Trail Addict

Race Report: 2011 Hellgate 100K

2011-12-22T08:21:00.002-05:00

My Three Hellgates

Number 1: The race I wanted to run, aiming for 13 hours.
Number 2: A P.R. at least (14 hours), once #1 went out the window.
Number 3: A race to finish before I gave in and DNF'd.

I had high hopes for Hellgate this year. I've been running pretty well, the weather looked to be warmer than usual, no snow on the course... my dad was going to come crew for me again... what could go wrong? Two years ago I finished in 14 hours, so given how I've been running, I figured I could do 13 this year. My 100K PR is under 10 hours, but that's on the road, and Hellgate is... different. A midnight start, so you get a good 7 hours of running at night. Plenty of elevation change, mainly in the form of long, multi-mile climbs. Plus, it's several miles longer than 100K. Is it 66.6 miles? Perhaps.

Start to AS 2 (@8 miles)

I napped a little in the afternoon and at least rested a bit before the start (Sean being in no mood to actually sleep for some reason). At the start, I was surprised by how warm it was. I got out of the car wearing a jacket over my warmest running shirt, mittens, and a heavy hat that I can fold down to cover my ears and neck. After all, even if it was warmer there, we'd be running up into the mountains... But once I checked in, I went back and revised. Lighter shirt, lighter gloves... I kept the hat just in case. As we started off through the woods, I figured I had made the right decision. I warmed up quickly, and unzipped the jacket. I wouldn't have wanted any more.

I fell in behind the front pack, which was surprisingly large -- maybe 12 or 15 people. I didn't think I needed to be going any faster, and I didn't think that many people finished under 13 hours. There was no clear leader -- different people dashed ahead here or there. I found myself ahead of some of the people I'm usually behind, but it didn't feel like I needed to slow down, either. So far, so good. The first leg is all nice trails. It starts wide enough for the mob, and eventually narrows as you close in on and parallel the road. A little up and down, but very runnable.

There was some water on the ground, but nothing too extreme. The usual stream crossing before actually coming out to the road and the first aid station (and it's a big stream -- wet feet are unavoidable, and I splashed my legs too). I went right on by the station as I didn't need any aid in the first hour. This was the start of the second leg, which has its ups and downs. Figuratively, that is -- the actual course is just a four-mile climb up a mountain road. The up is the down, I suppose you could say. Anyway, there are two neat aspects of it. First, with the full moon, we ran the whole thing without lights, which was fun. And second, as the road switchbacks up the mountain, you can see a long string of lights playing out behind you. That was actually a little better in previous years -- this time I think so many people near me were running without lights that the stream of headlamps was a little more broken up.

I ended up running with Keith Knipling as we finished the leg. He had finished just ahead of me at Grindstone, and I hoped to finish this one in his vicinity too. We chatted as we climbed, though he depressingly seemed pretty confident that everyone ahead of us was going to stay well ahead of us. I broke it off at the end by turning my lights on. My dad was waiting for me at the aid station at the top, and he had mentioned several times how he'd be looking for my lights as I came in to a station. Keith went right on through as I pulled over by Heather and my dad. He had my fresh hydration pack ready, but I wanted to switch to a cooler hat, so I put down my old pack and rooted through my crew bag for the hat. I got it, mounted up with the new pack, and headed out. I had made great time so far, a few minutes ahead of my previous 14 hour pace, at a time in the race where it was pretty hard to make up time.

AS2 to AS4 (@24 miles)

We immediately headed sharply down on another nice trail. Someone was just ahead, and I pulled even on the downhill and we exchanged small talk. After a while, I checked my watch, and finding it was time, reached for a gel. And though I didn't quite recognize it at the moment, this was the end of Hellgate #1.

There was nothing there. I checked the other pockets, in case my dad had just put it in a weird place. Nothing. I felt the weight of the water compartment. Light. The trash pocket. Full. There was no way around it -- somehow, I had left the station with my empty pack instead of my full one. Aargh! Double-aargh!

OK, it would be OK. I checked my cheat sheet. 75 minutes to the next aid station. I just had to hold out and I could eat there. It was going to be 3 hours and 20 minutes before I saw my dad again and could properly resupply. I had fumbled the refill for the longest gap between crew stations on the entire course. Lovely. But I just had to make it an hour on the water on me, and then load up on food, and hope for the best. I was going to be short on calories for the next 75 minutes, so I couldn't try to make a move here, but I could try to hang with the runners around me, and coast down the hill to the next station. I figured it was better for this to happen early in the race -- I should still have energy in my legs, and it should be able to carry me until I could catch up on the nutrition again.

I would eventually discover I was wrong on all counts.

First, the trail turned uphill. Despite my plan, I passed some folks as they slowed to a walk and I jogged more of the lighter inclines. I came up behind Keith again, which was nice, as he had at least a bit of a head start out of the station. Also I could force myself to slow down -- I had no need to pass him. After a little bit of climbing, the trail turned down again. Just as we were coming out of the woods, one of the runners ahead of me went down spectacularly -- fortunately, on the last bit of dirt before the hard road. I waited for her to get up and we headed out to the road, beginning to climb.

It didn't take long at all for me to recognize this road. We first ran down it, and then ran, jogged, walked, or crawled back up it, during the Terrapin Mountain 50K. I asked Keith to be sure. "Are we heading toward Camping Gap?" Yes. Lovely. It was at least a 3 mile climb, ranging from uncomfortably steep to steeper still. At least we could turn our lights off and enjoy the moonlight again.

Halfway up, and really worrying about the nutrition situation, I asked the runners around me if anyone had some gels they could spare. Keith cheerfully handed over a pack of four gel blocks. I don't normally care for blocks, particularly on cold nights like this where they had turned solid. But in this case, it was gold. I fell back a bit and stuffed two in my mouth, waiting a while for them to warm up enough to chew. When I caught up a bit later I asked if he wanted the other two back, and he said I could have them. Double thanks! I saved them for the next leg, the longer of the two before I'd see my dad again.

I started recognizing more turns, and shortly we pulled into Camping Gap. Huzzah! I headed straight for the table and surveyed the offerings. No gels, and I didn't really want candy, but I began throwing down peanut butter-covered crackers. I also took about 7 banana chunks to go, stuffing my pockets full of them. Everyone I had been running with was long gone, and I was still grazing. Energy drink. Water for my pack. More crackers. Eventually I pulled myself away.

Next up was the Promise Land section. I remembered ups and downs on a wide, grassy road along the side of a mountain. Then ups and downs near the famous falls. Then a climb to the aid station. When I thought about it, I remembered leaving the aid station and passing a gate, and then heading immediately down for quite a while -- this is the part that had been snowy before.

To my horror, we left Camping Gap by heading up the road. The road we take up to the mountain top at Terrapin. Better than leaving up the ridiculously steep trail, granted, but where was the downhill? I thought there must have been a mistake. I knew I had seen a course marker at the side of the road shortly after leaving the station. It looked like a steep drop-off full of woods at the side of the road, there, but what if there had been a trail? I paused and looked back, but there were no runners in sight in any direction. Could I have missed a turn? Surely not a gate and a wide grassy road... I faced up the hill again and headed on, still nervous and confused. But I eventually saw another streamer. I was on track. But still going up, still confused about this section.

Eventually, I came to the gate, and the course headed back down again, on the grassy road. I have no idea where the Terrapin course turned off to summit the mountain. Oh, well.

I didn't feel like I was making great progress on the grassy section -- I hiked a lot of the uphills. I ran well enough on the downhills and at least jogged the flats, but it was rolling, and there were plenty of short uphill bits. I couldn't summon the energy to run them. I was eating banana when I would have eaten gel, and hoping for the best, at least hoping not to lose a lot of ground, but with the way this was going, I wasn't optimistic.

However, I did eventually see the light of a runner ahead of me, as the mountain curved back on itself. That gave me something to aim for! It was a slow process, but I closed in over the remainder of the grassy section. As we headed into the woods, the visibility wasn't as good, but when I saw the light, it was closer. Of course, we hit the uphill part first, and I was hiking again, unlikely to be making up ground. I thought I must be really losing time now, as I thought I remembered running more of the uphills in 2009. Still, there was that light ahead, and no one passing me...

Finally, the trail turned down again. It was easy to let gravity pull me faster down the hill. Sure, it was rocky, but that was something I could manage. I steadily ate away at the gap, and just as we emerged from the woods, I saw it was Keith I had caught up with. I had to rest my legs before attacking the final climb on the road, though, and I slowed to a walk as we turned up. Keith glanced back as he jogged up the hill, and that was the last I saw of him.

It only took moments to determine that I wouldn't be running this one. My legs were utterly shot. I could fool myself with the assist of the downhill, but there was nothing left. I walked on. Eventually, people started to pass me, jogging up to the Headforemost Mountain aid station. I'd had no problems in previous years, but walking up this time, even in the better weather, I started getting cold. I had used the last of the bananas and Keith's gel blocks long ago, and all that was left was the long, cold walk.

Finally, I started passing cars. A spectator called out that it leveled out and there was half a mile to the station. The climb behind, I managed a shuffle perhaps, but not much more. It wasn't that far before I saw a table ahead, they checked me into the station, and I found my dad. He had realized what happened, and immediately asked. I just said "let's get to the car." He said "It's way uphill!" I said "Let's just get there." We went. I was cold, hungry, and had legs that weren't going to make it one more mile, let alone another 2/3 of the race.

We got in the car and fired up the heat, and I rooted through the other pack and started slurping down gels. My legs just ached. I was intimately familiar with this, having had a major bonk run a few weeks before Hellgate. (I hadn't eaten enough for a normal day, much less for the 24 miles I was aiming for, and my legs ended up in just this exact condition after maybe 17 miles. Here at the race I had made it perhaps 22 before it hit me, and another couple up to the station.) I wasn't sure whether I could recover.

I remembered feeling a lot better after a couple hours in the car at 24 Hours at the Fair, but that was just cold and sore feet. I wondered whether the cutoff for this station would roll around with me still sitting here in the car, waiting on my legs. I probably would have quit right there, except I didn't want my dad, as the crew, to think it was his fault that I gave up. (Of course it wouldn't have been -- I was the one who put on the wrong pack!)

Even with the walk up the hill, I had arrived at 4:18, 20 minutes ahead of my 14-hour pace. I decided that if at all possible, I would try to leave by 5. It wasn't looking good at 4:40. But as it got closer to 5, my legs finally started feeling better. The ache had subsided. 'Calories at last!' they seemed to say. I had at least another gel, and then turned to the matter of my attire. With the legs under control, the biggest danger was the cold (another thing I remembered from 24 Hours at the Fair). I had to be able to get out and get moving before I was disabled by shivering. I put on everything I had taken off before -- my warmest shirt, another long sleeve shirt for good measure, and my jacket. My warmest hat and mittens. I ensured I had extra gels -- my dad had said he must have dropped some, but there were still plenty to load into the pack.

Right around 5, I headed back out. I asked my dad to wait 10 minutes before leaving, just to make sure I didn't end up doubling back in the cold. Shortly I found the dropped gels in the middle of the road, and added them to my stash. They went to check me into the station again and I had to tell them they had already gotten me, before I went back to the crewmobile. I picked up to a jog as we headed out of the station, with strange runners around me.

AS 4 to AS 6 (@38 miles)

The trail out of here was a nice downhill, which I jogged. I actually wasn't sure I wanted that just now -- I'd be warmer on a good climb -- but I took it. And, of course, we did get to a climb, on another pleasant trail. I jogged it to keep warm, and passed several people in the process. I felt like I was making decent progress on this leg, especially under the circumstances. It was clear I wasn't going to make 13 hours with a 40 minute layover, and in fact I was now 20 minutes behind my 14 hour time. But if things went well, I could hope to catch up to that, and perhaps at least score a PR by coming in just under 14.

Suddenly, I saw lights in the distance! I know you sort of circle down to this aid station before you arrive, but it didn't seem that far and I was moving pretty well! I pushed it a little down the pleasant trails, catching up to another runner ahead as we finally pulled into the station. I had just made up 15 minutes! But my dad wasn't there. The volunteers topped off my water, and I asked them to tell my dad that I had gone on (assuming he asked or identified himself or something). Fortunately, this time, I had plenty of spare gels. I headed out.

The next leg was one of the less pleasant ones. It's a long climb up a road, to the very top. When the road ends, you head back down, on a mix of trail and road. And then when you think you're done, there's another long climb up a road. Lots of climbing, lots of road. Ugh.

I tried to keep jogging on the road, channeling myself between stations 1 and 2. I wasn't as fast, but I did keep moving, and passed people. I just caught up to someone near the top, and we chatted a bit, though I pulled away on the downhill. That mixed downhill went well enough, though I didn't look forward to the climb. On the up side, the sun came up! That was good for a little boost. On the other hand, the guy sitting at the bottom said it was a mile and a half up the hill to the station (I even thought I remembered 1.9 from the crew directions -- in other words, not close). There were a lot of crew cars passing in both directions, though I could never actually see parking or station signs ahead. I worried about my dad, wondering what I'd do if he wasn't at this next one -- somehow borrow a phone and find some signal and call Erin to have her call him? (I didn't remember his number off the top of my head.)

Then my dad pulled up next to me, honking and cheering. He apologized for missing me at the last station, and I think I just said "Don't worry -- just go get to this one!" I had this vision of it being just around the next turn, though in reality it was probably a slow mile or more. Eventually, I got there. I assured him I had had plenty of spare gels, and he assured me he had put more spares in the next pack. Having warmed up quite a bit since the layover, I left my mittens and hat and jacket (along with my lights) and picked up lighter gloves. As I left, I was within minutes of my 14-hour pace -- I had picked up 20 minutes over the last two legs!

AS 6 to AS 8 (@52 miles)

But leaving that station, things got ugly again. At first I thought I was walking just to revive my legs after standing around at the station. Then I jogged a bit, as it was relatively flat, and they only felt worse. What the?!? First I had to walk. Then I had to sit. I found a log. It felt just like before. Apparently, I should not have pushed to catch up to the 14 hour pace. I ate, drank, and rested. I wasn't going to be able to sit here for 40 minutes -- even with the sun up it was way too cold. And this was a very long section. I had to decide quickly whether to turn back or press on for what might turn into 3 hours.

I didn't at all fancy turning back when my dad would be long gone. But I could sit any more either. I began to walk, at least making some progress, and I ate as often as I thought I could. Perhaps a bit too much. People jogged on by, but I just had to keep walking until my legs recovered. Again. And this was the end of Hellgate #2.

Had it happened 15 minutes earlier, surely I would have quit at Little Cove Mountain, the previous station. But now I was stuck. I had to make it another 8 miles before I could quit. I'm afraid I spent some time dwelling on that. It had frankly amazed me that I could make it past the first crash. I wasn't sure I had a second one in me. If I were to finish, it would not be the finish of a physical race, it would be the finish of a mental race: pushing through 40+ miles after my goals went out the window.

Eventually, I moved on and thought about the race report I had read describing this section. You go through a section where the rocks just hide under a thick layer of leaves (oh how well I remembered that), then switchback down to a stream crossing, and then come out to a road a bit before the next aid station.

A couple weird things happened. There were no leaves in the leaves-over-rocks section! We ran down a long kinda rocky trail, but it was totally clear. I thought wow, there are going to be some fast times this year. Warm weather and somehow the leaves are MIA. Must have been washed away by the rain in the previous week. We hit the switchbacks sooner than I expected, and I took them carefully as I fell there last year. Then the stream crossing, not huge, but plenty to get your feet wet. Thankfully my shoes drain quickly! Despite being sidelined earlier, I was suddenly making fantastic time on this section.

But no road. After the stream crossing, it headed way up again. I could vaguely hear cars in the distance, or I told myself I did, but there was no road in sight. If we hit it soon, I'd really have a good time on this section. We didn't. Instead, we hit the real leaves-over-rocks section. I still think they weren't as deep this year -- more shin than knee -- but it was plenty to hide the rocks, just as I remembered. I took it slow, as I was no longer really racing this one. Someone ahead pressed it faster and slowly pulled away, and I let him go.

At long last, we switchbacked again, down to another stream crossing -- this one twice as big. I guess this is the "deja vu" section. It had taken much longer by now, 20 minutes slower than before, but at least the road crossing came quickly, and then a climb on a nice trail up to the station.

I rushed across the parking area to meet my dad, swapping packs and getting underway again. I had momentarily forgotten about my planned DNF, since at least I had been able to get moving again. And the Drs. Horton and Zealand were there -- I'm not sure I would have been able to walk up to both of them and declare a DNF anyway. It wasn't the race I had been looking for, but surely I could press on for the remaining three legs? I left the station ahead of the guy who had passed me earlier, so at least there was that.

The next section was made up of a big climb up to an eternal zigzag in and out of the creases of a mountain. Followed by another climb, of course. I hiked the climb, and jogged the rest as best I could. A couple folks passed, though I mainly kept up with them. It was definitely better than last year, where this whole section was a major low point for me. Of course, there was another steep climb out of nowhere in the middle of the zigzags. Should've known. But I was doing well keeping up the jogging. Well, until the final climb. Some of those just ahead jogged it, and I didn't bother. Thankfully it wasn't that long.

When I got to the top, it was the station stationed just under what seemed like a stone bridge for a railroad crossing. Not that there would really be one of those on top of a mountain, but whatever. Better yet, the whole family was there! Mom and dad plus Erin and the kids! Apparently, Sean and Caelan had been having a ball digging in the dirt in the lee of a giant boulder. Heather was there, and reported that Chris was about 10 minutes behind, and I almost stopped and waited. Except I was sure he'd be running faster, so I'd either slow him down or immediately lose him.

I swapped packs and headed for the exit. Erin and my parents were all talking in their own little world, and Sean was following me out. I called "Hey, someone get Sean!" and no one heard, except a volunteer who didn't seem to know what to do. So I sat down in the trail and waited for Sean, and we had a nice hug when he arrived. By then, Erin noticed and headed over to claim him. Meanwhile, the volunteer helped me back to my feet.

AS8 to Finish (@66 miles)

Out of this station, there's a long, awkward downhill, on a road that's been decimated by erosion. You spend so much time crossing back and forth to find clear ground that it seems twice as far. But it is solidly downhill. I made what time I could -- not as fast as I can normally take downhills, but for now, it would do. And toward the end, I did catch sight of another runner. I was pretty sure no one left the aid station while I was there, so this was solid progress.

From the road, the course turned uphill on a trail, and then continued up and down, in and out of the mountain, across many small wet spots, and so on. I seemed to make decent enough time, passing the occasional runner. After a while, the character of the woods changed, and it seemed to me like the aid station was drawing close. Somehow I had fumbled my cheat sheet, either writing it or reading it, and I thought this section wasn't that long (when in fact it's nearly 8 miles). So it seemed reasonable to be "getting there". But even though we ran downhill perpendicular to the mountain like I remembered, it didn't lead to the little corridor of trees right before the last aid station. And then we did it again, and it still wasn't the station.

I passed Joe Dudak, who had hurt himself out there and like me, wasn't having the race he hoped for. We talked a bit, and I probably misled him a little as to how close the aid was. I talked to another runner shortly afterward, who said it was still a ways away. Surely not! It had been a while for a short section... But it was still a good 20 minutes before we hit that corridor. And just then, Chris, Jared, and his wife blasted down the hill to pass me. Wow! "You're not doing badly, they're running way ahead!" she called out as they all disappeared around the next turn. Nice.

We all got to the station at pretty much the same time, and I swapped packs and headed out first. One last section. It's a 3-mile climb, then a 3-mile descent, leveling out for perhaps the last half mile. I thought I was doing at least a decent hike, but it didn't take long for Chris and Jared to blow by. They were talking about my great hiking technique as they left me in the dust. What's up with that?

But a mile or two later, I caught up again. I called out for them to speed up, because what were they doing letting me catch up? But as it happens, we hit the top together. They had much better downhill legs, however, gaining four minutes on me in the last few miles. I just tried not to be passed. I figured my odds were good since no one else had passed me on the previous section, so hopefully everyone (other than Chris and Jared) was in similar shape at this point. And in fact, I made it, unpassed, for a finish time of 14:20 and change.

Aftermath

While that was a very respectable finish, as Hellgate goes, it wasn't what I had hoped for. Under the circumstances, I was happy to call it a day, and claim my second Beast and the coveted Hellgate finisher's shirt. Had I kept up with Keith, I would have made it under 13, but with everything that happened, it was not the day for that. In fact, it was a pretty harsh reminder that my race really hangs on nutrition, with little room for error.

But once again, even with all that happened, I really enjoyed the race. If you ran it during the day, all those roads in the first half would probably be a drag. But run by moonlight, while the rest of the world sleeps, with the trail of lights out there with you... Going up a mountain and seeing the light of the next aid station a million miles above, only to realize it's actually just moonlight flickering through the trees... Looking forward to a tough climb because it's just the thing to warm you up... Beautiful trails by day and by night... It's a mighty hard race to resist.

As for the 13 hours, I still think it could happen -- I could have easily been more than 20 minutes ahead at Headforemost (1/3 of the way), and with another 15 minutes on the next section, and even 10 on the penultimate leg after everything that went wrong... Well, it wouldn't take much more than that. I'm sure I'll be back. :)

A Runner's Guide to the Grindstone 100

2011-10-16T01:14:00.004-04:00

Full of rocks, lots of hills,
Run at night, lots of spills,
There's no one else to blame for this tableau,
But you should see the wreckage of my toe...

It's nice enough to start out from the camp,
With warmer clothes and wearing your best lamp
Around the lake in sunshine toward the glade,
Then leave the grass where Karl and Neal both strayed

They're back in front before you see the crowd,
You pass to cheers and move on fast and proud
Without a doubt this is the runner's high
(hold on for it may be in short supply!)

Down dirt road, through the trees,
Pass the tents, what a tease...
Don't forget what this implies
(out and back, no surprise)

These first two miles will also be the last,
And so far they're nice paths that you have passed
At two miles in you think "a piece of cake!"
Just after that you'll do the double take:

The coming trails are nice but full of rocks
(no wonder mountain bikes all come with shocks)
So watch your footing in the fading light,
And have some fun before the coming night

Then down the gravel road -- but catch the right,
An easy one to miss while you're in flight
But even if you make it you're confused,
The next left needs more streamers than they used

Hey that's alright -- a few delays won't hurt,
It's early, not yet dark, and you're alert,
Just cross the stream and run on through the shade
Falls Hollow past the tracks brings welcome aid

Take a drink, hit the roads,
Dirt, but up, pace implodes,
Then a trail, as night falls,
Through the trees, wooden halls,

It's when you hit the road the long walk starts,
The gravel is too steep to run most parts,
But still it's peaceful, not yet a travail,
No lights -- just let the moonlight bathe the trail

You pass the turn-off, climb on through the night,
It feels a triumph just to stay upright,
But then the lights are coming back at you,
The top is near, the punch is close, push through

Find the fence, stamp and turn,
Passed the path, now return,
Back on down, "just ahead",
Call to those that you have led

And now you get your payback for that climb --
A long descent; can't help but make great time
Or so you think until you see the path
It goes from pleasant trail to stony wrath

At first there's just enough to make you dance
Don't let the night lull you in to a trace
But then the rocks begin to get more serious
Think down is fast? Then clearly you're delirious.

In time it levels out; this hill's a wrap
Relax; you've hit the aid at Dry Branch Gap
From here it's up again and down still more,
then see your crew for some esprit de corps

The climb is not so bad compared to some,
You'll make the ridge before you might succumb
To dread of plodding to the bitter end
Instead just coast a while and then descend

The rocks here aren't as bad as just before,
Until you bottom out, then what's in store?
Weave back and forth across the slippery stream,
Then nice flat trail goes by just like a dream

Hear cars ahead -- the station must be nigh!
Now cross 250; it was all a lie
You've got another climb before you're there
Back down and get your feet wet then prepare

Dowells Draft, in a flash,
Grab your crew, dump your trash,
Water bottle filled up quick,
Snacks to go, that's the trick,

Go hit the trails again while feeling strong,
That aid's a boost; for now you can't go wrong
But if I made you guess what's next ahead
You'd know -- a great big climb -- it goes unsaid

Just power up the hill and to the peak,
These climbs are where you test your great physique
You've honed your mind your will is also strong,
That's great 'cause at the top you'll find you're wrong

It dips again for maybe fifty feet,
Then up, your break complete, oh what a treat!
I'd say "a great ridge run" to tell you more,
But last guy heard that line, well he just swore

Eventually you'll hit the dirt road down,
Perhaps as speedy as the Triple Crown
So Lookout Mountain station, here we come!
(superb aid stations are the rule of thumb)

Grab some grub, from the grill,
Five to go, all downhill,
So they say, and the map,
But if it's true I'll eat my cap

Now here you are -- you're climbing once again
(I'll hold the map, you stab it with the pen)
At first a gentle rise that you may run,
But rocky trail and tight brush steal the fun

At least in time it turns down from the ridge
Through several stages: rocks and woods and bridge
The first steep dives are prone to swaths of stone
It's treacherous; stability unknown

Next up you wander through the darkened wood,
They could have used more streamers (strike that, should)
But what's another minute here or there?
This long downhill should leave you time to spare!

Then hit the giant bridge and wonder why?
I guess to skip the stream they would reply
But really on this trail it's ludicrous
A crutch to make it easy seems amiss

Anyway, some good news is forthcoming,
Car sounds and a generator humming
You hit the road North River Gap in sight,
The crackling blaze steals chill out of the night

Now refresh, find your crew,
Hit the scale, try the stew,
Take a second just to graze,
Ultrarunning: great buffets!

It's good to pack it down for what's up next
It's harder still than anyone expects
Titanic climb ahead, forget your pace,
Four thousand feet -- the longest of the race

At least the glow-lit trail is sorta nice
You cross a little bridge not once not twice
But often and a cameraman is there
You'll be forever 'membered in mid-air

Much better thus than lying by the trail
(for shortly that's the state that may prevail)
You think I jest but I can't overstate
The climb's so great you can't keep walking straight

In any case it's level then it's steep
Then steeper still until you want to weep
Then easier to tempt you to a jog,
then steep again until it's just a slog

Six miles of this with barely a reprieve,
It's really tougher than you can conceive
In fairness though the trail is very nice
Enjoy it for you've surely paid the price

At last you'll peek out from the darkened trees
To see a sight that just can't help but please
You're at the top! The moment here is glorious!
All done with that you've made it up victorious!

Now don't you let a thing beneath your skin
Cruise down to distant aid and show your grin
They'll tell you you're the first to not complain
So tell them to break out the French champagne

Well maybe they'll just toast with Gatorade,
With Grindstone lemons you've made lemonade!

Little Bald, at long last,
Please enjoy the fine repast,
We'll be here, when you're back,
With a drink, and a snack

The worst climb done, now cruise around the peak,
Though if they say "all down" don't let them speak
Right out is down and fast if you've got guts
Just watch out for the water in the ruts

But then a bit uphill to Reddish Knob
Along the same dirt road, the climb's the job
And at the tents the climb is not yet done
Make for the summit, one more stretch of fun

Back to the aid and through, down road to crew
With gravity assist you speed on through
And one last bit to halfway turnaround
Not quite as fast though, climbing broken ground

Now the question passed down through the ages:
One-oh-two (to add up all the stages)
So why not move the aid in just a mile?
I guess a hundred would be out of style.

"Gratuitous!" might run right through your mind,
From crew to Gnashing Knob as they designed
Arrive in dark? You're fast they'll give a cheer!
If not don't worry cut-offs still aren't near

Turnaround, halfway through,
Right back down, see your crew,
Pacer waits, raring now
Those behind -- see ya, ciao!

So now to climb the road to Reddish Knob,
And jog what parts you can to beat the mob
It levels on the bridge -- you're almost there,
The tent is just ahead; pull in with flair

From here its downhill and your legs are fast,
The question of the day is: will it last?
Not far to station's thrill but now uphill,
Still on that muddy road -- don't take a spill!

The climb to Little Bald will be the test --
So will you crash or run like man possessed?
For some go down in flames or stagger home,
While others make good time 'cross rocks and loam

In any case you'll raid the table's aid,
so grab some eggs or burgers, they're all made!
Next up -- the biggest downhill on the course
(too bad you can't descend it on a horse!)

If quads can take the slope it augurs well,
If not just take it slow and don't rebel
For at the nadir waits North River Gap,
The biggest party on this race's map

Cross a bridge, two and three,
Downhill done, soon you'll see,
Crew attends, check your weight,
Table calls, take a plate

Some calories to see you through the hill
Now move on out, get going, that's the drill
The start's a gentle stroll cross wooded slope,
By daylight streamers clear -- keep up your lope

But soon it angles up -- you know it's due
And rocks confound the trail, knock you askew
It's just the charm of Grindstone, climb on through
How much of this is left? Well, let's review...

