Scott (my pacer) saved my race – I wouldn’t have finished without him.
Prologue
When my name was drawn in the Western States lottery in December, I was already signed up for one of my bucket list races – Dragon’s Back, a 5 stage race down the spine of Wales. About 200 miles, 50000 feet of climbing, mostly self-supported during the running portions. It happens in late May. Western States happens at the end of June, but my odds of getting in were low (8 tickets, 13% chance of getting picked) and I wanted to improve my chances for a future year so of course I entered the lottery. I didn’t even remember the lottery the day it happened, until FB lit up with congratulations. “Oh… I got in. Great – I guess… Maybe 4 weeks will be enough recovery after Dragon’s Back .” Given how hard it is to get in to WS and how many people want to get in, I didn’t think anyone would be impressed if I whined about bad timing.
Dragon’s Back came and went. June was a full 1-month training cycle – recovery, training, taper. I had a 100 mile week mid-June (some of that was pool running), did some hills to maintain quad-immunity, and put on my multi-layer heat suit and did horrible 90-120 minute runs on 80+ degree days. Then I did a comprehensive 1 week taper to prepare. Seeing that now in writing, I’ll admit there’s a slight chance I did too much.
Pre-race
My friend Scott – who paced me for one leg of Tahoe 200 – has been pretty interested in Western States for a while. He wasn’t really an ultra runner, but after I got in to WS I asked if he wanted to pace or help somehow and he said yes. After a lengthy negotiation where we each bent over backwards trying to make life easy for the other person, we agreed that he’d pace me from Foresthill (mile 62) to the finish (100.2 miles). This would be about 12 miles farther than he’d ever run. He was worried I’d drop him – I thought it was unlikely.
My Moab 240 friend Brandon had also gotten in to the race – he agreed to let us share his condo at Tahoe before the race and set us up with very sweet post-race accommodations with some of his relatives in Auburn where the race finishes. Pre/post race logistics at WS can be difficult, and my first/only other experience of the race included trying to nap the day before the race while the Squaw Valley helicopters landed 200 feet outside my hotel room every 15 minutes to shuttle ski lift parts up the mountain. It was great to be outside of the chaos this time. Thank you Brandon!
Going into the race, I knew I was in decent shape but didn’t know if I was recovered. With typical runner optimism, I set a sub-24 hour/silver buckle goal. I hadn’t come close the first time (just under 27 hours) but I was smarter this time, had trained well for the heat, and understood how to pace myself better through the first 50 miles. I also hoped I wouldn’t have knee pain like the first time. As that line from some movie says, “so you’re saying I have a chance!” I made my plan, revised it about 100 times, and decided it looked reasonable – optimistic but not crazy. I told Scott that the earliest I’d be at Foresthill was something like 6pm, that I was hoping for 6:45, and that if things went wrong it could be way later (like 8:20 when I did it the first time).
One big challenge with Western States is heat. In the canyons – which I’d go through mid-afternoon Sat – it can get above 100, with lots of reflecting sunlight and no wind. Another reason for optimism just before this race was a somewhat mild forecast. Maybe 80-90 in the canyons. And I was heat-trained. “This is going to go well!”
The Race
Sat morning came, and we set off at 5am. I kept my heart rate where I wanted it, walked more of the first 4 miles (2000+ feet of climbing) and felt confident that it was all going as planned. I was towards the back of the pack, but that was ok. My goal was to run fast from Foresthill onward.
Unlike my first year (no snow in the high country), there was snow this year. There was a lot of pre-race communication about exactly how much snow – at one point there was a possibility of a course re-route due to snow – but by the time the race came it all looked pretty reasonable. Some snow for the first 10 miles, then spotty snow, and then no snow from Robinson Flat (mile 32).
The snow wasn’t too bad. A little crusty and slippery, but mostly ok. At times I’d cruise past runners picking their way along the trail, by going out to the side and counting on enough friction from the tiny suncups to keep me from sliding out. (“Oooh – look at me passing all these runners”.) I could tell it was slowing me a little bit and maybe using a little more energy than clear trail would, but it was early and the main thing was not over-cooking myself in the first 30 miles by going too hard. I felt like was right where I needed to be in terms of moving at a sustainable effort.
