This report begins quite a few years ago, which should tell you that this might end up being a long write-up. I'll try to keep it reasonably succinct!
I started entering the Western States lottery on a whim. Sounded like a unique experience. Historic. Like the Boston Marathon - on its face an event I might not be drawn to, but fun to be there as a "once in a lifetime" thing.
I kept entering the Western States lottery because I enjoyed running a variety of qualifying races. As we traveled I got to see trails I might not have considered in Texas, California, Arizona, and Utah.
Each year that you don't get in, your ticket number doubles. That seems fair. Eventually after 8 failed tries I had 256 tickets. That seems like a lot! It was finally enough, and I was way more than ready to get this show on the road. I guess after that many years, a whim can morph into a slight obsession.
My main takeaway was that I was only getting one shot at this so I better make it count.
I was so thrilled to have friends and family to help me in this endeavor! Robyn was the first person I asked (well, besides correctly assuming John was interested in being there). We've spent enough time on the trails together that I was hoping to have her company and conversation during the night. So pleased she could make it.
And Kip! What a delightful day when we found out he would help crew plus pace me for the final miles. We've raced together through so many challenging and interesting adventures, it was a major bonus to share this one with him as well.
John is my solid rock of a crew man, always ready to do whatever, drive wherever, solve problems, and cheer me on. I didn't expect he'd be able to run with me but I knew his smiling face would buoy me forward from every crew spot he could make it to.
We were only missing Billie, who wanted to pace me from the river crossing to Pointed Rocks. She got injured and wasn't able to make it - hope you make your own journey to this storied race eventually, Billie! Her parents Wayne and Betsy were still up for the adventure so they got a first-hand look at the goings on that weekend.
Race morning and we're all so excited to be there together!
I guess I'm pointing in my initial direction of travel - up the ski slope:
Summary of the first climb: Cool, calm, content. I loved that I was there, excited to see what the day would bring, grateful for this opportunity. I chatted a bit with another runner and we were both fine with the speedy folks running off ahead of us. Keep a moderate pace, try to be smart about the day, breathe.
I did wish I had trekking poles for the climb - I'd been debating about them (how much would I use them for the miles following the big uphill?) until Kip pointed out that poles aren't allowed in this race. Crew points for Kip!
I should mention that we started a thing a couple days before the race where my crew would get imaginary points for helpful actions. Specific point values were never mentioned, no running tally, just "points!" when I noticed something. It was (mostly) positive feedback and the slightly competitive aspect of it made us laugh.
Top of the ski mountain and what a fantastic view! Sunrise over Lake Tahoe was SO pretty. Thankful for this day.
A crowd of people formed a cheer tunnel right at the top, super inspiring. And hey, there's Noe! We run into each other at races now and again and he's always great to talk to. He came walking beside me, telling me I was going to do well, urging me on. Thanks Noe, it was good to see you in another random location!
Phew, that was exciting. Time to get back to work.
The trail below the ridge isn't great, and I'm glad to hear they are working on a reroute for future races. We walked up at least a couple little flowing creeks and there are other muddy, slippery places that aren't fun for feet (or for the trail itself). A couple times I got stuck behind lines of runners and couldn't understand how patient everyone was being. I mean, I'm all for being a pleasant person, but we really don't have time for this.
Finally I got free of the traffic jams and could run my own race. The trail got better and the scenery was lovely.
I arrived at the first aid station (Lyon Ridge, 10.3 miles) just before 8 am. That was well within a 30-hour pace (straight up math) but slower than suggested by the Western States pacing chart for anyone trying to finish within the cutoff time. Hmm, something to ponder as I go.
I haven't done a "running-focused" 100-miler in quite a while, tending more toward big mountains with lots of climbing. I wasn't sure how my legs would handle the faster pace, but I made sure to always be running or speed-walking and certainly tried to spend as little time in aid stations as possible. Hopefully that would be enough.
Approaching the next aid station (Red Star Ridge, 15.8 miles) I tried to judge when I was getting close and then ducked behind some trees to test out the "pee in a baggie" system for the urine research study. If anyone should be prepared for this, it's this runner -- assuming it's anything like drinking Spiz from a bag. Yep, that was pretty easy.