Now three big climbs remain, including this
And three more big descents to the abyss
The climbs will steal your speed and make you plead
The downs will crush your quads but don't concede

You needn't make great time to finish well
Be steady and consistent -- you'll excel
Now back to present trail, turn up your hike,
Beware false summits, each chunk looks alike

At last the rocky brush denotes the peak,
If you're not dazed and spinning, good technique!
Next Lookout Mountain waits, cruise down and see
You'll find refreshment there I guarantee

Take a break, rest your legs,
Have some Nuun but wish for kegs
Still more climb, grab some fruit,
Up the road, munch en route

This nice dirt road goes on for quite a while
However it's uphill and you won't smile
But still, Lookout was halfway up or more
Stay steady, on the move, you know the score

From top to see your crew at Dowells Draft
Just run on down the ridge -- this is your craft!
If energy is low this won't feel great,
In fact it's true -- you might hallucinate

Or if your quads are trashed and downhills ache,
Relentless Forward Progress takes the cake
So hydrate well and chew a Gu or two,
Some calories might change your point of view

If all goes well you'll keep your race on track,
If not, find crew and aid for this setback
The miles will pass unnoticed by your feet,
Keep heading to your friends and stop and eat

Dowells Draft, next buffet,
Want to sit, want to stay,
Twenty left to run today,
Far to drive, old cliche

At least the next leg starts with potpourri,
A gravel road, steep dip, and then the sea
Okay, perhaps a minor creek to cross,
But one step wrong and it will be your loss

In any case then up a bit and back,
And cross the road before the cars attack
Next up the trail's a dream; then back to stream
Though up and down the banks can make you scream

Just one more trench or two and then you're clear,
But if your brain still works you know what's near
A giant climb is coming -- what's to say?
before its done you'll wish you're far away

But grit your teeth and hike it with some pace,
And with some luck you'll pick up one more place
So now then at long last you reach the crest,
The climb is done, you've passed the acid test

It levels out, now why as flat as this?
A little downhill wouldn't go amiss...
Be careful what you ask -- you might receive
The downhill might not be a great reprieve

The steep and rocky parts can pound and jar
With little bumps to climb, though not too far
It's Dry Branch Gap that calls you to progress
Just as you curse the course for its excess

See your crew, every stop
In between each high hill top
Eat and drink, push ahead
Fourteen more, then a bed

Now this time there's no messing just the climb
A couple thousand feet up one last time
Don't let it beat you down from head to toe,
You crush that hill, now that would be a show!

The rocks that lurk midway will be the test,
If you can coast through those we'll be impressed
Don't stub or fall, you'd find a world of hurt
Though difficult you've got to stay alert

When rocks spread out and inclines ease that's good
The road is at the exit from the wood
The long tough hike has passed but that's the last
If you can't make it now I'd be aghast

Of course the gravel road is plenty steep,
You can't run down -- it's more a jarring creep
A mile or two then back to single track
Though past top ten it's typically pitch black

This trail's one of the highlights of the race,
The end in reach, few rocks, a downhill pace
It brings you to dirt road down to the aid --
The station at Falls Hollow promenade

Crew awaits, one last stop,
Gatorade and soda pop,
Fill 'er up, quick stop mode,
Don't lose time, hit the road

Then straightaway you'll need to cross the tracks,
(this course just never helps you to relax)
Whatever, next a couple messy miles,
Of rocky trails and gravel roads and trials

You might recall it all from Friday's start,
Or maybe long forgotten since that part
In any case the Boy Scouts cheer you in,
(until their bedtime when the snores begin)

But once you hit their camp the end is near,
A mile or two, no further, have no fear
There's still some up and down on these dirt tracks,
Until One Mile To Go hits like an axe

You see that sign and start to lose control,
Just hold it 'til you reach the totem pole
Through camp and wood, round lake and cross the grass,
Down road, past cars, cross field, come in with class

Your victory at hand you cross the line
High-fives from Clark and photos to enshrine
Your moment as you conquered Grindstone's best,
So hug the pole to chest and then you rest

Some food, a chair, a shower, take your time
Just getting off your feet will feel sublime
And when you count your toenails once again,
I guarantee you won't get up to ten

Now we don't know what ultras you've in store
(though hiking up those hills you swore no more)
But I would be the first to smell a rat,
If many races were as hard as that

Race Report: 2011 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run

2011-07-24T15:34:00.000-04:00

How long would this smile last?

Question of the day: would Vermont cap off my hot streak of races, or end it? I had great runs at 3 Days at the Fair and the Equinox, leading up to Vermont. But my training for the last few months has been dramatically different... next to no midweek miles, unless you count 2-3 here or there with Sean in the jogger or bike trailer while 3-year-old Caelan rode his bike -- an irregular "workout" at best. I did start CrossFit at the end of April, which seemed to be the counterbalance, but I didn't know if I would keep going strong, or if the lack of miles would catch up to me. It sure made me nervous to hear Chris and Chris talking about 100 mile weeks, 200 mile 15 days, and so on...

I felt great at the pre-race meeting, and it was nice to see a lot of familiar faces ahead of the race. My weight seemed the same as ever at the medical check, though someone said I looked like I had lost weight. Maybe redistributed, a little. I didn't stick around for the dinner, though, not being a big pasta fan -- the Pizza Chef over in Woodstock works just fine for my pre-race meal.

"I swear this race is easier than Grindstone"

I still felt great when I got there to check in during the wee hours of Saturday morning. At the time, I saw no reason why I couldn't make my most optimistic goal. I figured if I could do 17 hours on a flat course, I'd aim for 18 here, which should also put me in the top 10. Never mind there was likely to be much more serious heat and humidity, in addition to the hills. This is what comes from tapering, I tell you. All that energy you usually spend in training and working out, suddenly it's just sitting there making you cocky. But it was nice to see all the BCRR folks a little just before the race, get some group pictures, and so on. I jogged out of the tent for a quick potty break, and I guess that was my "warm-up". I mean, it's not like a short race where you feel like you'll burst out of the gate and pull a muscle if you haven't warmed up in detail. Here we'd all be taking it slow and warming up as we went.

Soon enough it was time to head over to the big banner, there was a quick countdown from 30 seconds, and we were off. The first miles passed easily, if a bit too quickly. I recognized many of the sections, though I missed others I recalled (like last year where we made a left turn and another runner immediately pulled over to stretch his leg. Or the spot where I used a log to retie my shoe. Never saw that log -- or that turn -- this year). In the first half mile I was just behind the lead pack of 12 or so runners. But they were going too fast, and first another pack of 5 passed, then another. I felt like I could have slowed down even a little more, but I wasn't confident enough that I could keep up my target pace into the second half of the race, and it seemed like a little time in the bank might not be a bad thing.

Both ready to go!

But the time flew by until we hit the first aid station, just over an hour in, where I topped off my pack. It was an unmanned station -- just a table with a bunch of water and Heed jugs off to the side of the road. One of the first-time runners later told me he never would have seen it if I hadn't stopped. My plan was to try to fill up every hour or thereabouts. In cold, dry weather, my pack can easily go two hours. But if I get at all behind on my hydration on hot, humid days, I can blow through it in 40 minutes. Guess which a July ultra on the East coast would be? So my plan was to fill up every hour and not get behind.

Of course, I was probably drinking a little too much for the cool 4 AM start -- judging by the number of pee breaks, anyway. Still, it felt a little humid, though it was supposed to dry off later in the day. I guess we'd see. In any case, I had to lament when I was paused at the table refiling my pack with water, or paused at the side of the trail unloading the same, and some other runner went cruising on by. But I told myself it was early yet, and it didn't much matter who was on a sub-17 hour pace now. And we tended to leapfrog as others also pulled off to the side of the road for one reason or another.

Ocean's, um, 6?

I chatted with a guy named Julian, who turned out to be from sort of close to Philly, running his first 100. I though to myself he was crazy for going out this fast on his first 100, but he said he'd run several 50 milers including sub-8 finishes, and was going slower than that pace, so he felt fine. I wished him well and hoped he wouldn't crash during the second half of the race. We sped down to and across the Taftsville covered bridge together, and along the flat road next to the river. We had both agreed that we didn't feel like strictly scheduled walk breaks were a necessity, but I was starting to think it might not be a bad idea to take one, as I was going along at a somewhat faster pace than I really needed to. (This, in fact, turned out to be my fastest leg of the whole race, between the 11.5 and 15.3 mile aid stations.)

Thankfully that 15.3 mile aid station came around quickly, and we both stopped to refill. Mine took longer, as it was a big pack not just a handheld, and I also paused to throw down some orange and watermelon slices. One of my big concerns from 3 Days at the Fair was the way I hit the wall at 92 miles. My pace took like a 6min/mi hit right there, and I figured it was due to running out of energy -- that is, not eating enough along the way. I really couldn't take more gels, so I wanted to eat a bit at aid stations on top of the gels. But I didn't think I could take dry or solid food, so I went with fruit. This was the first opportunity (the earlier stations being liquid only), and I took it. The volunteers encouraged me to take some for the road, but I didn't want to -- there was no trash bag in sight down the trail, and I didn't fancy carrying rinds another few miles. (Seriously, other races put trash bags 50 yards down the trail from each aid station -- that would have been great. Also, at all the unmanned aid station, the trash bag was high up a tree, several yards off the road. It would have been nice to have one right there where the runners are!) Anyway, I thanked the volunteers and departed (uphill, naturally), well behind Julian. I wouldn't see him again for probably 30 miles. The next two sections were hilly and slow, as if to punish me for my speedy leg.

There's nothing the crew can't handle!

Meanwhile, a few issues cropped up before we hit the mile 20 aid station. First, the top of my right foot was getting a little sore. I couldn't tell if I had tied my shoe too tight (I felt like the left was looser and it didn't hurt at all), or if it was just from the camber of the dirt roads, or what. Needed to monitor that one. Second, I tweaked some muscle along the inside of my thigh (so much for no warm-up needed). It seemed to hurt a little on uphills. It wasn't bad now, and I forecast two possible outcomes. 1) It could hurt more and more until it disabled me, or 2) it could utterly fade into the background compared to the rest of the pain about to come my way. I hoped for the latter, and resolved to ignore it until and unless it presented a greater problem. (The truth was somewhere in between -- it annoyed me all day long, but never enough to really be a problem.) And third, all that pent-up taper energy was spent. I no longer felt like I was guaranteed my best result. Now I was going to have to work for it.

In this state, I hit Pretty House (the first crew station) at 20 miles. I knew I was going to need a slightly longer stop at either 20 or 30 miles to apply sunscreen, get a hat, ditch my headlamp, and so on. After debating it for a while coming into the station, I decided to get it over with. So I quickly swapped my dad for a fresh pack, but then stood around for a couple minutes taking care of the rest, and probably nabbing an orange slice or two. It wasn't the quickest stop ever, but it wasn't bad. I headed out thinking it was great to have my dad there to do the pack swaps. He had asked how I was doing and I think I allowed as how my pre-race energy had burned off, but I still felt fine. On the way out, I passed my own private cheering squadron. OK, maybe it was just the parents, friends, spouses, and crews for the other BCRR runners, but when they screamed for me it sure felt grand! Then I took a drink. Ugh. Apparently I should have applied the sunscreen to my neck before donning the pack. The bite valve tasted of it. Nasty.

How cool is it that my parents come to these?

Still, I was looking forward to the next unmanned aid station -- "U-turn" at 25.1 miles. (Though really, it's more of a right!) Leaving Pretty House, I quickly came to a road section I remembered, and there was a runner in an orange shirt just within sight ahead of me. There was some uphill I didn't take too hard, and then shortly after that I saw signs for a left turn off the road. But the orange shirt was way on down the road. Had he been in front of me all the way from the aid station? (That is, was he in the race?) I pulled in a breath to call out, unlikely as he might have been to hear, and in that moment he rounded a turn out of view. As I headed off the road, I wondered if we'd be close enough to parallel that he could just jump back over, but it didn't seem to be the case.

In any case, I enjoyed the pleasant (and flattish) run through the woods, and turned my thoughts to U-turn. I recalled hitting it around 4 hours last year, and thinking how crazy fast that was. This year, 4 hours was still a few minutes ahead of where I needed to be, but I would be perfectly content with it. On the other hand, the flat part had ended, and there seemed to be a lot of uphill to the U-turn. Still, I hit it just about the same time, and pulled over to top off my pack (not wanting to risk going all the way from 20 to 30 on one load of water). One guy shot by while I was at the table, and I heard two more runners coming up close just as I was leaving. The watch said 4:02 as I left. Good enough. I didn't expect to keep the 4-hour-per-25-miles pace even though 50 miles, but I didn't want to fall off it as far as I had last year, either. Especially from here to Camp Ten Bear at 47 miles.

Happy couple

Somewhere around Sound of Music Hill (perhaps 27, 28 miles?), the problems had started last year. Then after Stage Rd (30 miles), it got much worse. By Lincoln Covered Bridge (39.2), I was trudging. The last mile into Ten Bear was horrible (15 minute pace, and that's largely downhill!). I really, I mean really, wanted to do better.

So sure, there was a lot of walking up to Sound of Music Hill. I mean, the whole point of it is that it's a grassy knoll from which you can look around and admire the stellar views in every direction. So of course you have to go up to get there. I passed the time talking to runners around me. One woman said she was from Vermont, and it was ironic that I seemed to know the course better (if only a little -- I mistook the first "false summit" for the hill). But the good thing was, we had downhill coming on the other side, and even while walking up the hill, even while I could see a more die-hard runner jogging ahead, I felt good. I jogged one of the flatter sections, leaving the woman behind, but only temporarily -- she passed me back on the final ascent. I paused briefly to look around, and then followed her down the far side. We had some minor horse delays -- there were a few ahead of us taking the downhill gingerly -- but it was super-steep with treacherous footing in the deep grass, and I didn't mind taking it easy until it got a little more reasonable.

He gets around

I did pretty well in the final couple miles before the 30-mile crew station at Stage Rd., then pulled into the aid station to see my dad again. He had my other pack ready for another quick change, though I paused to dig out my full hat rather than just the visor. I figured we were heading into the hot part of the day, and I wanted full head cover so I could fill it with ice at the aid stations. Though the heat wasn't bothering me yet, I remembered icing my hat all day long last year, starting quite early, and I wanted to be ready. The cheering squad was smaller here, though they said everyone was doing well, not too far behind. Nice! I headed out. Again, it wasn't a super-fast stop, and I worried that I was hurting myself by not cutting down on the stops more ruthlessly, but if I missed the calories from the fruit or the hat or anything else, I might well pay for it in spades later. I'd have to let my result be my guide.

I headed out for some alone time -- the next crew station wasn't until Camp Ten Bear (another 17 miles). Looking at the race plan I had stashed in my pack, I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule, but I had to hold to 10 minute miles for the next 3 hours in order to stay on target. Right out of the aid station, I knew this was going to be a challenge. We crossed a little wooden footbridge that I will always remember from the first year I ran Vermont -- because I got there right along with a pile of horses, and we jockeyed for position all the way to the top. The top of what? The top of the giant climb right after the bridge. This time I headed up alone.

Future ultrarunner

Now 30 miles isn't so far into the race that jogging a hill should be out of the question. But not this one. You're walking in grass with the occasional mud bog, mostly under tree cover but often right on out in the sun. You'd think you could dodge over to avoid the bad spots, except the grass and brush is at least waist-high off to the side of the trail. Every once in a while it sort of levels out for a moment, except then the trail turns to revel the next phase of the climb. A guy came up on me as we were getting to perhaps the top third, and asked if I had run this before. "Yes, twice," I got out between huffing up the hill. "Well," I amended, "not this part. This part I've never run." He agreed, and went on to say that he didn't run any of the hills, it just wasn't worth it. Then shortly, he proceeded to leave me in the dust. His walk must have been 50% faster than mine, and it didn't look like he was working any harder. What am I missing?

At long last the trail leveled out, and eventually even headed down again. I picked it up when I felt like I could, and held my own on the downhill parts. I was thinking there needed to be some solid run in my future to get that average pace back down! Fortunately the leg was long enough that I did OK by the next aid station. But there was more uphill waiting there. I was blissfully alone on this climb, and it was great. Because last year, I remember trudging up while people passed left and right. I mean, I had been relatively out in front just the same through 25 miles, but by this point, I was talking to people as they went by, trying to keep up and failing, and generally having a lousy time of it. This year, nobody catching up. Yes!

I hit the top and shortly came up to the "Vondell Reservoir" unmanned aid station, another landmark I remembered. This year, there was a pickup truck parked across the way, and someone called out "Heed on the left, Water on the right!" Thanks, but the truth was, the only thing I wanted to do was dump some trash. The volunteers in the truck left down the same one-truck-width lane that I did, and politely waited for a chance to pass even though it meant a while at runner pace.

I could have used a river crossing!

Better yet, this section seemed all downhill, and I crushed it! I felt like I had little wings on my feet. Someone gave me directions as I came to another town, and I followed them across the Lincoln Covered Bridge to the aid station of the same name. This was another major milestone. First of all, I had asked for ice for the hat last year and been denied (it's only for drinks, they said), which frustrated me -- and this year, I didn't even feel like I needed it! I took some fruit and a cup of water, thanked the volunteers, and departed quickly. Second, this was the part of my death march where Chris had blown by, and there seemed little danger of that after the segment I had just posted. Finally, I distinctly recalled trudging up even the slightest incline out of this station, and this year I largely kept to a jog. All good. I had added serious time to my buffer in that last segment, and if I could run evenly for the next 8 miles, I was golden.

Well, surprise, surprise, there was a huge climb in store, and I gave up that newfound time as quickly as I had logged it. I had never even realized it was coming! Oh, well, that's why I was worried about my average pace. I commented to someone at the top that I thought the climb would never end, and she said it was the longest on the course. It sure seemed so at the time, though looking at some elevation charts I'm not really sure it's true. I guess everyone just has the one that sticks in their mind.

I made good time back down, stopping at the aid station just before the most memorable road segment, and managing to tank down some fruit and thank the volunteers before heading out again, still ahead of everyone I had just passed on the downhill. Yes! Now this section starts out running on the side of the most major road we use in the race -- and it's the one the crews drive on to the big Camp Ten Bear station. It seems like every year Erin passes me here driving to the station, though how she manages the timing on that I have no clue. One of the great mysteries of crewdom, I suppose. In any case, the road has a long slow incline, and much of it is exposed to the hot, hot sun. This year was no exception. I saw a couple horses and a runner ahead, though the horses quickly disappeared. Then I heard honking, and once again, it was Erin and the kids passing on their way to Ten Bear! I'd have liked to say I could beat them to the station, but the truth was, there were miles left yet. I went back to following the runner ahead, noting where he turned off the road, and making for the spot myself. This part I remembered too -- you pass a major horse aid station just after leaving the road, and then you're treated to a grassy climb that leads to an up-and-down-but-more-up kind of trail section, before popping out to another road and the last unmanned aid station before Ten Bear.

The grass wasn't as steep as I remembered, but I walked it anyway, taking a gel and S-cap and all. I had wanted to keep my momentum up in the road (and get out of the sun!), so I was a little overdue, and it seemed a fine time to get back on track. The trail was a little shorter and easier than I recalled, and no one was catching up. In fact, I popped out to see another runner ahead, stopping at the aid station. I leaned over in that direction to look for the official distance to Ten Bear, but couldn't make out the fine print on the station's sign. The other guy asked if I wanted a cup of Coke, and I was tempted to call back "Get out of there! It's only a mile to Ten Bear!" But I didn't want to spoil his Coke. I just waved and headed on, finding the uphill a lot more palatable than last year since I knew it just led to a big downhill into the station.

Coming into Ten Bear

That other runner caught up, and hey, it was Julian! We chatted briefly, but then I pushed it down the steep part of the downhill, and he seemed to fall back slightly. Probably just enough to see me whoop and raise my arms in victory as I saw parked cars, meaning I had made it 47 miles, not just meeting my aggressive race plan, but slightly ahead! So long as the medical check didn't take too long, I was golden! We ran into the station together, and the volunteers ushered me to a scale. I stripped off my hat and pack as I arrived, handing them to a waiting volunteer. They asked my starting weight (I assume just to see if I was conscious enough to recall it, since they had a big chart of all the runners and weights right there), and it turned out I was right on -- maybe up a pound if anything. Erin and my dad were right behind them, so I got a fresh pack and turned to go. The guy holding my old pack asked "water or Heed?" and I said "nothing, I got a whole new pack right here!" He seemed flabbergasted.

I took two steps toward my victorious departure, and then heard Erin calling desperately from behind. I turned to look, and she was vigorously gesturing down toward Caelan, who was watching me go. I waved and called out "love you all!" and headed out. I felt a little bad that I hadn't had more time for Caelan and Sean, but at all costs I wanted to avoid the 10-minute layover and sitting on the grass and all that this station seemed to require of me last year. I hit my watch and I was leaving at 7:48, with the med check, still ahead of my long-shot 7:52. Wow.

Granted, I walked the hill out of Ten Bear. I saw a guy ahead of me running it with his crew, until they turned back well up toward the top. I remembered some favorable terrain ahead before the next big climb, and figured I'd use my energy there, not here on this hill. Indeed, I passed that guy a couple miles down the road. Then the flat part ran out.

The climb to the "50.3 mile" marker was brutal, as I recalled. (And why, you may ask, is there a special course marker for 50.3 miles? You wouldn't be getting a sensible answer from me!) Then it was a long and undulating trip to Tracer Brook, the next crew station. I passed Pinky's, where last year I had seen some other runners crashed in chairs in the heat. I might have hoped for more of the same, but apparently those in front of me were content to stay in front of me for now. I did perhaps take some ice for my hat at one of these stations -- I know I did it once this year. I also recall coming on a large familiar metal bucket, fed by a hose, with a sign reading "fresh water for horses and humans". Well, if you looked into the bucket, as a human, you wouldn't be very tempted to drink. But while the hose was firmly attached to the bucket, it had enough play that if you leaned over, you could drench your head in cool water quite satisfyingly. I must have really raved about it, because another runner who was just past turned back to do the same. Now I really can't recall where on the course that was, so I just have to offer up my thanks to some random farmer somewhere in the fine state of Vermont. It was great!

Shortly after halfway, I came across James, a runner I know from other races. We are of pretty similar speeds -- enough so that he mentioned using my splits from last year in planning his race. (I didn't get the opportunity until the pre-race meeting to tell him how crappy the middle miles were for me!) He said "Hey, you're more than an hour ahead of last year!" Which of course meant he was, too. But he looked to be in a spot of trouble. He said his IT band was hurting, and he was considering changing shoes to see if that helped. I couldn't offer any thoughts on that, having never changed shoes mid-race myself. But we talked a bit before I felt ready to press on ahead, so I wished him well. It sounded like he was keeping close behind, for the moment.

Hydrating at Tracer Brook

The next crew station at Tracer Brook (57 miles) was another quick pack change, though I think I at least took the time to ruffle Caelan's hair. I felt better having not utterly ignored him like at Ten Bear! The bad news was, I was now five minutes behind my goal time. But I wasn't super worried. I knew there had been a big climb in there, and also this was just short of where my goal pace slowed down. In reality I was probably on a more even decline rather than the strict cutover from faster to slower in my plan. So I figured I'd catch up again sooner or later. Well, I hoped, anyway.

So I left Tracer Brook, and it didn't take long to determine that I was unlikely to make up ground here. A strong runner I had passed at the aid station passed me right back. It was only five miles to the next crew station at Margaritaville, and the first three were up, up, up. I asked a runner nearby whether he knew what the course was like to Margaritaville. I had a vague memory of "up, then down", which I hoped to confirm. He just said "more of the same, I guess." It turned out he hadn't run the race before. And really, what does that mean? More of the trail same was a lot different than more of the road same. And was it long climb same or rolling same? In retrospect, the course does have a lot of "dirt road with a canopy of trees on either side", but at the time, I grumbled to myself. Well, it turns out it went straight on up, until it momentarily leveled out, and there was an unmanned aid station. I hoped that designated the top. It did -- we turned down down down to Margaritaville. But there had still been more up, and I was now ten minutes behind.

I finally got a look at it this year!

No matter. I took the time to look around a little at Margaritaville, the 100K mark. I remembered last year, having no memory whatsoever of what Margaritaville actually looked like, despite the outstanding name. This time I saw streamers and banners with bright alcohol-looking logos, and it all looked rather like a lively pub. I was only a little tempted to ask for an actual margarita. If it had been a bad day, maybe, but I was hoping to make up some time into Ten Bear, so I passed on it. I did get in the quick pack switch, and then it was off again. No more fruit this time -- my stomach had started giving me a little trouble, off and on, and I knew that was a potential disaster -- so I cut back to just gels and water. Hopefully the extra fruit early on would be enough to keep me going past 92 miles.

On the up side, I knew there was a long downhill coming, where I made up a lot of ground last year. I remember passing people who said things like "wow, what a recovery!" Of course, it didn't start out that way. Inevitably, it was somewhat uphill first. My plan showed 4 miles to an intermediate station, and I was pretty surprised to hit it in only a half hour! But the sign on it said it had only been three miles. So either I went crazy fast or just plain darn fast, but either way, it was well faster than my plan at that point. Nice. Also, as it turns out, this was the highest point on the course. And then we hit the downhill. It was just as fast as I remembered. Again, I passed people, though perhaps not as many. It felt pretty good. I walked a bit when we came off the trail onto pavement, just to rest my legs. And then carried on down the paved part of the downhill. When it finally leveled off I thought we must be pretty close to Camp Ten Bear, and I looked for the left that led back to the aid station.

An intersection... but not the one. Another... not it. Where was it?!? Finally I saw it -- easy to recognize because it was the one part of the course you actually run twice, so there are signs in both directions. I made the turn toward the station, right next to a horse. Someone called out from behind, "go straight!" The rider next to me yelled at me "wrong way!" I took a moment to look back, but I knew that was BS. I shook my head and carried on. There was a little back and forth and then eventually the rider apologized (for trying to add 23 miles to my race!). Give me a break.

Heading for the scales, hat in hand...

I walked up the last hill, greeting all the runners heading out of Ten Bear for the first time. In nearly 12 hours, I had gone 70 miles, and they were just past 47. I was still more than an hour ahead of last year's time, though it seemed like I hadn't done that last downhill quite as fast. I'd have to make up for it by not loafing on the grass at the station.

Everyone cheered me down the hill and over to the scales. I offloaded the pack and hat and climbed on -- 4-5 pounds up. The doctors were totally OK with this, but it concerned me. I had been taking a lot of salt and drinking a lot, and not suffering as much from the heat. I resolved to cut back a bit. Erin said there were pacers available, but I really didn't feel like I needed one, and wasn't ready to deal with it if I ended up with one that didn't help. She also said they thought there had only been seven 100-milers through before me. Wow. But, 30 miles was a lot of race left, and I had no idea how accurate that figure was anyway -- my mental math put me at more like 15. I was pretty darn happy if I was actually in the top 10, so I figured I'd try not to get passed, but didn't want to make more specific plans at this point.

Leaving... without the hat

With that, I grabbed my new pack and headed out. 11:54, back ahead of my scheduled 12:01. Yes! "Hat! Your hat!" I looked back. Half the station seemed to be waving at me. Erin had it, and I started up as she started down. Then someone, perhaps a waiting pacer, grabbed it from her and ran it down to me. Thanks! I turned back and headed out again. I was ready for another gel but I rememebered that the huge climb didn't start right away... I had made that mistake before. So I carried on maybe a quarter mile into the woods, passing a 100K runner, and made it to the real climb. It was everything I remembered, only not quite so bad. How's that? Maybe I was just on a high from that top 10 remark.

Meanwhile, I quit the s-caps, until I could actually feel muscles tightening. Usually I get a warning in my neck before I really get leg cramps, so I figured I'd look out for that. I cut back on the water a bit too. I hoped to have my weight back to where it started by the time I got to the medical check at Bill's. On the up side, I continued to pee regularly, so I was going to lose a little that way, and I sure wasn't burdened by a lack of sweat, so I should lose some that way too. I hoped it would all sort out. Physically I didn't feel that great, but I was ready to push for a decent 30 miles and see what I could do.

Coming into West Winds

The two legs into the 77-mile crew station at West Winds were slower than I would have liked, but what can you do? There was a lot of climbing. We'd climb a long way on trail, hit a nice level road that would promptly turn uphill, cross a nice level field, onto a trail that turned uphill, you get the idea. Somewhere in that last 30 we made the right I recognized onto a narrow path up a grassy slope, but I couldn't remember what came next! Still, it all made me very glad to be fast -- two years ago I ran all these sections in the dark, and they were so much easier in the daytime!

