2019 Way Too Cool 50K

(I obviously haven't posted here in about a year, since before my first DNF at AC100.  But I have written a couple of race reports for other forums, and want to post them here just for my own archival purposes - I have no illusions that anyone reads this stuff but me.  But I'd like to "catch up" so that I can post some reports from this year, which I hope to be a big one!  This is from March 3rd, 2019.)



This was my fifth time at this race, so I know the course and how it runs pretty well.  The first 8 mile loop starts with about a mile on road, a little double track descent down to the first creek crossing, and then rolling single track until you get back to the start.  I've learned to start a little further up in the "corral" than I normally would, and to run the road section just slightly faster than comfortable for me for the start of a 31 mile race as if you get caught too far back when you hit single track the conga line is just going too slow.  In drier years there is a huge backup at the first creek crossing about two miles in as people try to tip-toe across and stay dry.  About year three I learned to just go around it and plow through.  This year there was no trying to stay dry as it was 3' deep, so while it slowed down as people crossed there wasn't a big line.  The conga line I ended up in after that was just about right, if anything maybe 10 seconds/mile or so faster than I wanted to go so I stepped off a couple of times to let people by.  There were six or seven creek crossings that hit from mid-calf to over the knee, and that obviously slowed things down.  And some sections were just super sloppy and you had to pick your way through the muck.  Imagine the wettest, muddiest trail you've been on, and then add almost 300 runners going through right before you mucking it up even more.  That was the first loop.  But I was happy with how it went, according to Strava it was my second fastest loop with an 11:09 pace (behind only a 10:38 pace in 2015 which was a dry year).  The only official timing split on the course was at the end of the loop, and I was 282nd out of 641 starters at that point.

Most of the Knickerbocker Creek loop was like this (pc Facchino Photo)

We then headed through a meadow and start a pretty good drop down to Highway 49.  I got passed by 5-10 runners on the somewhat technical downhill (which was pretty much a creek in parts), which was a little disappointing.  Downhill isn't necessarily my strong suit, but I was taking it more cautiously than others.  I think the IT band issues I've had over the years have made me tentative and less willing to attack them, but I'm to the point now that my ITs are usually good until sometime after mile 50 so I shouldn't be such a wuss.  I also just need to practice technical downhilling more than I have been.  This two mile section drops about 800', and I ran it in 10:23 pace.
 
We crossed the highway where Western States legend Tim Twietmeyer and URP's Eric Schranz were cheering on the runners, and then dropped down on fire road to run above the roaring Middle Fork of the American River.  The rain even let up for the first time, and it looked like it might turn into a nice day as I took off my rain shell and stowed it in my pack.  The fire road rolls along here for about 6 miles with a couple of 150'-200' climbs mixed in.  I passed a few, got passed by a few, and chatted up a few runners.  This section was just another reminder that if I really want to cut my time on a course like this, I need to get faster on the runnable sections.  If I can comfortably run along at 9:00 pace instead of 10:00-10:30 on the flats, that will make a big difference.  With those little climbs mixed in, I ran a decent 11:19 pace through here.

Feet were wet from the start to the finish (pc Facchino Photo)

I was looking forward to starting the climb out of the canyon, as that is my strong suit relative to most other mid-packers and I knew I'd start making up some ground.  Sure enough, I started chewing people up.  I even got three separate comments about how fast I was power hiking as I plowed past.  This section starts with about an 800' climb over four miles, rolls along for a bit, and then ends at almost exactly 26.2 miles with Goat Hill,  1/4 mile with a 20% grade.   I covered this 10 mile section in 2:09, a 12:53 pace.
 
Going into the race I had beating my PR of 5:54 as an A goal, and sub-6:00 as my B goal.  But with the weather forecast and trail conditions I decided to just take the day as it came and see where things stood when I got to the top of Goat Hill.  I didn't print out the pace chart, didn't even look at my watch for the first time until the end of the first loop, and rarely checked it throughout the day.  I hit the aid station at the top of the climb in about 5:10, filled a bottle and drank some coke, and kept going.  With five miles to go including the 450' climb from hwy 49 back to Cool still ahead, I knew it wasn't too likely that I could get in sub-6:00.  But I remembered that the course had measured closer to 30 than 31 miles on my GPS in the past.  "So you're telling me there's a chance!"  I decided to just charge on and see what I could do. 

After another quick climb it was a pretty steep technical descent, losing about 400' in a mile or so.  I did my best to pick my way through the rocks, mud, and water as it started to rain again.  I'm checking my watch as the traffic noises of Highway 49 start to pick up, but it always takes longer than you think it will to finally come out of the clearing and cross the road.  This is the final aid station, and I knew it was over a mile to the finish - and my PR time was already gone, as was the chance at sub-6:00.  So what, let's finish this thing!  I skipped the aid station and kept charging, and began the final climb up to Cool.  I passed another couple of runners on the 250' rocky climb, and then stomped through the mud in the meadow up top.  As I approached the finish I could hear someone splashing behind me, and I kept running hard to try and stay in front.  Around the corner, splashing through the mud while trying not to fall in front of the gathered spectators, and across the line in 6:06:08 chip time.  That was the fastest I've run that segment in my five times here, so I was happy to finish so strong even with my pre-race goals out the window.  This time the course measured the full 31 miles (it's shown exactly 30 miles twice before), which shows how far off gps can be during trail races.