I came into the aid station looking for someone to hand it off to, surprised that it took some asking around. Finally got it delivered to the Pee Person, found some hand sanitizer, and then did my standard water refill. Next stop, John Beard!
The next section of trail was in great shape, overall downhill, and it went faster than anticipated. I hit Duncan Canyon (24.4 miles) ahead of 27-hour pace. Perplexingly, still behind the website-suggested splits (I never did get ahead of them), but at some point I just had to start ignoring those and stick with my own plan.
I came running down the trail into the middle of minor mayhem. Runners everywhere, crew people looking for their runners, an announcer calling out numbers, and a small space to work with. An aid station lady stepped in front of me asking a bunch of questions, what did I need? Water, food? It was a bit disorienting after so many miles of peaceful running, but I finally spotted John and told her I had a crew person.
John brought the small cooler so I could sit for a second in the middle of the crowd, drink my Spiz and get some water, and tell him thank you! It was wonderful to see you! Now I have to go, go, go...
The next 6 miles took us down and up through our first canyon. Not as deep or hot as the later canyons, just a practice version. I appreciated the trees and the quieter atmosphere. I'd read about the water crossing at the bottom and it seemed quickest to just wade across. Then it was time to get back to work with the second big climb of the race.
Partway up, at a switchback corner, I saw two people standing there. My first thought was "hey, he has trekking poles", my next thought was "oh! The woman's bib says 'GUIDE'" and that led to "well, of course he can have trekking poles - it's Will, the blind guy" and finally "I hope he's doing OK." I'd heard the runner in front of me ask if he needed anything, so I followed up with a simple "good job"
Other than that, the ascent was a non-event and eventually I got to the top (Robinson Flat, 30.3 miles). I found another hiding place to use the bathroom in a baggie, then got back on the trail to go find my next crew people.
They came running to greet me, yay for Robyn and Kip! Robyn even got a picture of my arrival, complete with a pee baggie that needed to be turned in... somewhere?
Until we could locate that "somewhere" further down the aid station area, we huddled in the shade that Kip and Robyn had saved for me (moving our stuff as the sun gradually changed the position of the shade). It was lovely to see them and we set to work on a few things:
Change from pack to vest
Drink Spiz, refill water
Change of socks - so helpful to have assistance
Time to boogie! We found the Pee People and then I was outta there. Let's go!
A couple stories from my crew at Robinson Flat (things that happened while they were waiting):
Kip said "I was impressed with several of the lead runners who didn't stop or even break stride through the transition area. Their crew would just run alongside them through the TA and hand them new bottles as they ran."
Robyn mentioned that the race people offered hotdogs to the crew people - not a normal thing to have happen, and much appreciated!
After just a bit more uphill, it was time for some road running in the downhill direction. Then back to trail, still mostly down. I would have made up some time here except my calf started twitching. Standard stuff lately, haven't figured it out yet, and the current work-around is to ease up into a gentle stride and hope it goes away.
When that didn't work and the calf went into an actual cramp, I hobbled over to a log to let it decide when it was time to relax. While I was waiting, another runner came up and asked if I could help? He needed a sandwich from his vest and couldn't reach it. I did try, but had to tell him that I couldn't really move from this position (calf cramping and all that), sorry!
He moved on and I got up a couple minutes later, rounded the next corner and found the Miller's Defeat aid station (mile 34.4). I'm guessing he got help with his sandwich from a more mobile person. I walked/jogged along the forest roads and my calf eventually decided everything was fine.
Not too long later, after more descending, I arrived at Dusty Corners (mile 38). Another John aid station, sweet!
He took a couple pictures while he was waiting:
Good shade opportunities here:
It was nice to sit for a moment and even nicer to get ice for my hat, neck bandana, and water bottle. John helped me switch tops to a short sleeve cotton shirt plus arm sleeves (also with ice, yay!). I wasn't feeling hot but it was certainly warm and my body was sweating like it knows how to do.