I was sort of looking forward to the temperature dropping, and it took its sweet time. I hit West Winds a little before 5:30, and while I had lost all the buffer I had built at Ten Bear, that was pretty much to be expected. The question was how I could do from here. I said hi to everyone and got my new pack, heading down the steep, grassy hill onto another trail section. I wasn't feeling the love for the trails, this year. I did OK on them, and they relieved all the oddball pains probably caused by the cambered dirt roads, but they just seemed slower and more uphill than the roads.

Aid at West Winds

Still, overall, I had a pretty good time from West Winds to Bills. I continued to pass people, if at a slower rate. I'd first see a pair of runners in the distance, and think "Aha! I've got you now!" I mean, if they were going to stay in front of me, I'd never see them at all, right? Inevitably, the pacer noticed me too, and they picked up the pace, often enough to disappear again. But inevitably, I caught up again. One I came up on again just as his pacer took his bottle and dashed ahead to an unmanned aid station. The one disadvantage I had going pacer-less -- no one to run ahead and fill bottles for me! But the runner ended up at the table too, and I passed while they were there. The advantage of a large hydration pack, I guess.

I remember last year, running on a road with heavy traffic, which later turned out to be crew vehicles heading to Bill's. This year, I kept looking for that, but there was never a road I recognized, or with so much traffic. Hopefully because I was ahead of it, but who can say? At one point I came blazing down a hill to an aid station, to see a runner and his pacer leaving it just ahead. They turned the corner just down the road, and then the pacer popped back out in a mad dash for the aid station. A volunteer shouted "What, what did you forget?" The pacer made it 80% of the way back to the station, then turned around and headed out again. Ha! I knew what that was. That was him checking whether I had a red (100K) or black (100M) bib. If you saw a pair of runners then you could pretty much count on it being a 100-miler and pacer. But an individual could be in either race...

Leaving West Winds

I still had to stop at the station, but I knew that was another guy I'd be catching. If he was that concerned, he wasn't going to stay ahead for 15 or 20 miles. In fact, I was taking all the downhills faster, so while he held me off for a while on the climbs, I caught up on a descent. We chatted briefly, and I noted that I saw him checking out my bib color back there at the station. "Yup." "Thought so. Well, good luck to you!" I headed on.

It was still a long run to Bill's, and I kept thinking I must be at the turn where I'd see the big field on my right, with cars parked, and the big red barn in the distance. It never was that turn. I jumped with joy when I finally saw the cars, though the barn didn't look red at all. Well, I'd still take it. I came in just the slightest bit ahead of schedule. How about that? 88.6 miles and right on. I ditched the pack and hat and jumped on the scale. They asked what I started at. I told them. They fiddled with the scale -- a balance kind, like at the doctor's. I was clearly right at my start weight, but the volunteer on the scale jiggled the smallest weight back and forth in half-pound increments for so long I almost screamed. Close enough, damn it! In reality, it was probably 10 seconds, not nearly enough to matter. Sometimes you look back and wonder where your head was.

Last weigh-in

My dad had a headlamp ready, but I wanted both of them, causing another small delay while he fetched my crew bag. I had considered throwing on a long sleeve shirt, but it didn't seem that cool and I didn't want to stay any longer. So I took the light, left the hat (on purpose this time), and headed on out.

In retrospect, this was the high point of my race. According to the post-race splits, I was in 6th, the best of all my stops. I was feeling great (mentally, anyway), I had just hit my targets, it was still daylight, who could ask for more? The next 7 miles to Polly's did not go as well. There were two practically equal sections of 3.5 miles, which I needed to hit under 40 minutes each in order to leave myself an hour for the last 4.5 miles. (You wouldn't think an hour was needed, but there were a lot of hills and my previous best was 1:08!) But it seemed to be largely uphill, and it took 45 minutes to make it to the midway aid station. Plus I was passed, by my friend super-fast-walker-guy. We had just crossed a huge field in the waning sun, and I heard some hooting behind me. I didn't look back (why bother?), but pressed on as best I could. He passed with his pacer on an uphill shortly thereafter, and seemed stronger on the downhills too. Catching him seemed pretty unlikely. I also had some chilly moments, when I was walking a hill and a breeze hit. I wondered whether it was a mistake to skip the warmer shirt, but that at least did not last.

Feeling good at Bill's!

The second half to Polly's was pretty much the same. Largely uphill, and as it went on I was passed by a woman and her pacer -- seemed like the same woman I had talked to at Sound of Music Hill, way back when, though I couldn't be sure. I kept closer to them, but I was going about as well as I could, and never managed to actually close any distance. Apparently I was keeping her nervous, because we had donned our headlamps, and I could see her pacer's turn back to check on me approximately every 35 seconds for the rest of the race. Note to pacer: if you shut off the light before looking back, you'd see my light, and I'd never know you were there.

Anyway, I hit Polly's at 17:15. A fantastic time, but 15 minutes behind my best case. I didn't see cutting 23 minutes off my time for these 4.5 miles, so an 18-hour finish wasn't going to happen. Still, if all the reports had been right, I was still in the top 10. So my new goal was to keep everyone behind me, behind me. It took a half hour to make it to the final aid station, but I couldn't remember the mileage, and hadn't seen it posted. Did I have a mile to go? Two? In fact it was 2.3 to go, which was more than I had figured. So I spent a lot of time wondering where that "1 mile to go" sign was!

With 11 miles to go!

I also kept hearing voices behind me, and whenever I looked, I saw a light in the distance (and the visibility wasn't that far). This part was almost all trail, and uphill. I pushed as hard as I could to stay ahead, jogging every hill except for the very steepest parts. The voices were still there, pressing me to stay ahead. This seemed much different than previous years, but I was a lot more motivated. Someone passed, but thankfully it was horses. Finally I hit the mile-to-go sign, just as I passed another runner (though not a 100-miler). I pressed on down the trail for that eternal last mile, finally hitting the glowing milk jugs in perhaps the last quarter mile. They carried me up to the torches, and I crossed the glowing finish line in 18:13:58, for a massive PR, and my first top 10 in an actual competitive ultra. Yes!

Yeah!

My parents and Erin and the kids were all there to celebrate my finish, though it was a short lived party as suddenly everyone yelled "out of the way! Horses coming!" and a pair of horses crossed the line. ("Some of them go *really* fast!" someone noted, once we were safely off to the side.) My excellent crew had a chair ready and waiting, so I hung out at the finish line for a few minutes, before meandering back to the most welcome cots in the medical tent. This is something I wish every 100 miler would copy -- a warm tent full of cots and blankets, close to the food -- there's no better way to finish, if you ask me!

Happy finishers

Unfortunately it didn't take very long for the leg pain to kick in, and I wasn't able to entirely avoid the usual shivering spell, though it didn't seem as bad this year (at least in part due to the heat pack that the medical team produced!). I was able to eat and drink a little, and was just starting to feel a little more human when Chris strolled in and settled down on the cot next to me, having handily beat his 20-hour goal. He didn't even lay down, just sat on the side of the cot and chatted. How does he do that?!? James also came through, though I don't even think he stopped for a cot. Seriously? I had been laying there moaning and begging for a leg transplant! (Medical team diagnosis: "Hey, you brought that one on yourself, buddy!")

Top 10

Still, it felt great. From 19:41 to 18:13, and a top 10 to boot. For the first time I got called up right at the beginning of the awards ceremony, and got to stand up there for the little photo shoot before they handed out the rest of the awards, from 30-hour finishers on down. (Though I almost missed it! They started the awards early and we rolled in as the second-place finisher was being called!)

So, at the end of the day, I guess there is something to this CrossFit! Despite the lower training mileage, it seems to be working for me. Next up, Grindstone! We'll see if it does the same for the real gnarly climbs! :)

Guess who digs the lunch?

In closing, thanks to my dad for excellent crewing -- he was there at every station with a fresh pack ready. It was great to see my mom and Erin and the kids out on the course too! Plus the BCRR retinue at the early stations. Those friendly faces mean a lot. And thanks to all the volunteers, always ready with some fresh fruit, cups of water, jugs to top of my pack between crew stations, or cots at the finish line. Couldn't do it without you all!

Race Report: 2011 Equinox 50 Mile

2011-06-28T22:49:00.000-04:00

Short Version:

Equinox Check: Pass
Big thanks to all the volunteers, especially the ones who refilled my sweaty pack again and again.
Vermont, here we come!

Long Version:

Let me start by describing the Equinox, for those who aren't familiar. The Bucks County RoadRunners puts on a series of 10 or 12 races each year, through the winter (the Winter Series). Some idio-... bright person got the idea to string all the courses back to back to make a 50 mile race. They all take place at Tyler Park, which has a nice number of paved trails, but still not 50 miles worth. So these races, ranging in distance from 5K to a half marathon, are each made up of one or more loops, ranging from 2.7 to 5.3 miles. Further, there's a creek running down the middle of the park, and most of the loops are on one side (the largely tree-covered "back"), while a few are on the other side (the largely open "front"). The boathouse is the staging area next to the creek, and all the loops start there (well, a couple hundred yards from there, anyway). So for this race, you're running a lot of loops, some more than once, some including parts of others, etc. It sounds complex, but it's very well marked as to the order of loops and the course for each one. Plus, virtually all the runners are familiar with the courses from the Winter Series anyway. The Equinox is self-timed, and you can run any distance you like, up to 50 miles (or what the heck, a few more if you just tack on some extra loops!) There are two aid stations -- one in the middle of nearly all the back loops, and one at the boathouse (close to all, but not actually on any of the courses). Now with that background, on to the report...

I was very curious to see how the Equinox would go this year. Several factors were at play; I started CrossFit about two months ago, I have not been getting in the training miles I'm used to since that time (though I've been pretty religious about a weekly long trail run), and at the present time I feel chronically short of sleep. It's a good day when I can nap with the kids. So all in all, a lot of signs that my running times might suffer, and I might not be able to make the time I'd prefer to at the Vermont 100 (coming in three weeks). But on the up side, I had a great race at 3 Days at the Fair not that long ago, with a boatload of PRs. That was on pavement; this would be on pavement (though not as flat by a long shot). Plus lots of CrossFit folk claim it can dramatically improve running/triathlon times without high-mileage training. I was skeptical (maybe they're talking about beginners?), but hopeful.

So I figured 50 miles at the Equinox would be a good test, to show whether all of the above amounted to good or bad. I started by looking up the course record. Last year Steven Davis posted an 8:07 if you only count time on trails (not any layovers at aid stations), or otherwise it was Euihwa's 8:36 from the inaugural race in 2008. Well I definitely wanted to beat the 8:36, but I would be in the weird grey area if I didn't also beat the 8:07... I figured, what the heck, as long as this is supposed to be a test, let's make my goal 8 hours. I'd run under 8 at Bull Run Run (two years ago) and 3 Days at the Fair (this year), so it was at least conceivable, though I've not found the Equinox to be an easy course in the past -- between the weather, the pounding from pavement, and the Tyler hills. My best on the course was an 8:42 two years ago (last year I didn't run 50 as it was in the middle of the Grand Slam). I figured I'm generally in better shape than two years ago, but I was not sure it was that much better, especially given the factors above. Well, I'd just have to see.

Now at 3 Days at the Fair I managed to run very even splits for 50 miles. I mean, sure it got slower as I went, but I was still under 10 minute miles by 50, and averaging closer to 9. That had worked very well for me, as long as it lasted, so I decided to lay out a pace chart with a totally even pace that came out to 8 hours. I assumed I'd be a little fast at the start and a little slow at the end, but I'd aim for consistent, which is (to say the least) generally not how I race. It would be subject to the reality of the Tyler hills, but hopefully each loop would be close to the average pace. In retrospect, the thing I didn't include was the extra mileage from crossing the causeway over the creek several times "between courses", which was not counted in the total race mileage. That was very nearly a problem! Well, notes for next year...

Prep aside, on to the race. Being a familiar commute from the Winter Series, I timed my arrival pretty well, getting there just as the side gate was being opened. I had time to send my spare hydration pack with a car going to the back aid station, commune with my Vaseline and Body Glide, take a pre-race gel, and chat a little about Western States (the winners having finished the previous night!). Then we had to head over to the start.

Race Director Chris Mortensen made a few brief announcements (pie plates as course markings and whatnot), took a start photo, and we were off! I immediately dropped back from the front-most group (Pete L, Michael G, and other speedsters) and fell in with Harris and Chris P. Then dropped back from them too. I had to keep reminding myself this was supposed to be a comfortable pace. It was hard to judge since the creek is at the bottom so it starts with a mile or more of uphill, and I was going to be breathing hard no matter what. But I tried to keep it within reason.

We hit the back aid station after a couple miles, and I stopped to ask if they had my spare pack (they did) and if they could fill it up the for me before I came around again (they did). It was a nice pause too, though a couple more folks passed. I fell in behind Jeff V and Jim C, and we ran together for much of the rest of the loop. We hit halfway in about 23 or 24 minutes, which was way too fast -- my goal was 51 minutes and this was the uphill section, so the second half would go faster. Oops. But I couldn't throttle back much on the downhills, so we just went with it.

Thanks Jim for mentioning that you like my race reports (here's one more for you!), and passing the time telling us about the running group you're setting up at work. Very cool. Though I eventually stopped to walk a little when we hit 40 minutes. It was time for a gel and S-cap for me, and I figured since I was so far ahead of my goal pace, I might as well relax a bit. Jeff and Jim pulled away while I walked. Once I got going again, I passed Sharon and a few others going the opposite direction.

When I finished the first loop, there was a truck parked in front of the sign showing the order of the courses. That was fine, though, as I knew the Polar Bear 8-mile was second. (In fact, it is not.) I did a U-turn and headed back for another 5.3 loop to start the Polar Bear, in the opposite direction this time. I wondered why Jeff (ahead of me in the distance) had gone straight, but I didn't give it too much thought, as it wasn't unusual for people to fiddle the order of the courses. (Guess the legs were drawing blood form the brain already!) I saw Euihwa and others just behind as I reversed course for the second loop. This one was satisfactorily slower, if more lonely, until I caught up with Sharon. We ran together into the aid station, which was nice. And there, my key discovery was that my hydration plan was going to work.

Not wanting to blow time in aid stations filling up my hydration pack, I brought two, so I could leave one at that back aid station at all times. I just asked the volunteers to fill the one I wasn't using, and swapped when I came by. It had worked so well at 3 Days at the Fair, I had to try again! I worried a little that the mechanics of the pack closure would be confusing without any explanation, but I needn't have. The pack was ready and waiting at 8.5 miles, or whatever it was partway through the second loop.

Meanwhile, I had discovered why Jeff went straight. When I checked my pace plan, I found that Honest Abe was in fact the second loop, and I was doing the third loop second. Aargh! Well, there was nothing to do but do the second loop third. I didn't want to get any further off than that! So my Polar Bear 8 miler would be in two halves, and I wondered if this would affect my hydration plan (I had plotted the mileage between stops), but it seemed to all work out.

Upon finishing the second 5.3 I did another U-turn for the Honest Abe 4.6 loop. Some folks fell in with me and asked about my plans for the day. I told them that I was aiming for 8 hours, and upon further inquiry, admitted that my previous best for the race was 8:42. I got a skeptical sounding "can you really improve that much?" What can I say? Hope so. They pulled away before long. That's the down side to running long when others aren't, I guess.

Anyway, I looked up a little later to find Chris Palladino coming toward me -- he was on his proper third loop (somewhat further along than me!), but said he'd be just as happy to run with me, so he turned around and we more or less stuck together from there (perhaps 12 miles?) to about 25. It was great to have the company! We ran into Jeff coming the other way (also seemingly ahead, based on where we passed him), and he asked if I had cut the course or what. I tried to explain, but it was probably lost in the rush of passage.

Finishing Honest Abe, I was pretty happy. The last two loops were just slightly ahead of my goal pace, so all in all I was almost 9 minutes up! On the other hand, my legs were getting sore. Not seriously yet, just enough to notice. I remember this always happening in ultras, and always earlier than it should. For crying out loud if I can finish 100 miles, why should it hurt after 15?!? I just needed the numbness to kick in.

The next loop didn't help. It was my first front loop of the day, getting sunny and warm. The morning had been cool but humid, and I was sweating a lot, taking S-caps every 40 minutes. As I felt little twinges, I shifted to every 30 minutes. That seems to be fairly normal for me for races -- whether due to heat or humidity or just running fast. But the looong slow uphill in the sun was no fun. I really wish that loop went the other way, and featured a short, steep uphill and an eternal downhill instead of the reverse. About the only highlight was seeing some friendly faces (like the Hollerbachs coming in toward the Boathouse). I walked the steepest part before it comes out to the big park road, and the rest wasn't much faster. Including crossing the causeway afterward, I had lost a minute out of my buffer. Those darn causeway crossings!

I didn't want to fall off pace before 20 miles or my goal was gone. And next up was the Half Marathon course. Well, that's been good to me before (it's my Half Marathon PR course, actually), so I hoped for the best. The first loop was great, largely because Chris was pulling me to go a little faster. The second loop was not as good, because I had a longer aid station stop and I was just flagging a bit, plus it had another dang causeway crossing (which I walked). Between the two I held my 8 minute buffer. Good enough, but next up were two front loops. And the sun was out. And Chris stopped running to volunteer. And I had already lost time on this loop. All ominous signs. I walked more on this loop -- the steep part coming off the creek, the stop sign section, even once at the bottom of the hill because I was talking another gel and frankly needed the break. I think on one of these walks I passed Charlotte going the other way, but I was so preoccupied sucking water from my pack that I didn't manage to draw breath to say hi until she was gone. But walks aside, I pushed myself on the flats, and managed to come in right on schedule. Yes!

The second loop was similar, though I saw Glenn running the other way, and I had the pleasure of talking to George Hollerbach for a while. I had passed George and Dale on the big hill, but George ran ahead to talk to me for a while before dropping back again. Nice! I didn't even notice the last half mile of hill, thanks to him! He mentioned he had seen Harris and Jeff, which I assumed meant they were still ahead of me (and had passed him first). At one point I saw one of them in the distance I thought, but never managed to close it. I was pushing the pace again, and suffering in the sun. Whether because it was too dry or still humid but now hot or what, I couldn't figure out. It was just tough. I worried a bit that I was pushing too hard to hit my 50K goal and keep my buffer, and I might pay for it later. But that was for later.

I was seconds ahead of schedule on that loop, finishing the Half Marathon, and therefore 50K, in 4:49 -- about the same 8-minute buffer as before. However, this was the one time I couldn't just do a pack swap -- two front loops and the covered bridge and more was just too far to go on one pack. So I went the extra distance and stopped by the boathouse, where Bob C filled up the pack for me (thanks!). I talked briefly to Harris, who had indeed finished 50K ahead of me. Jeff was there too, so I assumed he had as well. Didn't see Euihwa, so I guessed he was still behind me somewhere.

I headed out as fast as I could, though I walked to and across the causeway, needing the time to will my way back to a run again. I started the Covered Bridge 5K, featuring an out-and-back on possibly the worst hill of all the races, and immediately had problems. Cramp-type problems. Not an actual stop-me-dead type cramp, but serious threats and warning signs. Thinking about it, I noticed I had spoken quietly and mumbled a lot at the aid station, another sign of problems (dehydration problems). I walked a bit, and shifted to an S-cap every 20 minutes. Plus one when the cramps seemed especially imminent. I drank more, and more. Twice as much as I had at the start. I had no urge to pee, and hadn't for a while. Alert! Alert!

I made it down to the Covered Bridge, and started back up. I planned to jog through the gravel section and walk up the steep hill. It would throw a wrench in my goal time for the segment, but I needed enough of a walk that the cramp issue went away. I didn't make it more than halfway through the gravel and I was walking. Ugh. Partway up the hill, Euihwa passed coming down -- so he was at most a mile behind. For some reason, I hadn't thought he was that close. He said "pick it up!" and there was no way. Even when it started to level out at the top, I was walking. Harris passed going the other way. WTF!?! I thought he was done at 50K! If he had put down a faster 50K and now was out for 50, and I was walking, that spelled trouble! Could one of them have skipped some other courses and actually be further behind? (Answer: no)

I ran down the hill covering familiar ground from the start/end of the 5.3 loop, and it felt OK, except it was getting iffy by the bottom -- lots of little wiggles in my legs muscles. I walked some on the way back up. I was sure I could feel Euihwa and Harris just behind. I finally finished the Covered Bridge, 4 minutes off my goal. Plus I had blown 4 minutes on the aid station stop and causeway walk after 50K. My buffer was now zero. Technically, I was nearly a minute behind my overall goal up to this point! And I still had the Tyler Challenge loop (several steep hills there!), the Cham-Pain (in the sun!), and the Terrible Tyler (so called due to the awful mile-long hill in the middle). I was really worried that I was not going to be able to get back on pace. I mean, once you're off, it's just an inevitable slide to slower, slower, slower.

I shuffled up the hill past the causeway, determined at least not to walk the very start of the 3.5-mile Tyler Challenge loop. It lasted until the right turn -- no way I wasn't walking up that part. I marveled that Harris and Euihwa hadn't passed already, and assumed they would be here. The only good news was, it seemed I drank and salted and walked enough that the cramps backed off for the moment. Not that it mattered on this climb.

I pushed to a decent run when the course finally flattened out, though I walked again up the steep hill to where it joins the other courses. Even for a few moments when it takes the right turn toward the craft center. Then up to speed on the flat section there. Somewhere in here I saw Sharon again, for perhaps the fourth time, coming the other way, and looking like she could run all day long. She said she was on her last loop. She was gone before I could mention how I looked forward to that! But at least I'd shortly be hitting the back aid station again.

I swapped for a full hydration pack there and kept moving. For sure I'd be walking the last steep uphill before the course turned down again, so I needed to move while I could. In my haste, I left my pace chart in the pack I gave up, but it was OK, I figured if I finished this in 6 hours, I had a half hour for Cham-Pain (5K), and 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler (15K). Not easy, but it was my shot. I pushed a little on the downhill, once I finally got there. It must have worked, because including the causeway crossing over to the Cham-Pain (which I walked again), I was dead on target pace for the loop. Still at 6:01 instead of 6 hours (believe me I begrudged that minute from my Cham-Pain plus yet another causeway crossing), but a great comeback from Covered Bridge!

Now the Cham-Pain 5K was no fun. I was drinking a ton to keep ahead of the cramps, and worried that my water wouldn't make it through half of Tyler Challenge and then Cham-Pain and finally around most of the first 5.3 loop of Terrible Tyler to the back aid station again. I wondered whether I'd have to stop at the Boathouse for a refill, wasting precious time going back and forth to the aid station that wasn't actually on the course! Meanwhile, I walked the steep part coming off the creek as usual, and then emerged from the woods. It was sunny and hot. Once I made it to the part along the road, the air was completely still. I suppose the wind was at my back, at just the perfect speed. It was awful. I felt like I was cooking, and was going to be cramping again shortly. I drank more, but not *too* much more, trying to conserve yet not cook, and leaving still less in my pack.

However, I did hit the turnaround in good time (6:16), leaving 14 minutes for the largely downhill return trip. I had a short walk on the slight uphill on entering the woods, and then a magical thing happened on the way down. I spied a water fountain! I drank deeply, figuring time standing still here beat time standing still at the boathouse (where I'd incur the trip there and back). I knew there was another fountain where the first Terrible Tyler 5.3 loop hit the covered bridge trail, so the small amount left in my pack only had to make it that far. I drank more from the fountain to be sure.

Then I charged downhill. Only my leg was quivering when the road flattened near the creek. Not having any water to spare, I did the only thing I could -- slowed down. It had to be. Still, I made it back and across the causeway seconds under my pace goal. It was 6:31, leaving just under 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler. But I was out of the sun!

I walked the slight rise between the causeway and the first turn in the 5.3 loop, and drank my pack dry there. I'd have to make it to the fountain now. I turned right and pressed on down the hill, riding the edge of cramps, and debated whether to just drink at the fountain or to put the water into my pack. I figured I had more than a mile to go from the fountain to the aid station, still largely uphill, and I might want to drink again. But messing with removing, opening, closing, and donning the pack wasted time, standing at the fountain and then slowing to drink later wasted time. But cramping between the fountain and aid station would be devastating.

I shuffled up the hill, unwilling to lose time to walking until the very steepest part up to the fountain. I had to make good time on these last two loops! When the fountain came into sight, another fear was realized -- two people just ahead of me, walking to the fountain. Taking both positions. I wondered whether it would be rude to say "I'm in a tight race against the clock here would you mind waiting while I just take over the fountain please?" I walked purposefully toward them, hoping to maybe scare them away or something. But magically, they cleared the fountain as I had perhaps three steps to go. Yes! I drank, and drank, and... drank some more. At least twice as much as I would have taken from my pack, but I had to reach that station. And then I left.

I pressed on through the rest of the uphill. Chris Mortensen passed going the other way, and asked whether I was on the first or second Terrible Tyler loop. Second loop? As if! I managed to hold up one finger, though I don't think I said a word. Finally, the blessed downhill arrived. My quads had been twinging but I charged down and hoped for the best. Thankfully, they carried me to the station. I had wanted to make it there with an hour to go, figuring it was about 44 miles. I was just a hair over. I grabbed the fresh pack with glee, and walked out sucking down a gel and the mangled wreckage of two S-caps. I had left at 7:01:46. 18 minutes to get to the bottom, and 40 to make it around the last 4-mile loop, including the notorious Terrible Tyler hill.

The downhill went well, and I hit the end of the loop seconds under 7:20. Jeff was there with camera, and I may have waved, but otherwise just pressed on. I wanted to make it to the uphills before walking again. I did (make it, and walk). I tried to walk as little as possible on the terrible hill, which amounted to once around the Covered Bridge/Honest Abe turnoff, and once at the part that looks straight up. I was calculating times frantically, and it looked promising. At long last, I hit the top, and headed back down. It seemed like I was going to make it. I think I was grinning madly already.

When I passed the station George Hollerbach held out a full pack, but I declined. He said it had ice cold water! I said, I'll get it later, I only have two miles to go! An innocent bystander walking the trail commented "only two miles?" as I was leaving. I heard George, bless his heart, reply "Well, he's done 48 already..." I didn't quite hear the reply, but my imagination filled in "Oh my God!" Whether that last was true or not, the whole thing had me smiling even wider!

It still looked close, but like I was definitely going to make it. I spared a moment to imagine getting caught up in a leash and crashing to the ground in my last stretch -- at one point earlier I had passed a trail-spanning mob with angry-looking dogs and T-shirts reading "Pit Bulls Are People Too", or some such. Seriously?!? But thankfully, they were not on this loop. I charged down.

From past loops I knew I had about 6-6:30 from when I hit the Stop sign at the bottom of the long hill, and my legs would be dead, but that time included walking the short hill before it turned down again. I got to the sign about 7:51, and I was smiling again. I was careful to walk as little of the hill as I could get away with, and then blasted down the final stretch. A last watch check and I was at 7:55 after passing the 5.3 turn-off. Yes!

I'm sure I was grinning madly as I came down the final hill, to see Chris M and Jeff waiting at the bottom. I crossed in 7:56:07, shaking fists, jumping, shouting, and the whole shebang. I made my best-case goal, and I can put all that other crap behind me, because I'm ready for Vermont, baby! So, apparently, are Gregg, Jeff, and Harris, having all scored stellar 50K finishes and/or PRs today! Congrats guys! I'm sorry I couldn't stay to see everyone else finish their long runs -- I knew Euihwa, Rob, and Breandan at least were still out there.

(Now speaking of the Vermont 100, I must confess that more than once during the race, I regretted ever thinking I wanted to run another hundred. When Gregg mentioned afterward that I should sign up for Grindstone because the price was going to increase, I believe I just cursed at him. But I'm sure tomorrow will be different. :)

In closing, thanks to Chris Mortensen and all the volunteers who put this on -- including Diane, Bob C, Chris T, Fred, Jeff, Chris P, Mark Z, the Hollerbachs, and at least a dozen others I'm forgetting. Special thanks to everyone who refilled my sweaty packs -- as is probably clear if I had taken those six full stops to refill it myself, at a couple minutes apiece, that would have put me right past my goal.

What a day.

P.S. It still seems to be a little early to draw any conclusions about CrossFit, but I must admit that my two races since I started, 3 Days at the Fair and the Equinox, have gone startlingly well.

Race Report: 2011 3 Days at the Fair 24-hour

2011-05-19T14:13:00.000-04:00

So this one was hard to predict going in. I'd never done a timed race like a 24-hour before, and I'd never run more than about 32-33 miles on pavement. Still, I had lofty goals. Since I finished the Vermont 100 just under 20 hours (averaging 5 miles/hour), with an extra 4 hours, I should be able to put in another 20 miles, or 120+ total. 130 would be great! Of course, that was not taking into account that my average pace at a 100-miler is made up of a fast start and a slow end -- I wasn't running 12-minute miles for the last few miles at Vermont, as Harris (my Vermont pacer) can attest to. In fact, my goal for the last leg there was simply to not walk the entire thing. And this race was made up of 0.86 mile loops, which would also be a new challenge -- in the past, I've found the 3 loops at HAT Run to be about the most I really care for.

