Hundred in the Hood 2009 - Written by Chris OConnor

 

Pacing Danni

 

“stix...is the greatest rock band of all time and they only got a bad

rep cuz most critics are sinicle ass hols LMFAO”

–YouTube.com user robertdevera.

 

I-99 northbound doglegs left just south of Sacramento, merges with I-5 along the river; from there it’s a clear shot up to Redding and more or less featureless until Shasta Lake, some 200 miles north. Volcanic Shasta itself is farther along, looms large over the road and means vertigo just to look at it—an abrupt awareness of space so vast and unnerving that I have to check my seatbelt. I stop for gasoline and feel timid about looking directly at the mountain, like avoiding eye contact with certain animals. Smoke from wildfires obscures much of the detail anyway. There are two traffic lights in Weed, California. At the second, I turn right onto US-97, leaving the mountains and up into Oregon by way of Klamath Falls, Bend, and the Deschutes River. Westbound US-26 leaves out of Madras, and runs through the Warm Springs Indian Reservation in the southern portion of the Cascade range. On the other side of the reservation now and nine hours after kissing Deanne goodbye, I bring my car to a stop outside the Huckleberry Inn in Government Camp, Oregon. Above it all sits Mount Hood. If Shasta is an oppressive reminder of everything below the earth, Hood sits upon it like a watchtower. But this is a story about Styx in the woods.

 

The clock starts at 3:30 am the next day, Saturday. It’s Danni, Callie, and me in the predawn soft-eyed awake. We get coffee from a diner attached to the hotel. Danni has brought a special donut from Portland, but she is not hungry; she sets it down in the backseat of my car where my daughter will find it, forgotten, two days later. Quinn will recognize it from a photo Danni posted to Facebook on Friday.

 

"Yes, I have seen Sytx too and yes they are impreive in person. I actually went to see

Def Lepard and was let down by them. Damn good thing Styx opened up for them.

BTW is it me or does the bass playe rlook gay?????"

–YouTube.com user mopargump.

 

"What you playin god today? Thats Chuck hes a real person with feelings.

He might be, he might not be, ill never tell.. and i do know, not cuz i am,

i know everything about every band i study them non stop. dont judge my brotha,

im a mopar lover too, with three classic dodges, i like liking people carefull

so someone doesnt judge you, take care

–YouTube.com user FloormanofAlabama,

in apparent reply to mopargump.

 

Sure, popular thinking is that Styx’s classic line-up split as the result of Tommy Shaw’s creative differences with Dennis DeYoung’s theatrical grandiosity. Which theatrical grandiosity culminated in Kilroy Was Here. Which if you thought the album was bad, then get a load of Kilroy, The World Tour. Bad enough that DeYoung was Julie Andrews with a mustache (she could sue him for diction infringement); bad enough that rock music should have jazz hands, but this is DeYoung onstage dressed up as a robot. Plus, who pronounces it ‘mod-run’ anyway? What is a ‘mod-run man,’ exactly? No wonder Tommy Shaw left. So that’s the popular theory. I think the break-up goes back further than that, back to The Grand Illusion, where Shaw proved that Styx could be a guitar band. They could amplify. That set up a cutting contest, which contest Shaw lost to a man with a weak back, chronic fatigue syndrome and the aforementioned very demonstrative hands. (Really, take a minute here and try to imagine Dennis DeYoung’s childhood not including mime lessons at some point.) Look, if this sounds at all like gay-bashing, it isn’t — but it is sexual. Gay, straight, whatever — rock music humps. It just does. For instance Rob Halford of Judas Priest, Joan Jett. Usually also it has tattoos. Any actual gay people reading this should take heart that they can still rock hard like Styx. Except no one can rock as hard as Styx, so you’ll have to find some lesser band to rock as hard as. But still, our man Dennis alternated the robot suit with a lavender jumpsuit and if he skipped the ascot, I’m sure it was only because the band and the roadies and all of rock history drew the line, said, “You have to be fucking kidding us. You can wear women’s panties around your neck only after they throw them at you from the front row. But like that’s ever going to happen to you in a lavender jumpsuit. And wait — are those SHOULDER PADS?” This is a man familiar with velour. His balls have been on ice since, say, 1973 when they recorded that tweety little “Lady” number. (For the record, Dennis has been married to Suzanne since 1970. Forty years. That’s not very rock-and-roll of them.)

 

At 4:45, the race is about to start and Olga barks directions at everyone in an eastern bloc accent that makes ‘get back’ come out ‘get byeck.’ Which means people take an extra moment to decode what she’s said. Which extra moment makes Olga a little impatient, a little myed et deh pipple. It will be dark for another 90 minutes and Danni is adjusting the headlamp we’d dug out of the back of my car. She’s inscrutable when she’s at all quiet, Danni is, so there’s no telling from just her face if she sides with Shaw or DeYoung — the guitar thing versus a former-mime-wants-eventually-to-dress-up-like-a-robot thing. Which inscrutability is maybe the practiced detachment of an attorney faced with one of the thornier questions of our time. Anyway, the critical thing about the Styx metaphor is that it doesn’t matter when it happened, the break up; the important thing is that the band had a dichotomy going and it was this: Les Paul through loud crunchy amplifiers on the one side and Liza, you know, Minelli over there on the other. And so here’s where the metaphor comes in. It’s the yin and yang of ultrarunning, right? And if you’ve never done a hundred miles afoot, you might guess there’s room for both — like you have to rock it up a bit for a time, get animated, but maybe also you can get away with you know it’s you, Babe for some of the rest of the time. Like there’s some mellow time out there under the stars or something. And you’d be right to a very small, controlled extent. Because it is a balancing act. Because but if you let Dennis DeYoung into your head too soon or too much, you’re done. Because it’s a DNF. Which letters stand for Did Not Finish. The wisdom of guessing about Inscrutable Danni’s views on Shaw v. DeYoung notwithstanding, she starts this race as the title track from 1977’s The Grand Illusion. It’s the fanfare, you see. And I know this because just before everyone lunges out into the dark treeline, I see Danni tapping her scrutable toe to its nervous time: the stage is set, the band starts playing.

 

We head west on NF-58, a small fire road in the northwest corner of the reservation, to the aid station at mile 9, to where we discover we cannot sleep, to wait in the dark chill, to where frost blooms where we breathe near the windows. Sound carries in the crisp air, but however much Venus bellows on its surface, it sparkles here silently in the indigo above tall pine silhouettes. We are very far away from anything.

 

Danni is fine, running well. She hands off the headlamp, we refill her water. One of us nags her about eating. Goodbye.

 

Caffeine, maybe something to eat. Out fire roads to a mountain highway. A gas station: coffee, water, small chocolate donuts with, like, an 80-year shelf life. Which donuts might be as old as me and Callie combined. If you’re in Oregon and need warm gloves, there’s a Chevron with a nice selection just south of Government Camp on US-26.

 

“this is a awesome song but i think they're all fags. u can tell by watching them”

–YouTube.com user WatMamba.

 

She comes into the aid station looking strong but concerned and with what passes for a complaint from her: “It’s very runnable.” She’s worried she hasn’t had a chance to slow down on anything — a climb or a technical descent or something. Trouble always comes, but if she can’t vary her effort, it’ll come earlier and harder than expected. You have to mix it up; a little DeYoung to go with your Shaw. You have to—energy-wise, running a hundred isn’t a totally closed system but it’s isolated enough that it has its own entropy. Things break down — first physically, then brainally. Then all that’s left is the untethered mind, a barely cohesive goo, and if you’re oozing along in the direction of the finish line at all, it’s only goo habit and not goo intent. Shoot, it’s half the reason I set foot on a hundred course, but you need to delay it as long as you can. Energy can be supplemented, amended, frugally extended, but it’s a finite resource. Try getting all infinite with it and here he comes: the Lawman patrolling the borderland, waiting to bring you in. To put a fine point on your finiteness. Tommy Shaw, certified Grade-A number one non-ascot wearing, totally prescient genius, put it best when he said, “Lawman has put an end to my running.” Sweet mercy, I need a minute it’s that beautiful. Shakespeare? More like Shawspeare. Sigh.

 

So it’s mile 28 and there goes Danni, off into the reservation where we cannot follow. We won’t see her until mile 55 when it’s time for me to jump in as her pacer. She looks good, but maybe she’s rocking too hard, maybe Shaw’d out, maybe in need of a little DeYoung. She needs to be careful out there. I recommend “Come Sail Away” in these situations. Sure, the angels turn out to be extraterrestrials with a spaceship — clear antecedents of Mr. Roboto — which aliens and eventual robot-man point to a pretty clear fixation on sterile, meatless hominids, which fixation does not bump and grind the way rock music should. But where it fails to hump, “Come Sail Away” does thump a bit. It rests between its crescendos. It’s the solid middle Danni needs. In my opinion.

 

Naptime. Back to the hotel where we try to catch an hour’s sleep. Pacers lie. In a few hours, I will tell Danni that I got an hour’s sleep, that I am rested, fresh. But I’ve had too much caffeine. Back wild-eyed and weary to some roads tiny enough to be thin gray capillaries on the map and have squirrel nests on them. Melissa is driving so I can eat my lunch. We will drive home to Sacramento together when this is all over. She will have a shower first. I will not.

 

It’s Melissa, Callie and me in my car all flying down to Olallie Meadows. It must be an Indian name. We’re switching roles from crew to pacers; we each have a runner to join. A recent breakup gets us onto the subject of infidelity and the need for trust in the ultra community. Which trust we depend on because we need our spouses to know that we’re actually running all that time and not anything else, that with 40-50-60-70 miles of stink on us we’re understandably asexual, if unsupervised. If someone breaks that trust, it ruins it for the rest of us. Melissa reminds me that the first time she came out for a night run with some of the guys, her husband was worried because we were a bunch of men she’d met on the internet. It would have set his heart at ease if he’d seen our blank reaction: we needed a minute even to realize what his concern was. Melissa’s a beautiful woman, but gosh, we were Boy Scouts in the woods, giggling about farts and unlikely to mature anytime soon. All the talk of trust and trail-induced asexuality got us on to the immodest experience of long trail runs, the hopefully frequent need to pee. When you’re tired and need to stay near the trail, you just don’t bother much with shyness. And we were sort of bragging about how little we cared about butts and things and you know it’s just a butt or what have you. And then we got to Olallie and I had to change into my running gear and there’re two women who’ve just heard me go on about how little it matters and I’m all of a sudden aware that I’ve got to change the gear here and expose the butt and the what have you and, really, I’m kind of shy now I think of it. I hide in the bushes, chastened in my hypocrisy, but Deanne’ll be glad to hear it and Callie and Melissa are spared. Dennis DeYoung is a lifelong devout Catholic. I don’t think he’d change into his lavender jumpsuit front of anyone.

 

Callie joins Lisa Huerta on her way to a sub 24 finish; Melissa joins Jennifer Hemmen; Danni rolls into the aid station in excellent time — just before 6:00 pm. She means to make me do this; it is a promise I’m two years and three races late in keeping. We’ll do a 20-mile loop and return here before making the final push to the finish. We should talk more: Danni thinks it will be 25 miles; I will think it is 27 miles; we both will be wrong. It will be 28 miles. Discovering this will be mildly soul-crushing.

 

We climb out of a cold meadow, winding up into the late orange light over small hills that pile one on top of the other into the welcome warmth of a temperature inversion. At 13 hours, Danni has mellowed, mixing running when she can with walking when she must. We are at ease. The sun has almost set and we crest a small rocky rise to see, out over a valley, Mt. Hood in chiaroscuro: a palomino mix of gold and white on its western face, black on its nightward side and all of space roaring above it. We both have done this long enough (and one of us is sort of casually inscrutable, as was mentioned previous) and we no longer gasp at these sights, but they are animating. We stop. We take a picture, knowing it will do it no justice. We shuffle on. The sun is down and we turn on our headlamps. Here and there, we pick up other runners for a little while, either passing or being passed; some having good days, some having bad. I think Danni is having a good day. We chat with those who linger with us, meeting people from Boise, Seattle, and Phoenix. Just before we reach the turnaround point, some guy coming the other way does not give the rote greeting: “Keep it up” or “You’re looking great.” (Just once, I would like for someone to say the honest thing: “Well, at least you’re still moving” or “You really look like shit.”) Instead he says, “Git ‘er done.” Which I have never heard uttered in an ultra. He says it to a woman behind us and also to the man behind her. Whoever "she" is, if she needs to git done by that many of us, she’s got probably esteem issues. With regard to her, we should all take a page from Dennis and not get anything done. It seems unethical, I mean, piling on like that.

 

On our way back into Olallie we pass a fixture at area ultras — a judge from the central valley. The novelty never fails to tickle me that she is a judge out in the world — a dignified and sober position — yet equal on earthy footing (literally) here with people like me. We’re all struck by these things, I think. Yesterday Danni and Callie were sharing a story of running into Senator Max Baucus back home on a Montana trail. He missed the Western States 100 earlier this summer because his committee was mired in the healthcare debate. Ought to be a senate resolution designating Styx as, like, the Official Greatest Band Ever of America. If I lived in Montana and I ran into Max, you can be sure I’d raise the issue with him, raise my concern that it hasn’t happened yet. Danni left that part out of her Max Baucus story, but I assume she brought it up with him. I have to assume it, else how can I pace the woman? Anyway, Her Honor is ahead of us, leaving for the last quarter. An hour ago we’d seen her in the usual shorts and shirt, but now she’s got a full-face skit hat on, a parka of some sort, maybe some kind of arctic survival pants. She banged the gavel on the cold, found it guilty of gross intrusion. But she looks so comfortably snug in all that wool, down and rip-stop that I fear she’ll stop feeling the trail at all, will fall asleep and tip over, glassy-eyed and numb under the stars. I wonder if that’s the point. I want to ask Danni what the ramifications are if, say, both counsel for the defense and the presiding judge are absent, presumed asleep on the trail. In an America that has not properly honored its greatest rock band ever.

 

We get back to the aid station and hear Melissa give us a cheer. Her being here still means Jenn has probably DNF’d. Which is what Tommy Shaw did after Kilroy; he was too much Shaw for Styx. Apparently they couldn’t wait to write more songs like “Babe” and “Lady” and “We Have No Balls” and “Here’s Another Limp Ballad With Like Piano” and “Really We’re Just Phoning It In Now, Thinking Of Retiring Soon,” which are songs ol’ T. Shaw would not stand for. Up with which he would not, could not put. The DNF, if he identified strongly with the band, could have led to the following existential conundrum: being simultaneously too much himself and not enough himself, depending. I head up to the car to see if there’s any warmer gear Danni and I can throw on. No luck. On the way back down in the dark, I see the dim shape of a man with something large, perhaps a sleeping bag, thrown over his shoulder. It seems the sleeping bag shape shivers and giggles, I think. The shape sings, “Babe I’m leavin’. I must be on my way…” Getting back to the aid station, Melissa asks me if I passed Travis, Jenn’s husband, carrying her out. She fought nausea for 15 miles, giving way to dehydration probably, then because she could not move well, the electric-shivering advance of hypothermia. She didn’t quit cheap. She passed what my brother calls “the point of no ambiguity” — a point where no one, especially the runner, can second-guess the decision to drop from the race.