Thank you John, see you tonight!
On his drive out he took a picture of one of the upcoming canyons:
From there the trail did some traversing above a big canyon, mostly in the trees. The one thing I remember is that I'd reached a point where I didn't want to follow anyone too closely. Feet kicked up dust that hung in the air, and I didn't feel like breathing that any more than necessary. If I got close to someone, I'd speed up to pass (and then try to step lightly to keep from dusting them too much). If someone came up behind me, I'd step aside and slow down until they got further ahead. Funny what things a brain can decide are important.
Rolling through Last Chance (mile 43.4 and an hour ahead of the cutoff time), I got water in my bottle and in a Spiz baggie. On the way out there were a few inspirational signs, and I got a mention as one of the runners with 256 tickets - that's cool, thank you whoever created the sign!
Time for one of the big canyons, possibly the steepest, and one that has gotten quite a reputation. By the time I arrived, the sun was still out but it was lower in the sky and I could even see some shadows across the way. One benefit to being on the slower side was missing the worst of the heat in this area. I worked my way down the switchbacks, being careful with the footing. I carried the Spiz baggie down so I could drink it at the bottom instead of subjecting my stomach to an intake of liquid before a big descent.
After crossing the bridge, I paused to drink some nutrition and then turned my attention to the trail that went immediately and steeply uphill. I made it up a switchback or two before I started feeling "off" and kind of dizzy. That's a new one... OK... here's a nice rock next to the side of the hill. I sat down to wait for the feeling to pass.
I remember having a very short dream and then waking up to see several runners standing there looking at me.
I guess I must have passed out briefly! That's another new one.
One of the runners seemed to be a medical person, as he checked my pulse and said I must have low blood pressure or something. I appreciated his concern and was glad to hear he was going to alert the medical staff at the next aid station (Devil's Thumb at the rim of the canyon, mile 47.8). He offered to stay with me, which I wasn't having - no need to ruin both of our races. He did make me promise to wait for the race people there... OK sure, I might do that...
He moved on and I sat for a few minutes to assess. A runner came by every couple minutes, and at first they would look at me closely. Eventually I felt better and I was just a "normal person taking a break" on this big uphill, so presumably I looked better too. When a mosquito bit me (profanity) I knew it was time to get up and start moseying away from the river.
I walked slowly uphill, found another rock to sit on for a moment, then walked a bit more, sipping on water as I went. Runners kept trekking past, including Will and his guide (I made sure to get out of their way - go Will!). Sure wish I had some poles too... OK I've got to stop coveting those things.
Eventually I was able to keep moving instead of stopping at every switchback. My main motivation was to reduce the amount of extra work an evac team might have to do. It's not like I'm getting airlifted out of the canyon - I'll be walking out one way or another, I might as well get on with it.
I knew I was losing all kinds of time and getting close to the aid station cutoff. Somewhere near the top (perhaps on the "Thumb" part of the climb) I heard the aid station whistle that meant some number of minutes (30 or 20, can't recall) before the cutoff. Well, it ain't over just yet!
The top appeared not long after that and I told the volunteers that I needed to talk to a medical person. Hey, Dr. Andy is here! Dr. Andy Pasternak (race medical director) came over and said they had been waiting for me. They monitored my progress by asking other runners how I was doing, and learned I was climbing up the trail so they were watching to see if I would make it on my own.
We discussed what had happened. My theory was that the combination of drinking calories at the same time as starting a steep uphill had caused a lot of blood to go to my stomach and legs, leaving not so much available for my brain. I'm also guessing I was dehydrated (being heat-acclimated and probably not realizing I needed to be drinking more water).
Dr. Andy asked how was I feeling now? Just slow, I said, but otherwise fine. Would I want to keep going? I looked him straight in the eyes and said "if you're letting me go, I'm going." He glanced over to the aid station medical guy and said "I think that's OK, as long as he's OK with it" and then it was time to get myself through that aid station and out the other side!