Now add to that, the weather forecast for this one looked ominous -- 30% chance of rain at the start and through the day, going up to 50/60% overnight. It did look like we'd finish shortly before the actual thunderstorms, but only by a pretty narrow margin. So on the one hand, not a hot, sunny day. But on the other hand, rain. At least it turned out to be nice while my dad and I drove up to the start at the NJ State fairgrounds (perhaps 2 hours from the Philly area) -- cloudy and "just right" temperature-wise, with no rain yet.

We met up with Melissa (my crew for this one) at the race, checked in, and then found a spot to set up. We brought a canopy to keep the rain off (though not one with sides like some other folks had -- jealous!), and a table and some chairs. We weren't able to claim the most obvious spot -- as we tried they told us there were going to be catering trucks parked there for a party that evening -- but we found a nice place right around the corner, still along the course and not too far from the main start/finish area and aid station.

I took a moment to apply a liberal dose of vaseline and body glide. I still haven't forgotten the chafing in the rain at Bear Mountain, a few years back. (In hindsight, I could have done more -- maybe just bathed in the stuff!) I went over everything with Melissa again, though she seemed to have it all down anyway, and then visited the start/finish area to see if they were giving out the bibs yet. I got one with about 5 minutes to go, and just hung out near the start with the other 24-hour runners. The occasional 48- or 72-hour runner went by, mainly walking. I hoped to keep from walking substantially as long as possible, but who knows?

Looking around, I didn't really know anyone else in the 24-hour race. I had tried looking folks up online, without a lot of success. About the only one I could identify was Anna Piskorska, who was wearing a US (24-hour) National Team shirt, and looking like she was ready to tear up the course. I heard a few more names as they handed the bibs out, but my thoughts were really elsewhere and none of them stuck. And then, without much fanfare, there was a final 5-second countdown and we were off!

A few people exploded from the line, and I tried to hold back. It's one thing if you need to beat a mob onto a tight stretch of single-track, but at this race, 24 hours on a course easily wide enough to accommodate 6 or 8 people side by side, there was really no excuse to go out too fast.

Still, within about a quarter mile, I ended up running with Anna, out ahead of everyone else. We talked a bit, and it was nice to benefit from some of her experience, plus it kept my mind off just running in circles. She said I should enjoy my first 24-hour, because after a few you pretty much know what your goal is and who you're competing against and you just have to focus on getting it done. Well, I was enjoying it so much I would have missed a turn and run right on down the fairgrounds if she didn't stop me! Oops. She also pointed out that the course wasn't entirely flat (though it sure felt that way in the first loop) or pavement (there was one section where the shortest path was through the grass, and I took that route on each and every loop); I'd want to pay attention to that stuff later. She also mentioned "the wall" that was out there waiting for each of us... somewhere. In any case, Anna was aiming for 130 miles for the day, and I thought maybe I'd just to try to hang on to her coattails and see where that left me.

It didn't work. After a couple laps, she stopped at her aid station, and didn't catch up again. My dad and Melissa may have mentioned that I was going a little too fast, but it was like an 8:30 or 9 minute pace, which didn't seem unreasonable. I can do that for a good long time. So I found myself, at least temporarily, in the lead.

As the early race went on, I could tell that my crew strategy was paying off. Other people were stopping at the main aid station, or at their own tents or tables along the course. That meant time standing still. Instead, when my water was up, I'd just hand my empty pack to Melissa, and she'd hand me back one with water, gels, clear of trash, and all. It doesn't get any better than that! I walked a bit to get the pack back on, but it was forward progress, not standing around. I felt bad when I was picky and came around again asking her to take it back to get the air out of the bladder or loosen the straps or whatever, but she did it all and kept me right on track.

Going through 20 miles, there were a few surprises. I had run into various aches and pains, which always seems to happen earlier than it should. I mean, if you're in shape to run 50 or 100 miles, why are you getting sore after 15 or 20? It's not right! But I sort of remember that happening at every long race, so I just hoped none of the individual problems were going to get worse.

I had also passed another runner a few times who appeared to be in the 48-hour and still going, and when she ran, she was always way up on the front of her feet -- what that whole barefoot movement seems to be recommending. It made me think a bit more about my own form. I wasn't going to run 24 hours on my toes, but I shouldn't be doing it on my heels, either.

Another surprise was that Anna hadn't caught up -- and in fact, I was two laps ahead. I never seemed to actually pass her, so I assume it happened while she was stopped for one reason or another. But her crew and tent were right across from mine, so our "people" were keeps tabs on us. I was sort of operating on the assumption that I'd crash later in the race and she'd blast on by, but I figured I'd hold onto the lead as long as I could.

And the "flat" course. It wasn't very long before I started resenting the little bitty hill that went alongside the grounds building. It was short, and not very steep, but noticeable. It wasn't like it really took all that much out of me, but it was there. Up until this point, I had been taking a walk break every half hour, just to give my legs a little rest. But I decided to just walk that hill instead. So every lap from there to the end, I walked that little hill. Plus, it turned downhill immediately afterward, which made it easy to break the walk and start running again. It was a nice break, and on the tough loops, I could just look forward to getting to the hill, and my walk break.

The marathon mark passed around 3:52 -- not a PR by any stretch, but I was running a lot more comfortably than at any marathon I recall (even the 3:45 ones!). I was starting to worry about tedium in trying to run another 120 loops, and quickly decided to focus on shorter-term goals. Marathon, 50K, 50 mile, 100K... then a big gap to 100 miles. Past that, hopefully the excitement of running further than ever before would carry me on. But for now, 50K.

I got a little excited as the 50K mark approached and it looked to be a race PR. (I think I went faster in training once, but it was on a 33-mile route just measured loosely with Google Maps.) It was also about this time that I had my first hallucination of the race. :) My dad had told me at maybe 1:45 into the race that Erin and the kids were on the way over. It was a two hour drive, and now past 4 hours in, so I kept wondering whether I'd see them next time I passed the crew tent, and they just weren't there. So I round the corner leading to the last stretch before turning onto the finish line corridor -- and in the distance, I saw my sister! I mean, maybe it could have been anyone, but she was clearly wearing a "Hope College" sweatshirt, which only my parents could have provided. OK, maybe I could only make out the "HO" at the beginning, but really, what are the odds there would be someone else, the spitting image of my sister, wearing a sweatshirt just like what my parents would have? Suddenly the delay was explained. They had to go pick her up at the airport on the way! Boy, what a dastardly little plan to surprise me!

Then about 50 yards later, it became clear that the woman in question was quite a bit older than my sister. On a later lap, I was able to read the whole "HOLY" on her shirt (I never did catch HOLY what). Oh, well. I love you anyway, Cora, even if you didn't make it to the race. :)

So I was pretty excited to officially pass the 50K mark in a PR -- about 4:38 (extrapolating a bit from the end of the 30.88-mile lap). That was my first PR this year. If you're wondering why there haven't been more race reports, it's because it's not all that motivating to talk on and on about how I ran the same race 10 minutes slower than last year. :) Anyway, I told Melissa and she asked if I wanted her to Facebook it. I said sure! And now I turned my thoughts to reaching 50 miles.

Surprisingly, one of the things that helped a little with the loop course was my dad and Melissa wandering around. Sometimes they've be cheering me on from the finish line. Other times they'd be at the tent. Or one each. Or Melissa would be scrupulously taking notes near the scoring table. (Of what? My splits? She later said something about trying to learn the names of the other runners.) Anyway, just the small variety in where they were made each lap a little different, and that helped, for whatever reason. But wherever she was, Melissa was always totally on top of my gear. If I needed a fresh pack or hat or whatever, she always had it ready.

Though I did hear about it occasionally. At one point there was a little very light rain. Not even enough to mess up my glasses, but just a hint of what was to come. I asked for my Grindstone visor -- I wanted to have glasses protection available even before rounding a full lap, but didn't want to heat up my head with a full hat. Then I just had the problem of what to do with it. I could easily hang it from the front of my pack, but then it just bounces off my chest. I could hang it from the back, but much less conveniently since it doesn't have a velcro closure like my hats tend to. I could wear it, but somehow having the visor there was annoying -- it seemed to make me hotter somehow, and cut off my vision a little. So I just put it on backwards. Convenient if needed, not to bothersome in the mean time. And what do I get from Melissa next time around? "Nice visor! Not sure exactly why you're wearing it backward -- it's not fashionable that way or anything..." Sigh. :)

By this point, I was pretty solidly into the 9+ minute pace range. The days of 8:30 had gone, last seen at maybe 22 miles, not to be seen again. But that was still great -- I wanted to keep around 10 minute miles as long as possible, and then under 12 minute miles as long as possible. I hoped not to fall much further, but we'd have to see what developed.

Erin did show up, with my mom and the kids, and that was fun. I got smiles and hugs from the guys, and they explored the fairgrounds with mom and grandma and their red wagon. For a while there, I never know at what point of the course I'd hear a "Go Aaron!" from the sidelines! Again, it helped break it up a bit.

Then there was the time I came around the turn toward the tent, and Sean (1yo) bolted directly toward me. I had to stop short so I wouldn't bowl him over, and he hugged my leg, and I ruffled his hair before carrying on. Then as I leave the area, behind me, I hear: "Sean! Sean, you can't go with daddy! Sean! Come back here! Sean! Someone get him!" They sounded more and more desperate as they went on. I got a big old smile, imaging Sean doing a lap behind me.

I don't think they had all planned to stay that long, but it was quickly becoming obvious that I was on track to a 50-mile PR as well. Close, but definitely possible. As everybody hung around lap after lap, I thought maybe they were waiting to see it. Sure enough, the laps rolled in, and I came through 50 at about 7:41, definitely under my Bull Run Run PR of 7:52. Woo-hoo! It was starting to look like a PR kind of day, and Melissa stopped asking about Facebook each time. :)

Well, I enjoyed the cheers and attention, but not surprisingly, the family departed shortly thereafter. Since Melissa had agreed to stick it out all night for me, I didn't need them there for aid, and we had agreed it made more sense for them all to have a more normal day and get some sleep and then come back for the finish.

The bad news was, I stopped at the bathrooms here and there, and every time, standing still and then getting moving again, my head swam a bit. Not unusual, but I had hoped to hit that at 80 miles not at 50 miles. It really made me think my biggest problem at Western States was standing still while talking to the doc, instead of sitting down when it became clear he wasn't going to let me off easy. C'est la vie.

The good news was, it was a pretty short gap from 50 miles to 100K. My 100K PR was close to 11 hours, so I had plenty of time. In fact, I was able to keep up the 10-minute pace, and came through 62 in about 9:39. Awesome! It was nice, someone had scribbled "you're doing great!" in chalk near the last turn, and every time I passed it, I thought to myself, yeah, I really am doing great! I think I may have had a similar conversation with Melissa, too.

Now we came to the long stretch between 62 and 100 miles. This part had a whole variety of challenges. Nightfall. Rain. And more. There were some nice parts too. I had identified John Price one time when he crossed the finish line just ahead of me (there was a screen that printed out each runner's name, time, and distance as they crossed). This is the John Price who had just run across the country and then come straight to 3 Days at the Fair to do that too! We walked and talked for a bit. Given the state of my feet post-race, I still can't really fathom multi-day efforts, much less running an ultra every day for months! Plus I met a few more ultra-listers in person, or at least matched up some faces with names.

I also talked to Phil McCarthy a bit. Not knowing who he was, I thought he was a 24-hour runner (as he was moving pretty well compared to the other multi-day racers). I felt like I was running a little faster than he was, though whenever I took a longer walk break he seemed to motor on by. But he let me know he was in the 48-hour, had completed 135 miles already the first day, and was over 200 total. Wow! That blew my mind. I told him how amazed I was at 200 miles already, and he said something like "thanks, but I've got my eye on greater things today." I didn't understand what he meant at the time. But even in the short time we talked he was really encouraging.

Still, I was breaking this down into 1-hour increments at this point. I had hit 65 in about 10:10, so I wanted to hit at least 70 by 11:10, and 71 would be better. It would tell me whether I was still on the 10-minute pace or slipping to 12. I think my legs were getting more blood flow than my brain -- I feel like I ran about 3 laps chanting "70 or 71 in 11:10" in my head. Maybe I should really look at an iPod. (But hey, I did hit 71 in 11:09!)

Now another problem that came up was that Anna had really turned on the jets, starting at maybe 10 hours. Every time I saw her it seemed she was going faster, and pulling away rather than falling back. Occasionally I'd catch up a bit (I assumed, due to an aid stop), and then she'd start pulling away again. What could I do? I didn't want her catching up while I was still feeling decent. So I ran faster too. I'm sure that helped me make those 10 minute miles. But I was a little worried. Did she just start feeling better all of a sudden? I was happy with my day, but not feeling better in a way that would make me spontaneously speed up like that. If she kept it up, her victory was inevitable. All I could do was wait and see.

Meanwhile, Melissa announced that she had managed to sneak into the 12-hour race, so she'd be able to run with me starting at 9 PM -- for the last 12 hours of the race. I hadn't even known she'd brought running clothes! This race had a no-pacer policy, and I wondered whether it would really be an asterisk-kind of performance if I did really well but basically had a pacer for half the race. But heck, if I really felt like I needed a pacer I could have paid for someone to enter the whole 24 hour race with me. I thought about telling her no, or trying to put some kind of conditions on how many laps she'd do, but then I thought what the heck. We'd probably both feel better running together than having her sit and wait, and she was going to be a paying 12-hour entrant... So go with it.

Meanwhile, would I keep up 6 miles per hour? I hit 76.3 miles in 12:02, so I was still on track. That set a pretty decent 12-hour mark, too! (I've never done a timed race of any kind, but I know the winner of the Labor Pain last year didn't go that far. Of course that was a trail race, but everything I'm comparing this to is a trail race. If I could make these times on trails I'd really be on fire!)

Also, Anna seemed to crash at 12 hours. Next time we talked, she said she made her goal of 70 miles in 12 hours. Now I thought I understood -- she pushed really hard to hit that goal, and was suffering a bit afterward. Bummer. But I'm sorry to say, I didn't complain at gaining another lap or two over the next hour.

And it was nice to run with Melissa. It was a little intermittent -- she'd take a lap or two off when I needed a fresh pack, and sometimes I felt like I was only going 4 or 5 laps between switching. But she kept my mind off the monotony, and the weather, and so on. The party also helped.

Oh, did I fail to mention the party? It was in a barn right alongside the course. I didn't actually look in much, but I saw the folks outside walking in, staggering out, or sitting and smoking just outside. It was described to me a hoedown for all the hillbillies within 30 miles. Early on, it sounded like square dance music. Later, an auction. Something went for $3500! I wondered what. Still later, it turned to more pop-style dance music. The last time I'd see it before they shut down, there was a crapload of empty tables, a DJ, and about 10 kids bopping around the dance floor. But for now the place was hopping, and it kept the night alive, rain or no rain.

Speaking of weather, we got hit with at least one brief downpour. I put my jacket on, and then the rain largely backed down to "drizzle". I saw others take their jackets off again, but I didn't feel like bothering -- it had cooled a bit since sundown, and I wasn't too hot with the jacket, so whatever. I was still running well -- on track for an amazing sub-15 hour 100 miler! Well, until I suddenly realized that 12 hours plus 4 hours wasn't 14 hours at all. I can only plead blood to legs, not brain. When I realized the error, Melissa said "yeah, I thought that sounded a little off..." But she graciously had kept her mouth shut. :)

Math aside, the first real problem of the race came at 92 miles. I finished a lap, and suddenly couldn't run another step. Well, you know, whatever, I figured I'd walk 10 minutes and see if I felt better. (This happens to me moderately often in a 100-miler.) I didn't. I walked the whole lap. Rick (the race director) at the timing table asked what happened -- I expect observing my split suddenly going from 9 or 10 minute laps to 16+. I told him "well, I found the wall!" He sounded surprised, and assured me I was still doing plenty well.

I didn't want to really switch to walking, so I forced myself to jog again. It wasn't good -- 12 or 13 minute laps, so 14-15 minute miles. I couldn't really go faster. But by this point, I was close enough to 100 miles, I could drag myself in. First I told Melissa I'd sit down for a while at 100 and see how I felt. But then as I was able to at least keep up the slow jog, I decided that was dumb, and I'd just walk a lap and then see. Maybe I'd walk-one-run-one or something.

As we got close to 17 hours, Melissa told me to speed it up if I wanted to squeak in under 17. At that moment, it didn't seem worth it. It wasn't like I'd be that much happier to get 16:59 than 17:01, and it would really hurt to push enough to save a few minutes. Sure enough, I came around for 100.36 miles, and Rick called out "17:03:09!" Good enough -- still a PR by more than 2.5 hours! Maybe next year I'll chase the sub-17. :)

I walked the next lap as planned, and then managed to get back up to my shuffle. Not fast, but forward motion. And no one-on-one-off, I managed to keep it up! I didn't really have any concrete goal now. I had hoped for 130 miles earlier, but with this drop-off, it seemed unlikely. If I got a little further I could probably walk it in for 120, which would be nice. Nothing in the middle there was really all that inspiring, and no one was really pushing me to do better at the moment. Hmm. Occasionally I walked a bit, and it wasn't always in a straight line. People I had passed dozens of times were passing me now. Anna's aid tent had been packed away and removed (?), though she was still out there plugging away.

The end came during the 106-107 mile lap. My feet were pretty sore, and I decided to walk one again. The problem was, that didn't make them feel any better. While I suppose in truth I was sore all over, what really stuck out were whatever little tendons or muscles go up the outside of the bottom of your shin -- I think they pick your toes up off the ground each time or something. And the ball of my right foot. The shin thing, it was just pain, I could ignore it. But the foot thing, that was trouble. That was, I guessed, too much pounding the hard ground. I was already walking, and it didn't help. I tried adjusting my gait, and it didn't help. I couldn't find a way to get around it. The grassy section felt better, but I'd be adding a lot of distance to walk in the grass all the way around (since the inner edge of pavement was the certified route, the only fair way to walk the grass was way on the outside of the road). Actually, there were some sections with no real grass option. I was at a loss.

I decided to sit for a while and see if a rest helped my foot. We crossed at 18:57:57 for 107.2 miles, and made our way around to the tent. I sat down, and Melissa got me some blankets to keep warm. It was raining harder by this point. I saw Anna go around, and then again. Melissa asked if I was ready to go back out, and I said not yet. But eventually, I figured if it wasn't better, it wasn't going to be. I dropped the blankets and headed out. One step into the rain and I was cold. Two and I was shivering. Three and I could barely move my legs, and the shaking was starting to threaten my forward motion. One more, and I gave up. I chattered "I can't do this!" to Melissa, and she hustled me into her car and cranked up the heat.

I hated to stop with almost 5 hours left, but I didn't have a super-warm outfit along. I needed tights, sweats, thicker shirts, and the whole works. I mean, the car said 58 degrees, but the rain made it feel like 40. Very shortly my dad called Melissa to say they were all on their way back over again, and I got on to explain that I was done and they might as well turn around. But they said they'd come and help me out, so that was nice. Eventually I migrated back to my car (parked a bit further away, off the course), and Melissa got me some hot food. The rain continued, pretty bad at times. I slept a little too, brief snatches. Then my parents arrived a little after dawn.

By then I was as bundled as I could be with the supplies on hand, and I got out to go to the bathroom, help break down the aid station, and so on. I stopped by the timing table to explain to Rick why I was leaving early. Race time was about 21:30. Anna had just passed 107.2 miles, so she was going to win the day. Rick asked, wasn't I staying for the awards? I replied, "haven't they passed me by now?" To which he responded, "who, exactly?" It turned out the awards were by gender, and Suzuki (next male) was about 15 laps down and walking (possible he could do it in 2.5 hours, but not by walking). Jason was maybe another 5-10 laps back. So it looked like (but was not certain that) no one else would catch up. As I left, Rick was talking to someone about the participation. "Well, it was the first year for the 72-hour, so there will be more next time. Plus with Phil breaking the American Record here, that will help." Whoa. As I walked away, I was thinking about Phil, chasing greater things today.

So then, of course, we waited. I checked back in at 23:00 in, in case Suzuki was making good time again. I figured in an hour, I could stagger through another lap if I needed to. (Not that it would be that attractive to record 108 miles in 24 hours instead of 107 in 19!) But at 23:00, I was still clear. Huzzah!

As a bonus, since we were all just sitting around waiting for the finish anyway, we got to cheer Phil in. I had to go back and ask whether he had broken the record yet, and it turned out he still had 4 laps to go. So we counted down each time he passed, and it was clear he was thrilled! Well, hell, I was thrilled too! What a race! We gave Phil the extra big cheer on the record-breaking lap, and he may have paused for a moment, but then kept right on going. "Not gonna make it so easy for the next guy, huh?" That got a big smile too. I could barely stagger in a straight line, and he was still logging 8 and 9 minute laps. Wow! He got a big crowd when he came through the last time, and at the award ceremony too. But he still had a nice word for everyone.

So as I guess I had suspected early on, I crashed and Anna took first for the 24-hour. Congrats to her! And while I spent a lot of brainpower during the race comparing laps and speeds, at the end of the day, Anna was great to run with, to talk to here and there along the way, and afterward. Now while I might have liked to log more miles (and I know Anna would have liked to as well), I can't really complain about my results for the 19 hours I was out there. A boat load of PRs, and first place male to boot! Next time I guess I need to avoid the crash-at-92-miles thing, the foot thing, the sitting thing, and the no warm enough clothes thing. Just a few little notes!

But I had the crew thing nailed -- big thanks to Melissa, without whom this would have been a worse race in so many ways, from more stops to less company to more uncertainty and everything. And to my family, for showing up to support me at yet another ultra, even getting out the door at like 3 AM to do it.

I only really have one gripe. Anna wore a variety of "US National Team" and "Team USA" shirts, jackets, and etc. throughout the race. And Erin, as some of you may know, is a closet jacket-o-phile. So now it's looking like 130+ miles has to go solidly on the bucket list, along with a top 10 at Hellgate. A couple weeks ago, I would have been pretty depressed about the whole thing. What a difference one race makes! Back to training, I guess. :)

Race Report: 2010 Leadville Trail 100

2010-09-02T09:49:00.001-04:00


Picnic at Twin Lakes

Leadville, perhaps most feared of the 100 milers. I mean, no one takes on Hardrock or Barkley unless they're well prepared. And there are harder races than Leadville, but they have more generous cutoffs. Only Leadville has the combination of big climbs, high altitude throughout the race, and a tight 30-hour deadline.

Going in, the altitude was my main concern, but it's not like there's anything I could do about it in Philadelphia. I might be able to do a little better than the 460' I reach training at Baldpate Mountain in NJ, but there's no way I'd get to 5,000 feet, much less the 10,200' of the start/finish or the 12,600' of Hope Pass. All I could do is go out a little early, which we did, flying to Leadville on the Monday before the race.

The funny thing was, the altitude didn't seem to be a factor! We got to Denver, the mile high city, no problem. We drove to Leadville, the two mile high city, and sure our ears popped a little on the way, but it wasn't like we were getting headaches and vomiting or anything.

That is, until I carried a suitcase up a flight of stairs. Wowsers! Instantly lightheaded, heart racing, oh, dear. Well, there's always tomorrow.

Descending from Hope

I should also say that the area is incredibly scenic. Somehow going in, I had this impression that it was sort of a bleak and sterile landscape, and pretty uninviting. But instead, there were beautiful mountains, streams, and lakes, lots of trees and greenery -- a very inviting outdoors. I overheard someone in Leadville call it a valley which made no sense (isn't 10,200' practically the definition of "on top"?). But it's true -- if you walk just a little out of town so the buildings aren't blocking the view, you can get a 360' panorama of mountains all around. Not all close, but they're there.

Anyway, we failed to live up to the Hollerbach legacy of four 14ers in one week. I did walk a few hilly miles of the Mineral Belt Trail with the double stroller on Tuesday, and I hiked up to Hope Pass from the South side and then jogged back down the same way on Wednesday. That one was part of our scouting expedition, visiting the various aid station locations and so on. (And a good thing we did, because the crew directions were atrocious!) I made it up from the trailhead in 70 minutes, with a few pauses to admire the scenery. Going back down, I practically had to jog, gravity was not going to let me get away with a casual stroll! (Also, we had agreed to meet in two hours and I had taken a further 5 minutes on photos at the top…) The problem was, my quads were complaining a little by the bottom -- ruh roh! At Vermont and on a few training runs since then I've been like Mister Downhill -- and this was really like an easy jog -- why the heck was this a problem?!?

The Bubble Chamber

On Thursday, my quads were downright sore, which I wasn't happy about at all. I resolved to eat more protein and take it easy until the race. We spent the day at the Children's Museum in Denver, which turned out to be a great one (even for those who can only claim to be "children at heart"). The only problem there was when Caelan stepping into a pit of bubble solution, and even after about 5 minutes under the faucet his shoe was oozing bubbles for the rest of the day…

Friday brought the prerace meeting, which was mobbed. Clearly they need to rethink either the race limit or the venues! I sat on a staircase in the corner of the gym, but a lot of people were standing. The meeting wasn't that helpful; it seemed to me to focus more on making introductions and encouraging people to finish than those trivial details like trail markings. The medical lecture was perhaps the standout, being both entertaining and practical ("If you see someone sitting on the side of the trail with that thousand-mile stare, talk to them, help them up if they need it, get them to an aid station… be there for each other."). The subsequent crew meeting was likewise not that useful, talking about how to pack a car but specifically declining to discuss how to get from one aid station to another, even the station whose location was changed just before. At least my legs were feeling better, though I still had to wonder how long it would take for them to totally recover. In the evening I packed my crew bag and finish line bag, and tried to get to sleep at least a little early (not that it worked; I was awake until after everyone else went to bed anyway).

Pre-race meeting in the gym

Then my alarm went off! We were only a few blocks from the start line, so the only reason I was up two hours ahead of time was to eat far enough in advance. I killed some time on the Internet before my final prep and then woke Erin and my dad and headed over to the start. I had waffled on attire for the race -- high 30s or 40 at the start, up to 70s or 80 during the day. I thought short sleeves and tough it out, long sleeves and change, long over short and rip 'em off when it warmed up… But then I had the fortune to run across my arm sleeves from the Western States schwag. So in the end, I went with short sleeves, the WS100 arm sleeves, slightly thicker HAT Run hat, and gloves.

The start area was also mobbed, though thankfully there were multiple people with clipboards available to check runners in. I gave them my number and then went over to one of the coffee shops that had opened early, trying to keep warm until the start. I got a seat, gave my shoes the final double knot, and waited. Everyone else cleared out early, but I didn't go over until 5 minutes before -- I mean, it was like 40 degrees, why just stand around? But the time came, and I made my way through the crowd toward the front, only to discover that I was on the wrong side of the fence and had to go back and do it again. Oh, well. I didn't want to be in the front row (I saw Anton taking his place), but I figured toward the front was good…

There were a few short words, then a shotgun blast, and we were off! The first mile or so just took streets out of the town of Leadville. I tried to settle in to the pack behind the pack, but it didn't work. Everyone seemed to be pushing to go faster, but Anton was having none of it -- he held to the pace he wanted, and no one was willing to pass him. It was a pretty weird effect that the fastest guy there was slowing everyone down! It was also weird that I was running like 20 yards behind him.

Then the altitude kicked in. Adrenaline or no, I really wasn't going to be able to go out fast on this one. I slowed a little until it felt right again. But there were a lot of people in front of me! Either they were all newbies lured in by the lack of qualifying requirements, or there were a lot of fast people here today! Anyway, by the time we hit "the Boulevard" (a gravel road from Leadville down toward the nearby Turquoise Lake), everything had spread out a little. There were still twice as many people here as any ultra I've ever done, and it would be another mile before I needed to turn on my headlamp, even in the 4 AM darkness.

It was a little weird that the first couple miles were all downhill, but then we turned onto another gravel road, and finally got to the first brief uphill -- a nasty rocky patch of "road". But it was over quickly enough, and we headed onto a paved road for a little while before going onto a nice trail around the lake. At one point I noticed that I hadn't seen any course markings -- I was just following the lemmings. I hoped that wouldn't be a problem on the return (being an out and back, we'd be coming back the same way at the end). This was especially concerning when we briefly broke out onto a parking lot, crossed it, and headed back onto trail -- all without a single marking that I noticed. Well, whatever.

