26
hours, 38 minutes, 44 seconds. I finished. With a time nearly 5 hours worse than my
"best" goal, and almost 3 away from silver buckle pace, I would
normally be crushed. But I am strangely elated and satisfied with this time
because I FINISHED! And how I did it. I
am going to stay away from a blow by blow account of the course and my progression
through the race. Hundreds of people
have written detailed reports on running WS100, I don't need to rehash all that
here. But I do want to touch on a number
of vignettes from within the race.
The entire 1960 Winter
Olympics took place here and the residual facilities are still self
evident. The valley is beautiful with
mountains and ski lifts rising on all sides.
The village has several good restaurants and bars which we took advantage
of.
Maybe
the best part of the pre-race routine is just the camaraderie of runner, crew, and
pacers during the journey. For two days, we three joked
around, toured the area (Lake Tahoe and Emerald Bay in particular are drop dead
gorgeous),
and ate. And we lounged around. A lot.
Back home, real life would never allow me that measure of relaxation. I napped, we watched the World Cup, I napped
in the sun, I read everything I could about the area, I watched the race
flyover on Google Earth repeatedly, and I squeezed in more nap time. I did everything I could to remain calm and
relaxed. The closer the race start
approached, the more it consumed my thoughts, especially as well wishes came pouring in through Facebook, email & texts. I was overwhelmed by the volume and was pretty keyed up by Friday night.
I
felt like I did everything right coming into Western States. I dieted for months, trying to keep my weight down. I did plenty of miles of training, but didn't
overdo it. I got in my mountain training by spending time at our place in the
NC mountains, as well as running the first 65 miles of Cruel Jewel in May. I did tire pulls, pulling a miserably heavy
tire up and over the Gunn Hwy overpass repeatedly every Monday. Each Wednesday, I went to the gym and did
deep squats, calf raises and leg raises for strength. I did heat training with at least one mid-day
run in the sun every week wearing multiple shirts, long sleeves and a thermal
cap in 90 degree heat. My last two 15
milers at Hole In The Fence I wore a long sleeve the whole way round,
determined to acclimate to the heat I would face in the canyons.
The
one thing I neglected was altitude training.
I knew the first half of the race was at higher elevations. But I've run and hiked out west on a number
of occasions, never having a breathing issue, even going as high as 13,000
feet. I knew there was little I could do
on the east coast anyway, but in retrospect wished I had worked something
out. Doing 10-15 miles on a training run
is much different than racing between 5,000 and 8,500 feet for 38 miles, and then
still having a 100K to go once the race dropped below 5,000 feet.
I wasn't 5 minutes into the race before my labored breathing began. The first 3.5 miles is a 2,500 foot climb to
Emmigrant Pass and I struggled the whole way up.
I
spent those first 38 miles just bleeding time against my goal pace. No matter how hard I pressed, I couldn't keep
the pace I needed. My legs felt strong,
on downhills and uphills. I just couldn't
suck in enough oxygen. I was light
headed that entire first 8 hours. If I ran too fast, I was downright
dizzy. I had trouble remembering things, especially keeping track of salt pills. Once the race dropped below 5,000
feet just past Dusty Corners, my head cleared up. But the damage was done, I had built up a big oxygen deficit in my blood stream that would not correct itself without hours, if anot a full day of rest. Every uphill was agony, my breathing would be
out of control within 100 feet of climbing.
I love to climb. I have taken
great pride in building that as a running strength and passing people on uphills. But it wasn't to be so for WS. I bent over and kissed my knees about 500
times, losing precious time throughout. The difference between a sub-24 hour
silver buckle and 26:38:44 can be explained right there. I need altitude acclimation before I come
back to WS or try a Leadville or Wasatch Front.
Outside
of the breathing thing, I had fun! I was
sorely disappointed when I knew sub-24 wasn't going to happen. Patrick
began pacing me from Forresthill and we pushed the pace hard to catch up. But it only took a few miles for him to see my breathing wasn't going to le tit happen. I apologized to him and Any repeatedly. But my head never went south, which has happened
in other races. No temper tantrums, no
sour outlook. I joked at every aid
station, and tried to compliment every volunteer I saw all day. Even when I felt terrible, I tried to smile
at everyone around me. I genuinely
enjoyed the experience. Several of the
views were breathtaking. The views from the top of Emmigrant Pass and later
looking west towards Auburn from the ridgeline just pass Michigan Bluff were
spectacular. Those panoramas alone made the
race worth the effort. And I was very pleased
that the heat (we had good weather, it never got super hot) never bothered me,
and my legs felt strong all day.
The
organization of the race is amazing. It
may be an expensive entry fee, but they spend the money well. Every aid station was well stocked and well
run. They checked your number coming in and
going out of every station (I took great delight in announcing myself as
"upside down 69" all day). I
was met by a greeter at every aid station who followed me all the way through
making sure I had everything I needed and everything was OK before I left. There were medical checks and weigh-ins at 8
different aid stations. But they were
never looking to pull you, it was always about making sure you had what you
needed to keep going. They WANTED
everyone to finish. At Rucky Chuck Far
when I lingered a few moments too long talking to Andy, the aid station captain
came over to say I looked way too good to be sitting and told me get the hell out of
his aid station. Now.
I did have one really low point at Auburn Lake Trails at mile 85. I was feeling low on sugar coming into the aid station and told Patrick I needed to sit and eat for a few minutes. The moment I sat down I began to feel woozy, my head was swimming. I tried to signal to Patrick I needed extra time without letting the aid station volunteer know I was struggling. Patrick distracted her and I stuffed my face with chicken soup for 10+ minutes. 200 yards into the woods I had a coughing fit that turned into explosive vomiting. For the next 60 seconds I convulsed and emptied everything in my stomach. I looked at Patrick knowing I'd had a nasty little stretch. The aid station was so close behind us I could still hear it. Instead, I turned and bolted down the trail. I ran almost continuously the next 4 miles to Brown's Bar, putting distance between myself and a moment of weakness. After that, we just progressed steadily towards the finish.
The
last few miles were the high point of my running career. I've boasted recently that I have been
lucky enough to win 4 ultra races, two just in the last 6 months. But this mediocre finish in the middle of the
pack beat all of those wins. I was finishing
the Superbowl of ultrarunning. The only
thing that had gone wrong was largely out of my control and I had already
reconciled myself to it. Andy met us at
Robie Point and I was finishing the last mile with my best friends flanking me. I told them I was not going to sprint the
finish, but when Placer High School swung into view, I could not help myself. I hit the track in full stride (or my best
fascimile thereof with 100 hard miles already completed) and quickly remembered
I couldn't breath at that pace. But by
now, I could hear the announcer calling my name and people beginning to clap, there was no
way I could slow down now. I had tunnel
vision coming down the last straightaway and the world was going gray as I
crossed the finish line. I accepted the
medal and immediately looked for a chair to recover.
Three
days later, I am still euphoric. I didn't
get the coveted silver buckle, but I have worn my bronze buckle everywhere
since. And I will go back. There are other races to run, other distances
to conquer. But my name will go into the
lottery this fall, and every year until I get back in. I will break 24 hours.
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