When I got to the first aid station (Lyon Ridge, 10.3 miles), I was 25 minutes behind my plan (after ~2 hours 50 minutes of running). “Must have been the snow! Now that the snow is going away, it will go better. I feel good. I’m running well. I can make that up gradually over the rest of the race.”
When I got to the second aid station (Red Star Ridge, 15.8 miles) I had lost 5 more minutes. When I got to the 3rd, I was 5 more minutes behind. And so it went – my body felt ok, I knew I was running at the right effort, I wasn’t getting hot. But I just didn’t have any speed and was losing time between every aid station.
For a while it was fun. In fact most of the daylight hours on Sat were fun – I was behind schedule, but I wasn’t having issues and I was running Western States.
The climb to Devil’s Thumb (like entering Dante’s Inferno when I ran in 2015) went well. I arrived at the Devil’s Thumb aid station around 5:40pm (target – 3:55pm, 47.8 miles into the race). I’d put a just-in-case headlamp in my drop bag here, in case I was having a really bad day and needed it to get to Foresthill where my main headlamp was waiting. I said hi to my friend Bruce (one of the aid station captains, who rescued me there during the 2015 race) and we talked briefly about whether I needed the headlamp to get to Foresthill. It would be a little close but we both thought I’d be fine. So I very cleverly left the few-ounce headlamp in the drop bag and continued on, thinking about how much faster I’d move without those few ounces.
I went on … slowly.
I knew it would get really dark around 9pm. I didn’t make it to Michigan Bluff until 8pm. I had one hour of light left and had to travel 6.3 miles and climb 1600 feet to get to my headlamp at Foresthill. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left that headlamp at Devil’s Thumb.” The section from Michigan Bluff to Foresthill goes like this: dirt roads, a drop into the last canyon on a decent trail, a climb out of the canyon on a rocky trail, and then about 1 1/2 miles on paved roads. I could see fine on the dirt roads, but it was starting to get pretty dark as I hit the trail. I went as fast as I could downhill, thinking that worst case I could pick my way uphill in dim light. I needed light to get downhill quickly without tumbling but would be moving slowly uphill anyway and wouldn’t need as much light.
Somewhere during this stretch, I started questioning the whole thing. “I’m clearly still tired from Dragon’s Back. This can’t be good for me. I’m not going to have a great race. I’m not having fun anymore. I’ve finished this race once already. This is stupid. I hate running.” It made perfect sense to drop at Foresthill. But… Scott was waiting there for me, and had already driven a few hours and spent an entire day waiting, just because I’d asked him to. I puzzled on this for a while as I pretended it was still light out and that I could see. “Ok, I’m dropping at Foresthill unless Scott really wants to do the pacer thing. If he does, I guess I’ll keep going.”
By the time I started uphill, I was “seeing” the trail underneath my feet barely, through peripheral vision that could detect a very faint line where the black space underneath me transitioned from smoother (trail) to rougher (not trail). I moved along as quickly as I could, occasionally drafting behind another runner who had been smart enough to carry a headlamp (meaning every other runner I saw.) Drafting never lasted for more than a minute or two because (doh) it’s a lot easier to move quickly when there’s a headlamp lighting the trail in front of you than it is when there’s a runner between you and the headlamp. I hit the pavement at exactly the moment when even I couldn’t claim that there was light left in the sky. There was a runner a short way ahead of me – a few spectators cheered him as he appeared, then I appeared out of the dark 20 seconds later. “Oh!…. Uh… good job… Do you need a light?” Too embarrassed and proud, and not wanting to handle that “outside assistance” question, I declined and continued on in darkness.
The first part of the road was fine and I actually passed a few people. The ground underneath me was smooth, I didn’t have to worry about tripping, and I was even able to run uphill a little. (And my eyes were well-adjusted to darkness!) Then we turned off Bath Rd, onto the main Foresthill road. The course runs along a little dirt path on the side of the road. It was really dark there, except when cars drove by occasionally with blinding lights. So basically I could never see anything. At one point I found myself in the road instead of on the path, realized it when a car came around a bend, and had to move sideways quickly through some grass to get back on the path. Obviously, I made it safely to Foresthill without my light, but it wasn’t super-fun or a great demonstration of sound decision-making on my part.