Just trying to finish the last 100 yards without slipping (pc Keather Kehoe)

I finished 238th out of 641 starters which means I moved up 44 spots from mile 8 to the finish, almost all of that on the climbs.  In looking at how I did relative to the rest of the field, this was actually my best finish at 37th percentile, with my other finishes ranging from 43%-67%.  So I'm pretty happy with that.  I stuck to my nutrition plan of gels, electrolyte drink, and coke, and had no issues there.  My knee and my achilles held up. I somehow managed to not fall even once, although I did almost lose it during a late creek crossing.  Afterward it was some chili, burritos, and a couple of IPAs with fellow racers while we commiserated about the conditions out there and tried to get warm.  Good times.

2017 Western States - Not as Tough as I Thought

No, no, I'm not talking about the race itself.  Sure, I had heard from ultrarunners I respect that I'd already run "tougher" 100 milers in Cascade Crest and Pine to Palm.  And those races are tough, no doubt.  But Western States, the supposed "easier 100" was in no way that.  I have never had a better training block.  My diet was as good as it's ever been, I followed the Jason Koop plan of intensity earlier in the year and then had my most consistent volume and vertical ever in the two months leading in to Statesmas.   I took into account my racing over the past five years, what I had learned over four years of pacing and crewing this race, analyzing the Ultrasignup and Ultrasplits data, and I just knew I was capable and ready for a finish around twenty-seven hours. I was ready.

"Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth." - Mike Tyson

And then the race started.  Fifteen miles of snow and ice bridges and mud that pulled the shoes off your feet.   It wasn't just me.  All 369 runners got punched right in the mouth.  Any buffer you had against your goals, whether that was a course record, silver buckle, staying ahead of the cutoffs, or my twenty-seven hour goal was simply gone by Red Star Ridge at mile 15.8.  So I found myself in a situation I really didn't imagine, fighting the cutoffs from the start.  But I didn't stress, just like I knew I was in shape for twenty-seven hours, I knew I was tough enough to get this done.  After all, I'd never DNF'd a race.  I've fought wrecked IT bands, trashed quads, a shut down stomach, heat, mud, smoke, and the mountains themselves.  And I'd always made it to the end before the cutoffs.

_______________________________

The University of Kent's Samuele Marcora has published multiple studies that show a common theme - fatigue largely isn't a muscular issue, it's a mental one.  From a December 12, 2014, New Yorker article titled What is Fatigue

"Marcora believes that this limit is probably never truly reached—that fatigue is simply a balance between effort and motivation, and that the decision to stop is a conscious choice rather than a mechanical failure......Considerations like heat, hydration, and muscle conditioning, Marcora says, “are not unreal things, but their effect is mediated by perception of effort.” In other words, they don’t force you to slow down, as happens with the failing frog muscles in the petri dish; they cause you to want to slow down—a semantic difference, perhaps, but a significant one when it comes to testing the outer margins of human capability."

I'd say 100 mile mountain runs in 100+ degree heat qualify for "testing the outer margins of human capability," especially mine.  Thanks largely to the tough conditions in the high country, my goal of a 27 hour finish, one that would have me comfortably ahead of the cutoffs the entire race, was out the window before I hit the fifteen mile mark.  I was behind the average 30-hour finisher splits all day long.  By the time I got to my first pacer, drained from puking on the climb up to Devil's Thumb and another tough climb to Michigan Bluff, I was almost exclusively walking.  I just couldn't run much, I was spent.

With my final pacer.  PC Richard Walstra

But as almost always happens, that external push from Jim got me running a bit more. "Dude, you have to run this part."  I switched pacers at Foresthill and Wally used cajoling and constant pace reminders in an effort to keep me moving faster that I wanted to.  And then Jim picked me up again at the river telling me, "you're probably going to hate me for awhile." He knew he was going to have to push me.  He negotiated, bargained, pleaded, ridiculed, distracted, joked.  Whatever it took to keep me moving faster than I wanted to.  And of course I could.  Oh I was physically fatigued, but my muscles weren't shutting down. "You can puke, but you have to walk while you do it," said Jim at one point Sunday morning near mile 90.  So instead of sitting (again) on the side of the trail, walk I did.  And then I ran, and ran a little more.

_______________________________

Tim Noakes first put forth the Central Governor theory back in the early-2000s.  From an iRunFar article written by Joe Uhan:

"Noakes’s model, the Central Governor Theory, proposes that it is the brain that dictates exercise intensity and duration in order to ensure its own survival.

The brain is inherently selfish: it only cares about itself. It will do anything necessary to ensure it gets a steady flow of oxygen and sugar, and a reliable mechanism for transport. That said, any physical effort that might jeopardize those values will be tightly regulated. If not, the conscious brain might team with the body to literally run itself to death by either destroying skeletal or cardiac muscle, or by starving the nerve tissue of sugar and oxygen."

I feel like I haven't yet shown in a 100 miler that I'm tough enough on my own to overcome my brain, my Central Governor.  So while I'm extremely proud of all of my race finishes, I want to test my own mental toughness, to prove to myself I can push through.  I'm not talking about putting my health at risk, just finding a way to keep moving, keep running when my brain is trying to convince me otherwise.