 

Danni changes socks and we leave. Climbing out of the meadow again, she presses hard to get warm, passing five, six, seven runners. It works; blood moving and back into the inversion, we’re cruising and comfortable. It is well after midnight.

 

As the miles add up, you erode, wearing away to some thin part of yourself. And like an enormous diaphragm, whatever’s left ripples with sounds and sensations you wouldn’t notice elseways, though strangely mute for ordinary things. To me it is the sweetest part of an ultra, this brief period when everything is different as you begin slipping under something like water. We are moving along a low, winding ridgeline, now crossing the Milky Way’s ‘T,’ now listing in its wake. It spangles, enormous and bright.

 

“no he got kicked out for being a dusebag”

–YouTube.com user Drumsinstopmotion.

 

Tommy Shaw had a rough time after Styx. Four years, four albums that shat rocks. And when things probably couldn’t get any rock-star-worse, Ted Nugent found him. You’ve sunk low when The Nuge is the guy giving you a hand up. I’d stay down, me. I’d be all, “No thanks, Ted, you being such a big stupid ass.” They formed a band. It sucked, but had big hit records in the big hair era, which is exactly the sort of positive reinforcement Ted Nugent should not ever get. Ever. For infinity, ever. Then it happened: in 1996, Styx reunited. It was great. Everyone in the world had a happy time in 1996. Babies were beautiful; no one went hungry; bad news ebbed; we all ran four-minute miles. But: DeYoung. Now he’s light-sensitive and get this: he doesn’t like loud noise. Plus the whole broadway thing. You just know he was getting out that robot suit, probably writing a song about a circuit man with feelings or something. So he gets the boot. So there.

 

“the new singer of journey sounded just like steve perry at the concert, he was good

steve perry was journey but this guy is doing one hell of a job”

–YouTube.com user 3oorsdown6.

 

The conversation has run out; we’re sleepwalking. This is not good. I’m a bad pacer when my runner is falling asleep. Plus, it means I’m kind of boring. I check to see if my clothes have turned lavender when I wasn’t looking. Between us, we’ve got all the moxy of a DeYoung cover band. I hate that man. Plus it’s cold again. We’re in some low, verdant area and things are foggy.

 

“What the ...r u doing here whining about Journey

when this is a styx vid. get a life, buddy..”

–YouTube.com user unwrthy.

 

What’d that guy say to us? Git ‘er done. Time to. Danni lets me lead and I tap into it: “Blue Collar Man.” It’s Shaw at his rockingest, most hard-workingest, most tattooed-thumpingest. It’s a git-er-done song. It works. We’re moving well again, but the fun is gone. Now she just wants to finish. We hook up with Nic from Seattle. Some while after the aid station at mile 92, the sun starts to rise. The temperature comes up along with my blisters. God, I hate blisters. I really do. Nic is good; he’s a new voice and has new stories and they engage one another while I silently pull up front. We make good progress. My GPS gives out.

 

The aid station at mile 97 says it isn’t mile 97, says it’s somewhere before that, says they think it’s six miles to the finish. Which is the first time I see a dark cloud form over Danni — this realization that a 100 mile race would be 103 miles without anyone thinking it worthy of a mention. Soup doesn’t bring her back, No-Doz doesn’t bring her back, nothing brings her back. And she gets up anyway, which is hard to do when nothing’s brought you back. Nic hopes to finish under 29 hours; he recovers and pushes on by himself, looking strong. Danni and I press forward, at times it feels purposeful, at times it is like leaves drifting in the wake of something passing by. But it’s always forward; she never stops. I try not to pull too far ahead of her, but it feels as if staying ahead is working, pulling.

 

However it’s marked, whatever your familiarity, however long the course, there is an electrical charge crackling in the air within a mile of any ultra finish. You can feel it; the pulse elevates, like coming down the stairs on Christmas morning, just out of sight of a tree surrounded by gifts, and the childlike sense that everyone you know is in the room and thinking the same hopeful thought: that everything will be okay. Callie is waiting at the road and I peel away as Danni runs up to unwrap the gift, finally. And there is Olga, welcoming her byeck.

 

Fourteen sleepless hours later, I pull into my driveway. Quinn reads late into the night; she comes downstairs to give me a hello-dad-hug. Dylan is asleep, but Izzy is wagging her tail, thump thump thump, to see me. I slip into my bedroom and kiss Deanne.

 

The clock stops at 11:30 pm, 45 hours later; I have been up the whole time. I am too tired to shower. I throw an old blanket on my office couch. Everything is okay.

 

Okay?

Headlands 100 – August 11th and 12, 2007 Sandra

 

 

August 10th

 

Cynthia Lindsey (Sister) and I packed up and headed down to the Bay Area after a long week of work, family events and race preparation. It was good to finally be on the road! We stopped by Monica Moore’s (injured training partner) on the way out of town to see how she was doing (knee surgery the day before).  She was doing well, and after all she had been through, she found the time to prepare a care package for me. The package had saltines, spice drops, Gatorade, cliff bars, protein drinks, etc. and a really great picture of her and I from AR50 last year when she paced me. On the picture she had written a note that said “I’m with you all the way”. That was the beginning of tears that would come many times over the next two days.  Julie Fingar (coach) had also left a package for me with a nice foot care kit, a book about Athletes and Incredible moments, and a card with a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson.

 

 

What lies behind us

 

and what lies before us

 

are tiny matters compared to

 

what lies within us.

 

 

Cynthia and I chatted all the way, as sisters will do, and arrived just in time for an early dinner at the DipSea Café. After dinner we went back to the hotel and discussed the crewing details. Shane Bremmer a.k.a “Mountain Dawg” called and we made arrangements to pick him up at the nearby Travel Lodge on the way to the race. We were sacked out by 9:00 pm.

 

 

August 11th

 

Up at 4:45 am, slept fairly well. Had my pink race day clothes ready to go. I suited up,  ate a quick breakfast, and we headed out to get Shane. Shane was running his 2nd 50 miler and he and I had planned to stay together as much as possible until the 50 mile mark. It is always good to run with a friend! Cynthia and I were laughing and joking in the car about childhood nicknames. Mine is “Sam”, derived from “Possum” (apparently I played dead a lot as a child”, translated to “Poor Sam” (lots of pouting too) and shortened to just “Sam” or the occasional “Sambo”.  Not sure what Shanebo thought about all that, but Cindy and I were cracking up!

 

 

6:00 am - We made it to the start at Rodeo Beach as the sun was rising, wind was blowing and crashing waves heard off in the distance. It was chilly! Wasn’t it Mark Twain who said “the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco?”  I weighed in, got my goody bag, number, finished my preparations, and greeted a few running friends.

 

 

7:00 am – The race started with a verbal “Go”, and we headed out across the beach (lots of sand in my shoes, already), then onto a single track and the first of many, many, many climbs. The best thing about this first climb is that once you peak there is an incredible view of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco! Shane and I were crusin’ along at a very moderate and easy pace as planned. We got to the first aid station (8.6 miles) a little ahead of schedule. An unfamiliar woman was chanting “Go Sandra” “Go Sandra”, “Go Shane” Go Shane”. Apparently my Sister was recruiting cheerleaders! Shane and I were laughing and it felt good! This would happen many times over the course of the day. I would come into an aid station and a different unfamiliar person would be cheering and chanting for me. My sister was having way too much fun out there!

 

 

The next aid station (12 miles) wasn’t much of a problem. We headed out to Muir Beach, more climbs and descents and a different route than I had expected (harder of course). We arrived at the Muir Beach aid station (17 miles) in good shape and hit the long climb up to Pantoll (21.6 miles) and things were starting to heat up. It took longer than I expected to get to Pantoll. Harder course and more climbing to be blamed! At Pantoll, I refueled, changed socks, and I already had blisters. This was unusual. I don’t normally have that problem. Cindy resupplied me and helped me tape my feet to deal with the blisters. I headed out of the aid station as Shane was refueling.

 

 

The stretch out to the Bolinas Ridge Aid Station (mile 28) was pretty hot, but the views were spectacular. I was struggling physically with painful feet and mentally with what felt like a lack of forward progress in a reasonable amount of time. I was going slower than I had anticipated and was working harder than I had planned. I also realized I was going to have to pick it up if I was going to make the cutoff of 9:30 hours at mile 36. It was discouraging that I was even dealing with a cutoff issue.

 

 

I met another runner along the way, Bill. I was starting to complain about my plight and he said “Hey what are you talking about… You are living the dream man!”  He was great! We picked up the pace together and made it to the aid station in good time. Cynthia was at Bolinas Ridge and again helped me to refuel and sent me on my way. Shane and I passed as I was heading back out and he was heading in. We were each running our own races now. I ran fairly strong back to the Pantoll (mile 36) – 3:45 pm and was ahead of the cutoff by 45 minutes. All good, but I was starting to fatigue and hurt more than I expected at this point in the race.

 

 

Back to Muir Beach aid station – Again Cynthia was there and she recognized that I probably wasn’t eating enough. She made me eat a bar and a banana and sit for a minute. My feet were really killing me and I just felt like crap in general. I regrouped and headed out for Tennessee Valley.

 

 

Tennessee Valley Aid Station (mile 46) – I think it was around 6:00 pm? (11 hours of running time) I arrive pretty despondent, and again an unfamiliar person says “Way to go Sandra!” Cindy was still making friends and recruiting cheerleaders along the way!  I sat in the chair Cindy had out for me and I started to cry. I was feeling pretty bad and wanted to stop right there. Cindy was crying too now. It was hard for her to see me like this. I was just physically and mentally exhausted and bummed out that I was struggling so hard this early in the race. She pulled me together and got me out of the aid station and sent me on my way to Rodeo Valley (mile 50) where I knew more friends and family were waiting for me.

 

 

7:15 pm. I am descending the 1.4 miles down to Rodeo Beach after the tough climb up Wolf Ridge out of Tennessee Valley. I am about ½ mile out and I see my Mom and daughter waiting for me. Claire (6 years old) is bundled up in a coat, hat and gloves. It is evening, the fog is rolling in, and the wind is blowing so hard off the ocean that is stands me straight up. Of course the tears start flowing again as Claire runs towards me and hugs me like a little bear! What a treat to have her in my arms. I have missed her! Claire has been waiting for me and is so cold but apparently she wouldn’t leave until she saw me. Her little lips are blue. I am so touched. She and I run hand in hand down the hill towards the aid station. I can’t thank my Mom enough for bringing Claire to me. JR (husband) meets us near the bottom of the decent and holds me tight as he can see in my eyes that I am exhausted physically and wounded mentally.

 

 

Together as a family we run to the aid station and I am greeted by my Father in law, Mom, friend and pacer Steve Itano, friend and coach Julie, long time friend Bridget, her husband Doug and their daughters Lena and Riley and of course my Sister! Bridget brings me Peets Coffee! Yay! In hind sight I should have drank more! They feed me and put warmer clothes (hat, gloves, long sleeve shirt) on me. I Really Really Really want to stop.

 

 

7:45 pm - Words of encouragement, love and support abound, so I dig deep, I get up and I move out. We take flash lights as the sun is going to set soon. My father-in-law “Doc” is by my side. I cross the beach for the 2nd time, up the trail and start another climb. This is Doc’s first pacing adventure and night run. He tells me later he enjoyed it. The lights of the City, the bobbing points of light ahead and behind us of other runners, and the light of the glow sticks lead the way. We are sure we heard the snort of a wild pig, also saw the ass end of something that was mid-sized and light brown going into a small burrow (coyote/pig?).

 

 

I was in such a mental funk at this point that I was cussing quite a bit and bitchin’ and moaning more. This was not how I wanted to feel or how I wanted to act, but I just couldn’t seem to quite down the mental demons. They were huge and they just wouldn’t leave me alone.  I was continuing to slow down, covering less and less ground over the hours and the demons just got louder!

 

 

August 12th

 

Tennessee Valley (mile 62) – Coach Julie has taken over crewing duties so Cindy can get some sleep. Julie, Mom, JR and Steve are there when we arrive. I think it was about 12:00 am. I really, really, really, really don’t want to continue on, but after some warm soup and changing into tights (I was getting really cold) I managed to move out again. Steve is now pacing me. He is funny, gentle, yet firm when he says we are now going to run to that tree, or run for 20 steps. We actually make fairly good time to the Muir Beach Aide Station (mile 67). We have seen some shooting stars and talked about many things. At the time, I did not appreciating the beauty all around me, but now as I recall the night, Steve and I were in a really incredible place.

 

 

We refueled and headed back towards Tennessee Valley. It was another big climb up to Coyote Ridge and ironically we could hear Coyotes, their howls carried to us on the gusting wind. We also heard an Owl hooting. By the time we peaked out on the climb I think I was doing all of about 2 miles per hour.  I was still whining significantly and pretty disgusted with my lack of mental strength in the face of physical exhaustion. I was so tired at this point I felt at times I was going to fall over backwards on the steeper parts of the climb. Did I mention that this sport is all about finding your limits? I was reaching mine. At that pace I might not even make the cutoff (6:15 am) at the 75 mile mark. Steve was so incredibly patient with me, and managed to get me back to Tennessee Valley.

 

 

I knew in my heart that once I got back to Tennessee Valley (mile 71) I was done. I also knew I was going to have to hit Julie and JR over the head with a brick to get them to understand my intentions. They were doing what good Crew are supposed to do. They were going to make sure I was very clear and o.k. with my decision not to go on. They talked and I reconfirmed about 10 times that I was done. I got in the car and they talked again and I reconfirmed again about 20 times that I was done. I took off my shoes and my number and they understood. JR told the aid station captain that I was dropping. It was over. (4:30 am).

 

 

I have no regrets, no fears and just a few tears. It just wasn’t my time to finish 100 miles, but it was a time of deep trying and of touching memories created with friends and family.

 

 

I called Bridget at about 4:35 am and let her know. She was not sleeping wondering how it was going. Monica blew up my Sister’s and Julie’s phones for a good 24 hours to find out what was going on! She really was by my side all day and night. Julie called Cindy and let her know I was hanging it up. Cindy met me at the hotel door and wrapped me in her arms for a most excellent big sister hug!

 

 

What a weekend!