The first time I'd see my excellent crew (Erin, my dad, and the kids) was the Tabor Boat Ramp, an informal stop about halfway to the first real aid station. We were circling Turquoise Lake on the trail, and I thought we'd get to the boat ramp pretty quickly, but the first hour of the race came and went with no sight of it. The trail weaved inland and then out toward the lake again, and finally I heard voices ahead. Suddenly at about 70 minutes, we broke out onto what I was sure was the parking lot, because the world lit up with a solid corridor walled by people, maybe 6 feet wide and 100 yards long, all screaming encouragement for the racers. Wow! (Incidentally, I was mighty confused on the way back when we didn't go into the parking lot -- I guess all those people were lined up in the woods!) Halfway through I heard Erin calling my name, and had to briefly double back to say hi. I didn't really need anything yet -- it was too cold to be drinking at a high rate -- so I just checked in and headed out. I confessed that I was feeling a little slower than expected, and she pointed back and said "Look, you're still way in the front!" Indeed, there was a line of headlamps all the way back and around the end of the lake -- it was beautiful, really.

Toward the very end of the line I felt the concrete as we crossed the actual boat ramp, and then we were off into the woods again. The next few miles was a more proper trail -- more up and down and in and out with some rocky bits and some sandy bits and more differentiation between trail and foliage and so on. It highlighted how the previous trail had really just been a totally flat tour through the woods. There were still quite a number of people on the trail, and it was a little awkward -- I took the downhills faster than the mob in front of me, so I always wanted to take the uphills slower to let them get a little ahead, but then I felt like I was holding back the mob behind me. It was really too crowded to pass much -- even if you could have gotten around the occasional person, there were just 10 more after that. But I thought back to running with Nikki Kimball at Bear Mountain, where she said "see, what we're doing here is great, talking to each other and keeping each other from going too fast early in the race." Now that was a joke in two different ways -- we were a good distance into the race, and I was stretching my pace to reach her "holding back." But still, I figured it wasn't a problem to run a little slower here, before we had even gotten to the first aid station. I'd have plenty of time to stretch later in the race.

I also remember a runner right around me saying "Now ain't this the life!" talking about the nice trail. Yeah, it was nice, I had to admit, except we couldn't see the lake! "Well, use your imagination!" I mean, I saw it driving by the other day and it was spectacular, but now, it's just a big hole in the night. And the thing of it is, I wouldn't be seeing it during the daylight on the way back, either. (It didn't occur to me then that I wouldn't have to miss my goal by much to be seeing it during the daylight -- probably 26 hours would do it.) I also forgot (or almost forgot? Now I've forgotten.) to dump my trash (gel wrappers) with the crew at the Boat Ramp, so I was determined to remember what I needed to do at the next station -- I made a little chant of T-S-V, which is to say, Trash, Sunscreen, Visor. I needed to clear out my trash pocket, and I wanted to tell my excellent crew to get out the sunscreen and my visor for the following station, when it would be starting to warm up.

Feeling good at Mayqueen

And, almost before I knew it, we hit the Mayqueen Campground aid station. Again there were loads of people, and I passed Erin, the kids, and my dad on the way in. Erin asked what I needed and I mentioned the sunscreen and visor for next time. She fell in behind with the stroller, following me toward the buffet, and some volunteer told her to get out of the way. Out of the way?!? She was just bringing my bag! Sheesh! Another volunteer told me "Right if you want the tent, left otherwise." I couldn't think of anything I needed a tent for, so I headed left. But then noticed there was nothing there. "Where's the water?" "In the tent!" Aw, come on, they couldn't have said "Right if you want food" or something?!? I doubled back to the tent, also remembering to hand my headlamp over to Erin, who had been trying to direct me into the tent as well. I finally made it to the tent and was hit by a wall of hot air -- whatever heating system they had going there was sure working! They helped top off my hydration pack and I headed out again with another wave for the family. It had been just over two hours for 13.5 miles, which was a pretty good clip, altitude or no!

It was a slow departure, uphill on a road, but fortunately that didn't last long. We turned and quickly headed onto a trail. It was, if anything, slightly more technical than the previous part, which had been more technical than the part before the boat ramp -- I started to wonder where the logical conclusion of this pattern would fall… But it was an enjoyable trail, and the pack was spreading out enough that you had company but not obstacles, and could pass as warranted. Seemingly very quickly, the trail turned dramatically uphill, and the Sugarloaf ascent had begun. After walking a tough climb on the trail, we broke out onto a dirt road that was only slightly uphill, and that part I could jog. Then it took a sharp left and got steeper. I jogged what I could, which I think was 3 or 4 minutes at a time, with walk breaks to rest in between. As we headed up to the pass just over 11,000', I recalled a race report saying "Even the frontrunners walk 3 times -- up Hope Pass both times, and up Powerline on the return." (Powerline being the other side of the climb I was presently engaged in.) Notably absent was up Sugarloaf outbound (or, as I would discover later, up from Twin Lakes on the return). I told myself that run/walking wasn't just walking, but the reality was, I wasn't a frontrunner. I estimated 100 people ahead of me, which is further back than I'm used to being in an ultra, but with 650 people, darn if this wasn't a big race!

But then, without any fanfare, the road leveled out, and even began a slight descent. Was this it? Were we done? I saw power lines, a promising sign, and then the downhill got steeper. Within minutes, I was convinced we were done with one of the 4 major climbs in the race. (Again, only because I somehow missed that there were actually 5.) The road down went quickly. It was the same dirt road, with the same occasional rocky bits and potholes, but all the irregularities came at you a lot faster on the way down! I enjoyed the few brief moments when it leveled out or turned up, as I got a break from the pounding of the downhill -- and then apparently promptly forgot about them because I was expecting one solid climb on the return. Sigh.

Coming in to Fish Hatchery

After winding around a bit we hit the real steep slope down toward the next Fish Hatchery aid station. On this one, I actually stopped on the downhill to take walk breaks, because it was so long and so steep and I wanted to save my quads a bit for later. Had this been broken up just a little more I would have hammered it, and I debated because I know I do well on downhills, but I just didn't want to take any chances early in the race, so I held back. It still passed quickly, and we came out on the road at the base where there were a bunch of cheering spectators. Apparently some crews meet here rather than at the Fish Hatchery, and it was pretty lively! But I took the turn onto the road, enjoying the brief respite of an uphill, before it turned down for the remaining mile or so to the station. I saw the cars first -- large fields full of them, and then the buildings, and then the hordes of crews and spectators calling out and cheering for all the runners. I followed the path up to a large barn, and saw runners coming right back at me -- I was briefly bitter that they'd put in a stupid out and back section at an aid station (especially since you had to go uphill into the station), but whatever. This section had taken about two hours for 10 miles, which was still a pretty respectable pace in a 100. Erin and my dad were waiting again, and got me squared away with another hydration refill and my visor. It was still a little cool, so I decided to keep the arm sleeves and told them I'd get the sunscreen next time. I was about 10 minutes behind my desired schedule for a 24-hour finish, but that didn't seem so bad at this point.

Here be asphalt

Heading out, I realized this was likely to be my least favorite section -- we were heading down a long road, to a turn onto another road. Eventually we'd fork onto a dirt road, but still! What's with all this road in the middle of a trail race?!? Anyway, I headed down the road from the Fish Hatchery. The interesting thing was, there were at least three powered gliders (OK, that can't be the right name, but you get the idea) circling above the roads we were running in this section. Certainly a unique vantage point for spectators! That kept me going until the first turn. Rounding the corner one of the guys near me headed off to run on the shoulder, but I didn't figure that was any better. I struggled down the road, knowing it's not my strong point in the race and just hoping to get past it. I felt a blister coming already, not great for less than 30 miles in. Eventually we hit the fork onto what seemed almost like a sand (not dirt) road. That lasted a couple hundred yards and then came out on pavement again, but then eventually the pavement turned back to dirt. It was all a little surreal. I was taking walk breaks on the uphill parts, but finally we turned a corner and hit a downhill on some proper dirt.

Along the Pipeline parking area

It quickly led to a short side trail around a large barrier, and up a slight hill to the Pipeline crew area. This was another one of the informal ones -- just a huge parking area. It was supposed to be about three miles before the next station, or I guess three or four from the last one. It took me about 45 minutes to get there, which wasn't great for a basically flat section, but whatever. I got my visit and my sunscreen and headed out another dirt road, which went from flat to slightly uphill. Before too long, I saw a sign for "Ski Patrol ahead", and took that as a good sign. Probably the ski patrol was manning the aid station and it was just ahead.

Then I went on for quite a while, and saw another ski patrol sign. And another quite a while for another sign. By this point, I was starting to feel like I was in a space warp. We came right around a corner and I was sure the station would be there -- but all I was treated to was a view of the road curving gently to the left again. Aargh!

Main accomplishment at Pipeline

Finally I hit the Halfmoon II (or Box Creek) station, about 90 minutes from leaving Fish Hatchery for what was supposed to be 7 miles. In truth I have no idea on the distance, since they moved both the Pipeline and Halfmoon stations recently, and I don't know how accurate the numbers are. It sure didn't feel like 3 flat and 4 pretty flat miles. So I found this section frustrating on the terrain and frustrating on the time and distance, and basically it just left a big bad taste in my mouth.

To top it off, I had a long aid station stop, since I had a drop bag with my next supply of gels there. I had to repack three pockets on my hydration pack to fit them all. The volunteers were great, topping off my water and having my drop bag ready by the time I sat down in the tent. Though they did say it was 7 miles to the next station, which didn't match my memory of the pre-race info at all (looking afterward, it says 9 miles). But maybe they were right and it was closer to 9 from Fish Hatchery and 7 to Twin Lakes? Also, I was now 20 minutes behind the 24-hour finish time splits, and this was only a third of the way into the race -- which seemed to mean my buckle hopes were actually in danger? I got out as quickly as I could, but all this crap was swirling in my head and I felt terrible. It was right back onto the gently uphill gravel road, and I just started walking. I wasn't feeling any better, so I quickly decided I'd walk for ten minutes and then try to pick it up again. Sometimes I set out to do that and feel a little better and take off sooner, but this time, it was close to ten minutes before the road leveled out and that worked out just fine.

So then I started jogging, and it wasn't long before we took a right off the road onto a steep trail and I was walking again. But the trail turned out to be rolling, and this saved my spirits. I rocked the downhills, passing a number of people. We'd hit an uphill again and I'd walk, sure someone was going to pass me again, but no one ever did. I did have one more frustrating point, when the trail ended in a T with no course markings whatsoever. I was sure I had been on the right trail, but now to go right or left? I looked closely. Nothing. More closely. Finally I found a streamer tied high to a bush on the right -- but there was only the knot. The long dangling part of the streamer was gone. It was very nearly invisible. I checked the trail behind me and headed to the right. Someone was just catching up. I couldn't decide whether to begrudge them that they'd just be able to follow me, or feel good that I spared them the search. I ran on.

It was great to see those Twin Lakes

Someone had said there was a big descent into Twin Lakes, and I kept looking for it. I mean, we'd hit a steep down, but then there would be a climb again. I could never quite place when we were at the top and the "big descent" was starting. But then, I saw the twin lakes of Twin Lakes through the woods! Beautiful. And not that far, and not that far below me. That put a new spring in my step and I took off. There was more downhill, and I passed more people. There was some tricky footing on the trails, and some parts where it was almost too steep to be really runnable, but I did my best to charge on through. I was feeling good again, and enjoying it. The only problem was, we kept seeing Twin Lakes, and it always looked just as far away and below. So it took a lot longer than I had anticipated to actually get there.

There's that little hill in the on the right

Finally we broke out onto a gravel road, which was a real steep downhill toward the aid station. In contrast to the Powerline hill, I took this one with all the speed I could summon. Finally it ended in a little climb with cheering spectators scattered on the hill. I walked that one, only to find a super-steep descent on the other side, ending in a parking lot, a swarm of spectators, and the aid station barn. Twin Lakes at last! I met Erin and my dad, topped off, stuffed a jacked onto the back of my hydration pack, and left for the dreaded middle of the race. I had seen the check-in sheet which showed me in about 118th place or so -- again, well worse than what I'm used to. Still about 20-25 minutes behind my target splits for 24 hours, but at least that part hadn't really gotten any worse.

Leaving Twin Lakes

Now for all that Sugarloaf/Powerline and the descent into Twin Lakes were like 1000' slopes, we were about to head up to Hope Pass -- about 3400' of climb on this side, maybe 2500' on the other side, then a gentler but multi-mile climb to the Winfield aid station. Then turn around and do it all in reverse, back to Twin Lakes. I had heard stories of people devastated by the climb, by rain, lightning, and hail on top of the pass, people who sat down in Winfield and couldn't summon the will to ascend Hope Pass a second time, and more. This was a major factor in hiking Hope Pass on Wednesday -- I wanted to get here and find familiar trail, stuff I knew I could do, and have something to measure my progress against. I had also heard there were 6 ponds and a river to cross before even getting from Twin Lakes to the Hope Pass trailhead, but water doesn't bother me so much, so that was just one more thing to mark my progress.

Now with the jacket at the ready

Of course, setting off from Twin Lakes, I wasn't feeling super -- I mean, it was 40 miles into the race, after all. I jogged through the town of Twin Lakes, followed other runners across an unmarked parking lot (how was I going to get that right on the return?), and into a trail across a field. I walked bits but tried to jog as much as possible, given that I knew a slow climb was coming. I'd be able to rest soon enough. We eventually hit the ponds, and they were like giant puddles, fully spanning the trail and shrubs on either side, maybe 6 to 8 inches deep in the middle. No way to avoid it, really. I charged through at speed, while some other folks pussy-footed. Why bother? I'm afraid I splashed a few folks, but come on, what do you achieve by walking it? I picked up a few places I guess. I noticed some of the people I passed were carrying folded trekking poles.

Crew loved the dirt

After a number of similar ponds, we hit a little canal, followed by a sandy bank, and the actual river. I thought they had said it was thigh-high in the briefing, but I never found a part over my knees. It was nice and cold, though; I stopped midway to splash more of the cold water on my knees and thighs. It felt great! Another lesson from Western States -- use the streams! As a result I took a bit longer on the crossing, but it was way worth it. I got up on the far bank and while we had to navigate a short rocky part over to the trail again, I started jogging as soon as I cleared that. I noticed others walking, but for my 2 cents jogging clears the water out of the shoes faster, and again, we had a nice big walk coming up.

It didn't take too long to hit the climb, and it was hard not to notice. I started walking almost immediately, about a half hour since leaving Twin Lakes. In the first ten minutes or so, I jogged the flatter sections, brief though they might be. But I soon gave up on that. Perhaps my biggest takeaway from Western States was Devil's Thumb. I walked that hard, trying not to lose places, and while I felt fine going up, I was devastated at the top. Now add the altitude, going from 9,200' at the river to 12,600' at the top. Why bring that on myself? Already I could tell my heart was going faster than I expected for the level of effort I was putting out, and trying to hike hard or jog just made it that much worse. I figured I'd walk at a relaxed pace, and save myself for the downhill. I did, and I was passed occasionally, and sometimes more than occasionally. There was a nice sounding waterfall, and eventually I caught glimpses of the stream running down the mountain, which the trail sometimes paralleled and other times switchbacked toward and away from. I passed a few people sitting by the side of the trail looking crushed, and happily I wasn't that bad. Though, as I went up, I did start to feel pretty crappy. I couldn't make a tight fist; my hands were swollen. I figured I had been drinking too much water in the earlier, colder parts of the race. Even now that it was warm, it wasn't hot like Vermont. I cut back noticeably on the amount of water I took in, both with gels and in between.

Living Large in the Crewmobile

The longer I climbed, the lousier I felt. I stopped occasionally to rest on a log and let my legs recharge. People passed me, including a number with trekking poles, but that didn't really bother me. We'd see what we'd see on the downhill. If only my hands would unswell! As we got into the second half of the climb there were more joggable sections, but I didn't have it in me. I started really, really looking forward to the Hopeless aid station. Never a good sign. I wasn't having much luck eating -- not much was appetizing -- so I was probably getting a little short on calories. Another not great sign. Strangely, it didn't feel like the altitude or the climb getting to me, it felt strictly like a fluid/nutrition problem. (But in truth, maybe the altitude was behind it?) The leader Tony passed with his pacer going the other direction, just as we emerged into a slightly more open area -- he looked great.

Thanks Guys! (Photo Credit: Sherpa John Lacroix)

Finally we came out of the trees to be greeted by a wonderful sight -- tents and llamas. Hopeless aid station! (It's so hard to get to, they use llamas to tote the water and Powerade up there!) I made it up to the tents, and immediately asked about a scale. I was frustrated they hadn't had a weight check already, and I wanted to know if I was noticeably up. No scale, so I asked to talk to the medical guys. It took a minute to track them down, but they came over and we talked. They seemed pretty unconcerned, noting that in a race like this weights go up and down and all over the place, and my hands didn't look that bad to them. But they suggested I switch from water to Powerade in my pack ("it doesn't hang out in the tissue like that"), which I did, and hooked me up with some soup, though everyone looked a bit in askance when I added a number of shakes of salt to it ("you, know, it's already pretty salty!"). I didn't want to take any chances with a crash like Western States. I felt like I had to apologize for dumping my water to load up with Powerade -- after all, they needed freakin' llamas to bring all the liquid up here and I was there dumping some out! But I felt better that I'd have plenty of electrolytes, and at least if I took in too much water I'd be balancing it out, for sure. Finally, I headed out, and the medical guys called out that I should check in with them on the way back, in a way that was basically just encouragement that they were sure I'd make it back.

View ahead from Hope Pass

It was a special sight leaving Hopeless. There was a solid line of runners from there to the pass, and you could see them all, except where the folds of the mountain concealed the trail. There was a clear chain of humanity pulling you along, just like the one on a bicycle. No chance for any problems there. It was cool outside the trees and windy nearing the top, though, so I put my jacket on. Someone said a half hour to the top from Hopeless, though I made it in 20 minutes and felt great. It had been just under 2 hours to Hopeless, and 20 more to the top, so perhaps 2:17 or 2:20 up from Twin Lakes. Moments before we reached the actual summit, the second place runner passed.

The top was spectacular, as in my hike a few days earlier. I took a quick look in both directions to appreciate it. Then I headed down.

Heading down the mountain again

Immediately, I felt better. First, it was familiar ground. Second, I ran. I must have done OK on the ascent, because as soon as it turned down, I was running again. And passing people. Lots of people. Everyone I recognized from earlier in the race, and more. Someone said "Boy I sure wish I could still run downhill!" I felt pretty bad for them -- less than halfway and already quads were dying? That must suck. I thanked my quads of steel and carried on. The great thing was, every time I came up on someone and asked "Can I pass when you get a chance?" they almost immediately let me. And the runners coming up the hill made it easy on me too. Sometimes I could dodge off to the side so we could both keep going, other times they just deferred, but passing people in both directions on the tight trail was way less of a problem than it might have been. 95% of what I said was "Can I pass when you get a chance?" but hey, is that really bad?

Hitting the treeline

I enjoyed the switchbacks, the curve through the first couple trees when you hit the tip top of the treeline, the rubbly downhills, the big bush that hides the trail but I knew from before can be safely run through at high speed, the rocky parts with a couple of steps, the switchback in the middle of a world of roots, the pair of streams hiding in tall bushes, the enormous rock field that looks like it might be the summit right there unless you know better, the tall skinny trees, the bushes with little red buds, the lone stream further down that runs underneath the trail, even the steep rocky part near the bottom, because it is, after all, near the bottom. It was so so worth it to have hiked this earlier in the week!

One of those nice streams

And finally, I came out to the trailhead, then after the last little gasp of slight downhill, the road. Maybe 35 minutes for the descent, after like 1:50 of climb. Someone said 2.2 miles to Winfield, which seemed a little low (I thought the figure had been 3). I took a moment to take my jacket off (way unnecessary by now), walk a minute to regroup, and then start the process of trying to jog as much as possible to the turnaround. A few of the last people I passed on the descent passed me back straightaway, but that was totally OK with me, as I had just totally rocked that downhill. There was a solid stream of runners going past in the other direction too. Cars passed occasionally, kicking up dust, so I took small swigs of Powerade regularly. I hadn't had much to eat on the downhill (hard while going that fast, plus I didn't feel like I was putting out as much effort), so I tried to at least make it up by drinking some calories, and taking a gel or two on the road. That road section to Winfield was tedious, and again the station always seemed like it should be right around the next turn but never was, until finally we got there. And still had to enter in kind of a roundabout way, but whatever.

The mountains at Winfield

Halfway!

I got in and Erin and my dad were waiting, as usual. They had my drop bag, which was a big one, with all new gels plus enough S-caps for the rest of the race. I went through the first weight check of the race and was like a pound down, so whether the puffy hands were a red herring or my intake reduction had worked, I was now totally in line. My excellent crew got me refilled and I repacked and soon set off again -- now only 15-20 minutes behind my 24-hour split! On the down side, I was one of the few lone runners -- most everyone seemed to be picking up a pacer. So no one to motivate me, and after a slightly longer stay there I didn't feel much like running. Soon enough, however, the road turned downhill and I cranked it up to a jog again. I knew I had to get it in while I could, because the next climb was coming. Strangely, I didn't fear the return over Hope Pass at all. Again partly because the climb would be familiar, but also I think because my strategy had crystallized as take it real easy on the uphills, crush the downhills. So I didn't fear the uphill, I just planned to take it at whatever (slow) pace felt decent. And I did.

Couldn't this be the summit?

This involved a lot of slow walking, a number of breaks when I could find a suitable log (down low) or rock (higher up), and plenty of deferring to runners coming down the hill. I was always happy to take a quick break to let someone go by, only getting a little impatient if they were in a group of 4 or 5, in which case I'd start edging up by the time the last one got by. Sometimes the downward-bound runners stepped aside if there was a switchback or other likely spot, but mostly I think I let them go. And not as many people passed me from behind as I expected from the first trip up -- I guess we were all a little beat now. Mainly they passed when I sat for a bit. The landmarks ticked off (though I didn't see the cabin hidden on the mountainside that I noticed from my original hike), and I made steady progress. Toward the top, I figured I was seeing people coming down that had narrowly escaped the cutoff at Hopeless, and I made sure I always let them get by -- 5 minutes of stepping aside wasn't going to mean much to me, but it sure might to them!

Nice bit of single track

Though I knew a number of people at the race, the only one I recognized coming down at me was Sherpa John, a fellow slammer. He said hi and I have no idea what I might have said -- but I fear it wasn't as friendly as I might have been had I seen him at the bottom of the climb. At a certain point, I put my jacket back on, and my world narrowed to specific steps to get to the top. I was once again having nutrition problems on the climb. Nothing felt appetizing, and I just craved plain water, but all I had was Powerade. I made do, but my mouth felt dry and sticky and was not happy with the situation. It was great to pass the treeline, so I could see the line of runners marking the route ahead, and at least measure my time until I could put the climb (and Powerade) behind me. As before, there were a lot of them, and the line still appeared to extend pretty high above me. But I pressed on, passing the weird fork in the trail with the small wooden "<- Trail" sign, and heading on up the last few switchbacks to the top. There at last! The twin lakes looked spectacular once again, but it was the downward-facing trail that had my attention. It had been about 90 minutes from bottom to top (compared to 70 when I hiked it the other day), plus the 30 to get out from Winfield.

Twin Lakes and Turquoise Lake from Hope Pass

I shot down the trail to Hopeless, immediately needing to begin my "Can I pass when you get a chance?" routine again. Soon I wished I had a recording of it. Such is life. I made it to Hopeless in just over 10 minutes, once again dumping my pack, this time to refill with water. I cheerfully checked in with the medical guys just to update them and note that I was feeling better again (duh, it was now the downhill). And headed back down. At first not supremely fast, but soon gravity kicked in and I again had a fantastic downhill, passing a huge number of people. I saw some familiar switchbacks, nice dirt and rock trails, and eventually hit the loud waterfall, suggesting I was nearing the bottom. A few slightly more level bits and a big rocky downhill, and I was there. It took some effort to keep up a jog once things leveled out, and I wasn't totally successful, but I guess I did better than average and made it to the river. A few folks were off to the side of the trail changing shoes or something. I headed for the deepest part of the river and started coating my legs with splashes of lovely cold water. It felt so good, I took off my hat and glasses and attacked my head too. I rubbed my hands in the water until the last sticky remnants of gel were only a faint memory. Oh my gosh, this felt good! I guess the shoe-changer-guys probably thought I was as dumb as I thought they were, so to each his own, but man, I would take 10 more rivers like this on the course!

One of those switchbacks down the mountain

The down side was, coming out I could tell I had some grit in my shoe. I had my fancy gaiters, but I was wearing an older pair of Wildcats with a big rip in the side, and apparently some crud found its way in. I paused to try to clear it our, ripping more in the process, and had only moderate success. I could tell I had blisters, and this wasn't going to make it any better, but I gave up and pressed on. It bothered me off and on for probably the next 20 miles, but I mostly successfully tuned it out.

The rest of the trip to Twin Lakes passed, and that's about all I can say. I maintained my place in the line after the ponds; good enough. No problem getting across the parking lot -- someone was there shouting directions. And I remembered the key turn in town, marked but nearly invisibly with the crowd around. I hit the aid station just about 3:20 from Winfield -- 10 minutes faster than the outbound leg, and pulling still closer to my 24-hour goal split! The only wrinkle was that my crew was not there, nor was my drop bag. I stuck my head out and yelled, figuring they must be nearby with the bag, and two people with seats just on the exit side of the barn jumped up! Not far then; we just hadn't noticed each other when I came in. They got me my bag (with the all-important lights that I had to jam into the hydration pack), and topped off, I headed back out.

I was Happy to reach Twin Lakes again

Crossing the parking lot, I immediately came to the ridiculous rocky climb up that little hill. My brain almost rebelled, even though I could see it was only 20 feet long. "You can't be serious!" I grumbled, still heading toward it. I could even see the runner in front of me climbing it with ease, and it didn't help. I gave up and just moved into it, and in maybe 30 seconds I was past and heading down the other side. That only got me to the long, steep ascent on the gravel road. Not much to be done -- I headed up it, slowly. I totally hadn't factored this climb out of Twin Lakes into my mental topo map of the race. So it was the extra #5 climb, besides Sugarloaf/Powerline and Hope Pass twice. Fortunately, the gravel road passed relatively quickly, and I made it onto the trail. Unfortunately, there was still plenty of climb left on the trail.

They were happy to be there too

But there was a nice surprise waiting for me there. I bumped into Chris McDougall on the trail, and as I didn't have a pacer, he graciously offered to run with me for a while. Or maybe I should say "run" as I was still spending a lot of time walking up hills. But we got going a little on the flatter sections, and it was great to have some folks to talk to and pass the time on the trail. Actually, per the pacer rules at Leadville, he asked if he could carry my hydration pack for me, to which I rather incredulously replied, "uh... no?" I mean, they can encourage muling if they want to, but I don't buy it. Regardless, it was nice company. After some time he ran into someone else he knew and let me go, but that really helped get me over the hump a bit, and I headed on into the remaining hills. I saw some familiar parts -- the view of Twin Lakes from far above, the T in the trail where I had searched for markings (much easier in this direction!), some hills I remembered flying down even as I trudged up. Eventually, I couldn't help but count time to the Pipeline aid station. I knew it was on a wide gravel road. We were on what you might describe as a gravel road if you were feeling particularly generous -- it was two gravelly tire tracks with high grass in between. I couldn't decide whether it would magically widen into the road I remembered or not.

Sean's diggin' this ultra thing

Then we hit a sign for the something or other trail, and immediately took it -- so not the same road, then. It was more rolling by this point, ups, downs, flats. I couldn't tell whether I had hit the "top" or not! I really should have enjoyed this as it's the kind of terrain I generally dig, but unfortunately, by this time, I was in "where in the nine hells is the aid station?!?" mode and didn't give the trail the love I should have. Finally, we came down a little hill and made a nearly 90 degree turn onto the big gravel road -- that was a milestone I remembered! Now, I had walked 10 minutes uphill out of the station, so when I got to the part where I had stopped walking, I'd have maybe 5 downhill minutes to go. But where was that? I had been jogging when it turned onto trail, so not yet. I passed a gate across the road, and remembered slowing down to go around that, so not yet. I hit a flat section, and I didn't remember walking the flat, so not yet. Then, downhill. Yay! I picked it up on the downhill, and cruised into Halfmoon II shortly thereafter.

But Caelan's maybe a little tired of it?

Now my goal splits for the remainder of the race from Twin Lakes were 2-2-3-3. I had left Twin Lakes inbound at 14:07, so 2 hours to Halfmoon II, 2 hours to Fish Hatchery, 3 hours to Mayqueen, and 3 hours to the finish would be right about 24 hours. That would be an extra 30 minutes (compared to outbound) on these two legs, and an extra hour each for the last two legs. It seemed like a lot, but here I was at Halfmoon II just under 2 hours from Twin Lakes, so it looked like I should not second-guess the plan. I did have a big drop bag and gel-refilling operation, but the volunteers were on top of everything and I got out about as quickly as I could have expected. 1:59:31, including the stop.