I arrived at Foresthill at 9:48pm (16 hours 48 minutes of race time) – nearly 4 hours after my best case, 3 hours past my goal, and more than an hour later than 2015 when the canyons melted me. Coming into Foresthill is pretty fun. It’s lit up, there are lots of people there, and in my case Janet and Scott were waiting there for me. And my headlamp. As I arrived, I noticed a 3rd person standing with them – after a moment I realized it was another friend, PJ from an online running group. He’d driven a few hours to say hi and see the spectacle. That all lifted my spirits after a fairly rough couple hours. But I was still going to drop, unless Scott really really wanted to do the pacing thing.
They listened as I explained why I was 3 hours late – I felt ok but just wasn’t moving quickly, and then did something really stupid at Devil’s Thumb. I asked Scott if he wanted to run. Yes! I explained that I didn’t need to keep going – are you sure? Yes again! I’d finished the race before and didn’t need to finish this time. Yes again! I wasn’t going to move very quickly. Yes again! “Are you really sure you want to do this?” Yes! I sighed and said I’d continue but that my only goal was finishing. I’d already given him the full experience of crewing at an ultra (crew = Crabby Runner Endless Waiting), and decided I might as well give him the pacing experience.
I fiddled with gear and clothing, ate and drank some (a large vanilla chai and a beer – both of which tasted great), and talked to them a bit. And got my headlamp. After 25 minutes or so, around 10:15pm, we set off – Scott eagerly and me reluctantly. The Foresthill cutoff is 11:45, so we were well ahead of that and I figured we were fine time-wise.
I should say 3 things about Scott.
- He was PREPARED. He knew my time goals. He knew the distances between aid stations. He probably could draw an accurate map from Foresthill to the finish. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew the record time between each aid station. He hadn’t run an ultra or paced much before, but he was ready.
- Scott is NOT a man of few words. This is a feature when you’ve been moving for a long time and are having trouble staying awake. It’s also a nice thing when you’ve been wandering alone in the dark (literally) for a while.
- Scott was CAFFEINATED. I’d told him that he might have trouble staying awake around 4am. That made him nervous, so I think he drank about 20 cups of coffee before I arrived.
The combo of caffeine and chattiness was pretty hilarious as we left Foresthill. I had just spent hours alone in darkness and was a little depressed to find myself continuing on. Scott was next to me, talking a million miles a minute and plotting out how we’d get to the finish. Noticing the contrast, I cheered up some and we moved at a decent pace for the first few downhill miles.
Then the trail got a little worse, and the chai/beer combo started a chemistry experiment in my stomach, so we slowed again. I was sure there was no time problem, and I sometimes walk a lot at night in the interest of staying upright. I told Scott I’d probably walk most of the night, that I’d be fine and able to run when it got light, and that we were fine on time. He didn’t seem convinced and would occasional shift to a slow run, hoping it would somehow motivate me to run too. I am hard to motivate. He remained cheerful in spite of his bad attitude runner.
We continued on through the night. I got sleepy. Scott kept up his caffeine chatter. All I could think about was lying down for a quick dirt nap. I told him I was going to find a flat spot and lie down. We came across a picnic table – Scott said “you can’t lie down there”. I lay down anyway, told him to give me 1 minute and that if I seemed really asleep at 1 minute then give me 1 extra minute. I got up on my own after a minute and we continued. I felt slightly better.
I continued to lose time between every aid station. I wasn’t worried – I’d be fine in the morning. Scott was still skeptical.
As we got close to the river crossing at Rucky Chuck (mile 78), I saw a big stone cottage in the distance near where the aid station would be. “That’s odd – I’m sure that wasn’t there the other 3 times I’ve been in this spot – I guess that just got built”. As we got closer, the cottage resolved into an assortment of lines created by tents, lights, and tree limbs. No cottage.
The river crossing was awesome. In 2015, we waded across (which was nice given that I had been really hot earlier). This time, we were rowed across in boats. Strap on lifejackets, pick our way down to the shore, climb in, move forward towards the finish with 0 effort as a volunteer rows. Halfway across I asked if he wouldn’t mind rowing us down to No Hands Bridge (mile 96), but he had other commitments.