Eric Johnson, Silver State 50 Mile, May 16th, 2009:

 

I had a great day.  I started out wanting to push myself with the thought that if I bonked, oh well, at least I tried pushing myself.  There was a group of 4 guys that took off right at the beginning and then there was a second group that followed, which included me, Jasper Halekas, Mark Lantz, and Robert Evans.  After 4 miles Jasper picked up his pace and started to break away, then Mark soon followed and I decided to go with Mark.  I stayed with him for a few more miles, then backed off a little going up the long climb to the top of Peavine and Mark pulled away.  I passed Bob Sebest on the way up, who was originally a part of the front group.

 

On the way down the back side of Peavine I felt great, pushing 6 min. miles at different points.  The back loop was great. I didn't see any other runners until around mile 23 or so, Eric Skaden finally caught up to me.  I ran with him for a few miles until we hit a steep climb and he gradually pulled away.  Scott St. John told me about drinking Ensure every 10 miles or so, so I had placed one in my drop bags at three different aid stations. This was my first race testing out drinking those while on the run and I loved it.  Up to about the halfway point I had eaten a couple of Clif Bars, but after about 25 miles or so I don't like to eat a lot of food, so the drinks went down really nice and with 375 calories and plenty nutrients in each one, it kept me going fine.  I also just ate a Clif Shot at each aid station.  I feel like I was able to drop some good time from aid stations following this method as I left each station within a minute or so.

 

I hit a wall on the way down to Boomtown and the first mile or so on the way back up, but I quickly came back to life on the way up.  I saw Bob getting closer to me, but I was able to pick it up the last 4 miles up to the summit and I created some good distance between us.  Half way up in the meadow section Ron Gutierrez took a wrong turn and got lost for a few minutes, which was long enough for me to pass him and moved me in to sixth place.  I powered up to Peavine summit knowing that Bob and Ron were somewhere behind me so I made a quick stop at the top and then pressed down the hill towards the finish.  At the summit, there was a nice entertainment show by the volunteers who were shooting potato guns.  It was a cool sight.  I felt great pushing down the hill to the finish in a 6:30 to 7:15 minute mile pace most of the time.  I finished sixth overall in 8 hrs. 6 mins. and second in my age group!  I am very happy with this time as it is 2 1/2 hrs faster than my time last year.  I hosed off and hung around eating and talking with the guys who finished in front of me.  Overall it was a great day.  Just a couple of blisters and a little sore big toe, but that is it, oh and the fact my legs felt like I did a thousand squats.  Thanks to my sponsors at Clif Bar for their wholesome nutrtion supplements and the folks at Camelbak for their awesome hydration systems!  - Eric Johnson

Western States 100 2007 Derek Semanski

 

Wow, where do I start? I like that some of the other reports included some training and background info. That’s going to make it super long, but this report is really a journal for me to look back on and remember. The details of the day are already starting to slip away, so I want to get it all written down. Really you should just skip down to “The Race” section and start there, but only if you really want to know every detail. It’s pretty long and uninteresting I think. If you don’t like the, “At mile 38.7 I took a GU” type reports, then don’t read this. I should have had Chris write it.

 

Background:

I have never run 100 miles. I barely qualified for WS100 at the Sierra Nevada 53 miler with an 11:15 time. You got an extra 30 minutes there because of the 3 miles over the 50m mark. I wouldn’t suggest that race be anyone’s only shot at qualifying. Go do AR50 or Helen Klein. Unless, of course, you really want to “earn it.” Looking back, that’s what I should have done. I was really hurting after that and didn’t feel like I trained very well. I thought if I get pulled in the lottery I’m going to have to really step it up in the training.

 

Well the WS lottery weekend came, and we all know how exciting that is. The odds were just under 25% for getting pulled, so I really was not very optimistic. Just in case though, I wanted to actually be there in Auburn. If it happened, I wanted to enjoy the entire experience. I got to see some of my very lucky friends get their name drawn. How exciting this was! Then, about half way through, Greg Soderland calls my name. I jump up and run to the front to get my packet. I can’t believe it. My first try in the lottery, and I get pulled! I can’t get the stupid smile off my face for probably 3 hours. After I go and sit down I notice my hands are shaking, and I’m sweating. Am I just excited, or does my body realize that something painful is coming? I need to start training.

 

Training:

I knew I needed to do better here, but I wasn’t sure where to start. So I went out and started hammering the trails. I usually just kind of walk the ups on a trail run, but now I started running everything. I even tried running up the entire “Training Hill” (K2) in Auburn. I almost made it. Heck I was training for States now that’s what you were supposed to do right? I ran everything hard, and started ramping up the mileage.

 

A couple of weeks in I started to wonder if this was the best strategy, and if my body would hold up. I had heard before that just getting to the starting line for States is a difficult task. I started to ask around to others veterans who had run the race before. There are a lot of different opinions out there. There are those that say you need 100 plus miles a week, but I was surprised at how many said you didn’t need to do that. This was great news. I didn’t think my body would put up with that, and I’m sure I didn’t have the time for it.

 

Then I met a guy on the RW forum (Matt Keyes) who had some real interesting ideas. I found out he had run in 2006. Cool, I knew some others who had too. Then I found out he had finished, and in only 25 hours! What? That was like the hardest year ever, and 29 hours was good. I was definitely going to be picking his brain. He started talking about all this low Heart Rate training stuff. He gave me links to stuff from guys like “Hadd” and “Maffetone”. This started to make a lot of sense. I always had decent speed, but I could never hold it for a whole marathon. There are some calculation tools that take your half marathon time and project what your marathon time should be. I am way slower that my projected time. I realized almost my entire life’s training was done hard, and at anaerobic levels. So I jumped into a long, aerobic, base building, leap of faith training phase. I won’t get into too much more detail here, but it really was the difference in me finishing WS100 or not. I believe that it also allowed me to increase my mileage safely without as much risk to injury because I was running at much lower efforts. It is extremely hard to start and stick with though. You are constantly questioning whether it is working or not. I would suggest that everyone at least check it out. I was able to increase my pace at the same heart rate by over a minute. It went from about 10:43 pace to 8:58 pace while running at a 145 heart rate.

 

So, all my races throughout the year were just training runs for States. It was hard to let everyone go, and not race them. But my eye was on States. That was my race. All the other ones didn’t matter. I did slip into race mode a few times, but mostly I was a good little boy.

 

The Scare:

After the American River 50 miler I had a scare. The day after the race I noticed a familiar sting in my right foot. I have broken the 5th metatarsal in both feet (soccer and snowboarding) and know what the feeling is like. I was convinced that it was a stress fracture contracted during the race from all that pavement. I was so bummed out. I had done everything right. I didn’t increase mileage too quickly. I was training at lower heart rate levels causing less wear and tear. I didn’t go too hard in my races. What happened? My guess is that 27 miles of pavement wasn’t the greatest thing for me. Oh, and I decided not to wear my orthodics for the first time in years. Stupid! I have no idea why.

 

I had the x-rays, but they came back negative. I didn’t expect anything for a stress fracture on those anyways. I had a bone density scan to check for some sort of osteoporosis. I guess my doc is sick of me breaking bones. That came back negative. Finally, I had the bone scan. I looked at the results. Right foot top, good, bottom, good, side, good. Great news! Wait a minute, what is that black dot over on the left foot. Oh come on, the left foot wasn’t even hurting. Actually, that one had been hurting for over a year, but I had just grown accustomed to it. The podiatrist wondered how I finished 50 miles on it. He said it wasn’t a stress fracture…yet, and that I needed to be super careful with it. I was back to bummed again. Sitting in the chair half listening to him going on about how professional sports guys would be able to get treatment on this everyday. They have these bone stimulator thingies that cost about $3000 each, and they work great, but normal people just don’t have that luxury. Then he says, “Wait a minute. I think I have one of those laying around here somewhere. Yep. Here it is. Take this home and zap your foot for 20 minutes a day, and just bring it back after the race.” I was blown away by my lucky day. After a few weeks I didn’t need it anymore, and I never had anymore foot problems.

 

 

The Race:

Well we hit the jackpot in the WS weather lottery. Highs in the low 80’s for Foresthill and Auburn were projected. This was a huge difference from the 110+ degrees of the 2006 race. I started my planning and packing on Monday the 18th. On Tuesday I realized I need a lot more time, so I took Wed-Mon off of work. I took me a long time to get everything prepared, packed, and planned. I was doing both Medical research projects for the race, and I had to drive up to Squaw on Wednesday night to drink a tracer. That started the pee sample extravaganza that I would be doing until the race was finished. I drove back down to sleep in my own bed and elevation Wednesday and Thursday night. I think that was a good decision. I really wanted to be up in Squaw, but I thought that getting extra oxygen would be more helpful. I drove up Friday morning with my now good buddy Matt. We had a good long talk about strategy on the way up, and how the day should go. We arrived and he went to the runner check in. I was supposed to go have blood drawn for one of the research teams. Unfortunately, I was also required to do a 4 hour fast. I was about 4 pounds light on their scale. Yikes! There was no way I was going to do runner check in yet. So I went and had a giant breakfast burrito in the village, and started pounding down the water. I wasn’t trying to be heavy, but just wanted to back to normal weight. By the time I checked in I had 3 pounds back. So 156 was going to be my race weight. Close enough.

 

We went to the runner’s meeting and hung out the rest of the day. I continued to drink as much water as possible to make sure I was hydrated for the race. I got to have dinner with some more Forum friends, Chris, Sarah, Bill, Elizabeth, and Isabelle. That was fun. We even saw Anthony for a minute, but he was already getting into the zone for the race. I was sitting there eating, lookout out the window to the mountains, and started to freak out. What the heck am I doing? How am I going to run 100 miles over that mountain to Auburn? I think I was calm on the outside, but Chris called me on it. He said I was a duck. Calm up top where you could see, but under water the legs were going like mad. Too true.

 

My wife, kids, sister, and Shane (pacer\friend) were due to come up anytime and I wanted to get back to the room and get stuff situated. I checked in to a lovely 2 bedroom suite, and awaited their arrival. They drove up shortly, and the quiet peaceful room erupted with my boys bouncing from room to room. Seriously, they were jumping on the couches, beds, coffee tables, and everything. I let them have it. “Boys! Do you act this way at home? Then settle down!” I felt bad for yelling, but I was getting super nervous about the whole 100 miles thing. Is there something about altitude that makes 6-7 year old boys completely wired? OK maybe it was the 1.5 hour car ride. I was beginning to question my decision to have them watch the start. Would I get any sleep? To heck with sleep, I thought. I want my boys to be a part of this no matter what.

 

I set my alarm clock, and watch for 3:45am. Matt and I were going to call each other at 4am. I think we had it covered. I was wide awake at 3:30, and just got up early. I started getting ready, and went out to get my chip and number. I was VERY nice to have my room 80 yards from the starting line. I got my number, and went back to my warm room. I felt pretty good. I wasn’t nervous yet, but as I started walking to the start, my HR read 133. There were about 8 minutes before the start, and my wife, kids, sister, and Shane went up the hill to spectate. I pushed through the crowd a bit to find a starting spot. I was looking around for anyone I knew, but mostly for Matt. He was gunning for sub 24 today, and I just wanted to finish. Still, I would really have liked to run part of the race with him since we trained so much together. I didn’t see him or anyone really. That was kind of a bummer. Then with about a minute before the gun went off, I look over my shoulder and Matt is standing behind me. That was a good feeling. I settled down, the clock started, and we began the long climb up the first hill. My plan was to never let my Heart Rate climb above 160, but hopefully more around 150. Just run easy like that, and see where that got me at Foresthill. Hopefully I would have legs to keep it going after that. Heck, maybe even pick it up. I know, silly Rookie. I had no idea how hard it would be to pick it up after mile 80.

 

We had a good chat with friends going up to the Escarpment. We were enjoying the day and the amazing sunrise. When we got to the top it was very windy. I’m so glad I put on the long sleeve shirt. A quick in and out at the Aid Station (AS), a bit of another climb, and we rolled over the top. Let the “It’s all down hill from here” jokes begin. Matt and I have a bit of a quandary. We try to keep our HR even. On a climb we try to keep it about the same level as a decent or flat land. That usually means people want to pass us on the way up a hill, but they are in our way on the way down. This was a little difficult in the high country until people spaced out more.

 

I caught up to Chrrrris somewhere before Lyon Ridge. He was cruising along snapping pictures. We had a good time together, and I was amazed at how he could run that trail and take pictures without really stopping. He had never been on the course before and was looking forward to the adventure. I told him he was nuts. I can’t imagine not knowing the course, but Kudos to him. We eventually met up with a group of forum peeps. Chris and Steve were doing safety patrol. Robert, Steve, Matt, and myself were racing. That was a cool few miles running in Western States with a bunch of your friends. I think we started to spread out a bit after Red Star Ridge. I think it was just me, Matt, Chris, and Steve the sp guys. One of the cool things was that Chris was also pacing me later from Foresthill to Green Gate. I got bonus pacing from him in the high country. I’m not sure were, I think it was after the helicopter, that it was just me and Matt again. Oh yeah the helicopter. NBC was filming the race and the heli was flying over us. I think I got us all edited out of the finished product though. I can just imagine some high price narrator doing the voice over of the human struggle going on below. Then I stop and turn and start waving. Hiiiii Mommmm! Oh well.

 

We were in a train that was pushing pretty well, and I noticed my HR was above 160 for a while. I had to drop out and let Matt go. I knew it would happen eventually. That guy was on a mission, and I was just enjoying the day. I was also hot, so I had to stop and remove my long sleeve and tie it around my waist. This was a long hot stretch from RSR to Duncan Canyon. I can’t imagine it last year being exposed to the brutal sun and heat. Ugh. I was also VERY dusty as many people have pointed out. I was actually kind of glad. I always wear a bandana and have never had the chance to use it in this fashion before. I pulled it up over my nose, and it worked wonderfully. I also had sunglasses on, and that helped keep some of the dust out of my eyes. It was difficult to see the trail at times though. If there were runners in front of you, they would kick up dust, and you couldn’t see the trail. I almost tripped a few times. I got in a 4 person train that was a good solid pace. We didn’t talk much at all, but we were all working together. Soon we were 2 and headed down to the Duncan Canyon AS. I saw Jenny Ray. She was moving well, and I was glad to see that. I was hoping her back wasn’t acting up. I asked if she was taking drugs (ibuprofen\Tylenol) yet, and she said no. Good for you, I said, and then admitted to taking some Tylenol myself a few miles back.

