Sep. 23-24, 2006
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My second child was born in February 2006, so I had no idea that I
would be attempting my first 100-milers that same year. 2005 was my
first year running ultras, and I did 4 50-milers. In 2006, I planned
to do less running and more taking care of the kids. However, I soon
found that a nonrunning dad was a grumpy dad, and the announcement of
the inaugural Tahoe Rim Trail 100-miler (set for July 2006) got me
moving again. I tell the story of that attempt (and
failure) elsewhere;
the short version is that I just didn't get enough training in, mostly
due to injuries (which were in turn probably caused by ramping up too
fast...poetic justice). Of course, it's only in retrospect that I can
put it this way. At the time, it was much more confusing and
disheartening. Soon after TRT (i.e. in late July) I began to think about doing another 100-mile attempt fairly quickly, to build on the training I had done for TRT rather than start from scratch next season. Actually, the first seed of this idea was right after I woke up from my night's sleep after dropping out of TRT: my legs weren't sore at all, despite running 61 miles! It meant that I was in pretty good shape after all. (In fact, this made me question whether I should have dropped out, but I think I was satisfied when I reflected on "runner's memory." Runners never remember the pain, only the feeling of accomplishment when they finish. So I made peace with the feeling that I would never remember how much pain I was in when I dropped out.) I quickly settled on RdL as the logical choice of race. Part of me didn't want to do it because it's an "easy" 100-miler, something of a letdown after TRT. But it was 10 weeks after TRT, a perfect amount of time to recover, push the training further, and then taper for the race. And it was within easy driving distance of my house, so I didn't have to worry about travel arrangements. "Too easy" could also be seen as a virtue, a logical first 100-miler. I decided I would train on the toughest parts of the RdL course, a 45-minute drive from my house. My training went something like this:
The week of the race, I did do a few race-related things. I charted my expected time at all aid stations. This was based on my training, but had seemingly lots of additional time thrown in, because I knew I had to go slower than in training. If I added what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, I came up with 24 hours total. But I knew that couldn't be right, so I added a lot more time at night and came up with 26 hours total. The day before the race, I packed my drop bags in the morning, and went to the weigh-in/race briefing in the afternoon.
Race day!I must have gotten up at 4, to be out of the house at 4:30 and at the start/checkin by 5:15. The race started at 6. I had done the 53-mile event in 2005, so I knew that although it was dark at the start, I didn't really need a flashlight. Within 10 minutes it would be light enough to run, and until then it was kind of a slow-moving pack illuminated by the flashlights of others. The forecast was typical for that time of year: high of 85 and not a cloud in the sky.I had trained on miles 12-55 of the course, and had run miles 1-12 only a few times before, the previous year at AR50 and at the Sierra Nevada 53-mile version of this event. So miles 1-12 were a nice change of scenery, and with all the other runners to talk to, I wasn't worrying at all about my time. As it should be in the early going of a 100-miler! The only annoying thing was that the first aid station with food was at 10 miles (Horseshoe Bar), and it was restocking when I got there. There was food out, but not much, not the kind I liked, and I would have to wait for them to, for example, make more PBJs. I didn't want to wait, so I grabbed a few potato chips and headed for Rattlesnake Bar two miles away, where there would be more food, plus my own drop bag snacks. So when I got to Rattlesnake, I was starving! I ate a good deal of aid station food, plus drank my bottle of Ensure. As I walked away from Rattlesnake, my stomach began to feel terribly overstuffed. I had to walk a few miles before I felt like running again. This was disheartening, but at least I knew it was not a problem that would last. Auburn Dam Overlook at mile 22.74 was the first major stop in my mind. It was where I always parked for training runs, and where I planned to change my socks, shoes, underwear and shorts (in training I chafed too much when my shorts were sweaty, so I planned multiple clothes changes). I got there at about 10:30am, which was faster than my officially planned time, but perhaps a bit disappointing because I had thought that my official plans were very conservative and could easily be beaten. To save a bit of time, I skipped the clothes changes, but still changed my socks and shoes. It's still amazing how long it took to change socks and shoes, taking care to wipe any grit off the skin of the feet, and eat/drink enough to feel well-fueled for the upcoming segments. It was probably 10-15 minutes. This was the start of the heat of the day, and I picked up my hat and