We climbed out on the other side, and walked up towards Green Gate. Halfway up, my stomach went from fine to not good in about 5 seconds. I stepped off to the side, barfed, and started walking uphill again. I think Scott’s eyes went a little wide at this point. Just trying to give him the full ultra experience. Plus, I felt better afterwards.
We continued to lose time relative to race recommendations (and cutoffs). At Peachstone/Cal2 we were 40 minutes ahead of recommendation. At Rucky Chuck it was 24 minutes. By the time we got to Auburn Lakes Trails (ALT), it was down to 12 minutes. Scott reminded me this regularly with growing alarm (and I could tell he was worried he’d blow his first pacing stint by not getting his runner to the finish). I tried to reassure him – I wasn’t physically lame, just mentally feeble – and promised I’d run when it got light. I explained that the race recommendations are based on past performance and included a lot of runners who were crippled by this point or toast from running too fast early, and I wasn’t in that situation. He still tried to motivate me to run more, but eventually accepted my bad attitude.
It got light sometime around ALT. The sun came out, I could see (headlamps only do so much), I felt fine. So I started running. We ran down to Quarry Rd and I had Scott get his picture with Hal Koerner. We found the turn that Jim Walmsley missed, and headed up to the highway. Scott claims I almost dropped him on this uphill – he was setting a new distance PR with every step by this point – but I think he’s just being nice.
PJ was waiting for us at Pointed Rocks (mile 94.3) and ran with us for a few minutes as we continued on. That area (Cool Meadows?) is one of my favorite areas – big grassy fields, sweet trails, only 6 miles to the finish – and although it was even Cooler in 2015 when the moonlight was reflecting off the grass, the combo of being with a couple of friends, feeling good, and knowing I’d finish soon lifted my spirits even further.
The last 6 miles went smoothly and uneventfully. Downhill to No Hands Bridge (shorter and less steep than I remembered), across the bridge, jog/hike up to Robie Point (shorter and less steep than I remembered), onto the the road, past Ann Trason’s house, through town for about a mile, and onto the track to the finish. Unlike most years, where you turn right and do 2/3 of a lap, this year we turned left due to some construction at the track. A short ways on the track, lots of noise and cheering, and we were done. Official time: 29:26:23. (You can see us cross the line about 1:23:15 into this finish line video. That’s Tia Bodington – Miwok 100k race director – giving me my medal. She’s awesome.)
I was now a Golden Hour finisher – finishing in that last hour before the cutoff when people who’ve worked hard to finish in spite of uncertainty, blisters, heat, injuries, pain, bad attitudes, etc. cross the line and make it official. Someone handed us “29er” t-shirts – which look a lot like the 49ers logo. As I stumbled around being congratulated by friends, several said “I have one of those shirts”. It’s my favorite piece of bling from the race.
In 2015, I ran too fast at altitude in the opening miles, the heat crushed me, my knee started complaining just past Foresthill, and I finished under 27 hours. This year I had no problems and finished 2 1/2 hours slower. The bad attitude in the last half made it worse, but I think the main problem was that I showed up to the race more tired than I realized. Sometimes races don’t go the way you hope.
Post-Race
This was kind of a mess.
When Scott and I finally wandered off to shower, we found that the men’s locker room had been turned into a second women’s bathroom (???). We stood there with another runner – dirty, sleepy, and getting grumpy quickly – and considered barging in and demanding that the showering women go use their own showers. I really wanted to whine, but instead wandered off looking for “someone to fix this”. When I got back – unsuccessful – Scott and the other runner had somehow resolved the problem and after the final woman exited we were able to go in and shower.
After the showers, Scott and I got separated without telling each other what we were doing or making any plans. I wandered off to find Janet. Scott wandered off and disappeared (to go take a nap in his car before driving home).
The buckle ceremony happens a little while after the race finishes – and was about to start by the time I was clean and with Janet. The only logistical thing about Western States that is not handled 100% perfectly is that the ceremony usually happens under a hot sun and there’s not enough tent space to shade all the people who attend. The people who finish near the end – the ones who worked the longest, who are still hot from running under the sun – are also the last ones to think about nabbing shaded spots for the buckle ceremony. Janet and I found ourselves slow-roasting in the sun at the edge of the tent, but eventually managed to squeeze under someone’s personal canopy. After a long long wait – 29:26:22’s worth of people had finished ahead of me, so I was near the end – I finally got my buckle.