So with some first-time lottery luck, a few months back I got in to the Angeles Crest 100, solo division.  No crew. No pacer.  Just me and my Central Governor, battling it out.  I'm looking forward to the fight.

Tall Trees and Tough Trails - The Cascade Crest 100

It was about 1:00 PM on Sunday and I'd been running and hiking since 9:00 AM.....on Saturday.  I struggled up the final steep climb of the race going into mile 90, stopping repeatedly to catch my breath.  "Get your heart out of your ears and back into your chest," said my buddy Surf, who had been pacing me since mile 55.  We finally hit the top, with 6 miles of the Silver Creek Trail ahead of us to the final aid station, and I remembered the runners guide describing this section of trail as "steep downhill, moderate downhill, steep downhill."  If you've ever had IT band issues, as I'd been dealing with for the past 30 miles, then you know that's not what you want to hear.  My slow pace up and down the six short but steep climbs of the Cardiac Needles from miles 81-86 had put my pre-race time goal out of reach, but Surf maintained some ability to do math and determined that we still had a chance to beat my previous 100 mile finish time.  A chance for a PR, but I'd have to pick it up a bit through this section.  So I pushed down the hill, "running" when the trail was smooth, and painfully picking my way down the steeper sections.  When my watch finally beeped to indicate the mile split, I looked down and laughed out loud - I had been trying hard, and it wasn't even the slow pace I needed to average for the final 10 miles.

I slowed back down and tried to even out my effort, as now it was about just getting to the finish as efficiently as possible.  But that short push had set me back.  I'd been taking in calories, but only 100-200 per hour, not the 250 or more I knew I needed.  And I couldn't stop drinking.  I finished my 1.5 liter bladder in an hour, and was stopping to pee every twenty minutes.  I took another salt tab, trying to get my system back on track.  I had a bottle left and tried to slow down on the drinking, but I was so thirsty.  It was becoming a warm afternoon, but I realized my shirt was totally dry as I was no longer sweating.  Are my fingers puffy?  I wasn't sure, but it seemed like they might be.  As I kept moving slowly down the hill, I could just feel myself getting hotter and hotter.  I finally told Surf that something was wrong, but that I just needed to take some time at the next aid station at mile 96 to cool myself off.  Ice in my pack, ice in my arm sleeves, ice on my neck, ice water.  I poured the last of my water over my head, and as we started to hear the aid station off in the distance, Surf ran ahead to get me some ice water.  A few minutes later he came running back up the trail.  "They're out of ice," he calmly said.  My heart started to sink and my head started to spin just a bit.  I didn't come this far to only come this far.....


Pre Race

Karl Meltzer has famously said "100 miles is not that far." Considering the 'ole Speedgoat is out right now trying to set the record on the 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail, that may be true for him. But for most it's a long, long way. It's a distance I've only covered once before, at Pine to Palm in 2014. But after not running a 100 last year I knew I wanted to try another in 2016, so after being shut out of Western States (again) and Hardrock I threw my name in for the Cascade Crest lottery early in the year.  As a qualifier for both of the above races the popularity of this old school ultra seems to be growing, so it wasn't a big surprise in February that my lottery streak continued - now 0-7 in various ultra lotteries! But I was in the 20s on the wait list, so the odds looked pretty good that I'd end up getting in. And after submitting my qualifier and trail work information in June, on August 1st I was officially entered in the race.

The view from 14,058' Handies Peak on the Hardrock 100 Course

I had recovered pretty well from Canyons 100K back in May, with no lingering achilles or IT band issues. After a few weeks off I ramped back up through June, and had the opportunity to once again pace Surf at Western States. I then took advantage of my daughter being on vacation with her mother for a couple of weeks to head out on a "dirtbag runcation" road trip in July.  Such an incredible adventure with runs and hikes in Flagstaff, around Silverton and on the Hardrock 100 course (highlighted by going up Handie's Peak at 14,058'), and in Moab on the way back home, all while sleeping in the car and camping for free every night.  What an opportunity to experience real mountains and trails unlike any I've ever been on, not to mention spectating an amazing race at Hardrock.  Combined with good consistency and solid efforts earlier and later in the month, and July was my biggest month ever in terms of miles, hours, and total elevation gain.  After a two week taper I was feeling pretty good and confident in my training heading into the start.

These things never quite capture what it's going to be like!

Start to Tacoma Pass (Miles 0-25)

The start was the typical nervous energy as 164 runners and their family and friends milled about.  The unusually civilized 9:00 AM start allowed for a more relaxed morning routine than normal, and after the pre-race meeting and yet another porta-potty stop we lined up and were off.  We ran down a road for a bit, and as always I started comfortably at the back of the pack.  As we transitioned onto the trail I chatted with fellow Bay Area runner Chihping Fu who I'd seen at other races but had never met before.  It didn't take long before we began the initial 3,000'+ climb up to Goat Peak which would take us to almost the 10 mile mark and the Cole Butte Aid Station.  The miles ticked off slowly but easily, mostly power hiking before we finally hit some downhill switchbacks that allowed me to open up the stride and run for a bit.  Of course that only lasted for a couple of miles before it was back up, up, up to the Blowout Mountain Aid Station, still feeling good and enjoying the cool weather.

8:59 AM, let's do this!