sunglasses. It was nice to get ice only four miles later at No Hands. Very different from my training runs! I was careful not to put ice in my hat, no matter how much I would have liked it to cool down, because in training that had caused a wet shirt which in turn caused nipple rub. Leaving No Hands was mentally significant, because that is where the 53-milers turn around and the 100-milers continue for a 14-mile segment before returning to No Hands. It also marks the start of the the climb up K-2, the biggest climb of the race, at mile 27. Lots of people passed me on the way up, but I focused on not overheating. The next aid station, Cool at mile 30, marked the start of a 7-mile loop whose main challenge was not terrain (it's gently rolling), but pure heat and lack of shade. It felt a bit like being in an oven, but an oven that I could survive. (Keep in mind that I don't like heat. I'm not saying this is extreme in comparison to other races, just that it was one of the major challenges for me in this race.) On this loop, I caught up to and passed Gary Bennett and Molly Pelton, both of whom would go on to finish in under 24 hours. I began to think that maybe I could too. I had read Gary's account of running sub-24 the previous year, and was delighted to meet him in person. Compared to other runners, I am worse in the heat, worse at uphills and much better at downhills. Here I was passing them in the heat, with a net downhill for the remainder of the course. Either I could do sub-24, or I had started out way too fast. I soon had my answer. Coming back to Cool at mile 37, without feeling that I was delirious, I noticed that I started to act delirious. I could see the aid station, but I couldn't see the ribbon marking which way around the fence I was supposed to go. I stopped, hesitated, went back a bit, and for some reason went through some "grass" which turned out to be full of thorns. I had to stop immediately and pull the thorns out of my socks. By the time I looked up, Gary and Molly had already caught up, and got to the aid station just ahead of me. There, while Gary and Molly went ahead, someone lectured me about electrolytes. I thought, do I look so bad that I need an electrolyte lecture? But I think she was exactly right, because after I left I continued to stumble, figuratively and literally. Within a mile, I stumbled on a root and kind of fell, catching myself with my hands so that I didn't fall completely, but hurting my rhythm. It also destroyed a goal of mine, which was not to fall in 100 miles. Soon after that, a major downhill section started, and I usually fly down the hills. At the switchback (there is only one, because it is a long, runnable downhill), I could hear Gary and Molly ahead of and below me, but I never caught them or saw them again. This was extremely disappointing, because if I were to excel anywhere on the course, it would have been this long, runnable downhill. I gave up on my idea of 24 hours. This made it easier for me just to keep moving on back to Auburn and not worry about the time. I had taken an electrolyte capsule at Cool and took another at No Hands, so maybe that helped too. There was also more shade on the way up to Auburn than I was used to in training (and way more than around Cool). I don't remember a specific point where I felt better, but I do recall that I got to Auburn feeling ok. It took me 10 hours to do those first 44 miles, I had gotten through the heat of the day, and I had a net downhill of 1,000 feet before hitting the relatively flat later parts of the course. It wouldn't be 24 hours, but my goal of finishing seemed reachable. But I wasn't really thinking that far ahead. My main reason for celebrating was that I wouldn't need to pick up a flashlight here. I would probably get back to Rattlesnake at mile 55 before dark. For some reason, in my planning this had been a big deal. Slow enough to need a flashlight at Auburn meant significantly slower than my forecast and my training. Also, picking up a flashlight at Auburn would have meant carrying it many miles before turning it on, just because of the 11 miles between drop bags. This struck me as a waste of energy I would prefer to avoid. Between Auburn and Rattlesnake, I passed Catra Corbett and her pacer Kathy D'Onofrio. I learned that Kathy was a former Western States champion,and I recognized Catra's name from the pre-race briefing, where Norm had taken care to point her out as a famous ultrarunner. So I asked what the hell I was doing passing them. "Don't worry," Catra said, "it's my third 100-miler in three weeks." She predicted a slower-than-usual 25-hour finish because of that. It was encouraging to hear a solid prediction from an experienced ultrarunner, and it was far enough off of 24 hours that I felt additional confirmation that it was not worth worrying about. Running with them at that point was a guy named Scott, who will appear again later in the race. It was his first 100 too. Later, I realized that I had passed Catra on the way up to Robie Point (between No Hands and Auburn), and must have been passed by her in the Auburn aid station, where I spent about 20 minutes changing everything except my shirt.