 

As I came into the Duncan Canyon AS I saw a fellow Auburn Running Co jersey. It was Matt! Cool I didn’t think I would catch him. He took off, and I hurried through the AS in under a minute. I did stop long enough on the way out to sponge the dust off my face. That was nice. Then I hurried out after Matt. I caught him about half a mile out, and we were happy to run together for a bit longer. We got down to the creek, and laid down in it. I was only going to soak my legs, but Matt said, “Are you sure? It’s an hour’s climb to Robinson Flat.” So I soaked my shirt too. That felt so nice to get all the trail grime off. There were a few others that we met down there and began the climb up to Robinson. My friends Trish and Brain were looking good and having great days. Somewhere around there we hear an excited voice behind us. I recognized him as Jonathan. I don’t think he was excited to see us, but just excited to be feeling good. He pleasantly blasted past us on the way up. This was the longest split of the day between aid stations. It would be extra tough on a real hot day. I had 2 handheld 26oz bottles that were dry about 15 minutes from the top. I just made it. A little before the top Matt and I caught Jonathan again. He was puking. Bummer. We talked to him for a bit to see if we could help him with anything. Turns out he was having trouble before this incident as well with Altitude Sickness. Then he told us he had drunk a Boost, warm. Cricky! That stuff is like ipecac. He said he’d be alright, and just then a safety patrol guy came along. We went on our way to Robinson Flat.

 

This was one of the highlights of the day for me. There is so much energy there. Matt and I were both feeling great from our conservative starts, and we had family and crew here to lift out spirits even higher. I was so happy to be here at this time with the conservative effort. The race was going very well so far. We both let out some whoops upon entering and gave each other a good luck fist pound in a very manly way. I was planning a sock change, and knew he would be out before me. It was likely the last time I’d see him all day. I weighed in right on the money 156, and looked for my crew. My sister had flown out from New York to hang out for the race. I told her she could be my crew chief. She was excited, but not sure what to do. I had tried to plan and pack everything as well as I could. When I got over to her there was this amazing spread laid out before me. I sat in the chair, and got my shoes and socks off. She had a towel on the ground so my feet wouldn’t get dirty. She also had a bucket, sponges, and towels. She washed and dried my feet. What an awesome sister. Then she busts out this nasal spray stuff. I squirted it up each nostril a few times and then blew my nose in the Kleenex she handed me. Eewwwww, you should have seen the black boogers that came out of there from all the dust. What a great idea though. I re-lubed my feet, put on fresh dry socks, and got my shoes back on. I grabbed my mp3 player here, and could now look forward to some tunes and thoughts by myself. I grabbed my delicious turkey wrap (thanks Adam Ray!), and walked out of the aid station as high as a kite. The climb up the hill gave me time to finish eating, and I had finished at the top. There was nothing left to do know but crank the tunes, and cruise down the lovely trail. It was perfect day so far.

 

I had been drinking GU2O in both bottles all day, and taking a GU and S-cap every 30 minutes. This was working great until somewhere after Miller’s defeat. What a nice addition though this year. The single track after Miller’s defeat that snaked thought the trees was so soft and shady. It was beautiful. I did notice that my stomach was starting to get a little sloshy. This was my biggest fear in running States. How would my stomach hold out? Many many much better runners than I have had their days cut short by sour tummies. I wasn’t nauseous, but knew this might be the beginning. I switched to water at Dusty Corners, but the key was the ice. Cold water absorbs much better than warm water. I had almost immediate relief and the ice water was so refreshing. The pucker point stretch was so amazing. That view just has to be seen to be believed. I was cruising quite well now and passing lots of people. Passing lots of people would be the norm for the rest of the day. I guess that’s a little easier when you start at the back of the pack.

 

I was feeling great when I came into Last Chance. I think we weighed here, and I was right on again. I had some soup, mtn dew, and the special. I remember Matt talking about the grilled cheese sandwiches at Last Chance from the 2006 race. I asked if they had them, and they did. Yum! I was feeling great, and back on home turf. I had done a ton of training in the upcoming canyons. Last Chance to the Swinging Bridge was one of my favorite sections. I dig the downs. Well it seemed like I was flying down the hill, but my HR was still under control. When I was brave enough to take my eyes off the trail to glance at it never got over 160. Nice. At the bottom of the climb up to Devil Thumb, there is a spring. I had practiced jumping in it in training. This was a great way to cool back down after pounding down from Last Chance. It felt great. I also filled one of my bottles with cold water there for the climb up. The climb up the thumb was pretty uneventful. I felt great, was just trying not to over do it, and keeping the HR under 160. I got to the top way under the hour that I usually give myself. The strange thing was that there was that I didn’t pass anyone having trouble on it. There is almost always someone bent over or sitting on a rock during that climb. I guess the course was being kind today.

 

The top of Devils Thumb was a zoo. I had never seen so many people up there. In training runs there is no one there, so it was a little weird. I weighed in, got my bottles, and started to look for food that I wasn’t sick of. Popsicles! Oh that was going to hit the spot. I figured there was less than 100 calories in a whole Popsicle, so I grabbed some other stuff too. I headed out knowing that the longest and most painful descent was coming up. I saw a woman kind of hunched over around the pump. When I got closer I saw that it was my friend Leslie. Bummer. She was another one that I knew if I caught; it was because she was not feeling well. We chatted for a bit, and I wanted to make sure she had what she needed, and was alright. She said she had thrown up, but didn’t feel nauseas anymore. Hopefully it was just a one time shot. I wished her well and moved along the trail. After Deadwood cemetery the trail drops into the canyon again. This is about an hour from Devils Thumb if you are moving. It’s still a long time to run downhill. But I had smashed my quads several times out here. They should be ready for this. I rolled over the edge and bombed down the trail. The extra ice in my bottles served well as a warning rattle to slower runners in front of me. I was making all kinds of racket coming down, and only had to ask to get by once. I’m always worried about being courteous when passing, but sometimes on the downs, I’m not sure I do a great job of that. It seemed like I was flying, but the HR was in check. I dig the downs. The plan was always to jump in El Dorado Creek at the bottom to cool off. Just before hitting the AS I was letting out my whoops. I was just having too much fun. I headed straight down to the creek and jumped in. I was definitely heating up after all that downhill. Refilled the bottles, grabbed some food and headed up the climb to Michigan Bluff.

 

The climb to Michigan Bluff can be evil. I’ve had some battles here, but today it was completely uneventful. I settled into a brisk walking pace and powered up. When I got to the top I did a quick body check. Yep still feeling great, and now I get to see my family and crew again. I let out some more whoops coming into MB, and weighed in normal. The research guy grabbed me, and I had to give him a pee sample. I saw Matt heading out of the AS when I emerged from the port-a-loo. How could I be so close to him? He had better get moving if he wants a silver buckle. After that was over I was able to see my whole family. It was just my sister and Shane at Robinson, but my whole family was at Michigan Bluff. That was a big lift. My kids wanted to show me the sticks they found while I was trying to change everything. Kids are funny. This was the first time I really looked at the time to see how I was doing. I was about 50 minutes behind 24hour pace. Yowza! I didn’t think I was pushing, but I was a bit worried the canyons had taken their toll. I would find out soon enough going down to Volcano creek. I did the sock and shoe change thing, and reloaded on another turkey wrap. Actually I left it in my chair, and got all the way up the road before I realized I left it. I had to go back. Real food was too important to miss. My crew was awesome.

 

Leaving Michigan Bluff AS I cruised down the road eating my turkey wrap. I finished it, paid my respects to Tonto, and settled back into my groove. The trail down to volcano creek was steep, and is a good test to see if your quads are blown. Mine still felt good. I got to the bottom and started to head back up to Bath road. Ah shoot. I forgot to dunk in the creek. Oh well, it really wasn’t that hot anymore. The climb out of that canyon went more quickly than on any training run I have done. That was nice. I was maybe expecting some of my crew to be a Bath rd, and walk me up. That was an optional part of the plan that I had written. Oh well it didn’t really bother me, cause I didn’t feel like talking much. It wasn’t that I felt bad. I actually felt great. I just didn’t know what to say if I had to walk with someone for 20 minutes. I didn’t want to think about pushing for 24 hours. Just relax and keep enjoying the day.

 

Foresthill School is such a huge milestone in the race. Lots of veterans say this is where that race begins. I don’t know about racing, but I was glad to have legs left at this point. I weighed in, and had grabbed by one of the research guys. I had to give blood over there, and weigh in again. They were all super positive, and seemed to really be having fun watching us. Jennifer was there volunteering at the aid station. She grabbed me almost before I got to the entrance of the aid station. She was so great. She took care of my bottles, showed me were the restroom was, and walked me through to the food tables. I had my own escort here. Thanks Jennifer! I went over to my family and crew, and got my lights and food. I had a Starbucks Double-shot. Yummy. I dumped my waist pack and mp3 player in order to be a bit lighter. Plus I didn’t want to worry about getting the mp3player wet in the river. I had my pacer now, and if you know Chris, you know I would not need an mp3 player for distraction. We rolled down Cal Street, and everyone was clapping for us. That still makes me feel weird. I’m not really doing anything, but everyone is clapping and cheering. I’m not saying I don’t like it. It’s great to have all that support. I just feel weird about it sometimes.

 

I tried to choke down the last of my Hawaiian pizza, and then we started running towards Cal 1. I don’t remember if Chris and I ever discussed shooting for 24 hours or not. I’m sure he may have mentioned it, but I probably ignored it. I just didn’t want that extra stress for the next 40 miles. I was fine with 25, 26, or whatever. When the day began I would have been happy with 29:59. Only at mile 62 could I let my expectations drift a bit, but not too far. We got in and through Cal 1 without turning on the lights! Wow, I never thought that would happen. Chris was great, and did an amazing job just chatting about things enough to keep my mind busy. I was really still feeling good though. The Cal 1 to Cal 2 stretch was a little slower for me. I don’t know why, but maybe because it was the transition from dusk to dark. I think it was OK, and Chris kept me moving, but it was just a bit slower than it should have been. OK, elevator shaft was brutal. That hurt, and I ended up just walking it. There were guys ahead kicking up dust and I couldn’t see well enough to safely run it. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway, but I would take any excuse to walk that thing. Really that is nitpicking because it was stinking miles 65-70. Each step was a new distance record for me as I had only run 53 miles before.

 

It was fully dark as we entered Cal 2. I got my stuff, and waited for Chris. I can’t remember, but I think he was after a rice crispy treat or something. Maybe he just got distracted by something shiny.   Now I really love this section after Cal 2. All my training runs went really well here, but this time was different. It was better. I don’t think I have ever run this section faster. I don’t know what happened, but at the bottom of the first steep section, I put the hammer down. My body responded, and my quads were taking it. Amazing! I pushed harder, and it was still there. We bombed it all the way to the bottom. I don’t really like to post specific split numbers too much, but darn it, it’s my report, and I’m stinking proud of this one. I hit the steep climb up to Cal 3 in 21 minutes from Cal 2. That could very well have been the demise of my quads, but I didn’t have to worry about that until Brown’s Bar. We continued to move well until we got to the road that leads to the river. I really hate this road. Even in training runs the hard uneven dirt and pointy rocks are no fun to run on. At mile 76 it is downright miserable. I couldn’t wait to get off that junk and into the river.

 

Ah the river. Rucky Chucky was an amazing experience. It is so surreal coming out of the pitch-dark canyons into this lighted oasis. I knew several friends would be there volunteering. Melissa was there and did a great job offering to help. I just wanted to get across as fast as possible. We did stop long enough for Chuck to take our picture. He said it turned out great, and I can’t wait to see it. The water was cold, but it felt great. It did come up to just about my waist, so I was wondering if my S-cap baggie was sealed. You have to hold onto the cable with both hands, so that was a little tricky. I pushed my arm through the strap of my handheld bottle to free one hand. I stuck my flashlight in the headband of my headlamp. That worked great. When I turned it on, the light shown down through the water, and illuminating the slippery rocks below. I did not plan that one. Bonus! We got to the other side, and I got a kick out of the smile Chris had on his face. He kept saying thank you like I just did him some huge favor be letting him pace me across the river. I get what he’s saying. That river crossing was a blast.

 

I had a drop bag on the far side, but decided not to change shoes. I had anticipated some foot swelling and had a half size bigger shoe there. I don’t think I was that swollen though, and didn’t want to risk a bigger shoe that would likely make me trip more. It would take too long, and I was only 22 miles out. I could not feel any blisters, so I thought I would see how everything dries out up at Green Gate. The climb to Green Gate went well, but I was a little sad that we could not see the search lights at the finish. Maybe they forgot to turn them on this year? I distinctly remember staring at them last year while pacing. My runner was struggling up the hill to Green Gate. It was a really neat thing to see those lights off in the distance. Maybe if you are a runner, you just don’t notice those things? We cruised into Green Gate, and Chris and Shane swapped the pacer bib. My sister was there taking great care of me. My feet felt good so I decided to stick with what I had on. I had a Redbull, some soup, and grabbed a technical long sleeve shirt. I kind of overheard Chris talking to Shane, and giving him the “hand off” info. All I heard was something about, “We running the downs well.” And “Don’t mention sub 24 hours.” That was good enough for me. Although I did make up about 30 minutes on the Cal loop, my calculations had a sub 24 hour finish as about impossible. Still I was super excited to be even having that thought in my brain. But I quickly let it go. I was having too much fun to be bothered with all that. There was no way I was going to let myself get down for just missing sub 24. Shane got his gear, and we were on our way.

 

I remember Chris telling Shane about pounding the down hills, so I decided to have a bit of fun with him. The first mile or so out of Green Gate is a gentle grade, so I start hammering it. Now he’s been sleeping in a chair for who knows how long, so I know this doesn’t feel too good.  He was keeping up fine, but I know he was wondering if we were going to keep this pace up for the next 20 miles. He-he. I’m a stinker. The first slight uphill we came to I stop and start walking. I was getting tired, but still feeling all right. The Green Gate to Auburn Lake Trails section has been dubbed one of the mental battles on the course. It comes at a time of the night when you are very tired. It comes between miles 80-85. You are close to the finish, but not close enough to smell the barn. It is very runable, but not easy. It’s so easy to give up here. I knew sub 24 was long gone. Actually, it was never present. If I screwed around I wouldn’t even get sub 25.  I told Shane days before the race ever started that we really needed to focus on continued forward motion here. We pushed on. It seemed to take forever, and I thought I totally choked on that section, but looking back at the times, we did just fine.

 

My stomach was starting to turn on me a little since Green Gate. I wasn’t drinking as much, and quit taking S-caps. I figured I was getting plenty of sodium from the soup at every aid station. Maybe I wasn’t. I certainly wasn’t peeing much anymore, but maybe I was sweating it out? I was up a few pounds somewhere in here, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I should have had Shane tell me when to eat, drink, and take salt. I was losing track of when I was doing it. I also had a lovely case of the GU poo. Nothing too bad, but about every 30 minutes I had to go, NOW! We got in and out of ALT fine, and I was looking forward to the next section. I had run so many great days through here. There is a slight gradual decline somewhere in there that I really love, but I don’t ever remember getting to it. For some reason it was all slightly uphill to Browns Bar. That’s what it seemed like anyway. We kept waiting to hear the music, but it never came. Finally we heard it. We figured we would have to do at least one more horizontal canyon before we actually got there. We were right.