The next part was great, as it was basically a gentle downhill all the way to the crew stop at Pipeline. OK, maybe some flat, but no uphills and a nice dirt/gravel road. I took off and felt like I was making good time. It was getting on toward dark, so I broke out the lights. First I made it out of the woods, then I started seeing those Ski Patrol signs in reverse, then I saw car lights in the far distance! Well, it was still a good couple miles before I closed the distance to the station, but the distant sounds and lights drew me on. As the road flattened I spent a little time dodging the potholes and puddles in the dirt that I remembered from the outbound trip. I kept an eye out for the "No LT100 Crew Vehicles Past This Point" sign, which had seemed to be a ways down from the actual parking, but when I finally hit it this time, it seemed like I was basically at the station by then. I started passing cars and crews in the twilight, wondering whether I'd miss Erin and our minivan, when suddenly I heard her voice!

As it got dark it got cooler, and I had decided to switch into warmer nighttime gear -- I've been very heat-acclimated and at this point wanted much more to be too warm than too cold. So when I pulled over, I asked for a winter shirt, gloves, and warmer hat, to which I added my jacket. So I lost a little time to the change, but felt much cozier heading back out for the rest of the night. I didn't need the gloves quite yet so I zipped them into my jacket pockets, but this was me prepared for the last 7 hours of the race.

How'd they get to the aid station with HIM driving?!?

I circled the lot back to the downhill to the huge pile blocking the road (nearly missing the cut around it -- if I hadn't remembered it I would have just climbed the mound because there were no decent markings). As soon as I rounded it, there was an uphill back to the road. That would have been irritating except there were a bunch of people at the top cheering on each runner, so that helped me up to the top to start the looooong road section back to Fish Hatchery. There was a pair of runners in the distance ahead of me, and some others behind me, though they gradually fell back to the point where I never noticed them again. We maybe passed a runner or two walking on the initial road section. I remembered we needed to do the diagonal to the left on the sandy road, and kept looking for the turnoff. The runners ahead of me did too -- I could see their headlamps scouring the left side of the road. We kept running further, the cars at the intersection ahead kept looking closer, but still no turnoff. I could swear we had missed it, but how could it not be adequately marked? There were very occasional glow sticks on the side of the road, surely there would be a few at the turn?

Finally, I saw the lights ahead bobble around more than usual, then bear off to the left, accompanied by a couple glowsticks. When I got up there, the turn seemed clear. And the road seemed more solid and less sandy -- perhaps at night the solid part of the trail stood out a little more? That section passed quickly and I was back on pavement -- but somehow I had lost the runners ahead. I knew I was going the right way… It was just a little weird out there in the dark night. Now I just had to make it up this road to the left onto the Fish Hatchery road.

I spent the whole time watching cars. A lot of cars were coming at me down the road I was on -- I could only guess they were taking a roundabout route from Twin Lakes toward Pipeline. A lot of cars seemed to be coming and going from Fish Hatchery, or at least on the road perpendicular to this one. I ran on, watching a mob of traffic at an intersection ahead, and then it all disappeared and I was alone in the dark. Then another burst of traffic far ahead, and more close to me. Why wasn't I getting there? It couldn't have been more than a mile or two! Why was I still on this road?!? I had seen a single glowstick on the road, but that was ages ago. I looked hard for more, and maybe saw something, but I was blinded by oncoming headlights. They passed, and more came, and passed. I looked again, nothing. I looked far ahead -- an intersection, not at all close, no runners or headlamps or glowsticks. Did I miss something? I looked behind. No runners or headlamps or glowsticks. There was cross traffic back in the distance. Closer than the intersection ahead? I couldn't tell. Had I run right through the Fish Hatchery intersection without even noticing it during a lull in the traffic? There was just no indication either way. I stopped. A car was coming, and I waved madly. They turned their lights down. No, that wasn't it, I kept waving. They seemed to be trying to dodge me, but eventually slowed to a stop and rolled down windows. "Which way to the Fish Hatchery?" Just keep going the way you're going, take the next left. "Thanks." It was just an eternal road, I guess. I kept running.

Finally I saw a stop sign ahead, but it still took ages to reach. I made the left. I ran a long time, only to come up to the "Mile 1" sign. Terrible. I had seen "Mile 3" between Powerline and Fish Hatchery on the outbound, and I thought it was maybe closer to the Hatchery. So 2 miles to go. How could it be? It was only like 4 miles to Pipeline, and I must have done at least that much already! I struggled on. I got into the long row of "no parking" signs on the side of the road -- they wouldn't have run those for miles out of the station, right? I was feeling good that I must have missed the Mile 2 sign and be getting pretty close, when out of the dark of the night emerged "Mile 2". Aaargh!

Fortunately, I quickly saw a parking turnoff, and knew I must be really close. Then I saw a car turning in ahead on the left, and someone directing traffic. Yes! I finally made it to that person, and asked which way runners go (it was again, unmarked). He told me to head across the grass. There was a fence or something along the far drive. Was I supposed to stay on the near side in the grass, or sneak out onto the pavement? Why were there no markers? I made my way onto the drive and ran for the barn. There at last!

My dad was waiting just before the barn, and as I came up, he asked "would you like a pacer?". Uh, yeah, of course! "OK, I've got one!" He indicated a woman standing next to a tent and did a brief introduction. OK! But we weren't at the station yet. I carried on to the barn and my dad took my pack to refill it, while I found a bench and someone else came up to me. He was a volunteer or spectator who works for Sun, and saw my crew bag (a JavaOne conference giveaway), and asked if I worked for Sun? We talked a little about Sun, Oracle, and open source. About the last thing I would have expected during an ultra. We had a few minutes while my dad figured out how to close up the Nathan pack, and it was a nice change of pace.

More mountains ahead

Heading back out of the barn, the pacer was gone. "Dad, do you know where that pacer went?" She popped up again as we got to the tent -- they needed my name and number to register her to pace. We stopped at the tent and got that taken care of, then headed out. I had made pretty good time (vs. the plan) -- about 10 minutes under my 2-hour goal. I was now on track for a real sub-24 finish! We did the introductions again, and I was pretty foggy at the time, but I believe her name was Priscilla. She works for Outward Bound in Colorado over the summers, and they were manning the Fish Hatchery aid station. She doesn't run much (mostly a hiker), but some friends talked up the LT100 enough that she decided to stop by and offer to pace for at least the 10 miles from Fish Hatchery to Mayqueen. I shared my preference for pacers (go ahead of me, find the trail markings, etc.), and explained that we'd be walking a ton up the Powerline hill. She didn't seem to really believe me, and in fact had me jogging up the small hill on the road from Fish Hatchery. I explained my 3 hour goal for the section, and she said she thought we'd beat that with ease, given how the beginning went. But then we hit the real Powerline ascent, and all became clear. Just like the previous ascents, I took it easy up the hill. As it got steeper, she commented on how crazy it must have been to run down earlier. Quite!

I held off a long time but eventually needed a sit break. She seemed fine, and in fact could have climbed much faster than me at that point. She told me she had just hiked Mt Elbert (the highest in Colorado), and after some of her mountain bushwhacking expeditions, this trail was actually only moderately steep. Holy cow! I got moving again. Even when the steepest straight line portion passed, I continued to need the occasional sit break as we headed for the pass. The occasional person or pair closed in or passed while I rested. As we hit the summit, we ran into one guy who had gone off-course for nine miles near Halfmoon! He said he turned when he should have gone straight, but saw course markings and followed them, nearly back to Twin Lakes! Apparently they were markings for the bike race, and identical to the run. That could have been done better! He pulled ahead but I passed on the descent.

"Ready and Waiting" at Mayqueen

Then the trail turned steeply up again, and he passed me back. WTF? I must have missed the part about 3 false summits, and sure didn't remember anything but the gravity-induced rush on the outbound. We weren't there yet. So we climbed on. More walking, more resting, more thinking we were there, and not actually being there. Finally the road leveled out and started to look real familiar, and we were finally, finally there (about 100 minutes into the leg). I had to keep walking for a minute just to sort myself out, and then started shifting gears. First a slow jog, which quickly became a faster jog, and then pretty much a run. Before long, we were passing people, as promised. They may not have been as frequent as on Hope Pass, but we steadily reeled them in. We'd see headlamps in the far distance and down below, and before you know it, we'd come up on another pair of runners (or walkers). Priscilla said "Wow, you were right about passing people on the way down!" I said "Yeah, their quads are all dead." I told her about the guy saying he couldn't run down hills any more the first time down from Hope Pass. And periodically we'd catch a glimpse of the Mayqueen aid station, all lit up in the distance. Then the road got steeper and we sped up more. Yes!

I enjoyed it all the way down to the sharp turn onto the more level road. Without the gravity assist, I slowed a bit. I mentioned the turnoff onto the trail, and we kept an eye out for it, but it didn't seem to come. I knew we'd be hitting downhill again on the trail, so I wanted to keep the speed up to bridge the gap, but it wasn't happening. Oh, well. Worse yet, we could see the Mayqueen aid station again, and we were running away from it! Eventually I spied a concentration of glowsticks, and called out, thinking that must be it! We rounded some woods and they were gone. What? But then around the next turn, there it was -- the left back onto the trail. We started down, though as it was at least moderately rocky and technical, it didn't go as fast as the road. And the downhill didn't seem to last all that long before it pretty much leveled out. Still, we passed a few more people here and there. Then it just turned into a long push to reach Mayqueen.

One last wrinkle awaited in this final stretch. Priscilla had bio issues and couldn't run any more without taking a break. So, sadly, we parted company before the intended end of her leg. (She did come into Mayqueen just before I left, and confessed that she wasn't in shape to go farther anyway.) I pressed on for the last couple miles, alone again, save for the runners I overtook here and there. But then we came out onto a road, and I recognized the downhill into the station. Yes!

I met my dad inside, as I had one last drop bag and set of gels to pack away, and I wanted to sit down for it. It was fiercely hot in the tent, and that really bothered me, but what was I going to do? I waited for my dad to close up the pack again so I could stuff in the gels, then I got that taken care of and headed back out. I planned to walk a bit to get going, but I was immediately hit with such a fit of shivering that I had to jog! Why oh why couldn't they have turned the furnace down in the tent? Or set it up so the runner stuff was on the border with open air and we could have done everything without actually going in to the tent? Well, I guess that's one way to make sure you get back up to speed upon leaving… In any case, I had made my 3 hours; beat it by almost 10 minutes in fact.

And I really enjoyed the trail from there to the boat ramp. The funniest thing happened on this stretch -- I was running along Turquoise Lake, maybe 30 or 40 feet above water level, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a spectacular Christmas tree lit up below! I mean, it was what must have been an enormous pine tree, perfectly shaped, absolutely stuffed with glittering white lights. I marveled at the time it would have taken to string all those lights, and thought how neat it was that someone went to the trouble, obviously just for this race (OK, maybe for the bike race too, but you know, outside the normal season for such things). I did kind of wonder how anyone living there actually got to their residence (we hadn't crossed a driveway, that's for sure!), but whatever. I was bummed not to take a real close look, but I needed my attention on the trail.

Except about 10 minutes later, it was there again, down and to the right. What? Had we circled around a lagoon or something so that I was facing back toward the same place as before? It didn't feel like it. But there couldn't have been two! I put it out of my mind.

The third time, I just paused and looked at it straight on. And you know what? No tree. It was the reflection of the moon on the water. It made a perfect triangle toward me, and if at the moment the wind on the surface was causing it to be a little more coarse than the million scintillating points of light I had seen earlier, it was easy to believe it could have varied a little back then. So bright, and so amazing!

When I wasn't admiring the light of the moon, it was the lights of Leadville and the Boat Ramp. You could clearly see the town in the distance, so the end was in sight! Kind of unfair actually that it was well in sight from 10 miles out, but hey. And occasionally, I saw a fancy string of lights along the shore that I figured must be the boat ramp. Nice that they'd set all that up at an unofficial station! But then we'd turn back into the woods, and it would disappear from view. It was so hard to judge distances in the night -- I'd see the boat ramp ahead, then gone. Then out of nowhere we'd pass a lit-up house, and I'd wonder if it had all been that? Then lights ahead. Then gone.

At one point, I was really wondering where the heck it was, and why I couldn't see it coming up sooner, when I heard "Oh! Aaron!" to my left. I pulled up and looked, and I was on the boat ramp! There was Erin and the kids, virtually alone, sitting there on the concrete in the dark. I was stunned -- not only was it not lit up, there were only maybe 5 people there! (Last time I came through it seemed like thousands!) I just said hi and maybe dumped some gel wrappers, I didn't really need anything more at this point. I heard "See you at the finish!" as I headed out. Then I had to stop and ask where to go, because I thought we had headed through the parking lot before, but didn't see any obvious markings that way now. "Just follow the trail, straight across!" I did, feeling wrong about it. But I hit a glowstick, and figured I was OK. I had made great time to the boat ramp, and was feeling pretty good.

All my hard altitude training, starting to pay off!

That came to a crashing halt in the next few miles of trail. I have a proposal for the 29th annual LT100: raise the price by one dollar per person, and put an additional 780 glow sticks out there. I mean, I didn't actually go off course, but I can't tell you the number of times I had to stop and look around, even wait for someone walking behind me to catch up so we could look together. Would it have been so hard to just hang each glow stick in sight of the last? The streamers may have been there but they were completely invisible at night unless you just happened to point a light directly at it from close range. The real problem was that the trail had changed. Before the boat ramp, it was obvious, there were rocks or dirt walls or vegetation on either side of the trail, no real chance to lose it. After the boat ramp, it was just huge wide spaces and tree trunks. Sometimes it even went through large campgrounds, with no glow stick on the proper trail on the far side. I began to hate this section, and was mentally begging to hit road again. It seemed to go on forever, and there was the occasional clear trail or sequence of a couple close glow sticks, but it always opened up again and frustrated me. We hit that parking lot and thank goodness someone was there to tell me where to go, but it just went back onto the confusing trail. Aargh!

Finally, finally, we hit the paved road. That went on longer than remembered, and had a problem of its own. I came to a massive intersection, with no markings at all. Come on! I stood around in the pitch black and looked, blinded by the traffic going by, but even in between there were no visible glow sticks or markings. A pair caught up and the pacer said "don't we go straight?" and the runner said "I don't know, I don't remember from the morning." I didn't either. We called out, and finally, someone on the other side said "come on across, go straight until the train tracks and then turn right!" For crying out loud! I left, but looking back, there were like 10 people lined up right behind me. What?!? Frustrating, as I had been running better than everyone I saw, and now they were all right there!

As I was nearing the tracks, a pair of runners blew by. Aargh! We turned onto that short nasty rocky descent, and past that onto the dirt road leading back toward the Boulevard. I remembered some of the potholes and overgrowth on the sides. Better yet, the runners ahead were walking. I pushed, but never could quite catch up -- they'd start jogging again before I got too too close. Well, I went on. Then I saw the lights ahead bear left, and we were there -- the Boulevard. I pushed hard and got at least close enough to call out -- "How far do we go on this?" I thought maybe 3 miles, but couldn't remember. "What?" I had to push a little more, get a little closer. "How far?" "Oh. One mile." It was 23:10. If there was a mile to go, we had a sub-24 in the bag! It was uphill, and they were walking fast, so I shifted into power-hike for probably the first time all race. There seemed to be a crowd around now, all walking. I sure didn't want to fall further behind! But once my arms were pumping I wasn't so comfortable at the walk, and besides, I didn't think a mile was right. I began to jog. It was for sure the first time I steadily jogged an uphill since Sugarloaf the first time! But I managed to keep it up. I wanted that sub-24 even if it was 3 miles! I passed a driveway with two empty chairs -- the people sitting there on the outbound said they'd see us finish, but I guess only if we were a lot faster or slower.

I took a walk break to take a last gel, and in my glasses there was a reflection of a headlamp. So. I wasn't the only jogger. Damn! I picked it up again. The Boulevard went on for a pretty long time! I could see a bright light in the far distance. Was it the end of the road? Some car parked? I passed another runner walking, and he said "half mile to go!" To the end of the Boulevard? Or to the finish? It was too late to ask; I had left him behind. That light wasn't getting much closer. Eventually I closed in on it, and it was on the side of a house. Not the end. But close -- the road wiggled a bit and then we came out on pavement! But I quickly got to an intersection with -- you guessed it -- no markings. I could have screamed! Someone was on the other side. "Where?!" Just go uphill to the finish. That way! And sub-24, baby! I turned right, and uphill. I heard the sub-24 cheer again only moments behind. I saw a light ahead, and thought I might be catching someone, but shortly it resolved into someone coming down toward me. Oh, well.

Finish Line!

Then footsteps, and I was overtaken again. Damn! It was a runner and pacer. The runner said "You've been holding me off all this time, don't fail now!" I tried, but I didn't have much more in me for this uphill. We talked a bit, or to tell you the truth, the pacer talked a lot. I asked were there really no more turns? They said "You're gonna finish this!" That didn't help. Then, "see that stop light? It's the finish!" I couldn't see lights or a banner or anything -- but I could see the stop light, and I ran for it. We got within maybe two blocks, and the pacer called out "Final stretch, give it what you've got!" I did, and managed to pick up the pace just an iota more. I think that runner could have blown on by, but instead, he stayed just at my shoulder. Up the hill, and we crossed the timing mat in 23:39:46.0 and 23:39:46.6. But I didn't know whether to stop -- everything else was 20 yards past the mat! I staggered on, slowing to a halt as we hit the red carpet and then the crowd.

With the finisher's medal

Erin and my dad were there to cheer me in, though after a quick hug and photo I just asked for someplace to sit. We decided to make for the car, but before we could move, the race director showed up with a medal. When I ducked my head for her to apply it, I started coughing, and she said I had to weigh in and visit medical -- for just that reason. So I did. My weight was down a couple pounds, and I asked if someone was looking at feet. I knew I had some blister issues. First they directed me to a runners tent with some chairs near a heater, and then a medical tent with cots. That's for sure what I needed. I collapsed on a cot, and immediately started shivering, as they applied blanket after blanket. I just had to wait it out, though Erin came and parked the sleeping kids next to me and went for hot chocolate from the other tent. My dad helped me get settled and wait out the shivers. The hot chocolate was great, but it was still a while before my body settled down. The medical folks looked at my feet and acknowledged the blisters, but they apparently didn't qualify as hamburger so no treatment was warranted. It was fine, so long as they let me lay there under the blankets!

Found a cot!

Eventually I changed into dry clothes from my finish line bag (Erin having the great idea to prep them in front of the heater first!), and somewhat after that, we got ready to depart. I needed help standing, but then made it over to the side of the road for her to pick me up. My dad, poor guy, walked the kids the few blocks home in the cold, because we didn't have seating set up in the car for all of us!

And that's about my Leadville experience, from beginning to end. I made it to the awards ceremony, and we even did the train ride around town that afternoon. We all fell into bed about seven o'clock, though, and the bulk of the packing had to wait until morning.

Picking up my buckle

In any case, I was thrilled to finish under 24. My most optimistic goal had been closer to 20, but comparing times from Vermont to Leadville and stuff like that, I had to admit it wasn't very realistic. So 24 was really my main goal, and that looked pretty unlikely by a third of the way in. Even the big buckle for 25 seemed in danger for a while! But it came together nicely in the second half, and I started beating my goals again, which was great. Couldn't have been happier to finish my first Leadville sub-24, especially in the middle of the Grand Slam! (Not that I don't have a few ideas for how to pick up a little time on the next attempt…)

Parting shot of Hope Pass trail

The buckle is a wonder. I mean, I thought Vermont was nice, and Grindstone was pretty cool, but then Western States set a whole new standard, and that was only for the bronze! But Leadville, all I can say is, wow! I think the next step up from that sucker is the World Wrestling Federation! I do kind of feel like I should stand and hold it up over my head!

In any case, my takeaways are that Leadville (the area and the course) is actually wonderfully scenic, altitude acclimation matters and while 5 days is good, 5 months is probably better, and, well, my crew is the best! Thank you thank you for being there at every stop, and coming up with everything, whether it was sunscreen or long sleeves or just a depot for my sticky gel wraps. Thanks to Priscilla, queen of the mountain, for getting me over the Powerline and back to Mayqueen. Thanks to all the volunteers for getting me in and out of those aid stations, getting my crew in and out of the parking, and everything. I had a ball.

Race Report: 2010 Vermont 100 Endurance Race

2010-07-20T21:48:00.140-04:00

So this big question for this one was, was I recovered from Western States yet? It was hard to tell. All my training runs were crappy, but it was hot and humid, so there could have been other reasons. The only other time I raced within three weeks of a 100, I was fine for half and then died and walked much of the rest -- but with ultras coming fast and furious this Spring, I felt like I had improved my recovery a lot. Well, I'd shortly find out…

Pre-Race

In the hotel before Friday's meeting

One thing I was determined to do was manage my weight/salt/etc. better. I didn't want to be found in a cot until the end of the race thankyouverymuch. I'd try more electrolyte drink, I figured. The weight check the day before the start was comical. 169. This compared to 158 at Western States three weeks ago. Yes, I ate a lot in between. But 11 pounds? Was this some kind of cruel joke? OK, I think really I was 163 at Western States no matter what their bloody scale said, and the guy at the weight check said the Vermont scale was 5 pounds high, but good grief. I griped to Chris Mortensen and Gregg, who I bumped into in the check-in line, and then we headed over for the pre-race meeting.

Saturday morning with my dad/crew

The next morning I felt fine heading over to the start -- only a few hours of sleep, but the pre-race adrenaline took care of that. I saw Gregg and Jeff under the big tent, met Alan from the Ultra list, and got the all-important "before" pictures. This is the photo where running 100 miles actually does seem easy. I tied, experimented a little, and retied my shoes (I was back to my older trail shoes as they seemed a better fit for the road/trail mix here.) Actually I felt pretty good heading over to the start line too. With 4 AM coming up fast I settled in toward the front of the pack, and without further ado, we were off!

A Kickin' 50K

Both ready to go after Western States

So long as I felt good, I didn't mind gravitating toward the front -- I knew we'd head into a trail section before too long, and there was no sense in getting stuck behind people. There was a big mob at the front -- perhaps 10 or 20 people -- and I was in the group behind that. Not everyone had lights, but that seemed dicey to me -- running on the road in the dark was fine, there was enough star light or whatever. But how could you go into trails like that? I guess by sticking next to someone else, which may be why I had so many trail friends! Or maybe they were just thinking "why'd this guy bring a light to spoil my night vision?!?" Who knows. But it was a nice run, and I occasionally poked my light into the trees to see a stream or something else we heard off to the side.

Typical start photo

Then one of the guys just behind me on the trail said "Hey, this is great, we're on like a 14 hour pace!" Pause. "What's going to happen to us now?" I called back, "Well, we're not going to keep up this pace, that's for sure!" Which was true, though we lasted surprisingly long. Once we came out of the single track, I was running with a guy whose watch beeped every mile. We were under 10 minute miles and staying there (which, if not 14, was still a sub-17 pace!) He asked about the course, and I shared what little detail I remembered. We were in the middle of a decent climb when he asked about the uphills on the course. And I gave perhaps the most comically inaccurate response ever shared. I told him the only climb that really stuck out in my mind was the trail just after Camp Ten Bear at mile 70. I saw a couple others on the elevation profile -- one around 15 and another in the low 20s -- but really they didn't seem that huge in general. I guess my frame of mind was a little different after the start and canyons at Western States, but I'm sure by the end of the race that guy thought I must have been describing a different event. I sure did.

Aside: If I had my thinking cap on, I would have looked up my never-finished race report from last year. Here's what it said:

We all felt good the day before...
And the hills. They just never ended! Some of the aid stations were at the bottom of long downhills, which means you know what's coming... An uphill. I don't mind so much if it's right then and there, because I can take some food out and eat while I walk up the hill. What gets me is when it's flat out of the station but I walk and eat anyway, and then just as I'm packing away the wreckage, I get to the hill. Sigh.

But the other stations aren't any better. They're the ones where you finish two or three miles of uphill by reaching an aid station. Then you feel great, and leave the aid station thinking "Cool! I know I'm at the top and I'll get a nice downhill now." But you know what's really coming... An uphill. Especially toward the end of the race.

Gregg had the most intimidating ankles...

Anyway, the first two aid stations passed pretty uneventfully -- I had my hydration pack full of water and was using Heed in my hand bottle. After the weight issues at Western States I had decided I should have a supply of electrolyte drink in addition to the water. I drank mostly out of the bottle, so it was a quick refill and departure. The recipient of my terrible course overview had pulled ahead slightly, but I still could hear his watch beep periodically, so I knew we were still on a crazy pace. But it felt just fine, so why not? I only had one issue in the early miles. The top of my foot hurt on the downhills. It seemed to be an issue with my shoe tying. I debated a little, and eventually pulled over when I saw a nice stump off to the side. I put my foot up and loosened the laces a bit. That helped some, but both the tops of my feet bothered me just enough to notice, here and there along the first 20 miles. I wondered if I'd have to do a serious retying job at some point.

But that aside, all systems go. Looking back, my fastest segment pace of the whole race came between the second and third aid stations. It was the first big downhill, into Taftsville, and across a wooden covered bridge. I knew we had to be getting to that big uphill in the course profile, but even after crossing the bridge it held flat until the aid station, and my pace was 8:07 -- including the time spent refilling at the station. Crazy! Also, a lot faster than last year (when I was 9:41 on the same segment). I didn't have all these statistics at my fingertips at the time, but looking back, it was probably the first sign of my big strength for the day -- the downhills. They would treat me well.

Arriving at Pretty House (21.1)

Of course the climb was slower, but the mileage was posted at every aid station, and I could tell I was still on quite a pace. When I got to the first crew station at Pretty House, my dad said I was way at the top of my predicted range, which I'm sure was true. My best possible case was really 20 hours, and I was still under 10 minute miles, on pace to beat that by 3 hours! Anyway, Diane and Jeff's mom cheered me through there as well -- it's always a lift to see friendly faces, and in this one the first time was more than 3 hours in. (Bit of a change from when I had Erin rushing around to see me 5 times during a marathon!) My dad had pulled my drop bag for me and I resupplied on gels and S-caps, topped off the liquids, and headed out. I quickly realized that I had forgotten to put on some sunscreen, but I figured I'd catch it next time (the sun was coming out, but still, it was only 7:30 AM).

I was pleased leaving here that my legs still felt good. Last year at about 20 miles my lower legs started to get really sore on the downhills, and I had to adjust my gait to emphasize first one leg, then the other -- it was a bit of a mess. Much nicer this time through when none of that was bothering me! Still, the real shocker came at the next station (named "U-Turn", though it was really more of a right if you ask me). The placard read 25.1 miles, and I got there in 4 hours. You do the math. Obviously I wasn't going to keep up this pace, but at this point, I felt like I was doing just great and I must have been totally recovered from Western States. So maybe the best case 20 hour goal was in reach?

The next section was there waiting to put that in doubt again. We went up, over, and down the Sound of Music hill. What is this? A grassy peak with spectacular views in all directions. Steep going up, and very steep going down. But I had to take a moment at the top just to look around! View aside, it was a really tough part of the course, and I thought about how I had told that guy there weren't any memorable hills until 70 miles. I mean, I didn't remember this at all -- if you had told me afterward that part was added for the first time this year I would have believed it! (And, as far as I can tell, it's just a nickname -- the movie wasn't actually shot there or anything.)

Arriving at Stage Road (30.1)

So anyway, I took it slow on the steep descent, and headed on toward the next aid station. It was a crew station, and even with the extra time I took for Sound of Music, I was well ahead of schedule. Not that I planned to put time in the bank, but I was feeling good, and it was there, so who's complaining? My dad told me I was at the top of the range again, and I told him not to worry -- I'd be slowing down in the heat and humidity of the day. I had sweated through my shorts in the first two hours, and with it getting up near 90, I didn't see how I could keep going like that -- but it was another reason to appreciate any buffer I had accumulated. He had my next drop bag with a bigger allotment of gels, as I'd be going about 17 miles before seeing him again. I asked for ice for my hat too, which was the main way I dealt with the heat.

My support squadron was happy too!

Leaving the station, I hit another stretch I remembered from the previous run. After a brief patch of road, we crossed a short wooden footbridge leading onto a very steep grassy climb. Last year, I had to wait for some fidgety horses to cross the bridge, and then we all did the climb together. They'd pull ahead, then pause at a puddle to drink while I walked on up the hill. Then they'd pass. Then a rider got off to let her horse do the walk sans rider and I passed while they sorted out. I was feeling a little down at that point but the riders were nice to me and that was a pick me up. Anyway, this year, no horses had caught up to me yet, which was great. Once the trail leveled out I was hanging right in with the runners around me, instead of slowly falling behind like last year. All good signs.