Nighttime!At Rattlesnake I picked up my light and my iPod. Two miles later, at Horseshoe, there was still plenty of light. It is a LONG 6 miles from there to Twin Rocks, full of twisty, turny, rocky up-and-down trails. I kept my light off as long as possible, to enjoy the beauty of the night. I adapt to darkness very well, and I passed a few other runners with lights. One turned around in surprise when he heard me right behind him, and blinded me with his headlamp in my face. I barked something about dark adaptation at him and went on. Soon it became downright creepy how I was able to run on such a rocky trail in such darkness. I didn't consciously see the shapes of the rocks. Was it possible that I could "feel" them and run safely, or was I just pushing my luck? Eventually I gave in and turned on my light, and there was no going back.Just before Twin Rocks (mile 63), the trail becomes more runnable, and in my mind, more recognizable as being near the start/finish/67-mile station at Cavitt School. I could "smell the barn," the barn in this case being the 67-mile point rather than the finish. But this was still a big achivement mentally. I had never run further than the 61 miles I did in my failed TRT attempt, and I was beyond that now. Furthermore, Cavitt was a major station, where I planned a complete sock/shorts change, refueling with Ensure, and hopefully would see my wife Vera. I put Carmina Burana to play for the second time, and I was there before it finished, at 10 pm exactly. I spent half an hour at Cavitt, during which time (without me noticing), I was passed by Catra, Kathy, and Scott, and probably a bunch of other people as well. Vera had brought her sister Carol and Carol's husband Ian, as well as some treats which I nibbled at. I did the full clothes change (except shirt, because then I would have to fiddle with pins and transfer the race bib), took a dump, and ate at a reasonable pace. I didn't feel like there was any wasted time in that half hour. Leaving Cavitt was a big deal. Cavitt is the finish of the 53-miler, and one year earlier I was finishing the 53-miler and looking at the 100-milers in awe. I played "Seussical the Musical" to remind me of my then-5-year-old daughter. Carol lived near the race course, just on the other side of the river from a point which is probably at mile 71.8 or so. On the first weekend in April, we had visited her house and I did a run on those trails, but a short one due to nagging injury. It was kind of sad because it had been the same day as AR50, which I was unable to run due to injury. But now I started to recognize those trails, and it was a nice confidence booster. There is a nice long downhill exactly opposite her house, and with my usual downhill speed I caught up to Catra, Kathy, and Scott at just after midnight. Seussical was playing for the second time. Perhaps because the downhill was ending, or perhaps because Scott started talking to me, I never really went ahead of them. I was in the lead, but we went through Negro Bar aid station (mile 72.8) pretty much together, and climbed the bluffs right after that together. Scott and I got ahead of the others only when they stopped for a bathroom break. I had turned off the music to talk to Scott. He was from Oregon, and worked as a Coast Guard rescue swimmer, so I figured he was pretty athletic. He had done an Ironman triathlon, but thought that this was a bigger challenge. He was pretty much ready to retire from ultras after finishing his first 100-miler. He kept telling me how much better I was. It's true that he seemed in more pain, but I did not feel like I was holding back just to stay with him. We fell into a pattern of arriving at an aid station, staying up to maybe five minutes, and then jumping up and leaving when we saw Catra and Kathy coming in. This was my doing more than his; I felt it was a point of pride not to get passed anymore in the race, and it would be really cool to finish ahead of two such famous ultrarunners. At Cavitt I had told Vera that I would be arriving at Hazel (mile 77) at around 2 am. This was assuming that I'd be quite slow in the dark, as I had been after Horseshoe. But the trails here were more runnable (sometimes the course was even on a paved bike path) and partly lit by light pollution, so we made better time, getting there at about 1:15. It turns out she had a terrible time finding the little road that leads up there, and when she finally did, she didn't even get to see me! Approaching Willow Creek (mile 80.8), we started to meet more runners coming back from the turnaround point (Mountain Lion Knoll at mile 83.6). At Willow itself, we saw Gary again. He was on 24-hour pace and said that Molly was ahead of him. I was glad I had not tried to stay with them! The next three miles really seemed like the dead of night. We kept stumbling through the dark, meeting runners on the way back, miles ahead of us, with their blindingly bright lights. We were afraid to ask how far ahead Mt. Lion was, for fear that we would not like the answer. We finally got there at about 3:15am. They had McDonald's shakes that were just heavenly at that point! At this point we knew we would finish, but it was not necessarily going to be fun. We had 16.5 miles left, it was 3 or 4 in the morning, we had been up for almost 24 hours and on the run for almost 22, and our feet were starting to blister. But we never really got bored, because we asked each other about families, jobs, running and preparation for the 100-miler, etc. We were talking less than half the time, but it served to break the monotony. We were alternately running and walking, and running perhaps less than half the time. We got back to Hazel (mile 89.93) I think around 2 hours later, around 5:15 am. I had been having a weird feeling in my feet, as if the skin were separating from the bottom of my foot. In other words, like a huge blister covering the entire bottom of my foot. But the feeling wasn't quite like that, so I wasn't panicking. At Hazel, I took off my socks and inspected my feet. No massive blisters, just a few small ones on the side. The feeling was simply due to all the pounding (and it would persist for at least 24 hours after I finished!). I put on new socks just to be sure that blisters wouldn't become a problem. They were cushier socks than I had been wearing. A nice way to do the last 10 miles. We knew for damn sure now that we would finish. I began to calculate when we would finish...about 8 am.