 

Browns Bar aid station is a big party. I think everyone there is drunk, or at least a good number of them. I remember this lady getting up off of the inflatable couch, yes inflatable, and coming right up to me. She asked my name and where I lived. Then she said I was cute and what could she do to help me. I was in no shape to defend myself. I think Shane came over and distracted her. She was very nice though, and the smell of alcohol had now cleared my nasal passages of all the dust. The other lady behind the table was also very nice and suggested I try the PBJ squares. They looked fresh, and were on some kind of fancy bread. They were delicious. Out of all the many PBJ squares I had that day, those were the best. It was just getting real hard to look at the food at the table and find anything that appealed to me.

 

The first few steps down Browns Bar trail were agonizing. Hey, my quads are officially blown now. Well done lads. You got me a long ways before giving out. Shane was all fired up to blast down this section because it is so much fun. I had to ruin his party and hobble down it. Bummer for both of us. I could not wait to get to the quarry trail. I started doing mush math in my head. That’s math you do when your brain is mush. From my calculations, we were not going to make 25 hours, and maybe not even 26. I was getting a little down, and noticed my pace was slowing. Focus, focus, focus. Let’s get moving. Just do your best and the time will work out. I began to pick it up a little. Shane was out in front for most of the night, and was so on the quarry road. We were eagerly looking for the trail that shoots up to hwy 49. “There it is,” he says. “No, that’s not it”. Argh! Then a few minutes later, “That’s it! No, that’s not it.” Shane you’re killing me. We finally get to the trail and start the climb up to 49. I was happy to climb because those muscles were still in good shape. That also meant that we would be with my crew again in about 30 minutes.

 

We came across 49 and did not have to wait for any cars, so that was nice. I had to jump into the port-a-loo for a second. Now these port-o-potties are normally pretty gross. It’s pretty much everyone’s goal to get in and out of these things as quickly as possible. That was not the case with me here. I don’t know if it was because I was sitting down, because it was warm, or what. But I never wanted to leave that little blue cocoon of mine. I did finally get up and out of there, and noticed that it was very cold. I was almost instantly chilled and shivering. I went over to my sis and told her I did not want to sit down…as I sat down in the chair. She kind of looked at me as I was sitting there. I guess it was just habit now when I saw her. I would just come in and sit. I’m pretty sure I got right back up and got out of there, but I don’t remember any of this part. She told me about it after.

 

Shane and I moved on up the trail and I was cold. Stopping had really cooled my off, so I put on my long sleeve shirt fir the first time. We continued on to the top of the hill past the 49 AS. Then, I thought I saw lights up ahead. I had heard Chris talking about his hallucinations at Massenutten. I was kind of looking forward to some of my own. Could this be one of them? As we got closer I could start to see better and yes it was Christmas lights. They were strung about without much purpose, and I could see some guys moving about. I don’t think I’m hallucinating, but there is no official aid station here. Apparently about four guys thought it would be fun to cheer on the runners on a Saturday night. They had a generator, lights, lawn chairs, and beer. I guess they were set. As we passed by they encouraged us to push for 24 hours, and they offered us beer. “Hydrate or die”, one of them was saying. I think Shane said it was Natural Light, perfect.

 

I think it was somewhere around this meadow up by pointed rocks that I said it. Chris was telling Shane that there comes a point in a 100 miler where the runner will verbally admit to never wanting to run again. Maybe they will retire from running, or maybe just do shorter runs. The jist of it is that this 100 miler was a really bad idea. Well, I don’t remember what I said exactly, and if was any of that, but it was in the ballpark. I know I really wanted to just be done, and we still had one more canyon to do. We were moving ok, but I was not looking forward to the run down to No Hands Bridge. I didn’t think my quads would let me run it. As we rolled over the top and starting dropping down the steep trail, Shane sped up. He said, “Let’s run this thing in.” I told him I didn’t think I could run any more downs. I hobbled down the first steep section, but then it flattened out a little. It was just enough to where the angle didn’t kill me if I ran. I wasn’t doing a fast run, but pretty good considering. The point was to just keep moving as best I could. My mush math still had me way behind 25 hour pace.

 

We got down to No Hands faster than I thought. I think because I was in my happy place or somewhere else. That section really hurt. I used to love that deep trough of soft dirt that it was before they “restored” the trail. Sure there were roots, but I never had any trouble hoping over them. Now the trail was wide, uneven hard pack that sloped away from the up hill side. There just wasn’t a soft step all the way down. I found myself wishing for the old trail. Then as I realized the pitiful state of my gait, I reconsidered. I had never run the old trail at night, with 90+ miles on my legs. The reality is that I don’t think I could have lifted my feet over the roots, and I probably would have crashed. Although, I will let a little secret out. I have never fallen on the trail. There, now I am cursed to break an arm soon, but at least I got through States.

 

I wish I could have enjoyed No Hands a little more. They really do a great job down there with all the lights, and video screens. I didn’t have time to look around. I looked at the food table again trying to find something that looked appealing, but there was nothing. I think I took some more soup and mtn dew, and we headed on out. I really wanted to finish in the dark. I didn’t care what the clock said on the finish time, but just wanted it dark. I think it was about 4:30am at No Hands. I think I had timed the No Hands to Robie Point section in training at about 45 minutes. I wasn’t sure how much of it I could run though. The flattish gravel railroad trail parallels the river for a good ways before you do any climbing. I wanted to try and run most of that. I asked, and the legs responded. I was surprised there was anything left, but we did run most of that section to the bottom of the climb. The climb has some steep sections, but it is not very long at all. I knew once we started climbing, we were practically to Robie Pt. It was starting to get light. Finally, the trail dove off to the right. Yes! We were at the climb. Shane set a great power hiking pace and we motored up. I was getting my 17th wind, and I could smell the barn for the first time. We came out of the single track, and powered up the wider trail towards Robie. I think we were going to make it! We didn’t stop at the Robie AS, but that is normal. I volunteered there once when Jurek broke the course record. He came through before we were set up, and before it was dark. Many runners just blew by because it was so close to the finish. That was my first experience with WS100, and probably the first time I decided I wanted to run it some day. It was an awesome feeling to blow through there. Except this day it was actually for my own finish. All the flashbacks from that first States exposure when I volunteered came rushing through, and I began to gain momentum.

 

I had put it out to some of my family that this is an emotional place to meet your runner. You get to see them emerging from the canyon, and run with them to the finish. I had done it with some other friends, and it was very moving. I didn’t know if anyone would bother to hike down to meet me though. About 50 yards up the street I saw my Dad walking down. I should have known he would be there. I was very focused on the finish, but I had to half check my Dad’s shoes. When I ran my first marathon 4 years ago, he jumped in to run with me for a few yards at mile 17. It wasn’t too long before he realized he had gone too far and my Mom had probably left him to move down the course. He ended up running about 6 miles with me in jeans and penny loafers. I hoped he made a better selection today. He did have shorts on, but on his feet were some kind of work boots. [Shakes head] That’s my Dad. I said, “Hey Dad, let’s finish this.” Then he pulled in behind as we power walked up the steep street. I was building up a noticeable sweat for the first time in hours. After another 50 yards or so I saw my Father in law. I have some great family. He pulled in and the four of us marched up the street silently, but on a mission. The families on this street are amazing. They sit out front all night long and cheer runners on. There were still some out there when we passed, and they gave me a nice boost. I was getting all kinds of emotional surges, and I felt it building, stronger and stronger. I had warned anyone who did meet me at Robie to bring their running shoes, and be ready to run. I didn’t know how I was going to feel, but others have said they get a huge kick at the end of these things. I had put so much of my life, time, effort, emotion, sweat, and sacrifice into this. I was expecting the same. It was coming, and it was coming strong. I started running down the street. It was flat and runable, and my legs did not hurt anymore. I had planned on walking the steep up before the white bridge, but I didn’t need to. I ran up it. My pace was increasing, and the emotion building. The tears were trying to burst out, but I somehow choked them back. “Not yet, not yet.” Across the bridge we went. The white bridge that I heard Twietmeyer only crosses on race day. It was race day, and it was my turn to cross it. The street slopes downhill to the track. I dig the downs. I start to let it all out, and catch Shane off guard a bit, but he catches up. I felt like I was absorbing all the energy from everything around me, and I had to get it out. I pushed harder, and the tears tried to force their way out again. I somehow choked the back. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to cry, just not yet. I needed to see where I was going.  I don’t know if my Dad’s are hanging with us or not, and I feel a little bad, so I slowed up a bit. I saw the gate to the track. That simple little gate that signified so much. I was here, and tried to announce my arrival. I let out the loudest whoops I could, but the tears choked them into lameness. I entered the track and threw my bottle and flashlight onto the grass. I saw a huge group of family and friends that were waiting for me so early on this cold Sunday morning. That so many would come out and witness this really touched me. I began to circle the track, but slowed for my boys. I wanted to enjoy this with them. I wanted them to be able to look back and remember this. We can do difficult things. I put a lot of time in training away from them, but hopefully crossing together would help them realize who my priorities were. I love my kids, and I was finished with a 100 mile run. I crossed the line holding my boys hands, and Tim Twietmeyer shook my hand, and gave me my medal. That was special.

 

I was whisked away be the research teams to give blood, and do heart scans. That was a little bothersome because I just wanted to be with my family and friends. It actually worked out OK, because while they were doing the echo-cardiogram, my body started shutting down. I was lying on the table covered in about 5 blankets, and still shivering and shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t think to bring any blankets to the finish so I would have been real cold had I just been standing around with my family.

 

It was just a perfect wonderful day, and I can’t believe it all went so well. I really had no idea if I would finish 29 hours or 25 hours. I would just run according to the plan, and see where I ended up. I am so, so happy.

 

Some things learned:

I changed socks twice and shoes once. For me, socks and lube only work for about 30 miles. If I change and re-lube about that interval I will be good. I only had one small blister on my pinky toe.

I need to figure out what to do when I am gaining weight. I was up 4 pounds through the last 15 miles, and wasn’t sure what to do. Four is not bad, but could easily get out of control.

It’s amazing to me how an even pace can have such a dramatic effect on this race’s outcome. I think I ran pretty even all day according to the web cast pace, and just continued to pass people all day. My guess is that most folks went out too hard? I think at Red Star Ridge I was in 305th place out of 386.

I think switching from water to sprite in my bottles would have been a great idea for extra calories, but I never thought about it until after I read some other reports.

I had a protein shake (42g) at the finish, and I think that really helped with the recovery, and not as much soreness.

Western States 100 2006 Matt Keyes

 

The executive summary is this:  I finished my first Western States 100 on my first attempt in 25:09 and that without puking once.  For the long, long, so very long version read on.

 

Wow, what a day.  The body can endure much punishment.  I suffered with dead quads as early as ¼ of the way into the race.  Not sure exactly why they were so tight and sore so soon but I think it was likely due to going out too hard too soon, which I sure didn't plan on doing...until the day before.  Greg Soderland (the race director) said at the mandatory briefing that because it was going to be so hot we might consider pushing harder than planned to Robinson Flat to get some mileage down before it got too hot.  Against my initial plan (and what everybody always says) I did just that.  I was amazed that even though I was pushing 10-15% harder than I would have liked (heart rate monitor) I still couldn't hit 24 hour pace.  I think I ran much of the first marathon very near my lactate threshold, not ideal when there are another 3 marathons to do before stopping.

 

The heat was apparent almost from the time the gun went off.  We could feel the warm breezes on the climb up to escarpment.  Some time before the Lyon's Ridge aid station (10.5 miles) I started to scoop up snow and put it in my hat.  It was so cold for the first couple minutes I would get a mild headache but it felt great and cooled me off as it dripped down my head, neck, and back.  Once into the Duncan Canyon area (the aid station is at about mile 25), which was hot, exposed, and without snow I stopped to lie down at every creek that was large enough to permit it.  I would lie down in the water for a couple minutes to let my body cool and make sure my head, hat and shirt were plenty soaked before leaving.  I did this at just about every creek from Duncan Canyon to El Dorado Canyon.

 

After lying down in Duncan Creek and walking up the climb to Robinson Flat it was a relief to come into the aid station at mile 30 and see my crew, at this point comprised of my lovely bride and Sheri, a friend of ours.  They had a chair set up.  I sat down, changed the sock on my left foot (left the right shoe on), put a piece of duct tape on a hot spot on my left foot and applied more body glide to my crotch while they handed me fresh water bottles, a bottle of ensure, put my cool new ice bandana on and loaded my hat with ice.  While I was in the chair I told Kim that my plan to finish in 24 hours was off.  I had been pushing harder than I would have liked and was already ½ hour behind 24 hour pace.  She said, “Matt, it’s off for everybody, the leaders got here 1 ½ hours later than expected.  Fair enough.  I thanked Kim and Sheri and ran out of the aid station with a 3rd water bottle in a fanny pack that also contained an mp3 player.  Unfortunately the water bottle fell out of the fanny pack and is likely still laying on the trail somewhere between Robinson’s Flat and Miller’s defeat.  I would see my crew again 25 miles later in Michigan Bluff.

 

By the time I got to the new Miller's Defeat aid station at mile 34 I was feeling very low.  My quads were sorer than they'd been at the end of any of the 50's I've done and I knew I had the canyons still to come.  I sat down in a chair and rubbed my quads with ice while I ate melon and listened to a guy named John who’s the president of a running club in Sacramento talk about how his time goals for the day were out the window.  He would end up dropping later in the day.  I felt very discouraged and my legs were in much worse shape than I expected them to be this early.  Compound that with what everybody says about the mental and emotional ups and downs in 100 milers and how the lows usually get lower as time goes on I was in a bad way.  I didn’t know it at the time but this would be my low point of the event.  After a few minutes in the chair I thanked the generous volunteers at the aid station (something I tried to remember to do throughout the day) and trudged on down the trail.

 

Somewhere between Miller's Defeat and Dusty Corners at mile 38 I found myself running next to a familiar looking salt and pepper haired guy named Lon from Reno.  He was in the same boat with his quads aching as well.  He's run states 6 or 7 times and told me, "It’s going to be a long day, but we'll finish.  If you've got some ibuprofen take it."  Between the ibu and his assurances that though his legs were as bad as mine we'd finish I soldiered on.  Dad had met me at Duncan Canyon earlier in the morning and said he might see me at Dusty Corners.  If he had been there I would have begged him for a ride out.  He told me later he thought about going and "just didn't feel like I should".  Leaving the Dusty Corners aid station after squatting and icing my quads I let out a loud groaning yell.  I think it disturbed some of the folks there but it felt pretty good.

 

My next big break came as I was nearing Pucker Point on the way to Last Chance at mile 42.  I was shuffling along listening to music, feeling low and praying when all the sudden somebody comes up from behind and puts their arm around me.  It was Dan of the Auburn Running Company.  He was in good spirits and let me complain about how I was feeling.  I told him not to hold back and wait for me but to go on ahead and run his own pace.  “As far as I know you’re waiting for me.” He lied.  What a guy.  Dan is one of the many people without whom I likely wouldn’t have finished.  He talked, joked and ran with me through the canyons and the toughest part of the day.  Thanks so much Dan!