Revenge of the WS100

Unfortunately, things started to take a turn for the worse from there. The most minor first: I had forgotten sunscreen again. I worried about burning my neck. But beyond that, I hit a bit of a mental low, just wishing to get to Camp Ten Bear. That's the biggest aid station on the course, which you pass twice, and it would be the next time I'd see my dad at 47.2 miles. Getting there would definitely be a lift. I had a brief moment of excitement when we hit a road with fast-moving traffic around 34 miles -- I knew we'd run on Route 106 shortly before hitting Ten Bear. Somehow my brain had fogged and wasn't acknowledging that 34 miles was not shortly before 47 miles. When we hit the aid station marked "Route 12" I realized we just weren't there yet.

Right after this, I just started to feel physically beat too. I had been running great, and I know mental lows are part of the game. You just keep on keepin' on, and things will come around. But this was different -- it went beyond mental. I just felt drained, like someone sucked all the energy right out of me. I remember going up a hill, and I had been doing just fine on hills, and this was not one of the more severe ones. But I had a lot of trouble doing more than a trudge. There was an older guy who jogged on by, very slowly. But he kept up his slow jog for 100% of the hill. Other people walked (faster than me), and occasionally ran (much faster than me). I tried to pick it up to a jog here and there, but it never lasted. That slow-jog guy came from behind and I leapfrogged a bit with any jog I could muster, but he clearly beat me to the top of the hill. Suddenly I was losing places. I picked it up a bit on the downhills, passing the jogging guy again, but it didn't last. I pulled over at the unmanned aid station near 36 miles and more people passed. More ice for the hat helped, but not enough.

Grand Slammers

It was like that for quite a while. I knew what this was. This was Revenge of Western States. This was me not being fully recovered in three weeks. This was not what I was looking for just over a third of the way into the race. If this had just been for fun, I might have bailed anywhere between 35 and 47, because I sure felt like it was in danger of turning into a 60 mile death march -- but the Slam pulled me on.

We passed another covered bridge close to 40 miles. It was maybe the third of the day? Either this area has a lot more covered bridges than Philly does, or they designed the course to pass through every single one!

About this time, Chris caught up to me. I hadn't really known where he was, except somewhere behind me. I didn't know what kind of goal he had for the race, since he had done more marathon-type training lately. But he looked pretty strong coming up on me there, and I thought he was probably in for a pretty good race. We chatted a bit, and came into an aid station together. I just put fresh ice in the hat and left first, but he caught up quickly as the course trended uphill, and I wished him well as he went on by.

Not long after that, I started having stomach trouble. This was the part of the race where you think "and the hits just keep on comin'…" It was unsettled, and on top of that I felt like I had a lot of gas in there. I wondered where that was coming from -- I was drinking Heed and water, and eating only the gels I've trained with and the occasional watermelon or oranges. Going slower seemed to help. Yay. There was a guy without a shirt on that I was leapfrogging periodically and after about the 10th time we started chatting every time it happened.

Finally I came out to Rt. 106, meaning Ten Bear was close. Not too close -- there was at least one more station beforehand -- but it was a milestone. This was a sunny, hot, uphill mile along the road before turning back onto trails near a big aid station for the horses. At least I was keeping up with the runner ahead of me in the far distance. Some horses passed, but that's to be expected. I got to the turnoff, and passed all the horse trailers and tents at their site. I was doing OK through the grassy climb there, and then the single track that sort of paralleled 106 for a while. It was a funny spot with all kinds of cables rigged through the woods. They seemed to be more than just keeping you on the trail, but not enough for anything else -- except maybe the world's biggest collection of wet laundry. Who knows?

I stopped at the aid station when we came out of the woods. I was surprised to see it was Jenne Farm, only a mile and a half before Ten Bear! I don't know how I was so disoriented I still thought we were close because we had passed 106, but far enough that we wouldn't have been at the last aid station before Ten Bear. Anyway, more people popped out of the woods -- bare chest guy was there, and a woman who charged off up the road. Last year I think I skipped this one, but this time I needed the stop. I pressed on up the hill, trying not to lose too much more ground.

We hit the top and started down, and that was a disaster too. That gas problem turned real bad. Running down a hill just sent stabbing pains into my gut on every step -- but right where I was it was too steep to jog. I walked, and bare chest guy blew on by, trading places again. (I'd see him again at Ten Bear, but he'd leave first.) Thankfully I was eventually able to leave the gas behind and jog on down the hill into the station. I resolved to quit the Heed, as it was the only thing I had been doing different (though I've had it at prior races without trouble), and hoped that would clear up the stomach woes.

Leaving Camp Ten Bear (47.2);
At least one of us was happy

I saw cars parked ahead, and that brought a smile to my face. Then I saw Erin's car go by! She was heading into the station, but apparently hadn't seen me coming down the road as she passed. I wasn't sure whether I'd see her -- I figured if she parked on the left fork, no, right fork, yes (we left in different directions the two times through the station). She was going pretty slow (there's not a lot of room to drive with runners and horses going through), so I tried to pick it up in case I could catch up enough to wave her down, but it didn't happen. But it did kill the time for the last quarter mile and then I was at the station proper.

First surprise: there was Harris, Jeff's mom, and Jeff cheering me in! I asked Jeff what happened? He said it was a long story. I went on through to the tents.

Teamwork, baby!

They sent me right to the scales, and the good news was, I was at most a pound off from my starting weight. I had meant to weigh in at the voluntary medical check station earlier (after the weight problem at Western States), but forgot at the moment I was actually there. So this was the first check and I was happy it was on. I went over to talk to my extended crew -- my dad, Harris, Jeff, Diane, everyone seemed to be helping out. It was really nice. My dad had my drop bag and I crammed my pack full of new gels. Jeff said he had an achilles problem and dropped. I told Harris if he was still looking to pace someone, I'd be happy to have him (starting at mile 70, next time through Camp Ten Bear). He seemed willing, which was great. For the second race in a row I had been ready and planning to go it alone, but for the second race in a row I was at a low point when the pacer opportunity presented itself. I was happy it worked out again!

Meanwhile, back in the present, I looked at my drop bag where I had marked my time last year and my best case goal for this year. Surprisingly, I was still right in the middle. I figured I must have lost a lot in the last 10 miles, but I must have been doing really well before then. Still, I told my dad that Western States had really beat me up, and at this point my time goals were basically out the window. I just planned to go on and finish, in whatever time it happened to be. I still had plenty of time to make a sub-24, but honestly I just wanted to cross the line and keep my Grand Slam attempt alive.

Now here's the other thing about this stop. I sat down on the grass while I was repacking my gels and stuff. It wasn't so bad. There was a bit of a hill there, which made it easy to get up again afterward. I have been scared of ever sitting since my first ultra, where I felt like I spent as much time on my butt as on my feet. But it felt nice to have a minute or two off my feet and then get going again. OK, well, perhaps it cost more than a minute or two, but it wasn't as bad as I might have feared. Some ice in my hat, cold water on my head, and I was at least mobile again.

My smile for the camera didn't
reflect my condition at the moment...

I eventually trudged on up the hill out of the station, and met Erin, Caelan, and Sean heading down to meet me. We chatted a bit, and they turned around and walked with me for a spell. I told Erin what had happened, and she said don't worry, just finishing 100 miles 3 weeks after another 100 was accomplishment enough itself! That pretty much mirrored my thinking at that point. Mental lows I could handle, but the physical blows were hard to get around. I just wanted to make it to the end.

At any rate, I headed on. I knew I'd be coming back into Camp Ten Bear this way at 70 miles, so I tried to remember the lay of the land. We headed up for a while, then down a bit, then got to the T where I was leaving to the left and would be returning from the right. So from the point I got there on the return, there'd be a small climb, and a nice downhill. I headed out into a shockingly flat part of the course. I mean, I can't think of really any flat parts of the course, except for this one right here. Jeff, his mom, and Harris drove by and cheered, which was great. I hope that was on purpose and not because they were lost! :)

But the flat didn't last long; there were more uphills ahead. I passed the 50 mile point just over 9 hours. I had to take a moment to think about goals again: under the circumstances I didn't figure I could do the next 50 in 11 hours, but 15 ought to be doable (I mean, I was feeling lousy, but could the second half really be more than 6 hours slower?), so a 24 hour finish could still be within reach. Well, whatever, I figured I'd see what developed.

Signs of a Turnaround

Now the interesting thing was, during the next 10 or 15 miles I started to get to aid stations and see runners standing, sitting, or hanging onto poles for dear life. So I guess I wasn't the only one having trouble out there. That guy who had been the steady jogger up the hills was the first one I recognized as having passed me, and here I was getting him back (I found out later, he did finish, just slowly). It was nice to be the passer instead of the passee for a change!

Recharging at Tracer Brook (57.0)

About 10 miles out of Ten Bear, I hit the next crew station at Tracer Brook. Surprisingly, my dad said I was making up time! I mean, I was just trying to get by, so how could I be actually improving? I wondered if he was doing his math right. But according to my drop bag notes, I was still in the middle, so that was good. I'd hang on as long as I could! Everyone was there again, which was great -- Jeff and Harris and Erin were all chipping in with filling my pack and getting ice for the hat and everything. I caught Diane holding Sean at one of the stations. Man, what a team! I sure felt like a V.I.P.!

Practicing my heat-resistance...

I was actually showing some life on the uphills in the next 5 miles, which was great. I mean, it was only a slow jog, but I caught people who were walking, slowly but surely. They sure pulled me on! Suddenly I was just feeling better and getting faster. The one wrinkle was that I had apparently not packed my new set of S-caps at the last station, so I was going to run out. I really, really didn't want to do that, given my salt balance issues at Western States. I stopped and rooted through my bag at the unmanned aid station, but came up dry. I took my last one, and then switched my gel order around to at least get a double sodium gel after I missed an S-cap.

Margaritaville! (62.1)

Then we got to Margaritaville, which I thought was hands down the best-decorated station on the course. It was nice to see the whole crew out here again, and again my dad said I was making up time, which again seemed sketchy. I mean, I was doing better than earlier, yes. But I felt like I had dug myself a pit in the middle there and would be happy to get out, much less improve on anything.

In any case, I was a little sad that some runner asked if they could get a margarita, and someone seemed to be saying yes. I don't drink a lot, but when I do, it's margaritas, so I was almost bummed to be running better again -- with a little more spring in my step I wasn't ready for a margarita. If I had still been hurting, I might have. It sure would have been a nice way to get some extra salt down! I wasn't ready for solid food either, and I heard they've had great cookies. So I feel like I owe Margaritaville an apology: I let you down. Maybe next year!

Should have had a margarita in hand

But for now, my dad produced my crew bag and I dug out more S-caps, taking one immediately. Then I headed out, to the tune of more uphill. About this time, I was thinking that Sherpa John is a little nuts. I'm pretty sure he said that if you're feeling good, you can make some good time on this 23 mile loop between Ten Bear stops. But man, there was a lot of uphill! I kept waiting for the downhill to materialize where I could make up some time! No such luck. Still, my pace was improving, and I was happy about how things were going. We got to the last aid station before Ten Bear and this was great -- I knew there was a big downhill leading into that T-junction before Ten Bear, and I planned to make the most of it. One of the runners was just leaving as I arrived, and she must have seen me earlier because she took one look at me and said, "Wow, what a recovery!" Boy that gave me a big old grin! I had been following her up the hills in the last section and never quite caught up, but I got a lot closer. We'll see what I could do on the downhill.

Kickin' A**

Scales! That way!

Well, I'm not sure I've ever been as happy in a race as I was on that downhill. Man, I tore it up. Everyone I saw, I passed. After tracking down several more folks, I passed the woman from the aid station, and she said again, "Nice recovery!" It was great. I kept going, and passed more people. My memory of the layout of the leg betrayed me (I kept looking for a right turn that never came), but it was all downhill, and I crushed it. Even the little uphill right before Ten Bear wasn't much -- I jogged most of it and then booked it into the station. And I got in just at 13 hours!

No problems with the weigh-in

Now first, that was an undeniable improvement over last year, when I got in at 13:45. Second, I was feeling great, in contrast to last year when the last 30 was okay, but more of a struggle. And third, it was 13 hours! That struggle through the last 30 lasted nearly 8 hours last year, but going in this time I had thought that 7 hours for the last 30 miles was very achievable. Out of nowhere, everything was back on track! Chris was still somewhere ahead of me, which meant he must be having a fantastic race -- I wondered if he'd break 20 hours, even without the long runs in training. (At some point in the station my dad said he was 5 minutes ahead, but I didn't know if that meant he arrived 5 minutes before me or left 5 minutes before me -- could be a big difference at a crew and medical check station.)

And this was only like half of my crew!

There was a little wrinkle with my drop bag, but we had time to work it out. I had to get weighed (168 I think, or still just about level), top everything off, and so on. I didn't take my lights because I was well ahead of sunset (awesome!). Finally Diane found my drop bag (did I mention this huge crew [even though most of them were borrowed] was totally the best!) and I sat down on the grass again and got everything sorted out. Harris was ready and waiting, so we headed out. I normally walk out of the aid stations and take a minute to get up to speed, but this one we jogged, because I knew there was a nasty climb coming. Sure thing, we crossed the road and walked up the rise, but then it flattened out a bit, which I didn't remember at all. So much for that monster climb coming out of Ten Bear! Oh wait, there it was -- just a few minutes further down the trail. We walked more. I went over my pacer thing with Harris -- I wanted him to lead and find/follow the trail markings, and to push the pace just a little, pulling me along from ahead. When I had a fresh bottle he could tell how close I was by the sound of the ice. He was welcome to talk, it would take my mind off things, but I probably wouldn't be answering much. I apologized in advance for not being very good company. That kind of stuff. :)

Yeah, it was a shock, but in a good way

Neither one of us had noticed the distance to the next aid station, but we pressed on. After the big climb, I felt like I was getting back up to speed pretty well. When we saw people, we passed them, and it's hard to argue with that! In fact, I don't think I was passed by anyone except horses in maybe the last 40 miles. Nice. Looking at my splits, I took almost 15 minutes off my time coming into Ten Bear, more than 10 into the next leg to Seabrook, and another 5 into the crew station at West Winds. Man, this race was really turning around!

The beginning of a long 30 miles for Harris

We also had some funny experiences with the trails. There were a lot more of them in the last 30 miles, and I had a love/hate relationship. On the one hand, you can walk up a much steeper trail than you can drive, so the climbs on the trails were always beastly -- it was a relief if a climb was on a road! And I stubbed my toe a few times, once windmilling enough to narrowly avoid a faceplant, seconds after passing someone on the trail (how dumb would that have looked?). On the other hand, I was crushing the downhill trails. Harris actually had me go ahead on the downhills so he didn't slow me down! I mean, he always got by me again 30 seconds after when it turned up again and I started walking, but any time your pacer is worried they're slowing you down, you just have to grin. I think those downhills must have accounted for a lot of my improvement!

West Winds (77.0)
First time I saw Chris since maybe 39 miles

On top of that, there was a surprise waiting for me at West Winds -- Chris was just wrapping up there when I pulled in! I told him I was sorry to see him -- I wanted him to be out there ahead chasing down 20 hours. He said he was sorry to see me too (though perhaps not for the same reason). I heard Diane say "20 hours?" as in, "could you do that?" and Chris saying yeah, it was within reach so far. I went to resupply from my drop bag while he took off again. But man, I was feeling good, and I think everyone could tell! What a change.

You get about 10 steps before it goes straight down...

We headed out and I grumbled again because it went straight downhill from the station -- no possibility of walking out, just too steep. I started jogging down, and missed when Diane turned to Erin and said "Alright, it's game on!" But then I did hear when after a little verbal sparring, Diane called down the hill "Hey Aaron, you forgot something!" I looked back, wondering what they were talking about when I was carrying everything right there on me, and Erin shouted "No, no, go on!" Girls.

I'm sorry to say, the game ended sooner than perhaps they would have liked. Early in this section, there were a lot of trails, with some serious downhill. I blew past a lot of runners, including Chris. He was taking one of the downhills kind of gingerly, which has certainly been my experience there before. I felt bad that I had snagged Harris, but I found out later he had offered to Chris first, so at least I felt a little better about it.

Yeah, I was feeling good again

And actually, even after we got off the trails, I was running fantastically well. We hit the next unmanned aid station, and I had done 10 minute miles, or a 17-hour pace. For this stage of the race, incredible! Ridiculous, even! I couldn't believe it. Harris helped out by filling up my bottle while I headed right out -- something that felt a little sketchy to me, but at the pre-race meeting they had explicitly encouraged pacers to run ahead, refill bottles, and catch up again. Apparently that's not muling here, so it definitely pays to have a pacer at Vermont!

You look at this mountain ahead
as you're running toward Bill's...

Well, I couldn't keep that pace any longer, but I kept running well. The next goal I set was to reach Bill's (88.6 miles) in daylight. Sunset was officially like 8:30, but I figured we'd still be able to see until maybe 9 PM. I told Harris I wanted to hit 20 hours, and if we hit Bill's by 9 (17 hours), I'd have a great chance -- that would be 3 hours for just under 12 miles. I knew the end would be tough, but I'd have a lot of buffer.

Everyone smiles when you get there in daylight!

I again remembered the course all wrong. I thought it was all downhill until just before Bill's, but it wasn't. I kept looking for a left turn up to the final ascent, but it was a right to a slight downhill. We did cross a road that I totally recognized, but I couldn't place it in terms of distance to the aid station. Oh, well. Time was slipping, and slipping… I was remembering an uphill out of Bill's, and gazing at the giant mountain behind it… Was 3 hours really enough? Then when the road passed under heavy tree cover, it got very dark, and I felt dumb for not getting out my light -- but I didn't want to waste the time. When we came out it was still plenty bright… And then we saw cars parked! Always a great sign! The station looked to be a little further down the road, but it was within reach!

Happy scale, thankfully.

We pulled in just a hair before 9 PM, still in daylight (but close enough that it was dark before we left). I got a scare at the weigh-in, when the person said I was 167.5 and over there were the fluids but she wanted to examine me before I went on. Definitely didn't want to spend time on an exam! But then I noticed she wrote 180 right before 167.5, so I said, "Wait, I started at 169!" and she said, "Oh, you're fine then. But the fluids are over there." Whew!

I did end up sitting around there for a while, packing my last set of gels, having an S-cap and gel and all (which I probably should have done after leaving), and just recovering from the mad dash to get there by 9. But I got up and got my hatful of ice and my dad dumped some cold water on my head. We left at like 9:03, and I asked my dad to have my long sleeve shirt ready for the last station, as we had hit some cooler spots on the course. Then I took 10 steps out and started shivering -- and went right back. "Never mind, I need it now!" I took off my soaking wet T-shirt, put on the long sleeves, and headed out again. Erin confessed later she thought I was a bit crazy, since it was still 80 degrees out when I did that. And yes, I warmed up once I got moving again. But I get cold at night -- I didn't want to take a pee break and have a shivering spell set in or something. It was worth it.

On my butt again at Bill's (88.6)

From Bill's to the finish, I basically got slower and slower -- but apparently I didn't decline as much as the other folks on the course. We passed a few more, either in stations or on the road, until the last crew station at Polly's. One more guy said "Hey, great recovery!" I confessed to Harris that I loved passing people who had gone by when I was hurting, because they said nice things and it was so motivating!

New shirt felt great

But there was a different challenge now. Lightning. In the dark, we could easily see the sky lit up every few minutes. Harris said something about what a nice display of lights it was, but I was really worried. I had an unbelievable 20-hour finish almost within reach, and now this? I had visions of getting to Polly's and being told I couldn't continue until the lightning passed. Or just getting hit by a torrential downpour and not being able to follow course markings, or not being able to go fast enough. Bottom line, I didn't think it was very nice at all.

Is *this* why we saw them on a random
back road on the way out of Bill's?

At least we saw Erin and my dad one more time -- whether they knew it or not. Maybe a half hour after leaving Bill's, they were driving down a road as we were jogging up it. At least, the headlights were the same as our car and his rental, and what were the odds of another pair just the same in the middle of rural Vermont? Erin dimmed the lights (which she often does for runners at night) but they drove on by without comment. I told Harris that was them but they must not have recognized us -- or maybe just the kids were asleep and she didn't want to yell. Whatever, it was nice to see them again! And the course here was generally nice too, the only problem being when we crossed a big field with tall grass, and had a bit of trouble finding the mowed path in the dark.

This is pretty much how I felt by Polly's (95.5)

We eventually made it to the last crew station, Polly's, at just about 18:30 into the race. This left me 90 minutes for 4.5 miles, which was excellent. On a normal day, I could walk it in and make it! (Of course, my walk was a lot slower at this point.) Still, I barely stopped at Polly's, pressing on hard, not wanting to take any chances. Erin said they better hurry to the finish, and I said come on, I'll be at least an hour, if not 90 minutes. She wanted to take no chances, in case I pulled a Western States out of my hat and crushed the last hills.

Home Stretch

We were all a little tired!

Alas, it was not to be. My legs were really hurting. Well, not so much hurting, perhaps, just not wanting to move much. A walk felt just right, and I had to work hard to jog. But I pushed and felt like I was making pretty good progress. Only the last unmanned aid station at 97.7 miles just never arrived! We thought we saw it only it was something else lit up at night. Then we saw it again, but it was just a house. Then Harris figured we must have missed it, because we had been a half hour and we were still moving well and it was only like 2.1 miles! I was OK getting to the finish on the water in my pack, I just would have preferred to top off the bottle because it was a little more convenient.

And then, after 32 minutes, we saw a pile of lights and glow sticks and we were there. So I was really slowing down. But now, I was on the home stretch. We hit the trails and I told Harris I had walked every step from here to the end last year, and this year I just wanted to jog more and walk less. 5 seconds later we hit a really steep part, and I started walking, and had to add, "you know, jog more where it makes sense". That steep part went on for quite a while!

Finished! With another stellar pacer!

In fact, most of the last 2.2 miles was pretty steep, and I didn't jog that much. Harris said "No wonder you walked it!" But I did what I could, especially on the few downhills. One last time I didn't remember the course right, clearly envisioning key turns that just never materialized. I remembered candles in white bags lining the end of the course, and saw them in the distance, but they were not for us. We got green glowsticks in milk jugs instead. I don't know why everything seemed different, but then out of nowhere, there were torches and cheers and we had arrived!

Crew captain Dad!

I crossed the line in 19:41:07, completely thrilled, and feeling a lot better than last year! Despite feeling utterly crushed in the middle, I had pulled it together and beat my best-case goal! Actually, finishing a 100 under 20 hours was sort of my long-term ultra goal, and here I did it three weeks after Western States! (Now I need to figure out what my new goal should be!) We got some pictures, got my place and time, chatted briefly, and then I headed over to the medical tent to claim a cot. But even so, I was doing better afterward than previous 100s. I got right into warm, dry clothes and didn't get too cold. Gregg and Harris came over to talk, and Erin and my dad got me some food and hot chocolate and stuff. Caelan gave me some good "Hip hip hooray!" and generally made me feel even better, if that's possible. After a while the medical folks checked out my feet and pronounced them not very bad at all. A blister on my heel, which has been a regular lately, and some very small ones on my toes. I got off easy!

Umm, would these help?

After maybe an hour we headed back to the hotel, where I had plenty of time but couldn't even sleep. I guess there are still too many caffeinated gels in the mix, but I'm not sure I'm ready to change anything in my recipe this time (except perhaps the Heed?). My feet even looked decent, though they swelled up pretty good Sunday on the way home.

The awesome ultra family!

Now it's two days later and I'm still sort of in shock. Just can't believe it. It was an awesome race. I got the whole stories and found out that Jeff hurt his achilles in a pothole at like 7 or 8 miles, and just couldn't press on past 30 (!). Gregg had stomach problems, like practically everyone else I've heard from, and just couldn't push on through it on this day. Chris slowed down on the leg where I passed him and took some R&R at the next aid station, but then carried on and finished under 22 hours, still a great time. I didn't recognize very many of the runners at the awards ceremony from seeing people on the course, but they said there was only a 55% finish rate this year -- the heat and humidity seemed to take a serious toll.

Picking up my buckle

Anyway, I owe big thanks to Harris (you kept me going real well for those last 30 miles!), my dad/crew for toting my bags around and helping out at every station, Erin, Sean, and Caelan for showing up rather unexpectedly at every crew station from 47.2 to the end (I love seeing you guys out there!), Jeff, Jeff's mom, and Diane for cheering and helping me out at the crew stations even when I'm not your runner, and all the staff, volunteers, and land owners who made this race possible. I could not have had a better finish! Wow!

Race Report: 2010 Western States Endurance Run

2010-06-30T22:14:00.000-04:00

Prerace meeting, mountains behind.
Bonus points if you can make out the
runners on the mountain.

Now, I don't mind running on mountains. In fact, I'd really have to say I enjoy running on mountains. But East Coast mountains are different than West Coast mountains. How? Two things. First, there's no snow on the Easterners in June. Second, they're totally tree-covered. So you wouldn't think this makes much difference to a race. But the fact is, when they're all bushy with trees, there's no scale. You can stand at the base of the mountains at Terrapin Mountain or Promise Land, and it's just a big bump. You can look up and think "eh, that's sort of large", but you really don't have a sense of it.

Pre-Race

Going to the pre-race meeting at Squaw Valley, on the other hand, is kind of intimidating. First of all, they had the 1960 Winter Olympics there, so you're walking past all the olympic rings and everything -- not like this is an event for weenies. But more importantly, you're looking right at the first mountain in the course. And the cable car that goes up it, getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller. And the people running on the road you're going to take, who are probably 1/4 of the way up and already look like ants. The irony is, that first climb isn't anywhere near the hardest part of the course. But it would have been nice if they covered that mountain with trees, all the same.

All tapered up and ready to go!

The other little wrinke pre-race was the weigh-in. I weighed in at 157. I objected, because I'm generally 163 naked in the morning, and this was with running shoes on in the middle of the day and all. So the guy looked again and went with 158. No better, but he said this was the scale they'd be using on the course, and I didn't argue. (I also didn't insist on trying the other scale they had there, which I would probably do next time.)

The pre-race meeting was nice, sitting around outside. Though I'm not sure where everyone else got chairs from. Are there really that many locals in the race, or do people check a chair through their flights? Whatever. They lined up all the front-runners so we'd get to see them at least once, gave out various volunteer and trail maintenance awards, and covered the course and snow situation in somewhat less detail than you can get online. And that was about it for the preliminaries.

At the 5 AM start, with my crew,
"Old Johnny One-Eye"

The next morning I geared up and checked in, picking up my bib and timing chip. My dad, who would be crewing for me, came to the start to see me off. I found Gregg at the last second, and we talked a bit while standing in the mob before the start. I had debated long sleeves vs. short sleeves, not really sure what air temperature to expect in the high country with the snow, and eventually opted for short sleeves and stuffed the long sleeves in my pack. I was quite comfortable standing around in a mob of people behind the start line, so I just hoped it would last.

The Start & Snow Country

And then, we hit the final 10-second countdown (which we did a remarkable poor job of, getting off by nearly a second by the time we hit "3"), and the race began!

Of course, it starts with a few miles up a mountain road, so it didn't feel so much like a "race" just yet. I guess this is a ski trail in the "on" season, because we passed a lot of signs facing the other way. I tried not to walk much, but there were some steeper bits... it was a compromise. I hit the first aid station 3.5 miles up the road in about 35 minutes, so I guess I was doing all right.

Shortly afterward, we turned off the road onto a snowy slope, continuing to head straight up. I thought it was pretty groovy to be running in the snow in late June. The only tough part was when it got super-steep, but there were kind of steps carved into the snow, so it was passable. Eventually we came out onto some cleared ground, but it didn't last too long. I gave a little cheer when we got back onto the snow. While we were headed up, it seemed great!

I started hearing a strange noise ahead, and shortly saw what looked like the pass coming up. There was some scary footing along a pretty steep drop, so I couldn't look much, but then I was past that and saw someone drumming on a big gong, and a monument off to the side. This was it! The top of the first climb, and the highest point on the course, in all its snow-covered glory. I didn't really feel like the altitude of 8,700' was bothering me at all, which was nice -- I've never run above maybe half that before and I wasn't sure if I'd have trouble.

Guess they knew I was coming!

Then we headed down again, and that turned out to be no picnic. Running straight up in the snow was fine, and running straight down in the snow was generally fine (though I did end up practicing my glissade on at least one occasion). It was running horizontally that was the killer. Because you'd be running horizontally along the side of a mountain, and it seemed like every time you planted your left foot, it would just slide off downhill. Plus, there were occasional holes through the snow. There'd be like a foot of solid snow, usually with some running water underneath, and foot-sized shafts down.