Two things that had me anxious going into the race, besides of course the sheer enormity of the challenge of 100 miles, were bees and the Snoqualmie Tunnel.  Runners from previous years had reported running through swarms and suffering 5, 10, 15 bee stings, and most occurred on the section that was coming up.  I'm not allergic but I'm no fan, so I ran slightly behind runners in front of me, thinking I'd get a warning yell if we hit a heavy bee section and I could try and sprint through.  At one point I was cruising along some rolling single track, the last runner in a group of six when all of a sudden "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" and BANG BANG, I took a sting on each leg.  One was on the outside of the right leg near the knee, and the other was right above the ankle bone on the left leg.  I let out a yell and took off, passing a couple of the runners in front of me - none of whom had gotten stung!  I guess they had gotten them riled up just enough to take out their aggression on me.

We soon hit the iconic Pacific Crest Trail, where we would spend the next 50K or so.  I kept an eye (and an ear) out for more bees while we cruised along, moving well (10:30-12:30 miles) on the downhill section after taking the suggested quick detour to the peak of Blowout Mountain.  It was foggy and cloudy up there so we missed out on some views, and the runners just in front of me had seen a military jet fly by - below where we were up on the mountain!  But the fog kept it nice and cool, perfect running weather.

Feeling good on the PCT (photo Glenn Tachiyama)

The first crew aid station was Tacoma Pass, just over 25 miles in.  I had created a chart with 28, 30, and 34 hour splits to give me an idea of how I was moving, and as I hit the aid station I was 6:30 into the race, about 10 minutes behind the 30 hour pace splits - pretty much where I expected I'd be.  It was great to see my parents and Surf, I was feeling great, energy was good, and other than the bee stings nothing really hurt.  As I would do each time I had access to my crew or a drop bag I cleaned and re-lubed my feet, changed socks, and filled the bladder in my pack.  Then it was back down the trail.

Tacoma Pass to Hyak (Miles 25-55)

Trying to keep the feet happy

This next section of PCT was still mostly nice and smooth, starting with an almost 4 mile climb out of Tacoma.  At one point we could hear cheering, but I knew that we were still at least two miles out from the next aid station.  The trail dropped into a clearing, and there we found a real trail party.  A PCT trail crew had set up "The Gauntlet", with beers lined up on both sides of the trail and a table full of beers and whiskey at the end.  I smiled and ran through to some cheers, and when I grabbed a Ranier off the table and threw a little down, the cheers got louder.  Thanks for being out there all, fun distraction!  The trail continued on, mostly rolling with some moderate climbs, and it took a little less than three hours to get to the next aid at Snowshoe Butte.  Just over eight hours for a 50K, pretty slow but faster than my first half at Canyons 100K by an hour and right about where I hoped to be.  It was another hour or so to my next drop bag at Stampede Pass where I took care of the feet again, and set back off on the PCT about 6:15 PM with the goal of getting to the next aid station without pulling out the headlamp.

Incredible views

We hit some pretty heavily wooded sections through here as the sun set, and continued to see PCT thru hikers who would cheer us on.  Many of them were starting to set up camp for the night, getting fires going and making dinner, which was starting to look pretty good after eleven hours on the trail.  I spent much of this section on my own, on occasion catching up to a runner or group running together and passing by when I had the chance.  I caught up to three or four runners moving together, with a thru hiker wearing a full pack keeping up with them!  I followed behind for a few minutes before finally passing by, and came into Meadow Mountain aid station at mile 43 just before dark.  As I was getting ready to leave, that group of 3-4 runners and the thru hiker came in to the aid station - we couldn't drop the guy!

I left with the headlamp turned on and headed out into the night .  The trail turned more technical here, and I started to get a little frustrated with how slowly I was moving as everything was seemingly steep or rooty or rocky.  I think I got a little behind on calories as well, as I was starting to get tired of the Tailwind in my hydration pack and anything sweet in general.  I passed by a campsite with thru hikers near Mirror Lake, laughing and enjoying a fire, and I started to wonder why the hell I was doing this.  Another series of climbs, then I dropped into Olallie Meadow aid station a little after 10:00 PM. Scott McCoubrey handed me a plate of pierogis at the aid station, and I'll be damned if they weren't the most delicious things I'd ever eaten.  After a second helping, I headed off and down a super steep and rough dirt road, spirits lifted again, looking for the ribbons marking where we would plunge down into the trees.

Snoqualmie Tunnel.  It's creepier in the dark (photo Doug MacDonald)

Yes, that's correct, at about mile 50 the course leaves the road and drops straight down a hill side.  Ropes guide you from tree to tree, with a grade my Strava file showed to range from -20% to -45%!  Pretty much straight down, and then it spits you out onto a fire road heading toward the tunnel.  The Snoqualmie Tunnel is a former railroad tunnel that runs 2.3 miles under 1,400' of mountain.  I had been a little concerned about feeling claustrophobic in here, so I turned off my headlamp, turned on my flashlight, and pointed it at the ground in front of my feet.  Just focus on that circle of light and run.  And I ran, and ran.  I saw a light up ahead and passed one runner, then another.  I started to realize that I was just too tired to worry about claustrophobia, and actually looked around a bit - enough to see the mice scampering about on the edges of the tunnel (what the hell do they eat in here?).  I passed a third runner and a few minutes later emerged on the other side, letting out a big "whoop" to alert the runners behind me that the end was near.  Then it was into the Hyak aid station, where my parents and Surf were waiting.