Race day #2!The 4.5 miles from Hazel to Negro Bar felt very long. There is a long stretch that's very straight, in an arroyo, that felt endless. Finally we left the arroyo and climbed up the bluffs approaching Negro Bar, where we had gone ahead of Catra and Kathy so many hours ago. This time, instead of total darkness, dawn was lighting up the horizon. They were still roughly 5 minutes behind us, judging from near misses at aid stations. Scott had urged me many times to go ahead, saying that I was much stronger. I was starting to believe it, but I didn't have the energy to take any initiative. We came into Negro Bar. It was the first aid station that we could see without lights. There was a scale where we had weighed in on the outbound journey, and I asked if we had to weigh in again. No, they said, if you made it this far (mile 94.4) we don't care how bad a shape you're in, you can try to finish. That was comforting in a way.About a mile after Negro Bar we hit the stretch where I had caught up to Scott around midnight, but now it was uphill rather than downhill and we walked (or staggered) up it. This part was on the bike path, and we were passed by a pair of bicyclists. This was about as early in the day as one could bike safely without lights. I wonder what they made of us, two guys apparently in a race (with running clothes and race numbers on), but not moving very fast at all and with no other competitors in sight! They probably assumed the race was a 10k or something and had just started this morning! Soon after this, Scott finally convinced me to go ahead. I had been leading for a long time in terms of deciding when to run instead of walk, and how far and fast to run before walking again. But lately, I had been increasing the length of the running parts and maybe even increasing the speed, as I sensed the finish approaching. He could no longer force himself to keep up. We had run 26 miles together, a marathon, but it clearly was time to say goodbye. This was around mile 97. I can't remember if it was just before or just after Folsom Dam Park aid station. I do remember that at that aid station I basically didn't need anything because it was only 3 miles to the finish, and that was a good feeling. I think I ran almost the whole distance after leaving Scott. I put on my music again and really started running. Especially when I got to the levee roads, which are perfectly flat and within maybe a mile of the finish, I really started running. It felt like I was flying to the music, but it was probably really very slow. I started to sweat, because I was completely exposed to the sun and I was exerting myself. I saw a few people talking by a gate up ahead, and at first thought they were volunteers keeping track of people about to finish. But as I passed them, I saw they were just average people chatting on a Sunday morning. They had no idea I had just run 99.5 miles. I finally turned off the levee road and onto the path that leads to the school. I put away the music so I could really pay attention to the finish. Around the corner and Vera was there. I was under the finish banner before I could even think about it. The clock said 8:12 am, amazingly close to my predicted time. I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. The medical volunteer asked how I felt and I said, "Fresh. It's unbelievable, but I feel really fresh." I weighed in ok and Vera took my picture under the banner. I told Norm it was my first 100 finish and he said, "Great. You'll come back next year and do sub-24." Yeah, right. I would need some talent to do that! We hung around for maybe half an hour as I took a shower, gathered my drop bags, etc. We watched the next finishers. Benjamin Muradyan came in next, in 21:12. He had been introduced at the pre-race briefing as an 18-year-old attempting the 100-mile distance. He looked good. Next was Scott, 14 minutes after me. He said he had reached an intersection where he didn't know which way to go, and wasted several minutes wondering what to do until another runner (presumably Benjamin) appeared and pointed the way. Catra came in 10 minutes later. She had stomach problems, otherwise she probably would have done her predicted time of 25 hours and soundly beaten us. I announced to Vera, Carol and Ian that I would love to eat some pancakes. We drove to a place, but by the time we got there, I was asleep. I woke up just enough to ask them if I could just sleep in the car while they ate. They didn't like that idea, so we drove somewhere to pick up bagels and bring them back to Carol's house. I fell into bed and slept like a dead man. At some point Vera tried to wake me up to say goodbye. She had to get to the airport for a business trip. She had accepted an inconvenient flight in order to make sure that she would see me finish, but now it was time to go. I mumbled something really incoherent like "mmff gabba bagga waaaama." It was weird, I knew it was absolute nonsense but I felt like I had something genuine to express. Then I slept like a dead man again.
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