Periodically the snow on the trail faded in favor of running through creeks of melting snow instead. I had to acknowledge that just like the mountains, the snow is different on the left coast. So yeah, I still enjoy running in the snow, but some snow is better for it than others. :) Finally we got to some solid snowy downhill, which worked just fine for me -- at least if I slipped here I'd just slide for a bit on my butt instead of splaying arms and legs in every direction. Until we got lost.

Somehow, I ended up in the lead of a pack of runners, with no one else in sight ahead. The trail markers seemed few and far between, so I just followed the footprints. Until they stopped. It was hard to tell; where I was, the snow had little pockets in it like waves on the water. Maybe 20 yards up I had come down a little bump that was clearly well-traveled, but now, no clear path. It's possible there were some prints here or there, but so hard to tell against the background. The runners immediately behind me called out to the ones behind them to find streamers. No one could. Some people headed back uphill, but I was reluctant to, since I was sure I had been right until that little bump. Finally someone found road off to our right, and it was agreed we ought to be following the road. I cut over there and let someone else take the lead, and before too long we saw another streamer. I have no idea how the race leaders navigated this section. There really was no discernable trail through the snow cover.

The road led down to the point where the "snow route" diverged from the regular course. Because of the amount of snow on the course, some aid stations were too hard to access, and an alternate route was used for perhaps 10 or 15 miles. It had much less snow -- only pockets -- but as we headed into it I quickly decided that I didn't much care for it. First of all, it made a huge 9.5 mile stretch between the first and second aid stations, and also increased the distance to the first drop bag station. But more importantly, it was a lot of road. Gravel road, pavement, just running down a road for maybe 8 or 9 miles. Fast, yes, fun, not really. I just wanted it to end.

Fortunately, after refilling my supply of gels from my drop bag at the second "alternate" aid station, we headed straight onto a really nice single-track trail around a lake. That was the break I needed! It was a nice trail, nice forest, rolling a bit and going in and out of the creases in the terrain, very enjoyable. A few miles later, though, we began the climb to the Duncan Canyon aid station, and it was a shocker. They told us we'd know we were getting there when we hit the "incineration", and it was true -- this was the first of a couple scorched earth sections of the run. There were burned out wrecks of trees everywhere, and we were wide open to the sky. The vegetation was a mess, though there was still an obvious trail to follow. It also tripped me up once, some kind of root just reaching out and grabbing my foot so when I tried to carry on forward I just landed on my face, narrowly avoiding becoming part of the trail for the runner behind me! No injuries, though, so I just dusted myself off and we headed on. The people around me were walking this one, and I felt like I could have jogged it, but I decided to save my energy and walked with the crowd. Before long we made it to the aid station, which was the first time I saw my dad on the course.

The Canyons

Coming into the Duncan Canyon station

Knowing that the canyons were coming up, I handed off my gloves and long sleeves, figuring I wouldn't be needing those any more. And I headed out into Duncan Canyon. The downhill went fine, though for whatever reason I didn't feel like I was making the time I might have. It got a little warm as we went. Then we got to the stream designating the bottom, and it was huge! There was a giant streamer stretched across it, and I charged on through -- fortunately it wasn't too deep. Then the uphill began. That part went really well -- I passed a number of people on the way up. I saw several people who I had lost earlier, either when I took a longer stop at an aid station or when they were more aggressive on the early downhills. The only problem was, I ran out of water. This was only a six-mile section, and I blew through my whole hydration pack in perhaps 70 minutes! Sure it was getting warmer, but I had figured the pack would last me for any of the stretches on the course. The woman ahead of me had both a pack and a bottle, and I resolved to pick up a hand bottle next time I saw my dad -- before the real serious canyons started. I walked the final steep uphill into the Robinson Flat aid station.

That one was nuts, even leaving aside the fact that the whole thing was on top of snow (they actually advised crews not to go there unless they had especially warm shoes). As each runner came into the station, a volunteer claimed them. That volunteer did everything for you from the moment you arrived until the moment you left. There were even more to help if you needed more, plus the ones getting drop bags out. It was seriously the most incredible aid station at any ultra I've done, at least in terms of the organization and support (I can't say anything about the food, as I didn't actually try it). I think this was the first weight check as well, and I weighed in at 163 -- high according to my baseline, but probably accurate or slightly low in reality.

Arriving at the Dusty Corners station

Leaving Robinson Flat, we were basically on snow going up a long road to the top of a hill. That was our last snow on the course -- back to reality. And the reality wasn't too great in this section. After we got to the top we headed back down, which should have been fine, because who can argue with virtually all downhill to the next aid station? But I just wasn't feeling that great, and I took it easy and got passed. The trail was nice, if dusty at times, but all the same I was happy to get to the next aid station and put that section behind me. It must have worked, because the next section into the Dusty Corners station was short and went super-fast -- I think it was my fastest of the day. It helped that it was pretty much all downhill. Also my dad was there, so I had a friendly face to look forward to. By the time I got there I just said I had a crappy section but I was feeling good again. I picked up a hand bottle to get me through the hot part of the day, and headed on.

The next section into Last Chance was the last chance before the canyons. I had seen the canyons on the elevation chart, but even as nasty as they look there, it doesn't do them justice. All that is to say, I should have taken a little more time to smell the roses before I got there. Oh, well. I did take one last precaution and put some ice under my hat at Last Chance. Heading out, it didn't seem too bad, but then went into a pretty steep descent with switchbacks and all. The good news was, it was largely under tree cover, so we avoided direct sunlight, and the heat was manageable. I felt it getting warmer as we went into the canyon, but it never got too bad. My toes weren't too happy about the bashing they were getting going down, but hey, them's the breaks.

At Foresthill; all wet from keeping cool
in the canyons

The bottom was nice -- first there was a funny swaying bridge labeled "3 horses or 5 runners max" or something like that (now if I'm 3/5 of a horse then I really have a weight gain problem!). Then there was a tiny stream right at the base of the climb, but there was a pool there big enough to cool off in, and a small waterfall leading into it. Once the party ahead of me departed, I leaned back against the waterfall, giving my back and legs a nice soaking in the cool water, and then heading up. And this was one crazy ascent -- up to Devils Thumb. There was really no possibility of jogging it -- it was a choice between walk slow, and walk really slow. I tried to keep up a good walking pace, which I think was the first real avoidable error in my race. I passed an occasional person, and got passed by one extremely strong-looking group, but I was generally quite happy with the way it went.

The problem hit at the top. I weighed in -- high again, at 168 or so. So that necessitated a discussion with the medical staff, where I explained that I felt no worse than you might expect from reaching that point. They let me go, but it was after that that the problem hit. I felt awful. I mean terrible. I felt like that climb took every last drop of energy out of me. The course was flat or downhill for nearly a mile, and I walked the majority of it. People passed me, though not as many as I might have expected, and I saw some of them soon after when they stopped to walk too. That climb was just a killer! I passed one pair who had passed me a few minutes back, and then heard a discussion that ended with "you go on". And then one of them went by at a jog. I spent the next few miles in the company of the other one, off and on.

The course turned down for probably the longest solid descent of the day, perhaps 2,500' over 4 miles. For the most part it was "manageably steep", and I ran it. There were a lot of people I flip-flopped with, sometimes passing, sometimes being passed, depending on who was walking a bit to rest or take a drink or gel or whatever. At one point I asked the guy from before how he was doing, and he said "I feel terrible, but I'm forcing myself to run, just like you are." Guess I couldn't argue with that. But all in all, a long descent was probably a decent way to recover from going up Devil's Thumb. Again I was going down with ice under my hat, and didn't feel so bad. And this time, there was an aid station at the bottom. The best part about it was the buckets of cold water with large sponges -- I felt like a whole new man with freezing water on my head and neck and back. The trip back up to Michigan Bluff didn't go fast, but I felt a lot better about it.

At Foresthill; apparently neither of us
were ready to be photographed

At Michigan Bluff I saw my dad again, had the same discussion with the medics about my high weight, stocked up on supplies from a drop bag, and headed out for the last of the canyons. This one would get me to the big 62-mile aid station at Foresthill. Even though it was the smallest of the canyons, it didn't feel much easier -- it just didn't last as long. I felt pretty much recovered from the trashing at Devil's Thumb, but I was more than ready to move on to the next major section of the course. I hit the tiny Bath Road station just over a mile short of Foresthill, filled up the hand bottle, and quickly headed on.

Midway: Foresthill and the River

Visiting with the 'fam at Foresthill

Coming into Foresthill was a little crazy. First we had to make the climb uphill on the first pavement in a while, and then we turned onto a side trail along the larger road. I wasn't in much of a hurry, and a few people blew past, in more of a rush to get to the station. I was thinking about the race descriptions that all said "the race begins at Foresthill," and I thought that wasn't so good. I was feeling pretty beat. The canyons were tough, and climbing up Devil's Thumb in particular was beastly. I mean, it didn't feel so awful at the time, but at the top, I felt like I had run 100 miles already! And now, my toes had taken a beating from the downhills, my heels felt like they might have blisters, my legs were sore, I was having on and off bad patches... Not the way to begin a race. But, well, what are you going to do? I was happy to reach a mess of cars parked alongside the road, and then I saw buildings ahead, and before I even got to the station proper, my mom, Erin, Sean, and Caelan! I said hi and they told me to go on over and they'd come say hi, so I went over to the table and checked in.

On the way over, something very interesting happened: one of the volunteers asked if I had a pacer. I said no. Then they asked if I wanted one! Now I had been fine with going the distance myself. But they caught me just after I had been thinking about how I was not in the greatest shape for the next 38.2 miles... it was a low moment. I could only say "Yes... yes I would!"

Ready to go!

So I went over and weighed in (high as usual -- 170 -- with the resulting discussion with the medics), filled up the pack, drank a bit at the table, and all that, while someone I guess was figuring out the pacer situation. They gave me my drop bag, which just had my lights, which went into my pack. Then I went over to the tape separating runners from spectators and crew and said hi to my parents, Erin, and the kids, pausing for a couple photos. After a minute I headed over to "Pacer Central" where they had told me to go to hook up with the pacer. When I got there, they said they had someone ready, and introduced her from 10 feet away. And the first thing she said was "oh, no, get someone faster!" Scratch that pacer. So then they told me they had the perfect person, fast and etc. But he wasn't there. I stood around waiting, and a bit later someone said "here he comes!" and introduced us. But when I turned to head out, they said wait because he had to go get a bib to pace me, so he disappeared. At this point, I was mentally tapping my foot, thinking I should just go on and surely a fresh runner would be able to catch me within a quarter mile! Finally a woman came out wearing my bib number, and someone said "Now we've got it, this is Clare, she'll be great!" (And so she was!)

One last introduction; this time
the pacer stuck. Whew!

We did the introductions again -- Clare was from the Bay area, had put her name in for Western States 3 times and not gotten through the lottery 3 times. But she had paced twice before, and gone to the training runs several times. She was looking forward to the river crossing, which she had never done, having picked up her runner on the far side both previous times. And in closing, though as far as I know she didn't swim in anybody's paddling pool, she did have a groovy English accent.

Most important, Clare was very friendly, plenty fast, knew the course well, and was happy to lead so I didn't have to spend mental energy on looking for trail markings. I don't think I probably impressed her much on the pavement leading out of Foresthill, right around 13 hours, but I felt good again by the time we hit trails. It helped that it was largely downhill to the next station (Cal 1). I actually surprised myself with how good I felt there. Until I fell, though fortunately, not onto anything, so it seemed pretty innocent. It was only when I cooled my legs in a stream crossing later that I noticed the blood all over my leg. Oh, well. We didn't make much better than 12 minute miles, but that would still get me in close to 21 hours if I could keep it up! Of course, your times would always be stellar if you could just keep the present pace for the rest of the race... Anyway, we passed a couple people, including someone who said "Was that one of you who fell back there? We heard that!"

Departing Foresthill. Could these legs
handle another 38 miles?

The next section seemed to be all uphill, even though this part of the race after Foresthill was supposed to be easier. OK, it wasn't uphill like canyons uphill, but it seemed quite a drag. And it was a little slower. If Clare hadn't been pulling me along by keeping a slightly faster pace just ahead, it might have been grim. Plus, there was another weigh-in at Cal 2, with the inevitable discussion as I was still at 170. This was where there were supposed to be drop bags, but they were silently canceled at the last minute (there was just no drop-off space for bags for that station), so I had shifted my stuff to the next one at the river crossing instead. Fortunately I wasn't in need at this point, so it was OK.

By this point in the race, I was doing a lot of finish time figuring. Each station had a poster showing the ETA for a 24-hour finisher (adjusted for terrain and etc.), and Clare was watching those for me. We were consistently over an hour ahead, usually 1:05, 1:10, or whatever. It hurt when I lost time to a station stop, but I was staying ahead. I kept figuring I'd be closer to 22:30 if I could keep up the pace, but maybe their estimations included some information (like climbs) that I wasn't privy to. Anyway, it was all looking good. But somehow the next section to Cal 3, while short and mostly steeply downhill, was as slow as any -- you'd have thought it was uphill instead! I was starting to feel like I was seriously losing toenails, from all the bashing on the downhills, and everything hurt from the waist down. My right ankle was really bothering me, around where the band for the timing chip was strapped. My heels and big toes definitely felt blistered. What do you expect, I guess? I kept going, and tried not to subject Clare to my litany of discomfort. Meanwhile, she was doing a stellar job of keeping me on pace and on trail, and taking my mind off things with questions and conversation and so on. I was starting to think I hit the lottery again at Pacer Central!

We saw the river briefly and headed up again, as promised. Then after Cal 3, there was a longish section down to and along the river, before we finally got to the crossing. There were several more times I thought we must be just about there, and weren't. We leapfrogged a bit with one of the faster women in the race, joking about sharing a boat across the river, though in the end she blew by before we got there -- I think while we paused to equip our headlamps. Clare had thought we might get to the river crossing before dark, though it had seemed like a long shot to me, and in the end I think we were about 15 minutes late. Still, we made it in about 3.5 hours from Foresthill (16 miles), near a 22-hour pace.

The river we crossed?

At the river crossing, I had planned to skip the near side aid station entirely, though as it happened I had to weigh in (170.5) and discuss. Heading on down the few steps to the river, we were greeted by life jackets and what looked like about a 6 or 8 person inflatable boat. We clambered on, and an extremely competent oarsman had us on the far side in about 30 seconds, even swinging the boat around so we could climb right off onto the shore -- I seriously don't think I even got my feet wet. It was pretty neat in the dark, too. Definitely a cool experience!

At the far side aid station I restocked my pack from a drop bag, feeling like it was taking much too long, and then we headed up the long hill to Green Gate. Clare had me aiming for a good walking pace, but the good news was, I was able to jog a few bits and do even better. Though there was at least one time I tried jogging a steeper bit and she told me candidly I might as well walk because it wasn't any faster. :)

Still, we made good time to the top, passing people back who got by while I was restocking my pack, and I saw my dad at Green Gate too. I had just a few equipment tweaks there, getting into a dry long sleeve shirt for the night and so on. And then we were off for the longest remaining stretch of the race, to Auburn Lake Trails. This one was long and had plenty of uphill, though it seemed to go well, if anything picking up toward the end. It may not have been super fast overall, but I was still picking up time against the 24-hour pace, still over an hour ahead.

85 Miles: Disaster Strikes!

Checking in at ALT, there was a weigh-in and the usual medical discussion. As an independent (sort of), Clare also assured them that I was running well and had peed recently, so we were good. But walking from the scales toward the food, one of the medical guys just wouldn't let it go. I emphasized again that I was level from the last several aid stations, had been underweighed before the race, and was running well. At one point I turned and had a brief moment of dizziness, but thought nothing of it. Compared to the way my feet felt, for instance, it was nothing.

Then I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground, looking up at the medic. Clare was behind me, apparently holding my head. Uh-oh. This was not a positive development. It felt very good to be lying down. Then the medical team multiplied, and they were taking blood pressure, pulse, and various other readings. I was cold, so they piled on some blankets. Someone stuffed something under my head so Clare didn't have to keep holding it. I immediately assumed they were going to yank me out of the race, which was a bummer as I had already signed up for the whole Grand Slam. Eventually we got around to discussing the future. They wanted to get me sitting up, so they could feed me some salty food, but they wanted my blood pressure over 100 first (it was initially like 70/50 or something pretty ridiculously low). They thought I might be able to go on in the race, if I spent enough time resting and recovering first. As major disasters go, it was not looking as bad as I had feared.

I'm sure they were wondering
what the heck was going on!

Eventually I got over to a cot, and had my usual post-ultra shivering spell, whereupon they piled on more blankets and even some mylar. Clare was awesome, gathering our stuff, feeding me the recommended fruit and potatoes (though they also got me some of the most concentrated chicken broth you could possibly imagine), even digging up some warmer running clothes from friends among the volunteers -- in addition to taking care of herself during this unexpected siesta. The next step was to pee off some weight, which took quite a while (and multiple trips). At first, I just wanted to keep lying down for a very long time. But then, I thought about the slam, and Clare, and all the medics trying to get me going again, and what I'd feel like to sit around just waiting for a truck so I could quit.

Eventually, people started telling me I was looking a lot better, and finally I got up and walked around the station a bit. Another weigh-in and I was only down to 168, so more walking, eating, etc. until I could pee more. I changed into the tights and long-sleeve shirt, and shifted the chafing timing band to the other ankle. I mean, it might have just been the sock (first ultra I've worn them in), but it was only the right one until I moved the chip (and by the end the left got chafed too). Walking by the fire felt nice, but I was trying to shed layers and see if I could keep warm without all the help. I felt bad for a couple folks dropping at that station -- one pacer who hurt himself in a fall, a runner who had run through the pain of a hamstring problem since mile 35, and probably more. There was no ride out, either, for quite some time -- this was one of the more remote stations. I wondered what my dad and Erin were making of this, though I was assured they'd see that I had checked into the station and not checked out, so they'd at least know I was here. (Later I found out my status showed that I was still on the course until I had actually left ALT, and the only thing they heard from race officials was that I probably dropped and just hadn't been ferried out yet.) One more pee and I was down to 167.

In any case, the moment finally arrived when Lucas, the medical guy in charge of my case, said the decision on what to do next was in my hands. I said, of course if I'm going to be walking around, I want it to be toward the finish line, what do you expect? He said I could go, but until my weight got down to 162-163 I was not allowed to drink anything. Gels were good, fruit was OK (except watermelon or other too-watery things), no liquids. Now I'm a gel guy, so this was a script for gels chased by strawberries for the next 8+ miles (they didn't have scales at Brown's Bar, the next station). Ugh.

But I was darn happy to be moving out, and had big thanks for the medics and a big cheer with the exit staff as I headed on.

Death March

The only problem was, I had just run 85 miles, and then rested for 3 hours. This is not good prep for running another 15 miles. They had told me "don't go too hard", and I could only say "as if!" Imagine running an ultra, lying down for 3 hours, and then someone says OK let's do another 15! Uh, yeah, right.

We walked. At first, it was just one foot in front of another. After maybe 20 minutes, I tried a shuffle, which basically amounted to a regular walk for Clare. Leaving 85 miles at about 21:30 in the race, we figured I could walk 30 minute miles and still finish under the 30 hour cutoff, but I wanted to do at least 20 minute miles -- I mean, 7 more hours on the course was just too demoralizing. I couldn't realistically aim for better than 5, but somehow that didn't seem quite as dire. The only good news was that I was staying warm. On top of everything else I had borrowed some used socks for gloves, and I ended up stowing those before too long.

Another view of the river

Overall, the first leg to Brown's Bar was OK. We were passed, but not as often as I might have expected -- I guess there were others out there walking too (I heard some people behind me for ages before being passed, though others blew right by). It was a generally level section, so not too much of a challenge for my restart. I think this was the one where Clare said the trail was skirting the meadow where the 12 Hours at Cool takes place. Eventually it turned downhill into the woods, though I don't know that it helped my pace much. My quads were really hurting on the downhills -- much worse than before the break. Finally, we heard the Brown's Bar station. I had been warned that it was so loud that just hearing it didn't mean we were very close, but it sure sounded close. The weird thing was, I could point right to it -- on an adjacent mountain face, covered in woods, just slightly higher in elevation than we were. But I couldn't see a thing! No lights at all, just loud music.

We marched on, first heading away from the station and then curling around toward it. And suddenly, I saw lights ahead! It felt great; I really didn't feel like it had been that far since we first heard it (certainly nothing like the miles uphill to the loud station on the Mountain Masochist course!). And we were coming in right about 90 minutes, or just under a 20 min/mile pace. The one wrinkle was the 20 yards of straight up to actually get into the station, but I made it. I sat and ate a little -- Clare having refreshed my fruit supply. Sadly they didn't have a scale, so I was still on the zero-liquid diet until the next station. The volunteers were all dressed up in funny, um, attire, it was lit up great, and the music was outstanding. I think I enjoyed this station most of all the ones on the course. I definitely left with a spring in my step!

The next section was tough, though. A lot of downhill, which felt terrible on my quads -- I mean, awful, no good, very bad. A short level bit. Then a lot of uphill on single track to the highway crossing. Clare said we were going past a quarry, though I couldn't really tell except for one brief glimpse of a rock wall through the trees. It was steep. I guess I felt better about uphills, since I was probably not that much slower than the other runners on an uphill, but it sure didn't go fast. I heard the highway long before we got to the actual crossing -- I kept thinking we must be there, and seeing glimpses of things through the trees that looked like crossing signs, but turned out to be illusions. Finally, she pointed out the station ahead and across the road, so we just needed to come out to a parking lot and cross. It even seemed like there was one tiny hill left before that, but eventually we made it out. I heard them announce us on a big P.A. system to some cheers, and Clare said something about how the scale better bring us good news. I said I hoped my dad was still there. The volunteers at the crossing said "judging by the screams, you've got some kind of crew there!" We crossed the road with no trouble.

Then, I pretty much collapsed. This was the first time I saw my dad since the trouble, so I'm sure he was glad to see that I was still moving under my own power, and I was sure glad to see him. But I was a bit of a wreck. The only good news was that I weighed in at 163, so I was down to what was probably my real starting weight. The medical folks here OK'd liquids again, so I collapsed in a chair and had soup, 7-Up (it was supposed to be water but I didn't complain), water, the Gu drink, and whatever else they sent my way. Some food. Some rest. Eventually I picked up and got moving again, after what felt like maybe 5 minutes but appears in reality to have been 26 minutes. Someone who I talked to at the finish said he saw me here and figured "that guy's done; there's no way he'll ever finish." But now there was only 6.5 miles to go -- I could crawl and make it. I wasn't going to not go on. Two sections left.

Target: No Hands Bridge

The second-to-last began with, what else, an uphill. But still, that was OK. I regretted it rather more when it turned downhill again, which it would stick to until the final station at No Hands Bridge. You see, this was a section with a long but relatively gentle downhill that I would have LOVED to encounter while running, and I said as much to Clare. She agreed, and then told me to keep a look out for a cool bridge -- apparently it was special for some reason (highest, longest, something or other) and there had been a video of someone BASE jumping off it. At one point I pointed out what appeared to be a cool looking bridge through the trees, and Clare took some time to peer through the trees, but didn't say much. I gathered that either that was not the bridge in question, or that there was no bridge at all and she just couldn't think of a polite way to inform me that I was hallucinating (Ed. Note: turned out to be the latter). We went on. It was nice to get river views here and there, and hear the highway occasionally -- it was clear we were in the right vicinity. Every time I kind of wondered whether this or that was No Hands Bridge, or parking near No Hands Bridge, or a river that No Hands Bridge went over... We passed a trail sign saying 5.5 miles to go, and I recall hearing they were off by a mile for the present course, suggesting there was about a mile left -- 20 minutes, tops.

Mile 96: Turnaround

Then another strange thing happened. Clare seemed to sense that I had a little more to give, and asked if I could lengthen my stride just a bit. I said no, but I might be able to pick up the cadence a little. Which I tried, and immediately found that it was strangely difficult to go just a little bit faster. I think I said "aw, what the hell, might as well jog it!" So we did! It was perfect timing -- my quads had just gone numb again, and jogging felt just fine, and the downhill helped pull us along. We even paused to look at the actual special bridge, when we got a view of it, and starting up again wasn't a problem. Of course, it did take about 20 minutes until Clare pointed out No Hands Bridge just below, so I didn't seem to be actually going much faster, but it felt good anyway.

Coming into the No Hands Bridge
station in my borrowed clothes

I paused at the aid station there to have my bottle refilled and say hi to my dad, who had decided to make one last stop before the finish so long as we were taking so long to get from here to there. But we headed right back out, walking again. Clare immediately said "show him how you can run!" so we jogged the bridge, just pausing on the far side to take a gel. She explained that the rest of the course was uphill, basically, but it varied in steepness, and if I could jog the flatter parts and walk the steeper parts I could still make good time. So we started off jogging again. I think I surprised her when I didn't stop jogging. In fact, of the whole rest of the race, I think I only walked once really short but steep section, and once to take a final gel. Maybe once more to take off the heavy shirt, since I got pretty warm on the climb. We must have passed 10 or 12 runners on the way up! Somehow, I just felt good again -- I guess it took 11 miles out of Auburn Lake Trails to get my groove back, and then the last 4 miles just flew by.

It was great to break out of the trails onto a fire road, because there were loads of people there, all cheering for the guy who wasn't walking the hill. One guy running down the hill seemed utterly dumbfounded, and yelled out something like "what a comeback!" Clare said I should look out for the gate at the end of the road, because that was the transition to pavement in Auburn, and amazingly, I could practically see it as soon as she said it! We blew past the tiny Robie Point aid station onto the pavement, and carried on up the hill. Perhaps not as fast, it was pretty steep, but still not walking. She prepped me for all the landmarks, and we followed footsteps painted onto the road, leading the way to the Placer High School track. One or two last runners flew by on the way downhill to the stadium, so I guess I wasn't the most energetic one left on the course, but I still felt great about my last leg here. Then we crossed the road into the stadium! There were slow-moving folks ahead, and I may have even passed one on the first long stretch on the track. The announcer called out that there were three runners entering the stadium, and then announced the same name three times, which I found kind of odd. By the time he got around to mine, I was entering the final corral, with another runner just ahead, and our pacers split off to the side.

Finished!

Now, feeling great or not, I couldn't find it in me to pass a guy in the last 20 yards of a 100 mile race. So I slowed down when I got to him, and we crossed the line together. The race directer handed him a medal, and just kind of looked oddly at me. My bib had been on my shirt, I guess, so he figured me for a pacer who didn't follow instructions to split off. Someone else called "no, two runners," and I turned around to show the bib on my rear, thereby earning my medal. :)

This guy really psyched me up!

Finally I got to sit down the only time I had really meant to sit down, at the finish. They took the chip and a set of vitals and all that, and Clare came back over again. Plus that other guy, who had passed running downhill as I was coming up. He congratulated me again on the turnaround, and I asked if he had seen me at ALT? He said no, I was camped in a chair at Highway 59 and they saw me there and figured I'd never make it to the finish! I was happy to surprise them, and it felt great to have someone else talk about my winning climb up that last hill. :) Looking at the splits afterward, I did a 10:34/min pace for the last mile and a bit that they measured (they didn't have one all the way from No Hands Bridge), which was not far from the best I did all race long! Not really sure where that came from, but I'll take it.

My excellent crew found me at the cot

I made my way over to a cot, and for once didn't have a shivering fit post-race (either because I got it out of the way at ALT, or because I finished late enough in the day that it was warm again). The medical folks there looked at my feet, and pronounced them not the worst by a long shot. I have a few nails that I suspect are not long for this world, one toe blister, and blisters under callouses on each heel. The rest was just a wet, wrinkled mess.

Clare hung out with me at the finish, and eventually her friends showed up (I'd heard a lot of running and pacing stories about them along the way -- I suppose I'm just darn lucky none of them got into the race this year!). My dad beat us to the finish, but not by a lot. I guess if I could have gone just a little bit faster I could have really surprised him! But I won't ask for that much...

Relaxing with Caelan at an arcade post-race

Anyway, at the end of the day, it was not the race I hoped for, but I finished despite some adversity, and even managed to finish strong. If you take out the 3 hour tour at Auburn Lake Trails, I would have been clearly under 24, so I have some unfinished business. Guess I'll need to keep putting my hat in the ring for future years. (Though, even the bronze buckle is pretty spectacular!)

In closing, special thanks to my dad for crewing, Clare for an outstanding job of pacing -- more than going above and beyond, all the volunteers on the course who helped get me through those aid stations, Lucas and the rest of the medical team at ALT for keeping me in this one, and last but not least, that guy at the end for telling me what a great turnaround it was. :)

The WSER 100: Our little family getaway