Brandon (who finished in the hour before me) told me there would be food later in the afternoon at his relative’s house. Janet and I are vegetarian, and although I could wait a little while to eat, it would be kind of a disaster to wait and then be “stuck” at someone’s house looking at a meal that had been carefully and generously prepared but wouldn’t work for us. We didn’t want to be finicky about it (“could you tell us what you’re making because we’re picky and might not eat it”), so we snuck off to get lunch in Auburn, just to be safe. (Spoiler: The meal Brandon’s family had prepared for us was perfect – tons of great food and plenty of things we could eat. By the time I had eaten lunch and that meal, I had replenished all the race calories and added a few extra pounds.) As we headed off to Auburn, I was bummed that after Scott had given up 2 days for me and had been the difference between dropping and finish, I couldn’t at least buy him lunch or even say goodbye in person.
After lunch, Janet somehow tracked down both Scott (who had woken up and just started driving home) and PJ. Scott turned around, and we all met back at the high school. Janet took some photos and I got to say thank you and goodbye to both of them. I had closure and suddenly I was done – very done.
Things I liked (and thank yous):
Scott – he saved my race just by showing up. And while I was impervious to his attempts to spur me on (I had a plan, I was confident it would work, and I always tell people “run your own race, don’t get caught up in what people around you are doing”), his presence during those last 38 miles gave me a reason to continue and made it a lot more fun.
PJ – having him show up a few times from Foresthill to the finish was one of those small unexpected positive things that makes a big difference in my mood.
The high country – I’ve run a lot of the Western States course at least 4 times (2 Western States, the training runs in 2015, Canyons 100k) but this is only the 2nd time I’ve been able to run the first 30 miles. Beautiful, big views, and relatively unmanipulated by years of logging, mining, recreational use, etc..
Running into people before, during, and after the race – There are a lot of people I only know from races. “Everyone” shows up for Western States, so I got to see a lot of great people. For example, after I finished I ran into Courtney Dauwalter – I met Courtney and her husband Kevin after Moab and we’ve crossed paths a couple times since. She was leading the race this year until she had to drop out around mile 80 due to a hip problem. Although she was probably tired, disappointed, and a little bit anxious about the injury, she was her usual upbeat self – “I’ll be fine” – and kidding me that my less-than-perfect race happened because I hadn’t worn my custom Dauwalter/Walmsley shorts (picture way near the bottom of this other post) that I made and once won a race in.
Spending time in Ashland with Janet – We stopped there for the night on the drive home and had a lovely afternoon/evening. Best 7 hours of the whole trip.
Brandon and his relatives’ generosity – Great company, lots of food, a comfortable quiet place for a very tired person to sleep, a hot tub to recover in. It was also great spending time with Brandon’s pacer Matt – Brandon, Matt and I ended up running a lot together a couple months later at Bigfoot.
The volunteers and aid stations – The support at Western States is incredible. Most aid stations have more than one volunteer to assist each runner passing through. Many of the volunteers are amazing ultrarunners themselves, e.g. Walter Handloser was my personal volunteer at Duncan Canyon (one of the early aid stations – I think it was that one). Walter set a world record last year for most 100 mile races in a year. For the few minutes I was at Duncan Canyon, he stood with me, attended to my every need, and helped me with stuff I wasn’t remembering on my own. (“Any trash in your pockets you want to get rid of?”)
Finishing the race – I’m glad Scott got me there. I didn’t care in the moment but I had 0 good reasons to drop and I would have cared afterwards.
The Schedule 
I think we’ve all had that “I hate running” moment during a race.
I’ve never run a 100 miler or even a long trail race. But in Boston is 2018 I hated running.
Great race report.
I remember the trip from Forresthill to Placer High School being much different. Mostly you felt ‘weary.”
The sign between Forresthill and Rucky Chucky is after “Seven Minute Hill” (Bottle Hill) which you said would take you 10 minutes.
Oh and the man you asked to take us to No Hands Bridge was Chris Thornley.
When are we getting together again?