 

We rolled into the Last Chance aid station, which is mile 42, just before 3pm and munched grilled cheese sandwiches (yummy!) and melon then got cooled off with ice water and sponges before we dropped into the canyon.  Dan and I leapfrogged some as I either ran all out so I didn’t use my quads for braking or walked to give my legs a break while Dan ran an even, smart pace.  His method wasn’t an option for me as my legs were so sore and depleted.  We arrived at the bottom of the canyon and walked across the swinging bridge and up to the creek that crosses the trail at the bottom of the climb to Devil’s thumb.  Dan and I each took the time to lie down in the small pool and I topped off both bottles.  We bumped into another runner there and when he asked about the climb we suggested he top off his bottles as well.  On the way up the Thumb Dan continued to chat and joke.  We came across Chase, a guy we had both met earlier, taking a break on the way up.  We asked if he was ok and he replied that he was.  I asked if he had water and salt and he said yes.  Five steps later he said, “actually I’m out of water.” which prompted Dan to give his 3rd water bottle away.  What a guy this Dan.

 

We arrived at Devil’s thumb which is about 48 miles in at 4:20 and ate and drank.  There were several people in chairs and though we didn’t see them the aid station people said there were some good-sized piles of vomit as evidence of the hot day and long climb.  We headed down into the next canyon with the same combination of all out running and walking for me and the smooth steady run Dan had used from Last Chance.  I was less intimidated this time after surviving the earlier descent and managed to arrive at El Dorado Creek at 5:25 without doing much more damage to my sore quads.  When we arrived at the aid station at the bottom we handed off our bottles to the volunteers (lots of ice please!) and climbed down to the creek for another soak.  It felt awesome!  We started the climb out of the last big canyon as we munched some food.  More melon for me.

 

We ended up walking nearly all the climb out of El Dorado Canyon with a little running on the flatter sections.  The highlight of this climb was when Rick, a veteran of the Rio Del Lago and Cascade Crest 100’s we’d met earlier, pointed out a baby bear 20 or 30 feet below the trail.  I made sure to talk loudly and keep moving hoping that if mama bear was near she wouldn’t think we were a threat to her baby.  It was a real treat to see the bear and nice too, I suppose, that the mama didn’t come charging out at us.

 

Arriving in Michigan Bluff, the 55 mile mark, felt great!  One more canyon down and time to see the crew again.  It was 6:25.  I weighed in and went straight to Kim and Sheri who already had the chair set up and were waiting for me.  They had brought a turkey sandwich and a strawberry milkshake.  The sandwich was a no go but the shake tasted great.  I sipped it and munched grapes and melon while the well-oiled machine changed my shoes and socks.  My feet were pruned from being soaked in all the creeks, sweating and having water dumped on them at the aid stations.  I had a few blisters from abrasion and one on the bottom of my left foot from being wet and pruned for so long.  We noticed while my shoes were off that the nail on the big toe of my left foot was lifting.  Chalk that up to the list of casualties.  After putting dry shoes and socks on I took a few last sweet sips from the milkshake and headed out of Michigan Bluff toward Foresthill.  I didn’t see Dan but we would meet up again in a few miles.

 

Between Michigan Bluff and Foresthill is Volcano Canyon, the last of the four in the race.  The descent, though steep and rocky was bearable knowing it was the last of the long heavy down hills.  I crossed the creek at the bottom without dipping more than my hat since I felt cool enough.  Some clouds had moved in and at this point we seemed to be past the hottest time of the day.  Toward the top of the climb out of volcano canyon I saw a cameraman squatting alongside the trail taking pictures.  As I got closer he lowered the camera and I recognized my old friend Paul who had come to town to pace me from Green Gate to hwy 49.  It was great to see Paul and he walked with me from the Bath Road aid station to the top of the hill where he was parked.  On the way up the hill we also ran into Bob who was working the Bath Road aid station.  Bob had spent a couple hours with me days before the race to go over the plan and help me with what to focus on and some of the finer points.  I stopped to give him a hug and he said, “oh no, we’re not stopping, keep walking”.

 

Dan and I ran side by side into the circus environment and 62 mile mark Foresthill arriving at 7:55.  We didn’t see each other again until the finish line though he told me later he knew he wasn’t much behind because my trail of pee was still wet in front of him and he figured it had to be me because he hadn’t seen anybody else pee while they walked.  I weighed in and grabbed some melon while my baby sister Lizzy filled my water bottles for me.  She was here to pace me from Foresthill.  Just past the aid station in Foresthill the now expanded crew was waiting with the chair set up and pizza!  I sat down and munched while we did something but I don’t remember what.  They were set up in the shady front yard of our friend Cindy’s grandmother’s house.  Mom and Dad were there with Aidee and Aidan.  It was great to see them.  Aidee looked concerned and I asked if she was worried about me.  She nodded.  I hugged her and told her, “I’m going to be ok, ok?”.  She nodded again and looked slightly (though not much) more confident.   There were two or three people taking pictures, Abe, Paul, and Justin at least.  Cindy, her mom and baby Sophia, Doug and Sheri and maybe more but I wasn’t able to take it all in.  It felt like I was in and out in two minutes but I’m sure it was longer.

 

Lizzie and I headed off walking down the road with Kim and the kids as I munched another piece of pizza before handing it off half eaten to Kim.   I got a kiss from Kim then Lizzie and I headed off down the road onto the Cal Loop on our way to the river.  We made it past Cal1 before dark but did end up turning our lights on before Cal2, which meant we had to do that big nasty downhill in the dark.  It probably didn’t matter much as my quads were shot to the point that I sat down on a rock part way down the steep descent to take two more ibuprofen.  Good ol’ vitamin I to the rescue.  Lizzie was wonderful.  When we were coming into an aid station she would ask me, “ok, what do you need here?  What do you want to drink?  What do you want to eat?  When was the last time you took some electrolytes?”  Then, in the aid stations I would sit or stand around while she got my bottles filled and brought me watermelon and cantaloupe.

 

When we got into the Cal2 aid station we asked the volunteers working there about the Cal3 station that was rumored to have moved.  They yammered and argued then told us they had heard conflicting reports.  Some said it was moved further away and others said it had been removed altogether.  Excellent.  We headed out thinking there was a good possibility we’d have seven miles to the river for the next aid station.  We fueled up and headed off into the night.  I was still able to move well enough to run the long switchbacks after Cal2, which was a relief.  I took a break along the side of the trail when nature called which was also a relief.  I even managed to finish up just as a couple runners came into view.  It was Bill and his pacer.  He was doing some staggering and said he was having trouble staying awake.  I finished the paperwork and we headed off down the trail.

 

Shortly after my bottles were empty we found ourselves at the Cal3 station.  Mike McCoy was there and lied to me about how good I looked.  There was pizza but it looked like it had been out for a while and I didn’t want to risk it on my already dicey stomach so I didn’t partake.  They gave us some ice, Sprite and more melon and we headed off down the trail toward the river.  Once we got along the flat section that usually seems to drag on forever we started seeing lights ahead and were able to catch and pass two or three groups of runners on our way to the river crossing at mile 78.  We were very pleased to have managed to run the Cal loop in under four hours.  I weighed in at the near side aid station, waved off the offers for food and drink, and stepped gingerly down the giant rock stairs wincing at my tender legs.  The event was using inflatable rafts to cross the river this year rather than wading as the heavy precipitation led to heavier than average runoff.  We got to the bottom just as the boat arrived back on our side and after they put life jackets on us we jumped…ok…gingerly climbed in and were off to the other side with the giant tattooed oarsman chatting away as he pulled hard for the far shore.

 

Out of the boat on the far side, up to the aid station and up the almost two mile climb to Green Gate.  Before we got very far up the hill the next pacer and crew met us.  Lizzie pulled the pacer bib off and handed it off to Paul while Ron, Aaron, Justin, Lizzie and I walked up the hill.  They lied about how quickly I was moving.  Lizzie turned her ankle on the way up the road, about which felt badly but I was also glad that it didn’t happen while it was just the two of us.  We arrived at the Green Gate aid station singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer to go along with the Christmas lights that were strung up.  Paul, stepping right into pacer-hood, got my bottles filled, I grabbed some more melon and we headed out into the horizontal canyons.

 

The two chaps I’d paced in the last two years had both had stomach trouble on this section and were reduced to walking on what is probably the most runnable section of the course.  For ten miles it weaves in and out of the canyons on beautiful single track.  It should be quick but by this time you’re tired, it’s been dark for hours and most of us have a stomach that by this point is not able to process fuel very well.  I had asked Paul ahead of time to remind me to keep moving on this section and he did a great job of getting me to work hard while running as much as I could and when I was able I pushed hard running as fast as my whittled limbs would allow.  Paul talked, joked, told stories about watching babies being delivered and lied about how well I was running.  He managed to do every bit as well as Lizzy had done on the Cal Loop and by the time we got to Brown’s Bar, mile 90, at 2:41am we had picked up even more time.  I however had used up the last of my reserves by this time and decided any more heavy work I put in from here was going to be more I’d pay for later.  We ran conservatively down to the quarry road and along it until we reached the single track that climbs back up to the highway 49 crossing at which point we walked pretty much the rest.  We chatted and I remained in good spirits but was done with working hard and ready to take it conservatively as I felt like I’d been on the edge with my stomach and energy level for several hours.

 

We walked into the highway 49 aid station (93 miles) at 3:45am for the final pacer trade.  As much as Paul and Lizzy did an excellent job and I wouldn’t ask them to do anything differently I’d been looking forward to running with Kim all day.  She and I had run this section a couple times before in the light and in the dark to make sure she was comfortable with the trail, pace and lighting.  It turned out she wouldn’t have to worry about the pace.  She tried a few times to get me to run more but I didn’t have much left and had already decided that since the award for a finishing time of 24:01 was the same as 29:59:59 I’d take it easy and avoid breaking an ankle in my beleaguered state.  We walked and talked and enjoyed the scenery as we waited for the sun to rise.  I had to take the down hills more and more carefully as I continued to be whittled.  I think too that the Sprite and melon diet I’d been on for the last several hours was leaving me a little low on fuel but I could smell the barn at this point and knew I could walk it in and finish in under 30 hours.  I don’t remember what, if anything, I did at the No Hands Bridge station but Kim encouraged me to run all the way across the bridge, which we did.  As soon as I slowed from a run to a walk for the first time I felt extremely sleepy.  As we walked up the gradual incline I ate a couple of the chocolate covered espresso beans I’d been carrying in my fanny pack and sucked down a gu hoping it would pull me out.  I think the combination of fatigue, being low on fuel, and the sun finally starting to lighten the sky for the second time in this event caught up with me.

 

Kim reminded me to keep drinking and to walk with a purpose as we continued the climb up to Robie Point.  A few times I wanted to sit down and rest, “just for a few minutes” but I knew it wouldn’t give me relief for long so we kept trudging.  Kim said when she reminded me to hold my head up and walk well I was still moving well but it wasn’t long before I was staggering again.  We finally arrived at Robie Point and I replaced one of my Sprite bottles with Coke and poured out the other, but as we walked up the relentlessly steep hill I took a sip and poured it out as I nearly retched.  Also at the top of Robie point a woman asked if we’d seen anyone lately.  I said I was more surprised than anyone that we hadn’t been passed much as slowly as we were moving but no, we hadn’t.  When I asked who she was looking for and she told me Dan Williams, I was shocked.  “He’s got to be ahead of me”.  Sure enough a few minutes later he went running by us.  He’s a strong runner who’s been running this event and has finished sub 20 hours several times as far back as the mid 80’s.

 

Ron, Gary, Aaron, Paul, and Rachel all met us on the road on the way from Robie to the finish and “ran” in with Kim and I.  Rachel was in her flip-flops and had no trouble keeping up.  As we came down Finley I was on the verge of tears but was wrenched back to the practical as my toes started dragging on the asphalt threatening to throw me on my face in the last half-mile.  We entered the stadium and alongside the track saw my parents with all three kids.  Kim, Aidee, Aidan, Alex and I all crossed the finish line together in what was a very sweet moment for me.  Here I was with the people who had sacrificed while I trained through all the changes in our lives over the last year.  Its clear to me now not only that we make a good team but that The Big Guy upstairs has been looking out for us.

 

Its not quite 48 hours later and the nail on my big toe of my right foot is almost ready to fall off. I managed to finish my first 100 mile run on what veterans are calling a tough year in 25:09 and I didn’t even puke!  I’m now able to negotiate stairs both up and down and if Kim is up for it…Sign me up for next year!

 

Western States 100 2007 Matt Keyes

 

 

Background:

I ran the western states 100 in 2006 as my first 100 mile run in very hot temperatures.  I was fortunate to be selected in the lottery again this year and even more fortunate in the weather lottery with temperatures twenty degrees cooler than last year.  I ran 25 hours 9 minutes last year and 23 hours 50 minutes this year meeting my goal of sub 24 hours without much margin. 

 

I run because I enjoy being outside in the canyons and in the mountains and because I can!  I have a body that allows me to get outside and move and I feel like if I didn't take advantage of that somehow I'd be wasting a gift.

 

Disclaimer:

I ran this event this year with a goal of reaching the finish in under twenty four hours.  That was my goal on race day and I spent the day chasing that goal.  I’ve read few race reports about successfully achieving that goal other than from a few elite runners.  If hearing about chasing that goal rather than simply enjoying the day, the experience and the adventure is going to chafe you worse than running in cutoffs on a hot dusty day then go no further.  Otherwise please enjoy and let me know what you think.

 

 

Training:

I began training in earnest in December after my name was drawn in the lottery.  I enjoy getting outside and running so much that most of the time it doesn't feel like training.  I mix up my weekly long runs between running solo and running with different groups.  I really enjoy the time outside by myself as it allows for introspection and is such a change from our wired (and wireless) lifestyle.  I also know that we all benefit from the motivation and sharing of information that happens when running with groups.

 

I think of myself as a runner with average talent.  In fact, there are so many things I’m average at:  soccer (playing and coaching), playing guitar, rock climbing, home improvement… the bathroom remodel will be done soon… I hope.  Because I’m not a particularly gifted natural runner and don’t have perfect biomechanics I need to train smart.  My body will only tolerate so many medium high mileage weeks.  I’ve done a bunch of reading on endurance training and attempted to be analytical in my approach to training so I can get the most benefit out of the time I put in.

