Mendocino 50k Race Report

“The best stories start with bad decisions and selective memory.”

I heard that quote a few days before race day, and after running my first 50k, I really get it.

It all started sometime in 2024. I noticed a few of my amazing teammates were trail running, and that curiosity started to grow inside me. I found myself wondering, How hard could a 50k be? Is it harder than an Ironman? The seed was planted.

That seed sprouted over a few beers at a casual get-together with friends and teammates. I don’t even remember how the idea of doing a 50k came up, but I do remember that drinks were flowing and spirits were high. I wanted to do something in 2025 that would really push me out of my comfort zone. By the end of the night, a few of us were loosely committed to this bad idea turned bucket list challenge.

At first, the Catalina Island 50k came up. But I’d been there before, and the terrain didn’t excite me. If I was going to suffer, I wanted to suffer somewhere beautiful. I started Googling things like “best 50k for beginners with amazing views” and stumbled on a Reddit post about the Mendocino 50k. “Redwoods, ocean, waterfalls—it has it all.” One quick YouTube search later, and I was sold. Massive redwoods, coastal cliffs, rivers, waterfalls—it looked like something out of a dream. Post race I can tell you every single description of the race was accurate except for “beginner”.

I texted Eddie to see what he thought. He replied, “This looks like a good one! I’ll do it if you do it.” My brother Steven was at that same dinner and said he was in too.

On registration day, the site was slammed. Steven, Eddie, and I barely made it in… but our friend Mitchell didn’t. That made it official: money paid, non-refundable, no turning back. I told my coach what I’d signed up for and got the classic calm response: “Sounds like fun.”

Training started sometime after the T100 Triathlon. I remember my first few trail runs near home were decent, but nothing mind-blowing. What I did love was how much fun trail running was compared to pounding pavement. You could move slower and still get a killer workout. About two months out from the race, Jenn posted in our group chat about the Into the Wild 30k, a local trail race. I signed up thinking it’d be a good tune-up—and it ended up showing me just how incredible trail running could be. The views, the vibe, the challenge. I finally understood the allure.

But after that race, I started doubting myself. My legs were toast, my quads were shot, and I couldn’t stop thinking, If 30k hurt this much, how am I going to make it through 50?

Before I knew it, race week arrived. We flew into Santa Rosa and drove up to Mendocino the next morning. That drive through vineyards and forests was our first taste of the beauty to come. Packet pickup was easy, the hotel had a stunning ocean view, and every runner and volunteer we met was incredibly welcoming.

Race morning came with a 7:30 AM start. I considered it sleeping in compared to Ironman wakeups. I slept in until 5:45, did the usual routine, and drove the short 10 minutes to the start. The fog and cold breeze added a quiet energy to the morning. The race was small, capped at 150 runners. Steven and I planned to stick together, and off we went, jogging along a road beside the river.

The first miles flew by. We kept it relaxed, knowing things would get harder after the first aid station. After that, the climbs began. Nothing too steep, but enough to turn a run into a hike. Eventually, we started descending—and deep in the redwoods, the trail felt almost jungle-like. I was loving it. I wanted to fly down, but I remembered some great advice from Shingo: “Jog the downhills to save your quads.” So I held back.

We hit the second aid station, spirits high but legs starting to feel it. I even told Steven, “I wouldn’t mind doing this again next year.” Then came the climb to aid station three that made me eat those words. Long and unrelenting are the only words I can use to describe the next few miles. We eventually hit a stream crossing the race director had said would be low enough where our feet wouldn’t get wet. It wasn’t. Steven thought he could find a way across without getting wet, but we both ended up stomping through, laughing as the icy water hit our legs. Honestly, it felt great.

After the stream what followed was a never-ending climb. Reaching that third aid station felt like summiting Everest. We stopped the longest here to refuel and reset. Good news was what followed would be longest downhill of the day. Bad news was my legs were cooked. I couldn’t go fast even if I wanted to.

Mile 17 came, and with it a personal milestone—the longest trail run I’d ever done. Then, another climb to the fourth station. It wasn’t much, but on tired legs, it felt like Everest 2.0. The stretch to the fifth and final station was more of the same. A slow grind forward. Somewhere in there, I passed the marathon mark. Every step after that was a new distance PR!

When we reached the last aid station, I knew the finish line was close… but Mendocino had one more trick up its sleeve.

The trail turned upward again, looking more like a free-climbing route than a running trail. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating—but at mile 28, it felt like a cruel joke. We scrambled up, and suddenly, it all opened up: coastal cliffs, the crashing Pacific, the sound of waves below. It was breathtaking. For a moment, the pain vanished.

We followed the trail along the cliffs for the final stretch. Every step pulled us closer to the finish. Then came the beach. I’d been dreading it. To get down, there was a long set of stairs. I stopped at the top, unsure how my legs would handle it. Luckily, there was a railing. Like an Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars, I lowered myself down, legs trembling, as a small crowd laughed and cheered. I stuck the landing onto the beach—judges gave me a 10/10.

To my surprise, the sand wasn’t horrible. It felt soft, even easy. I ran the final stretch feeling nothing but joy and gratitude. I hadn’t felt that way since finishing my first Ironman.

Now it’s Monday morning. I’m sipping coffee from my finisher’s mug, still riding the high from Saturday. I’m grateful for my brother Steven pacing me the whole way. For my teammates Nam, Shingo, and Mitch who answered all my rookie trail running questions. For a coach who believed in me and kept me motivated. This might be an individual sport, but I never could’ve done this alone.

“The best stories start with bad decisions and selective memory.”

What started with a “bad” decision to push myself ended with a truly wonderful memory. Slowly, but surely all the times I stubbed my toe on a tree root and the pain that shot through my body is fading away. What I am left with are memories of the serene forest, pacing my brother in silence, the waves crashing onto the beaches of Mendocino, and Eddie coasting through the finish with a huge smile.

Do hard things. Do fun shit. Push outside your comfort zone, because tomorrow isn’t promised. Sign up for the race. Take the trip. Hug the cliff. Wade through the cold stream. Laugh when your legs shake. And if you’re lucky, you’ll get to the finish line surrounded by beauty, joy, and people you love.

~Kevin