I got some excellent help with my drop bag, thankful that I always write notes to myself so I knew exactly what I needed to do. Fill the water, pick up the headlamp and another Spiz baggie, get up and get going. My official split shows 14 minutes of leeway - not sure if that was coming into the aid station or leaving it - but either way, that's not a lot of leeway.
Wow, I did not expect to still be on the course! Every step from that point forward was a gift, no guarantees of anything ahead of that, just living in the moment and moving the best I could. My speed picked up to something more normal over the next section, as it was a gradual long downhill on a nice trail and there was a bit of daylight remaining.
My stomach wasn't really having anything to do with ingesting food or liquids. I kept sipping from the bottle and occasionally stopped to drink a bit of Spiz. That all went OK but it didn't take much for my stomach to say "that's enough for now!" One challenge with the baggie method is the need to take in more at a time to be efficient (since I need to stop and carefully drink). I should have worked toward putting it in something I could access more easily, like the 10 ounce bottle from the crew kit that fits in my vest front pocket.
Anyway, I moved reasonably well down to the next aid station at the bottom of the next canyon (El Dorado Creek, 52.9 miles) and gained a few minutes on the cutoff time. No time to waste, I better get started on the next big climb.
Uphill was the limiter, for sure. I lacked my normal calorie intake and that showed up in a lower energy level, especially for climbing. Shorter steps, breathing, focus, just keep moving. It got dark.
Eventually I could see lights and then hear voices above me. I'm coming, Kip and Robyn! I was excited to beat another cutoff (Michigan Bluff, mill 55.7), even though it wasn't by much.
Robyn ran up to me - hi Robyn!! - and took me by the elbow to lead me to the chair - wait, you can't physically assist me - right, sorry!! I told them I had stories but no time. They were well aware that something had happened based on my split times, and they were also very cognizant of how close I was to the cutoff time (11 minutes to spare, it turned out).
Apparently they even had issues getting ahold of my drop bag so they could set up for my arrival. Thankfully I have a resourceful crew and they had everything laid out so I could plop down and start pointing at things. A swallow of Spiz, a water refill, my handheld light, ready to go. An aid station volunteer hovered and kept letting us know that I needed to get out of there, yes ma'am, we've got this. I believe she complimented Robyn and Kip about our speedy transition after I left.
I was on my way again, good job pit crew! And I was still on the course somehow.
I had hoped to move better time through the next 6 miles. I didn't count on another climb before dropping into the smaller canyon, nor the technical downhill trail. Darkness, rocks, steep-ish slopes, I took care with my steps. It all took time.
Finally I was on a long, straight climb that I hoped would lead to the next road. Maybe... then there were headlamps up ahead, yes, it's the road. And yes, it's Kip and John! Hoorah!
Crew is allowed to accompany a runner from here to Foresthill (62 miles), so they came to walk with me and report on some things. Most important was the distance to the aid station and how long it might take to get there. I was still on the edge of the cutoffs and needed to stay focused.
Spoiler alert - I did make it. But first here are some Foresthill photos from earlier in the day while John was waiting for the rest of us.
I'm pretty sure that's a crew chicken and not a racer chicken:
A comment from Kip: "We got to see the blind guy go through a couple of times, escorted by his guide(s). That was pretty neat." (Will was ahead of me after the Devil's Thumb incident)
Betsy and someone they met, possibly checking racer splits or maybe seeing if Jim Walmsley had finished yet:
Back to running in the dark...
We got to the top of the road and I managed something of a run toward the aid station. Motivation to get there on time can light a fire! At least a small one. As I was hustling through, a Pee Person jogged alongside asking if I had a baggie to drop off by any chance? Sorry, no time! I did appreciate their making it easy this time, wish I could have helped.
The crew had somehow gotten permission to set up on the other side of the aid station, past the timing mat, along with the decree that I just needed to get across the mat before the cutoff time (7 minutes to spare). Then they could help me as long as needed. That seemed like an ultra oddity, but why argue. Plus, we had another super-fast turnaround and I beat the cutoff regardless.
Robyn was ready to go! Yay for the company of one of my best trail buddies!
We jogged down the street, looking for the turn-off to the left. Strangely, it wasn't clearly marked, so we figured the big Hoka buoys must signal the way. Eventually we found the regular trail markers.