 

At this point I think its important to step back to my training for last year’s event as it has changed.  Last year I was overwhelmed and inundated with the wealth of different training advice I received.  “you’ve got to get those long runs in…”  “mile repeats on the track are the way to push up your anaerobic threshold…”  “long back to back runs on the weekend are the building blocks of any successful training program…”  “make sure you work hard on those hill repeats…”  “just go out and run, don’t over think it…”  “you know lad, one long run better simulates the event you’re training for than back to backs…”  “its all about time on your feet…”  “don’t run junk miles, its all about quality miles…”  Last year I tried lots of this stuff.  A typical training week during the spring of 2006 looked like this:

 

Mondayrest day or easy 60-90 minute run

Tuesdayone hour easy am, hill repeats pm – hard down and up

Wednesdayone to two hour run at an easy effort

Thursdayone hour easy in the am, 4-6 mile repeats at 6:00-6:30 pace pm

Fridayrest day or easy 60-90 minute run

Saturdaylong run – 3-7 hours mostly in the canyons

 

Sunday60 minutes very easy on flat (relatively, I live in Auburn, CA) terrain

 

Due to schedule and financial limitations I ran just two organized events leading up to the 2006 Western States Endurance run:  The PCTR Mount Diablo 50 miler and the first day of the Western States training weekend where I added on and ran on to the river to extend the run to 40+ miles.

 

Though my training in 2006 worked for me relatively well it seemed the intensity in hills and mile repeats wasn’t great training for a long slow effort in the mountains.  It was a confidence booster to find that I could run a 6:09 mile on the fifth repeat around a track with just two minutes to recover between, but I’m not sure how that translated to the event for which I was training.

 

For this year’s event I chose to roll the dice a bit and put all my eggs in one basket.  I ran the same volume of training but all in a focused 60-80% effort.  I wore a heart rate monitor for all my training runs and kept my heart rate where it needed to be even when that meant letting the group with which I was running go ahead in the first half of a long run.  The idea was (is) that the body works differently at moderate intensity in terms of what it uses for fuel than it does at higher (anaerobic) intensities.  I’ve tried to describe my understanding of the whole aerobic vs anaerobic thing and suffice to say that’s another story and one best told by someone smarter than me.  I again ran the same two organized events and at the Mount Diablo 50 mile run I found I was able to run about 20 minutes faster than the year before at the same effort.  It seemed the training was paying off.

 

I again stretched out day one of the Memorial Day weekend training run, this time to 50ish miles, from Robinson Flat, through Foresthill to the river and up Driver’s Flat road.  I ran all day with my now good friend and fellow low heart rate trainer Derek.  During that 50 mile day on the course I felt an odd sort of numbness around my left knee whilst descending volcano canyon but thought little of it.  While running the downhill switchbacks below Cal 2 a few hours later I recognized, much to my chagrin, the onset of an IT band injury as it turned from tingly to ouch.  Yeah, bummer.  This run being four weeks out from race day I decided it was taper time.  I treated the injury as best I could with a trip to the chiropractor, a deep tissue massage, ice and numerous torture fests on a modern day iron maiden known as a foam roller.  I ran one day in those last four weeks between the flare up and race day, which was to familiarize my pacer with his section on the Cal loop and could again feel the IT band flaring up.

 

The week of the race:

Did I mention the bathroom remodel?  Kim and I set a goal in the spring to have our longstanding bathroom remodel project completed before race day so any family and friends in town for the weekend could have the benefit of a two bathroom house.  We’ve spent many hours over the last several months doing plumbing, electrical, insulation… The last week of taper before the race looked like this:

 

Fridaydrive around San Francisco to purchase 1” hex ceramic tile

Saturdayload 300lbs of concrete and sand at hardware store, unload at home and mix concrete by hand delivering to dear friend who was willing and able to float the floor that was 1 1/2” out of level.  (11pm quitting time)

Saturdaypm finish above mentioned cross training

Mondaycommute one hour to client in Truckee, work 10 hours drive back in time to meet brother in law who was willing and able to help lay tile (11pm quitting time)

Tuesdaypm finish above mentioned cross training

Wednesdayam moan and complain to the Mrs that I’m done, spent, ruined, and please don’t let me work on the bathroom remodel any more until after Western to which she replied, “yes dear”.

Thursdaybegin packing crew bags and planning including a call to a friend up the hill, “hey, so I have this thing up there early Saturday, can we sleep in your spare room…?”  It was during this day that the second of our three miniature people came down with a fever and angry belly.  Yikes, am I next?

 

I rode up with D-ball to the medical check and swag line on Friday am.  Kim came up later in the day after dropping the sick child with one grandma and the two healthy ones with the other set of grandparents.  They truly are Grand, aren’t they? Kim and I went to dinner with some friends at a Mexican restaurant in Tahoe City then to our friend’s place in Truckee where we stayed up too late (10pm?) talking and eating ice cream.  I slept pretty well actually… between ten and midnight then I slept like a baby, waking up every fifteen minutes until two, stared at the clock from two until three then got up thirty minutes before the alarm and took a shower.  I got dressed and applied the requisite body glide before driving to the start.  I ate a pretty good breakfast from what was offered at the start and sat quietly with Kim for a bit.  Both of us knew we were in for a long day.  We went up to the start with only a minute or two to spare and found D-ball.  We had no plan of sticking together for the day but it would be fun to hang out as long as it worked.

 

Go time:

The shotgun went off (how many races start with a shotgun really?), I whooped and we all marched up the hill.  Derek and I stuck with Bob, another Auburn bloke all the way to the Escarpment and met a couple of Bob’s friends who had over 20 Western finishes between them.  One of them said it had cost her thirty years and three marriages, so there’s something to think about during some of the idle time today.  That climb to the escarpment seems long no matter how you slice it.  It took a little over an hour but I sure was glad it was the first hill and not the last.  So far I was sticking to my plan and keeping my heart rate below 160 at all times.  I grabbed some grub at the aid station and shoved a couple of gu’s in the free pocked of my shorts.  Over the top we went and made the transition to bombed out dirt ski hill to B E A Utifull wilderness and single track.  It’s a striking contrast as soon as you round over the top of Squaw Valley.

 

On the way to Lyon Ridge Derek and I continued together and began to pass a few people on the downhill sections.  The conga lines are so long that sometimes it doesn’t make much sense to pass but when it wasn’t too much trouble we went for it in order to be able to run downhill.  Somewhere before Lyon Ridge I began to feel the now familiar ache along the outside of my right knee that let me know my IT band was going to be an issue today.  Bummer.  I was hoping against hope that it would have mysteriously vanished in the last couple of weeks.  I began to occupy my brain with what if scenarios.  What if it gets worse and proceeds from ouch to oh good golly there’s no way I can run like this?  What if I can’t run the down hills?  Last year I had struggled with dead quads from 1/3 of the way into the course and suffered through the canyons.  Was I up for walking them backwards this year?  What if the IT band strap I bought but have never run with can keep the pain at a distance?  What if I can’t make it to Robinson Flat to pick up the strap?  What if I just drop at Robinson Flat and save myself some suffering?  What if snakes had arms… could they then wear vests?

 

I allowed my brain to be filled with all this stuff and to sap me of energy even as I was running to plan with my body.  I reminded myself again and again to deal with what I can affect and put what I can’t control out of my mind.  I remembered running the canyons with my friend Gary last year when I rolled my ankle all the way to the ground while looking over my shoulder to tell a joke.  On that training run we’d been near Deadwood, at the top of the longest downhill and my ankle had rolled all the way to the ground, far enough to give a good pop.  As Gary ran on down the hill he said, “put it out of your mind, it didn’t happen!”.  It was good advice then and now but that doesn’t make it easy when the physical reminder is there with every step.  Ok, if not Gary’s advice, how about Dory’s from finding Nemo, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming, what do we do we swim, swim, swim.”  So, I swam on, thanks Dory.

 

I did have some distractions, such as running for a bit with Steve and Chris who’d gone back east to tackle a hard hundred miler called RockandNutty or something like that.  I knew they’d had their share of trouble with blisters and stomach trouble.  I wasn’t about to mention my wee little ache to them.  I also met another Chris who was running Western for the first time as his first hundred miler and had deliberately not trained on the course to further savor the adventure.  Wow, good ‘on ya mate!  Chris also has an uncanny ability to run steep technical rocky downhill while chatting and shooting pictures.  Chris has skills.

 

Somewhere between Lyon Ridge (mile 10.5) and Red Star Ridge (16) it started to get dusty.  Not, gosh, is that dust?  But, holy crap I can’t see where I’m putting my feet and its hard to breathe.  After seeing a few other people do the same I donned my bandana cowpoke style and found it was much easier to breathe using the bandana as a filter rather than my lungs.  The other aspect of all the dust flying was the visual one.  I had meant to pick up sunglasses before the event but never did and the dust in my eyes was a nuisance.  It turned out that somewhere during the day I must have rubbed my right eye and scratched the surface with some of that dust.  Later on after it got dark it would make things pretty interesting as it blurred my vision in that eye.  I rolled through the Red Star Ridge aid station making sure to get ice in my bottles to help with the heat in the now burned out section of the course to come.

 

The next section has some great terrain that’s fun to run.  Last year I had too much fun here and ran too hard which was largely responsible for the demise of my quads.  This time I continued to rein it in and run conservatively.  I stayed with the people I was running with on the flats and climbs and began to pass a few on the down hills.  Though my goal was to run under twenty four hours I had decided to not carry splits, memorize them or look at the signs with times and paces posted in the high country.  My plan was to run completely by effort in the high country and hope that it wouldn’t put me much more than one hour behind the published twenty four hour pace at Robinson Flat.  It had been working fine as far as I knew as I wasn’t feeling the pressure of time up until Michelle, a very strong runner from South Africa who has also swum the English Channel said something about the cutoff at Duncan Canyon.  I told her that we were fine, we had plenty of time, no problem.  As I overtook her on a downhill she responded, “Just tell them not to cut me off, I’m going as fast as I can.”  I didn’t think we were in danger of missing the cutoff but the seed of doubt had been planted though, as we were less than a mile from the aid station I ran on as I had, not pushing the pace or effort. I came into the Duncan Canyon aid station (mile 23.8) just ahead of a longish line of runners and quickly filled my bottles walking out with food in my hand and eating on the walk so as not to get tangled up with a line that would control my pace.

 

From here the course meanders down to Duncan Creek along beautiful single track.  After I finished eating I began to run again and it was somewhere in here that Derek caught me again having been separated a little while back.  It was good to see Derek and we ran together down do Duncan Creek passing a local runner who was walking and having stomach trouble.  He said he was ok and had what he needed and just needed to work it out.  When Derek and I arrived at Duncan Creek I was surprised to find all the best dunking pools vacant.  Though it was much cooler than the year before I still planned to have a dunk and proceeded to lie down in the water head to toe for as long as I could stand the cold.  It was probably less than a minute but felt great to be cold before the hike from the creek up to Robinson Flat (mile 29.7).  Derek and I started out of the creek with a line of women who overtook us while we were chillin’ out.  Trish was one of them and she led the charge up the Hill.  We were all chatting when someone came storming up behind us.  A chap named Jonathon who was using Western as a training run for Badwater came up behind us and quickly passed the whole line of us looking chipper and spry.  Somewhere around half way up the climb to Robinson Derek and I offered to pull the line and Trish accepted saying something about it feeling like it was going to be a long day.  As for long days its another long pull from Duncan to Robinson Flat but we finally arrived after more than an hour and a half.

 

If you have crew its great to see them and Robinson is the first opportunity to do so.  Derek and I rolled in hootin’ and a’ hollerin’ at 12:23pm, almost an hour behind the published twenty four hour pace.  I weighed in and was right on my starting weight of 152 (five pounds heavier than last year).  I went through the aid station and sat in the chair Kim and Lorita had laid out for me.  Mike and his boy Andrew were there taking pictures too which surprised me as it’s a long drive.  You could almost hear the impact wrench spinning as the crew flew into motion.  They applied sunscreen, swapped my electrolyte and pain killer baggy, gave me my mp3 player, did a sock change and brought me the IT band strap. They both seemed a little concerned when I asked for the strap and I asked them to pray for me as it was likely to be a long day.  I was in and out of the aid station in just a couple minutes. which turned out to be a little too fast as I realized on the walk up little bald mountain that I’d neglected to eat and drop off the long sleeve shirt I’d started in.  I ate some shot blocks I had with me and figured I’d drop of the shirt when I saw the crew again in Michigan Bluff.

 

After the climb out of Robinson Flat to the top of little bald mountain there’s lots of fairly gentle downhill through the Miller’s Defeat aid station (34.4 miles), Dusty Corners (38 miles) and all the way to Last Chance (43.8 miles).  Last year this was my low point and I already had dead quads.  This time after holding back in the high country I was running an even easier effort as I descended through these sections and beginning to pass people in earnest.  I passed Gary and Don, walking and chatting with each other down the jeep road toward Miller’s Defeat and looking a bit like I felt last year.  Gary cracked some ribs at the Silver State 50 mile a few earlier and Don was likely saving himself for Leadville.  They both finished in 2006 so I didn’t worry too much about them and continued on my way after checking in.  I filled my bottles and grabbed some food then walked out eating at each of these aid stations.  I was able to move through them fairly quickly and was feeling pretty good. I had been eating at the aid stations and one or two gu’s when I was 45 minutes from the last aid station.  I’d been drinking gu2O, the electrolyte drink offered at the event, and taking one Succeed electrolyte capsule every hour.

 

The IT band strap seemed to be keeping my leg from getting any more painful and I was still able to run the flats and downs just fine.  I walked all the hills no matter how slight.  As I was coming out of the Dusty Corners aid station (38 miles) I saw Steven who I’d trained with some this year.  He’s one of the guys I’ve met in the last year who ran his first 50 mile run at Helen Klein as a qualifier for Western States then got picked in the lottery on his first try.  I caught him coming out of the aid station and we ran together past Pucker Point and into Last Chance.  He said he was “one hurtin’ rookie” and I assured him that the only difference between us was that I was here last year too.  We’re all hurting 40 miles into a run through the mountains with the drop into the canyons still to come.  It was good having someone to run with again as Derek and I had lost each other when we went to our crews in Robinson Flat.  When we came into Last Chance (mile 43) Steven went to his drop bag after the scales and I went to get some of those tasty grilled cheese sandwiches.  My weight was within a pound or two of my starting weight. I gladly accepted a cold water dousing from the volunteers at the aid station and left the aid station thanking them with my hands, mouth and belly full of grilled cheese sandwich.

 

Those of us who live close enough to train in the canyons get to know them pretty well and sometimes I don’t know if this is to our benefit or detriment.  I have times in my head for the descent from Last Chance to the Swinging Bridge (30 minutes) the climb to Devil’s Thumb ( < 60 minutes), the descent to El Dorado Creek (60 minutes), the climb to Michigan Bluff ( < 60 minutes), not that I use those times as goals for each leg but if I’m wondering if I’m near the top of Devil’s Thumb I can look at my watch and if I see I’ve just been on it for 20 minutes I know to put my head back down, eat something and get walking.  On this day I wasn’t suffering from dead quads, it was relatively cool and the strap on my IT band was keeping the pain to a manageable level.  I was able to run the section down to the Swinging Bridge in a controlled manner and really enjoy it.