Hyak to Mineral Creek (Miles 55-75)

Surf ready for 55 miles of pacing duties

At Pine to Palm in 2014, I was at my lowest around the half way point.  I was struggling bad, and barely made the cutoff at mile 52.  But here I was at mile 55 feeling good, and looking forward to having some company on the trail as Surf was going to pace me from here.  I was about thirty minutes behind my projected 30-hour splits, but still moving well.  I put on some warmer clothes, said goodbye to my parents, and off we went.  After running on the frontage road for a bit we finally hit dirt again and began to climb, up 2,000' over four miles on a gravel road.  It was a bit of a grind, but it was good to have company out there.  We came into the Keechelus Ridge aid station, and I started to see the toll the miles were taking on some runners.  Three or four runners huddled around a propane heater, and one was asleep, wrapped up in a poncho.  An aid station volunteer woke him up, letting him know he'd been there for an hour and he might want to get moving.  I thought he might be done, but as we were running the four miles back down the hill he passed us, moving well.  Sometimes you just need a nap!

My body had been holding up pretty well so far, although my right IT band band had been tightening up a bit.  This long downhill finally put it over the edge, and I started to feel that all too familiar pain in the outside of the knee.  I was pretty happy that it had held up until the 100K mark, but I knew this was going to be with me for the final 40 miles or so, and the downhills were going to hurt.  Surf and I came into the Kachess Lake aid station at mile 69, where I put down some grilled cheese sandwiches before we were sent on our way and wished good luck.  Good luck??

The Lake Kachess Trail is better known as "The Evil Forest" or "The Trail From Hell".  I had seen bits and pieces of it thanks to the Ginger Runner's short film last summer, but that just doesn't do this section of "trail" justice.  Beginning with a log crossing six feet over the creek, it is basically four miles of scrambling.  Up steep but short climbs.  Under logs.  Over logs that have foot and hand holds chainsawed into them.  Down small drops.  Along the lake where the trail is completely washed out.  It was relentless!  The elevation profile looks totally benign, almost flat, but I sure don't remember any flat.  While we struggled through we tried to keep our sense of humor, laughing at how ridiculous this was.  As we neared the end the sun started to rise, bolstering the spirits a bit.  We finally crossed the creek that marked the end of this section and came into Mineral Creek aid station around 7:00 AM, beaten down more than just a little bit.

Sunrise over Lake Kachess, near the end of "The Trail From Hell"

Mineral Creek to the Finish (Miles 75-100)

I had a drop bag here, and again cleaned and lubed my feet and put on new socks.  A few other runners sat around, trying to regroup after that tough night time section.  I knew from the elevation profile that the final quarter of the race was basically 15 miles of climbing then descending back down to Easton over the final 10 miles.  Surf and I headed off on a long fire road section, chatting with other runners as we passed them or they caught up to us.  We finally came into No Name Ridge around 9:00 AM to find a beer garden set up, complete with volunteers in lederhosen.  I promised to come back for a beer after the race (sorry, Deby, that I didn't make it back!), and we headed off to tackle the Cardiac Needles.

The course guide describes this section as "the prettiest and toughest on the course".  Yup, the toughest section begins about 82 miles in!  We spent the next few hours climbing up some of the steepest, most relentless climbs I've ever experienced.  More than once, Surf or I looked up and exclaimed "you have to be kidding me!" as false summit after false summit kept us moving into the sky.  There were sections through here that reminded me of what I had seen of the Hardrock course, narrow, rocky trail carved into the mountain side with steep drop offs.  I definitely understood now why this race was a qualifier!  And like Hardrock, it was indeed beautiful, although I was too exhausted to take out my camera to capture any of it.  We finally came up to the Thorp Mountain aid station at mile 86, and were told to climb the half mile up to the summit and come back before getting any aid.  This was the only out and back section of this looped course, so it was cool to pass runners as we went up and back down, encouraging each other.  And the views were indeed worth it.  We spent a few minutes up there soaking it in, reminded yet again of why we do this.

Climbing up Thorp Mountain (photo credit Glenn Tachiyama)

The short and steep climbs continued after Thorp, just relentless, before hitting the highest point of the course just before the French Cabin aid station at mile 89. I had noticed my thirst increasing, I figured as a result of the effort I was putting in to get up the climbs.  I struggled to handle the downhills thanks to the pain in my knee, and while I knew it was "only" 10 miles to go, that still meant over three hours of being out here.  And I was ready to be done.  So we pushed, to see if I could pick it up and make that PR....

Trying to cool off in Silver Creek

After Surf told me there was no ice left at Silver Creek aid station, I struggled in.  His wife and kids were there, which was a nice surprise, and my parents were waiting as well.  I sat in a chair and told them I wasn't doing well, totally overheated.  Before UTMB earlier that weekend, Zach Miller had posted on Instagram "I didn't come this far to only come this far.  #perseverence".  Those words bounced around my head, as I struggled to figure out how I was going to get myself back together.  I could hear people talking, and I was responding, but I wasn't right.  Then I heard Surf say, "get in the creek", and my crew helped me over and into the cold, cold waters of Silver Creek.  I sat there for several minutes, trying to get my core temperature under control.  I was helped back into the chair, and the amazing volunteers kept helping - bringing over Coke, putting wet rags on my neck and head.  I was starting to feel better, feel a bit more "normal", and a medical volunteer came over to talk to me.  He said "you sound coherent, so I think you're ok to continue", and that was such a relief - my biggest fear was that I would be held there for too long, or worse yet just not allowed to move on.

