners who started, just 134 finished, a DNF (did not finish) rate of 48%.
My Peeps
While I met inspiring runners and wonderful volunteers at the aid stations, it was my “crew of two” who made this San Diego 100 extra special.
Early in the training block for San Diego 100, I’d recruited my good friend Rob, who has run more than a dozen 100-milers, including a pair of finishes at SD100, to crew and pace me. Our mutual friend Holden was to be Rob’s co-pilot, but he unfortunately suffered a debilitating back injury 2 weeks before the race and couldn’t join us.
Because I had run all my ultras solo up until this point, I was undaunted that our team had been cut in half. With Rob still on board to crew and also pace the final 15 miles, I knew I’d still get the attention I didn’t deserve – especially for that final push to the finish.
What I didn’t know was that Rob would go on to recruit another pacer for me in the middle of the night. It was such a gift, and probably a necessary one, considering the state I was in at Penny Pines 1, the aid station at mile 59. In a word, disheveled.
As I sat down at Penny Pines to change out of my sweat- and ice-soaked shirt (mile 59, 9:06 pm), I started shaking and grunting. Rob gave me a cup of warm chicken noodle soup and wrapped blankets around my shoulders. The blankets helped, and it was great to sip some salty broth and get through some noodles. But, my body kept shaking, and it seemed like rigor mortis was setting in. I knew I needed to get going. Rob made me layer up and coaxed me out of the chair so I could set off for Meadows aid station.
“You were such a mess,” Rob would later tell me. “A total wreck!”
Out of concern for my safety and sanity, Rob drove ahead to Meadows, on a special mission to find someone who could accompany me all the way to mile 85 and the Pioneer Mail aid station. As luck would have it, he found that hero hanging around, and it couldn’t have come at a better time, as on my way to Meadows, I got twisted up navigating the turns in the dark, and I had to wait for other runners a couple of times during that five-mile stretch to confirm we were heading in the right direction. Somehow, we were. Thankfully.
My Pacers
In what other sport would you meet a total stranger and then immediately run 21 miles with them in the mountains, under the stars, and through the night, like it’s no biggie?
That’s what happened late into the night, when I rolled into the Meadows aid station at mile 64 at 10:45 pm — well past my bedtime, and with still 10+ hours of racing ahead.
Arriving at Meadows, I was frazzled, jacked up on caffeine and Tailwind, and I had taken 2 recent falls and stopped trusting myself. Rob calmed me down and introduced me to Sarah, who had fresh legs and a desire to pace as her runner had dropped from the race at mile 41.
She gave me a fist bump, asked me one political question (we were aligned 😅), and we set off into the darkness.
Sarah, or “Hern,” would go on to put up with my slow butt for the next 6 hours and 21 miles. She was an A+ pacer, gracious and patient, but not afraid to push me with tough love and kind reminders to eat, drink, and work.
On our way to Pioneer Mail at mile 85, we passed 6 runners and shared life stories. “Did we just become best friends?” I joked.
But seriously.
On our way to mile 85, I was stopped dead in my tracks at least three times after I bashed my toes on rocks that were protruding from the Pacific Crest Trail. I’m still embarrassed by my sailor-like cursing, but dang did making foot-to-surface contact with those rocks hurt!
Something that took my attention off the sting of the rocks, however, was the stunning early-morning skies. A couple of times, Sarah and I stopped in the middle of the trail that ran along the edge of a drop-off to the high desert below and just gazed at stars, in awe. On this moon-less night, was almost dizzying to witness so many bright stars in full resolution.
Other than my toenails, Sarah handed me off to Rob in excellent shape for the final 15ish miles, and though they were far from easy, Rob made sure we weren’t there to cruise.
He and I played a game called Pac-Man, where we’d home in on other runners, and gobble them up. As we’d approach runners from behind, Rob would look at me and open-and-close his arms as if we were at a University of Florida Gators football game, and we could catch, pass, and gap fellow runners. The game was a great way to keep my mind engaged – especially as I had already been up for 26 straight hours. In those closing miles, we overtook 9 others, including 3 in the final mile, to finish in 38th overall.
My Family
Besides the spectacular journey that I shared with both Rob and Sarah, the true highlight was seeing my better half Amy and oldest daughter Finley at the finish (our youngest was at home, studying for finals).
With our girls playing soccer year-round, game-free weekends are rare — and getting to the finish of an ultra is rarer still. But SD100 happened to finish on one of those once-in-a-blue-moon Saturdays, so Amy and Finley dawn-patrolled it to Lake Cuyamaca at 4am so that they could support me at the finish.
Amy and Fin arrived just after 6am, so they had a couple hours to soak up the scene while waiting for me to make my way in. Amy tells me she began to worry when she saw the condition of some of the finishers as they crossed the line ahead of me. But then she got to meet my pacer Sarah, who had driven to the finish after finishing her pacing duties, and she reassured Amy that I was strong and in good hands with Rob. I’m not sure about the former, but definitely the latter.
With a final tour of Lake Cuyamaca to wrap up San Diego 100, runners get a full view of the finish from roughly a 1/2-mile out. Savvy spectators can pick out their runners from that distance. So, from about a 1/4 mile out, as I was clocking off slow, 10-minute miles, I could make our Finley cheering – so heartwarming. What made getting to the finish even more special was first hearing Finley cheer me on from about 200 yards out – and then having her torch me as I (very) slowly made those final steps back to the start/finish. Nothing like getting called out by your 16 year-old.
Of course, credit for this coordination goes back to Rob, who was in regular communication with Amy throughout the race, sending her texts and pics. He would later tell me that he held off messaging her about my shivering and grunting self as I slowly changed out of my sweat- and ice-soaked shirt at Penny Pines 1 (he didn’t want her to worry).
So, it was fitting that as we neared the finish, Rob graciously handed me over to Fin: “You need to take his b*tch-ass in!” he quipped.
And, Finley obliged, hazing me with all the love I deserved: “You’re so fast, you old man!”
This is the welcome I got after running 101.75 miles in 27 hours? Actually, I couldn’t think of anything better.
Looking Back – and Ahead
In his short film chronicling his first 100-mile race called “The Participant,” filmmaker and endurance athlete Dylan Harris captured a perspective that many people in the ultra community share – just like Ann Trason’s reflection.
“Similar to life itself,” he narrates, “some people think running 100 miles is short, and some people think it’s impossibly long. But everyone will surely experience ups and downs along the way.”
That was certainly my case during the San Diego 100. Things didn’t work out as I’d envisioned my perfect race to go. But, like life, these things are challenging, they don’t unfold as expected, and that’s part of the beauty of these challenges.
You get to make small adjustments and micro decisions as you navigate the course, as rocky or chunky or as technical as it is. And, if you’re lucky, you’ll run into the support of others who want nothing more than to see you finish. Harris reflects:
“In the end, I found the 100-mile distance to be all about the people. It’s a community that encourages you to be yourself, allows you to be at your worst, but will push you to be at your very best.”
I couldn’t say it any better.
2024 SD100: 101.75 mi; 15,348 ft gain; 27h 17m