 

After crossing the bridge I hustled up to the spring that’s right on the trail at the base of the climb up Devil’s Thumb and did my usual bottle refill and dip in it.  It felt great to start the climb soaked head to toe and with two bottles of cold water.  I encouraged a couple people that passed me while I was lying in the puddle to do the same but they politely declined while eyeing me with a, “he’s out of his gourd” sort of look. I did my best to drain both bottles and down a couple gu’s on the way up the climb.  A stocky gent from San Diego caught me and I did my best to keep up with him.  He was running his first hundred today and we talked about the sections of trail to come and our chances at making our time goals.  He was very strong on the climb and by sticking near him I made it to the Devil’s Thumb aid station (mile 48) at the top in forty five minutes without running a step.  I again weighed in right on the money, refueled and walked out eating something with ice and gu2O in my two hand bottles.

 

The descent to El Dorado Creek is the longest downhill of the day with almost all five miles being down hill.  At some point on the way down it occurred to me that it was getting warmer as I dropped the more than 2000’ from Devil’s Thumb but nothing to complain about compared to last year.  I was again able to run down in a controlled manner unlike when I was in my quad ruined state last year.  It seemed people were pretty spread out at this point and I saw very few people on the way down.  At one point I did pass a couple guys only to pull off another mile down the trail and have them pass me while I took my shoe off to examine what I was sure was a toenail flopping around in my shoe.  The nail was still on and the sensation I felt was a blister bursting along the right side of my big toe.  Realizing there was nothing I could do I put my shoe and sock back on and headed on down the last mile of trail to the El Dorado Creek (mile 53) aid station.  Deciding that it wasn’t hot enough anymore to warrant a dip in the creek I got in and out of the aid station with a quick bottle refill and handful of food to munch on the walk up to Michigan Bluff.  I was aware that I needed to start reeling in the 24 hour pace if I was to make it happen so I was trying to make the aid station stops as efficient as possible.

 

There are some people who I know if I catch them in the course of one of these runs they are not having a good day.  I was surprised to see Rena ahead on the switchbacks and knowing the answer couldn’t be good I asked how she was doing.  She replied with her trademark smile that she was good but confused about her weight gain.  After walking with her for a couple minutes and finding that she seemed to be lucid and generally ok I headed on up solo.

 

I had made the suggestion earlier in the year to someone that when you roll into Michigan Bluff you need to have a smile on your face.  You need a smile not only because you’ve just come out of the last of the really big canyons but also because you’re seeing your family and crew after several hours and they need to see that you’re ok.  I didn’t need to try to put a smile on my face as I was feeling very triumphant coming into the Michigan Bluff (mile 55.7) aid station and I would have had a hard time fighting the smile that was spreading across my face.  I rolled in at 6:15 having managed to reel in 15 minutes on the 24 hour pace in the canyons and still felt pretty good for having 55 miles on my body.  I sat in the chair and sipped the strawberry milkshake I’d requested while the crew went to work on a shoe and sock change and restocked my electrolyte/pain killer baggy.  This time I remembered to leave my long sleeve shirt behind along with the unused mp3 player.  I also remembered to thank the crew this time and apologized for not being appreciative at Robinson Flat to which Kim replied, “You were great!” displaying again that she had her game face on and it was all about me today.  What a woman.  Before long they bounced me out of the chair and I ran hard up the road feeling a surge of adrenaline and shouted something over my shoulder about, “an hour and twenty minutes” to Kim.

 

I arrived just short of an hour and a half later in Foresthill with Volcano Canyon having gone fine while the walk up the pavement of Bath Road just seemed to drag on and on and I had no desire to run any of it.  As I ran into Foresthill I recognized several friends and family members but didn’t realize until after I’d come through the aid station and was in the chair with the crew hovering that there were more than twenty people around me.  They’d driven and waited over an hour to see me for a few minutes.  It was exciting, invigorating and humbling all at once.  I left my shoes and feet alone and chose to leave the small fanny pack I’d planned to pick up behind in favor of tying a jacket around my waist.  Running with my wet long sleeve shirt around my waist earlier in the day had left two raw spots on my low back and there are some great pictures of Kim applying body glide to them for me.  I put on my two headlamps, one for my head and a second for my waist and headed out of the aid station with my first pacer, Paul.

 

After walking a bit so I could sip more of my strawberry milkshake before handing it off to Kim, we started to run but I was stopped short by a stabbing pain in my left knee.  It seemed the IT band wasn’t done with me yet.  I found though that if I started in slowly it warmed up again and I was able to run fairly normally.  This start/stop/start again was all just seconds after I’d warned Paul the pacer that he’d better be ready because I felt good and was going to run his legs off.  Paul and I used to rock climb together more than ten years ago.  Since then we’ve both switched our priorities to our wives and small children.  When Paul found out I was accepted in the lottery to run Western last year he said he wanted to pace me and began training.  Last year he paced me on the other side of the river and this year he was again running his longest run ever while pacing me.  We’d both run this section two weeks before to familiarize him with it but today I was hoping to run it a bit faster in an attempt to pick up some time on the mostly downhill section from Foresthill to the river known as the Cal loop.

 

Paul did a perfect job of checking in with me before we arrived at an aid station and finding out what we needed to do while we were there then making it happen while I sat in a chair and sipped broth.  I found that if I kept my left knee pretty straight I could still sit in the chair then when we had filled the bottles with Sprite and sipped broth after a few tentative steps I could ease back into a run.  We proceeded like this all the way down the Cal loop as we talked about everything from music, to kids, to Harry Potter.  Paul is fit and strong but today I was moving pretty well and I heard him say something from behind about working hard.  Knowing he was wearing a heart rate monitor too I asked what it was telling him to which he replied, “I’m not telling you until tomorrow.”  I preferred to run in front and a little later on I heard a scuff and expletive from behind that indicated either a turned ankle or kicked rock.  I asked Paul if he was ok and he responded, “GREAT!  And if you ask again tonight the answer will be the same!”.  A good pacer is of great value.  We worked our way all the way down the Cal loop having a good time.  We turned our lights on somewhere before Cal 2 (mile 70.7) and were able to make good time on the switchbacks out of that aid station.  It seemed like we passed quite a few people on our way to the river which can be somewhat tricky on the single track.  Our passing strategy was to hold back for a bit then when we passed to pass them and be done.  Nobody likes to be passed only to have the passer hold them up on the next section and wonder if they should pass back.

 

The section after Cal 3 along the river always seems to drag on and on and Paul did a great job of keeping me running this section.  It was here that I started to think, “if I miss my time goal and I didn’t run ‘this’ section I’ll be disappointed.”  Finally the lights of the Rucky Chucky (mile 78) near side aid station came into view.  I rode the wave of adrenaline down the last downhill and came in ‘wahooooing’ and calling for Chuck who was working the aid station.  After I weighed in and got my water bottles back I noticed Paul was hustling into the aid station behind me.  Apparently I had lost him on the last bit of down hill.  Chuck walked us down to the river crossing on the new ramp which was much nicer than hobbling down the overgrown steps and told us we just needed to find fifteen minutes.  We had run the Cal loop in three and a half hours and we were very happy with that.

 

If you’ve never had the chance to cross the river find a way.  Pace someone, work at the aid station, take a camera and print your own press pass… something.  Its very cool.  From the torches lighting up the night to the glow sticks under the water, all the people and if you have open blisters… YEEEEEEOUCH!  That’ll wake you up.  Paul and I crossed, refueled and refilled at the far side aid station and started staggering up the hill to Green Gate.  At this point neither of us was able to push the other and there was very little conversation.  Paul mentioned something about having only 20… but I cut him off as I wasn’t ready to bite off such a large section.  At this point I could still only barely focus on one section at a time and the last 20 miles was far too big a chunk.  It took us forty minutes to climb the almost two miles to the Green Gate (mile 79.8) aid station.  Paul began removing the pacer number as we neared the top to hand it off to Liz and as we rolled into the aid station he handed it off and brought her up to speed on my fluid, calorie and electrolyte schedule.  Ron was there to crew with the whole kit including a spare pair of shoes and socks but all I took was the last baggy of electrolytes, acetaminophen and vitamin i.

 

Liz and I rolled out of the aid station and I eased into a run on the relatively flattish terrain that constitute the route between mile 80 and mile 90.  I continued to run anything that otherwise might cause me to miss my time goal.  It felt like I was working hard but by this time I was whittled to the point that any running felt hard.  Every time I looked at my heart rate for an excuse to change from a run to a walk I was surprised to see I was in the 130’s and had a hard time hitting 140 at all.  In the dark on these trails its difficult to tell sometimes if its slightly up hill or slightly down hill and sometimes I would find myself to hear Liz say, “ready to run?”.  She was great and it was exactly what I needed but I didn’t have much nice to say to her.  My buddy Don said later on Sunday morning that he wants to have someone go out and measure this section of the course and I didn’t argue a bit.  It feels much longer than the five miles and change it is.  We finally rolled into the Auburn Lake Trails (mile 85) aid station still ten minutes behind the 24 hour pace.  I drank broth, ate melon, refilled the bottles with Sprite and ice, rinse and repeat we were off and running again toward Brown’s Bar.

 

I warned Liz about two things on the way to Brown’s Bar.  When you hear the music we still have several minutes to go because its loud and the trail weaves in and out of the canyon.  If you see a headlamp ahead it could be a half mile or or ahead.  Also, we need to know what we’re doing here and get it done because these people are here to volunteer for the run but they also have a rager of a party going on.  Last year one of the female volunteers continually propositioned Paul with a finger full of Vaseline.  No joke.  We wove in and out of those canyons for what seemed like hours but was only a little over an hour when we finally heard the music.  I don’t know that we passed or were passed by another runner on this stretch.  It turned out my concerns about efficiency in this aid station were unwarranted as the volunteers were very helpful (were they rationing the spirits this year?).  We got what we needed and were on down the trail shortly still chasing the pace.

 

From here the trail drops down steeply to run along the river again on the quarry road.  This was the first technical down hill I’d run in hours and was a little worried about my ability to run it.  It turned out I was still able to run it but was discouraged to find my vision was blurred from the dust that scratched the surface of my right eye earlier in the day.  Soon we were on the quarry road and fell in behind a runner and her pacer who was doing a stunning job of prodding her runner along with encouragement like, “remember when you were running _____ and you were still able to…” and “ok, its uphill so hike hard, now its flattening out so just shuffle a little bit, now roll into it and we’re running, great job!”.  They were impressive and we rode their wake all the way into the Highway 49 aid station.

 

Kim, Ron, Lorita, Aaron, and Aurora were all waiting at Highway 49 (mile 93.5) in the three o’clock hour when we rolled in still a few minutes behind the pace.  Constantly doing trail math and pushing was whittling me mentally and I didn’t say much here.  I weighed in a pound or two up and Lizzy and I headed out.  I asked Kim to meet us at Robie Point.  The woman is a saint.  Out of the aid station up the hill and I rubbed my eyes and asked Liz if she saw the lights up ahead.  They were there.  I wasn’t hallucinating.  It appeared three guys and their beer cans had constructed quite a Christmas light menagerie.  As impressive as it was and as well meaning as their urges for us to stop and have a beer were we trod on across the meadow and into the last down hill of the course.

 

The section from pointed rocks to no hands bridge was drastically changed earlier in the year when a trail machine was used to cut out the 2’ deep rut and broaden this section into near fire road width in sections.  I had complained about it when I first ran it but this time in the wee hours with a worn out body, blurry vision and a dangling time goal I was glad of it.  Liz stayed right with me as we hammered down the trail trying to make any time possible on this the last of the gravity fed speed.  We caught one local runner I knew who was walking and tried to encourage him to run with us but he said something about trying to stay upright.  I figured I couldn’t argue that as I felt like I might take an ugly spill at any moment.  We arrived at No Hands Bridge (mile 96.8) and for the first time all day we were ahead of the twenty four hour pace.  I wasn’t relieved in the least though as they allowed 50 minutes to get from the bridge to the finish which I knew consisted of the uphill along the railroad bridge, the switchbacks then the cruel trick of the last climb up Robie Drive.  I must have muttered something about the time being unrealistic and Liz cheerily quipped that this was my home ground now and I knew the rest of the trail so it should be easy.  Its true that I know it well as I often run down here out my front door but I refused to let up knowing that we had some serious uphill ahead of us.  We ran much of the railroad grade, walked the switchbacks and up to Robie where we found Kim and Aaron waiting for us.  As we all walked up the paved road and neared the top I finally allowed myself to think it, then to say it out loud.  I looked at Kim and said quietly, “we’re going to make it aren’t we?”  She calmly answered that yes, we were.  I was overwhelmed with relief and here she was acting like she knew we had it in the bag all day long.

 

I savored the darkness as we rounded the turn and slipped through the fence onto the track then saw them standing on the field alongside the track.  The kids and my parents were up before 5:00 on a Sunday morning and here to be a part of the finish.  The two big kids came out and each grabbed a hand to run in with me and as I turned to my right to say something to one of them the little one ran out to give me a hug as I was still running.  I caught her narrowly avoiding her bouncing off the track.  Kim scooped her up and carried her as we all rounded the turn on the track and crossed the finish line together.

 

Will I run again next year?  You don't ask a woman who's just given birth if she'd like to procreate... I'll likely put my name in the lottery again next year since the chances of getting picked are about one in four. 

 

Thoughts for those contemplating such a silly venture:

The trail running and ultra community is just that, a community.  Take the time to meet people along the way.  Hang out with different people and different groups.  Listen to all the advice you get and take it with a boiled potato dipped in salt.  Most importantly, take the time, no matter what you're doing, to look out for other people and take care of them along the way. 

 

One more thing:

Completing a run like western states takes time, not just the day of the event or the week of the event, but lots of hours at a time over several months.  For that reason it affects my whole family (Kim, Aidee 10, Aidan 7, Alex 3) in the months leading up to it.  During March, April and May I run one long day of six hours or more on the weekend almost every week with a couple runs of twelve hours or so.  This is all time away from Kim and our three children.  Its also a key element in being prepared for me so its a necessity for me to be ready.  With all that time away I need to work at keeping a balance with the rest of my time with them.  I do my best to have my training not be too intrusive during the week, often running on the local trails at night after reading to the kids and putting them in bed.  I also try to be involved in my kids’ lives when I'm not training by working in their classrooms at school, coaching their soccer teams, going on field trips and going climbing at the summit for a day here and there as a family.  I say all this to point out that finishing western states is not about hours and minutes on the trail on race day so much as it is the balancing act leading up to it, so when I cross the finish line I do so holding hands with my wife and kids.  It’s an adventure our whole family has a part in.