I finally got up and got ready to go, and my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said "finish strong."  After what I had just gone through I kind of chuckled and said something like, "oh, I'll finish," but he said again, "finish strong."  Surf and I headed off down the trail, but my equilibrium was so off that I was shivering so bad my teeth were audibly chattering!  It took a good ten minutes or so for my body to figure out what was going on and reach some sort of stasis, and then I was running again!  Shuffling, very slowly, but shuffling along.  Then bam!, I felt a sharp pain in my little left toe.  Oh come on!  I knew right away it was a blister, and I just couldn't put any weight on it.  We found a log to sit on, I took off my shoe and sock, removed a pin from my race bib and started punching holes in the blister.  That damned pin was the dullest one I've ever seen, so that sure felt good, but I was able to get it drained and get my sock and shoe back on.  Surf had needed to do the same thing at about mile 85 of Rio del Lago 100 last year when I was pacing him, and I remember telling him that the next few steps would be the most painful he'd ever taken.  And now it was my turn!  It took another 5-10 minutes of limping along before the toe numbed up enough that I could shuffle along again.  We hit the final road section and Surf mentioned we could still make it in under thirty two hours, and it's funny how stuff like that matters at mile 98.  I got passed by a couple of runners, but then managed to pick it up and run it in (a 12:22 mile 103 on Strava!).  We crossed the railroad tracks toward the finish line, Surf reached out to give me a fist bump, and I finally crossed at 31:54:29, 94th out of 127 finishers and 164 starters.

It is done

Huge thanks to Rich White and the rest of the Cascade Crest crew, and all of the incredible volunteers for taking care of us out there.  A really well run race, with a great old school vibe.  And of course thanks to my parents for being out there until midnight, and again the next day.  And to Surf for keeping me moving.  I pretty much always train by myself, so between pacing him at three 100s and now him pacing me here, I've now spent more hours on the trails with him than anyone else!

"Thanks for the buckle, but I'd like to have some words with you about that Trail From Hell...."

2016 Western States - Crewing and Pacing (again)

0-3.  While the lottery odds have conspired against gaining entry for myself the past three years, Western States can't keep me away and last Friday I drove up to Squaw to crew and pace for the fourth time in the past five years.  This was to be the third time I'd be pacing my buddy Matt Searfus (Surf) in a 100 miler (once prior at States, once at Rio del Lago), who's lottery luck is much better than mine at 2-3!  After running a 23:01 at RdL last fall and a good block of training, he came into States uninjured and ready to push for that 24-hour finish and a Silver Buckle.

We all met up for lunch and discussed the crew and pacing plan for the following day.  Jim Hammond would be running from Foresthill (mile 62)  to the river (78), as I'd done in 2014 I'd take Surf across the river and up to Hwy 49 (93.5), and then his wife Becky would run him in to the finish.  Surf and Becky had their kids in tow, so I volunteered to accompany Becky and the kids to the aid stations at Robinson Flat (32) and Michigan Bluff (55).  Jim, his wife Jennifer, and two rookies to crewing ultras Jared and Ryan would hit the other side of the canyon and crew at Duncan Canyon (23.8) and Dusty Corners (38), and then we'd all meet up again at Foresthill (62). 

Elevation profile and Aid Stations

We relaxed that night in a condo outside Tahoe City, eating pizza and drinking a beer or two to relax before we all hit the sack early.  That 3:30 AM alarm would kick off a very, very long day for not only our runner, but for all of the crew as well.

Q:  Friday night crew meeting or fraternity reunion?  A:  BOTH!

We got to the start at Squaw around 4:30 AM, and Jen and I hiked up the hill a bit to watch Surf and the rest of the field begin the 4 miles climb to the Escarpment.  So much excitement and nervous energy.

Gordy trying to put our boy back together

Unfortunately Surf's race didn't unfold as he'd hoped.  When we first saw him at Robinson Flat (mile 32), his stomach had been giving him issues and he'd only taken in a single gel in the prior couple of hours, so he was falling behind the 24-hour pace.  That issue would stay with him until he got out of the high country and to a lower altitude, and he started feeling better.  But then coming into Michigan Bluff (mile 55) he developed pain in the back of his knee.  I walked him in to the aid station and suggested he get it looked at and worked on by the chiropractic and medical volunteers there.  So onto Gordy Ainsleigh's chiropractic table he went!  Gordy had started the race but pulled the plug within a couple of miles and walked back down to the start, so he spent the rest of the day volunteering at aid stations.  They worked on him a bit, taped him up,and sent him on his way but he was struggling. 

He picked it up a bit and was feeling better coming into Foresthill, and he and Jim headed off down the Cal St. section of trail. 

Looking good coming through Foresthill Aid Station, mile 62

I drove off to the Drivers Flat parking area where'd I'd be catching the shuttle down to Rucky Chucky later that night to begin my pacing duties, and tried to get a little sleep in the back of the car.

#dirtbagging in my mobile crew station, where I got about 2 total hours of sleep over 42 hours 

At 11:30 I headed down in the shuttle to Rucky Chucky, and the rest of the crew joined up a little later. At about 1:15 AM Surf came in, and after he refilled the bottles and fueled up we put on the life jackets and waded into the river to continue the journey on toward Auburn.  