Except then there was an old metal "Western States trail" sign pointing to the right without any reflectors or additional markers. I looked to the right and saw markers down the path. We called to a couple runners that had missed the turn and at first they didn't believe us but eventually they came back on course. Other than this section, the rest of the course was superbly marked.
Hey Robyn, how about that for an exciting start to your pacing duties? Finally everything settled down, the route was again obvious, and we descended toward the sound of the big American River way below.
It was so nice getting a chance to talk, tell my Devil's Thumb story, catch up on the day's events. We chatted away, hitting remote aid stations Cal 1, Cal 2, and Cal 3 along the trail that traversed above the river. I managed to keep drinking a bit of Spiz here and there. Not nearly enough, but as much as my stomach would accept at a time.
Every steep little uphill was SO SLOW... I kept my feet moving, churning away with little steps... I'll get there eventually. Gentle uphills were fine, I could speed-walk up those. There was definitely a cut-over grade where the effort level was noticeably a lot higher. I can only do what I can do.
Robyn told me later that she had to resist the urge to push me to move faster. It was her first time pacing at an ultra, and she kind of got the full experience (normally I try to keep the drama level a lot lower!)
The most memorable parts of the trail were the sections with a drop-off down a grassy slope toward the river somewhere down below. We were close enough to hear the roar but far enough that we couldn't see it in the dark. We were on an old road, plenty wide, and I instinctively stayed to the inside. I managed to scare Robyn with one little slip - OK, keep focused Marcy.
We marveled at Will's ability to do this without being able to see. So amazing.
A runner came by who said I looked way better than when she saw me earlier - apparently she was one of the people looking at me when I regained awareness after passing out. She was having an ankle issue and trying her best to keep moving as well. We can do it!
Eventually we dropped closer to the river and could sense the lights and sounds of the river crossing party. Thank you Robyn for your wonderful company for 16 miles!
I had gained some leeway vs. the cutoff at Rucky Chucky (78 miles), allowing me to focus on preparing to get wet. Hey, guess what? John was coming with me! I thought I'd be doing the next 16 miles solo due to Billie's injury, but John jumped in to join me for as far as he could make it. Further along there would be options for him to bail as needed.
I opted for the "just in case" lifejacket, although with all the incredible support at the river, plus the slow drift of the water, it was highly unlikely anything would happen. I was more recalling my legs' penchant for cramping. We hooked my water bottle to the back of my running vest so I had two hands to hold onto the rope. And we were off...
Kip captured a video of
our Rucky Chucky crossing (5+ minutes). Quick summary from my perspective: The water wasn't particularly cold, there were a lot of rocks to negotiate, and we couldn't believe how much support there was. People in wet suits lined up along the rope, people in kayaks, people on the other side helping me figure out how to exit the river. Impressive!
My crew has stories about the Rucky Chucky shuttle, but I couldn't do them justice - ask them about it next time you see them.
Yay, I made it across the river! Earlier in the day I did not expect to get to this point.
My drop bag was on the far side so I was able to do a fast change of shoes and socks, with John's help. We headed up the road and I was thankful that it was a grade I could still speed-walk up. We got to Green Gate (mile 79.8) with 21 minutes to spare and moved quickly through.
The next sections had a bunch of little ups/downs, ins/outs, mostly in the woods and traversing around the sides of hills. It was hard to tell how we were progressing, but I tried to keep my attention on maintaining a solid pace. I'm sure the lack of calories was affecting me, as my stomach still wasn't accepting much incoming food. So I can only do what I can do.
In the meantime, we told each other stories and watched the sun come up. I hit Auburn Lake (mile 85.2) with 12 minutes of leeway and Quarry Road (90.7) with 11.
At some point after it got light, I could see my aid station chart more easily and started looking ahead. And I finally located the upcoming difficulty. At the pre-race meeting, someone said that anyone bumping against the cutoff times could still make it, but they would have to run.
