A Fistful of Gummy Bears: The Greenhorn Ranch Trail Run Part 1

I clambered over fallen tree trunks and through thick beds of pine needles. My breath felt ragged in my chest, my lungs burning with every wheezing inhale and exhale. It was early in the race and already I felt tired.  

The dreaded Bunny Hill

I was doubled over, my head hung well over my hips in exhaustion. I peered up at the steep incline before me.

The so-called Bunny Hill was no bunny hill. In less than a mile, it covered 1,000 feet of elevation. Unlike the wide dirt road at the start of the Greenhorn Ranch Trail Run, there was no discernible dirt road in the wilderness here. Forest detritus blanketed the ground, and the course was marked by striped and white tape fastened to tree branches.

I’d known about the Bunny Hill before starting the Greenhorn Ranch Trail Run, a 50 km race held in Quincy, California, but I hadn’t prepped my body for running at altitude. And I was suffering due to my lack of foresight. 

As I caught my breath while leaning up against a tree, another racer passed me. “Nothing like hiking with no oxygen," he said, pushing beyond me with a vigor my body just couldn’t muster at this stage.  

Ahead of me, runners dotted the hillside in ant march formation. Their momentum was contagious. 

I continued on. Slowly. 

Still, the ascent felt relentless. The trees seemed to climb forever, and I groaned with each trudging step. My progress was sluggish; my pace, glacial. According to my Garmin, the latter reeled back to a 40-minute per mile pace at certain points. Often, the machine didn’t even register my movements. The watch’s screen simply showed dashes where my pace should’ve been.  

Eventually, I heard hooping and hollering ahead of me. Through the trees, I saw runners jumping in triumph as they crested the Bunny Hill. The end was within sight! 

The elevation leveled and I checked my watch. We weren’t even five miles into the race. I still had over 11 miles left in the first loop, and over 25 miles left in the entire race. 

Despite this, I felt optimistic. I had just scaled the Bunny Hill, and jogging was now doable. 

Patches of snow occupied small tracks as the ground evened out. The air was cool and the forest was serene. Not a hint of wildlife besides birds. I didn’t know what to make of that.  

The trees opened up and soon, I was running eye-to-eye with the mountains. The views were spectacular here: sprawling vistas of peaks and valleys dotted with snow, greenery, and hints of human habitation.

The trail snaked along the sides of mountaintops, steadily inching its way upwards into the sky. 

The climb didn’t last much longer, and soon, the ground declined as I hit a descent. 

This is where things got fun. 

Rather than resist the tug of gravity, I eased into it, allowing the momentum to carry my tumbling legs. The flow, the relinquishing of resistance, felt right. My feet kicked up dust and I spread my arms out like a bird. The running was joyful. Pure elation. A grin crept across my face. My body moved in a beautiful place. 

I started singing. Specifically, I started singing Har Mar Superstar’s “Lady You Shot Me.” Don’t ask me why, it was the first tune that came to mind. The song played on repeat in my head for close to six miles. And man, those miles were oh’ so good.

But the feel-good party didn’t last forever. How could it? 

Without warning, hills and inclines reared their ugly heads again. Though paling in comparison to the Bunny Hill, they still hurt due to the miles covered in the interim. 

Thankfully, the temperatures ran mild, lingering in the 60-to 70-degrees zone. So I wasn’t overheating in anyway. When the inclines slowed my roll, I simply walked, repeating the mantra, “Hike with purpose,” so I wouldn’t mess up my pace too bad.  

Replenished by succulent sodas at the final aid station, I descended a hill with fairly technical terrain, following the trail to the START/FINISH area at the Greenhorn Ranch. I trod with caution here, not wanting rogue roots and pesky boulders to snare my feet. 

Eventually, I was back at the Greenhorn Ranch. After checking in with the race organizers, I hightailed it back to my campsite on the property. I needed to refill my water bladder and grab more snacks. It was a little bit after 11 a.m. I had finished the first 25 km loop in just over four hours.  

My girlfriend Christina greeted me with enthusiasm at the campsite. She noted that I looked great, much stronger than I had appeared at my previous race (The Jed Smith 50 Miler). We refilled my runner’s pack with water and snacks. I scarfed down fistfuls of gummy bears and loaded some more into my pockets. After planting a sweaty, salty smooch on Christina, I pressed onwards and started my second loop. 

There were still miles left to go.