Stairs down to the river crossing, with the lights of Rucky Chucky far visible on the other side

The fifteen or so miles that we ran together were pretty uneventful.  We talked some, ran and hiked in silence some.  He had long since given up on the 24 hour goal, but was also in no danger of missing cutoffs so he just kept moving, albeit slowly.  At one point he expressed frustration in his faulty knee as the section of trail was so runnable, but he just wasn't able to get it in gear.  As we hit the fire road before the climb up to Highway 49 I moved from running behind him to up in front and slowly picked up the pace a bit, and he hung on and did the same.  After almost five hours we came into the aid station and we sent him off with Becky toward the finish.  

We headed out to Placer High to await his arrival with his two boys in tow.  Surf rolled onto the track at just over the twenty-seven hour mark, and I sent the boys out to join him over the final 300 meters to the finish line.  Great moment for him and his family!  So proud to witness him gutting it out and just getting it done on a day that didn't go how he'd hoped it would.  Huge props to him, he is one tough and inspiring dude.

It is so rewarding to have had the opportunity to share in this experience with him again, and I know he hopes to be able to repay the favor someday!

Great moment for the Searfus family!  Photo Credit Jennifer Hammond

Outside of Surf's race were 353 other stories.  Just a few of them:

*  What a story it was that played out with Walmsley all day. There were a few guys running with him early (Sage Canaday primarily), but he took the lead about 10 miles in and just hammered it, putting time on the rest of the field and the course record.  I kept hearing words like "unprecedented" and "incredible" and "awe inspiring" as people that were at the aid stations when he came through tried to describe what they saw.  IRunFar said, "His effort seemed inhuman–truly asking all of us observing at aid stations to plausibly reset the definitions of what is possible." Look at his splits on Strava up through mile 90 - there's a whole lot of sub-7:00s and sub-8:00s in there.  He even dropped his pacer on the way down to the river about mile 71 - a professional runner could only keep up with him for 7-8 miles on the Cal St. trail, while he already had 62+ miles in his legs.  But then at about mile 92 instead of heading up a hill to the HWY 49 aid station he missed a turn, and ran along the river and came out about two miles down 49 from the aid station. He obviously felt a little defeated at that point, seeing the race of a (anyone's!) lifetime slip away.  He pretty much walked back, retracing his steps, walked up to the aid station and sat for 15-20 minutes before continuing on, and he ended up finishing in 20th place overall. 

*  The other piece of the Walmsley story was his river crossing.  For those that aren't familiar, at Mile 78 you hit the Rucky Chucky aid station at the American River.  There is a dam upstream, and every morning they let out a bunch of water so that there is enough flow for the rafters that frequent this area.  So the water is fairly high and fast in the morning, and gradually drops throughout the day.  You wade through with the help of a cable with volunteers helping to guide you across - it's been a little over waist high at it's deepest point all three times I've crossed as a pacer.  It's pretty common for the lead runners to jump in for a minute and submerge themselves to try and cool off, as it's still hot and sunny when they get there.  So Walmsley shows up, gets the life jacket put on, and wades in - the volunteers just think he's cooling off.  But then he just starts swimming across and the current sweeps him down stream.  The safety raft takes off after him, but he finally makes it over to the side. 

Here's iRunFar's video of the whole thing (turn down if at work, Bryon drops an F bomb at the beginning).  

Towards the end you can hear people yelling, "don't get in the raft" and "don't help him".  Why would they be yelling that you ask?  Well....

*  In 2006 Brian Morrison was training regularly up in Seattle with Scott Jurek, who had just won the race 7 times in a row.  Scott wasn't going back that year and predicted Brian would win, paced him for much of the way, and sure enough Brian hit the track in Auburn about 15 minutes ahead of second place.  But then this happened.

  .

Because he was helped up and assisted across the finish line, he was disqualified and is officially listed as a DNF at Robie Point at mile 98.9 (last aid station before the finish).  Brian came back the next three years but never completed the race (nutrition, cancellation, injury I believe).  But he was back this year, 10 years later.  He was introduced at the pre-race meeting on Friday along with the elites, and everyone gave him a huge hand.  It was an emotional moment, with him wiping away tears.  We actually saw him several times throughout the race as he was running near Surf most of the day, and they knew each other from the running store in Seattle that Brian manages.  Well Brian finally managed to finish Western States, crossing the line with his kids in 27:26.  Huge hand from the crowd, great moment.

Brian Morrison finally gets that long-awaited finish!