Not only run, but they would have to cover the last 6 miles in 1:20, including a significant climb up from No Hands Bridge. I'd been behind my 30-hour pace times since before the river crossing. The cutoff times were lenient enough to allow for that -- until they weren't. And that point was approaching.
Ah ha, I see what I have to do. If I can make it through the Pointed Rocks aid station (mile 94.3) on time, there's only one more aid station (Robie Point at mile 98.9) and there wasn't a cut-off time listed for it. Maybe I can get all the way to Auburn, pretty dang close to the finish, and a huge accomplishment after thinking I was finished many miles ago.
John stayed with me all the way there, which is quite a jump in distance for him lately, at least it would have been if I'd run most of it. I probably made it easier by my liberal mixture of walking and running (especially with all the ups and downs). I pushed as much as I could...
We started going back and forth with Will and his guide. Will could power-hike up a hill like I wished I could do. I obviously had the advantage of being able to see the rocks and make quicker work of the downhills and more technical sections. It was super inspiring watching them work together; lots of preparation went into getting to this point, go Will go!
There was a fairly steep hill up to a road crossing, just...gotta...get...up there. John and I were both closely watching our watches as I tried to eke out any extra from my legs that they would give me.
Finally Pointed Rocks aid station appeared! There was some amount of cheering, yelling, instruction-giving, and a lot of momentum toward getting me through and past the last cutoff that could remove me from the course. With lots of help, I made it, at 9:36 am with 4 minutes to spare. Phew!
John turned me over to Kip to pace me for the final 6 miles. Hello Kip, how are you doing? Has your morning been as eventful as mine? We started down the dirt road to finish this thing up.
My crew had been more focused on me than on taking pictures, so here's what they got after Kip and I left:
So, I tried to run, but really, nothing I did at that point was going to get me to the finish line by 11 am. I know I would get there, it was just going to take a while longer. It was great having Kip's company, taking a morning speed-stroll down the hill, hearing about the Rucky Chucky shuttle experience and other recent events.
No Hands Bridge was amazing! So iconic, with runners' state and country flags flying, a huge drop to the river, and super-wide concrete that still felt airy. We saw Wayne and Betsy there, hello friends! It was wonderful to have a moment to appreciate being there.
Well, not so wonderful to look up and see Robie Point way up yonder. We'll get there, eventually. Step after step, up the trail and finally to the edge of Auburn.
The aid station was being dismantled, as it was after 11 am. They offered water and someone came over to cut off my race wristband. But is it OK if we keep going on the course? "Sure! We can't stop you from trekking through town." Excellent, let's go!
We turned to see yet another bit of uphill - who put this here?? John and Robyn were on the way down to meet us and they humored me about the teeny tiny extra bit of climbing. Happily, any number of people are allowed to accompany a runner from that point on.
Along the streets we saw signs of earlier watch parties, chairs and inspirational messages, decorations and even an empty keg (Robyn checked). I picked up speed (it's all relative) as the grade turned downhill.
Betsy took a video of us
walking through Auburn toward the finish line. My comment to the race photographer was "who needs a buckle?" and Robyn's addendum was a line I came up with a couple blocks earlier that isn't safe for work.
Over at the track, they let us on! They didn't have to - I was many minutes over time - but they did. Trackside, a bunch of people clapped and cheered, and my DNF got a way bigger reception than most of my prior official race finishes (save UTMB). Hugely grateful!
I stepped over the timing mat that was in the process of getting disassembled, and they even gave Kip a medal to put around my neck.
It was a wonderful, fulfilling weekend of finally finishing something I had started many years earlier. The chance to continue and experience the entire course meant a lot. Seeing the support from the whole community for all the runners was inspiring.
One of the urine study guys was waiting for me, so I got to provide a bit more data for their collection. Dr. Tammy chatted with me to ensure I was OK (I was in way better shape than some of the runners in the med tent):
We took a few moments to crash in the shade on the comfortable grass:
It was marvelous to just sit, ice my knees, and not think about cutoff times.
Huge thank you to the whole race organization, all the participants and spectators, the awesome volunteers and aid station people, and most of all our friends and family who were there for me. Love you all!
