Inside the Outside: Pacing the Quicksilver 100K

I have raced many ultra distance trail runs over the years. Until last weekend, I’ve never had the privilege to step inside the outside of another runner’s effort. Bryan, who back in 2017, paced me through a 50-miler in Park City, Utah had invited me to pace him during his last 21 miles of his first 100K ultra trail run. Bryan’s an impressive person—a swimming world record holder and recently the co-host of the Social Kick podcast, among other things.

The Ground Beneath Us

The day began by arriving at Almaden Quicksilver County Park in the South Bay. Though I have lived in the Bay Area for 13 years, this was my very first time stepping onto the dirt in Quicksilver Park. Tucked away at the south end of Almaden, the park holds an incredible system of trails that roll aggressively up and down the western ridge of Silicon Valley.

Because I arrived a bit earlier than planned, I decided to pass the time by going for a quiet run through the surrounding neighborhood to settle my mind and prepare for the task ahead. Back at the car, I still had over an hour to wait before Bryan was expected to roll through mile 41. This was the transition point: the intersection where I would pick him up and help carry his effort through the final 21 miles to the 62-mile finish line.

While waiting, I connected with his girlfriend, Lauren. She had been out there since 3:30 in the morning, getting Bryan to the starting line and tending to his needs through the early aid stations. In the world of endurance, crew members like Lauren deserve a finisher's medal of their own—their effort is the silent infrastructure of the entire race.

The start-finish area for the Quicksilver 100K at Almaden Quicksilver Country Park.

The Intersection of our Efforts

Bryan was making exceptional time, moving with a rhythm that put him on track for a 2:00 PM arrival. Lauren had caught sight of him at an aid station roughly three miles prior and sent word, putting me on a focused countdown as I awaited his arrival.

At 1:45 PM, he rolled in.

He already had 41 miles in his legs. He looked remarkably good, but having completed two 100K races myself, I knew the psychological demons he had likely just fought off. There is a notorious, dark low spot that arrives around mile 30. It’s the exact moment your brain realizes you have just run a massive, exhausting distance—only to brutally remind you that you are only halfway there.

Lauren ensured he had exactly what he needed to refuel, and within moments, we stepped out into the remaining 21 miles.

Bryan and Lauren at the pacer pickup @ mile 41

Inside the Outside

Going into it, I was fully prepared to hike significant portions of the trail if a slower pace was demanded. But Bryan had other plans. We ran the flats, attacked the downhills, and hiked the climbs—honestly, I think we even jogged a few of the hills.

Bryan was absolutely crushing it. Within our first five miles, it was clear that his approach to the initial 40 miles had been masterclass. He had disciplined his pacing and stayed on top of his nutrition. My role quickly shifted from motivator to a rhythmic metronome: keeping the pace steady and staying on top of reminders to keep his fuel and hydration going both at and between all the aid stations.

The afternoon heat was rising into the 80s, but it never became unbearable. Still, the ice from the aid stations felt like an absolute luxury.

Coming off the ridge at mile 50, with San Jose of in the distance.

The Crucible and the Reprieve

Close to 50 miles into Bryan's run, we crested the top of the ridge. I could sense the hurt from 50 miles of intense running through the hills and the climbing heat. Fifty miles changes a person; it strips away the superficial and leaves only raw resilience.

Thankfully, the trail granted us a brief reprieve: the next 5 miles would be entirely downhill, offering a welcome respite for the body. Near mile 55, I pulled out my phone to capture a quick video, the truth was undeniable: Bryan had this thing completely in the bag.

In an ultra-marathon, the final 10 miles can easily deteriorate into a snail's pace crawl. But if you prepare well and execute the first 50 miles with discipline, those final miles unlock an incredible sense of accomplishment—a beautiful, borderline disbelief that you have brought your body this far.

Make no mistake, the last 10 miles are still incredibly hard. Everything hurts—even going downhill. Trashed, sore quads, a GI tract actively questioning what the heck you are putting it through, and the immense cognitive load of placing every single footstep just to ensure you don’t face-plant into the dirt—this is the fundamental scenery at this stage of a 100K.

The Screaming Descent

We came through the final aid station with the expectation that we only had 2 downhill miles remaining. But as we checked in, the volunteers smiled and said, “Enjoy the last 5K.”

I heard Bryan grumble. That is the absolute last thing you want to hear when you have spent miles convincing your brain that you only have to endure two more miles.

But as the downhill started, it revealed itself to be a screaming 5K descent on a wide fire road. We didn't slow down; we dialed it in. We cranked the pace, suddenly cruising in the 8-minute-mile range, putting one last brutal thrashing on the quads as we flew down the mountain. For me, it was an exhilarating sprint; for Bryan, after 58 miles of prior effort, it was an unbelievable display of grit that left me in absolute awe.

Alone, But Not

As a pacer, you learn quickly that this is not like a standard pace group in a road marathon. Your job is not to cross the finish line with the person you are supporting. The spotlight belongs entirely to the athlete who was gifted with the strength to endure the whole distance.

About 500 meters from the finish line, I quietly peeled off the trail and disappeared into the shade. I wanted to watch Bryan step into his moment alone. From the edge of the trail, I watched him cross, seeing Lauren step forward to offer him a much-needed embrace and absorb the heavy, beautiful emotions that we all feel after an effort of this magnitude.

Whether moving or meditating, effort leads to answers. It was an incredible day in the forest, fueled by the brilliant, restorative energy that defines the trail running community. The race organizer put on a masterfully supported event from start to finish, and Bryan executed his strategy to perfection. I walked away deeply grateful, already looking forward to the next opportunity to step onto the dirt and help a friend find their own answers out on the trails.