*  As the clock wound down the final minutes during the "Golden Hour of Ultrarunning", the runners that have been out there all day, night, and into another hot day start streaming in.  In the final hour sixty-four of the two hundred eighty total finishers, or 23% of the total, came in and crossed the finish.  Those stories are always the best - Alison Sunshine Chavez, a breast cancer survivor being paced by Chris Jones; Annie Trent, the 26 year old daughter of one of the WS board members; three 60 years olds - and most are joined on the track by not only their pacers but their crew, family, and friends.  There were two 70 year olds that had started - 71 year old Gunhild Swanson, who had the amazing finish last year with 6 seconds to spare, and 72-year old Wally Hesseltine.  This time around Gunhild missed the cutoff at the river (how's this for a picture - Gordy Ainsleigh, Gunhild, and Ann Trason as her day ends at mile 72), but Wally was still coming.  As we got to the final moments a cheer erupted from the road outside the track, and Wally finally came down the ramp.  But unlike Gunhild running a sub-8:00 final mile to sneak in under the wire, Wally was in bad shape, leaning badly to one side and stumbling.  He crashed into a garbage can on the ramp and fell down.  He got up and kept moving, but time ran out after just a few more steps, probably 200 meters from the finish line.  He kept trying to go, leaning and falling again, then again.  Everyone in the crowd is chanting "Wally, Wally", just like they had chanted Brian's name back in 2006.  On the straight away he fell once more, and had to be helped to his feet and across the line.  Totally sad moment, and yet inspiring at the same time.  He was one of three runners that came in after the official cutoff, and while Tropical John announced their names and said they "covered the distance", they don't go down as official finishers but DNFs at Robie Point. 

*  Erika Lindland does it again!  16th at Devil's Thumb, 12th at Foresthill, 11th at HWY 49, and somewhere in the final 6.5 miles she moved into 10th to take the coveted F10 spot.  Two years in a row in the top 10, so deserved.  Congrats to her.  She keeps doing this, she'll have to stop calling it a fluke!

 

There are a a few hundred more stories, but that's enough for here and now since I know not everybody (ok,very few people) are as in to this race as I am.  Every time I get the chance to experience this race, it becomes more a part of me and I become even more determined to run it some day.  I'll be back in Auburn this December for my 4th straight lottery, maybe 2017 will be my year!

Work With What You Have

It's been almost six months since I last wrote a blog post with my Firetrails 50M race report.  That's not because I haven't run any races at all.  In fact I did run another about six weeks after Firetrails, the Give n' Gobble 10K on Thanksgiving while visiting my parents in Oregon for Thanksgiving.  I had recovered pretty well and had plans to work on some "speed" (it's all relative for my slow ass) for 8-10 weeks before getting back to ultra-specific training, and I figured running a 10K as hard as I could would give me a good baseline from which to put together some interval and tempo workouts.  I had no idea how to pace this thing, so before road tripping north I did twenty minutes of "comfortably hard" running on a relatively flat road, and managed a couple of miles in the 8:50s.  So slow!  But at least now I knew where to start on race day.  I ran a mile and half to warm up, and then took off at the start right in that range, 8:53 for the first mile.  I felt pretty good so picked it up a bit, and then ran as hard as I could for the final mile (7:50 split!) and finished in 52:11, satisfied with the hard effort. A mile cool down and then back to my parent's house to begin Turkey Day festivities.


But later that day my calves were so trashed that I could barely walk, and that continued for a few more days.  I guess pushing the pace on pavement for 6 miles after only having done so for two miles in one training run wasn't such a great idea after all.  I took two days off and tried to run on the third day, and my right achilles was super sore.  I ran no more than every-other-day through December, never uphill (only hiking) and no further than eight miles at a time, as the achilles continued to bother me.  I was doing eccentric heel drop exercises, light stretching, and working the calves with a stick and my Roll Recovery R8, but progress was so frustratingly slow.  February and early March  training continued to struggle, with weeks of 27, 6, 14, 19, and 11 miles, but the achilles was slowly improving each week.  I did decide to bail on Way Too Cool 50K, missing it for the first time in four years, as I had no business trying to struggle through that for 6-7 (or more) hours.

With The Canyons 100K looming in just nine weeks I knew if I was going to have any chance to get it done as my 2017 Western States qualifier that I was going to have to get focused.  In terms of training and fitness, I was way behind where I was at this time last year heading into Quicksilver 100K around the same time.  The good news is that the Canyons qualifying time is 20 hours, so I have four more hours to work with than the 16 hour qualifying cutoff from Quicksilver last year.  With around 14,000' of gain (and loss) over 63 miles, it also doesn't look to have many (any?) flat sections:

The Canyons 100K Elevation Profile

I've run Michigan Bluff to the river while pacing Western States, and the part I haven't done is from Michigan down and up through El Dorado Canyon and then down Devil's Thumb and back up (miles 6.5 - 25 of the race) - so I know there isn't a ton of flat trail.  The good news is that I'm a better hiker than I am a runner normally, and with my training such as it's been that's unfortunately more true right now than ever.

Nine weeks, with a need to hit three specific areas - time on feet, power hiking, and toughening the quads to handle the downhills.  So I put together a plan that I hope will get me there.

Other than the down week being a little lighter than planned (just wasn't feeling great, and the point of a down week is to recover and absorb the training) I've been able to stick to it pretty well so far.  This week and next will be the peak weeks with 9-10 hours each before heading into a two week taper, with one final hard downhill workout scheduled for 10-11 days out from race day.

I'm trying to do some little things as well to get me ready - increased rolling/massage, some strength work, working almost exclusively at my standing desk, and I even got my bike fixed up and have ridden it twice for the first time in years.  And with the possibility of a warm day out there (avg of 71 but high of 92) I started sauna sessions today.

Will it be enough?  I guess I'll find out on May 7th, but I'm gaining confidence that I can get it done even if it becomes a long slow slog until after midnight to get that States qualifier.  But with the achilles injury and compressed training cycle, I'm just forced to work with what I have as I keep chasing this Western States dream.