Race Reports

Javier’s report from Lost Sierra 50k to Dick Collins Firetrails 50M

I have to be honest – when I race the only thing that I lead, if lucky, is the rear of the pack. This season was especially interesting as I moved up from 50K to 50M in a very short period of time.

It all started when my wife Helen decided to run the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) 100M. In past years she ran the 50M and I just did the 50K. I was getting the bug of longer races after crewing at Hardrock 100 and this TRT I paced her at night from mile 80 to mile 100. It was a great experience for both and lots of fun to see the sunrise together. Helen did great (earning a silver buckle) and I was left wanting for more.

After TRT, Helen happened to casually mention something that I interpreted as “there is a little lost 50K not far from Truckee, check it out.” When I inquired how hard it was her answer was “a little bit more technical than TRT.” So in my natural wishful thinking I combined the adjectives “lost” and “little” and signed myself up.

Feeling on a roll, I also asked about a 50M to be my first. Helen suggested the Dick Collins Firetrails 50M “down in the bay where you will have the altitude advantage.” In a single night I signed up for the “lost-little-50k” and the “low rolling-hills-50M.” I am the only one responsible for those interpretations given all the maps and information available, but… who reads written instructions these days?

My training leading to the 50k went great with even a couple of 30-mile wild mountain runs with Helen during our vacation in Spain.

Enter the Lost Sierra 50K. The night before, when I finally studied the course and made my just-in-case customary pre-load of the map for off line use on my iPhone (GPS Kit app), I noticed with concern three cut-off times that seemed aggressive for my typically slow pace. We drove from Truckee to Graeagle very early in the morning with friend Peter Fain, part of the incredible cradle of top runners in the Donner Party Mountain Runners. Paul Sweeny also showed up so I got to feel their sonic booms when they took off at warp speed. It was like a flash back to Spain running with the Bulls – everybody took off like a herd of mountain lions was after them – or maybe they were all confused and thought it was a half marathon?

So I decided to run the uphills from the beginning and for the first half of the course things were great other than that first red flag. The second red flag came at an incredible lookout aid station in which not one, not two, but three volunteers warned me that the race really starts in the second half… why I wondered? After my uneventful climb ‘leading’ the rear of the pack, my wonderful wife and children fed me at the half-way-point aid station, beating the first cut-off time with plenty of margin.

The technical part clearly started from that point on, some of the climbs and descents were steeper and rockier than TRT, as I expected. Finally a conclusion grenade hit me when I encountered some faster friends (who were, in fact, running the shorter distance course), and they reacted to my “unexpected presence” with something like, “Javier!? Did you sign up for the 50k?! Awesome (high fives)! This is a hard 50k!”

After this scene repeated itself a few times, it started to dawn on me that this was no easy 50K. The reservoir of wishful thinking lasted just until I finally got a full view of the big climb, at which time a fellow rear-pack-runner exclaimed “OMG, are those people from the event?” The trail ahead looked through my rear-of-the-pack eyes like a section out of Hardrock (of course not really comparable, but you get the point.) That moraine in peak solar loading for sure took all my energy, feeling that there was a false summit at every single switch back.

At the top, anxious for the final descent, I noticed people waiting for something: “We are afraid of descending alone.” And then the ladies (always the ladies!) disappeared down the ravine as if they base jumped. Not wanted to be left behind, I started chase but never saw them again. Still a tip from an iRunFar arcticle clicked in like “Use The Force Luke.” On steep descends reduce stride length but increase pace to abate impact. I somehow did manage to run a non-stop descend.

My family surprised me at the last aid station five miles before the finish. Helen gave me some critical intel on the remaining distance and I took off (well, more exactly limped off ) to finish it up – still downhill and painful til the end. This was my first race using Tailwind and for sure helped me to keep me going. Don’t get me wrong – it was a great race to be part of, perfectly signed with a great course and volunteers, a small town race feeling giving participants with different view of the sierras. I will for sure be back next year.

So all looked good as a progression to my first 50-miler. Still, the coordinated conspiracy of too many business trips and dense smoke from the King Fire placed me way behind necessary training. I only managed to get one 20 miler before the race. To accomplish just that, we were forced to leave Truckee to evade the dense smoke and spent a weekend at Sorensen’s Resort in Hope Valley. Our surprise was that that very same night brought the season’s first snowfall, so I ended up running in the middle of a storm on really steep trails covered with up to a foot of snow. I enjoyed the unusual combination of running shorts and a full Goretex jacket. I spooked equally deer, hunters and followed bear fresh tracks for miles. I loved every minute.

I did have a blast despite the surreal training conditions, solidifying my feeling that long training runs are more fun than the races we train for. It got a bit on the edge when the only tracks on the snow were mine and those of a bear that I seemed to be following all day, but I felt like Killian Jornet on the starting scene of his movie Summits of My Life.

Unfortunately, on the way down from 9,000 feet, it started pouring raining and the ‘trail’ became a rut full of invisible rounded rocks and slush. As a result I impacted my right ankle one time too many. I was able to run only an easy 17-miler on the Emigrant Trail prior to my race. I had to trade training time  for healing time ten days before the race.

I was for-sure undertrained for 50 miles and was tempted several times to cancel a few days before, but decided to go for it. Helen did some miracle KT tape job on my foot the night before to force me to use the right muscles and so it started.

It turned out that my ankle only hurt for the first 25 miles and after the middle point it didn’t feel much worse than anything else. Dick Collins 50M was awesome with incredible views of the Bay Area, but I got to appreciate that those were not exactly rolling hills. There were quite a few more climbs and steep segments that I expected. I had some lows here and there, but enjoyed running with a new found friend for the first half and then, after I got out of my last low, was actually able to pick up the pace. I ended very strong (again – relative to the very rear of the pack) and reached the finish before dark, which was my secret goal.

Running my first 50-miler gave me an appreciation on how mental it must be for Helen and other runners to turn around and do another 50 miles to complete a 100-miler… so although I am not yet in the mind set for that challenge, I am considering going for an “easy” 100k next season. Helen immediately suggested Bishop 100k… which sounds like an easy 100k, right?

Wagner Butte

Faint light filtered through the trees nearly 7000′ above sea level, indicating that we had been out on the trail for over 24 hours. I had been moving very slowly up the 2000′ climb to Wagner Butte, causing my friend Tom to stop and wait frequently. I had no fire. I wasn’t sad or even slightly bothered about moving so slowly. I was just a bit sleepy.

I finally sat down on a rock. I’m not sure how long I would have stayed there otherwise, but within 30 seconds I heard people approaching on the trail. A shot of adrenaline jolted me from the rock and I proceeded up the trail as though I had never stopped. Tom had waited for me and was happy to see me moving again. He was anxious to go ahead, as planned, at daylight.

A small group of us soon arrived at the base of Wagner Butte, a pile of rough and rugged rocks about 50′ high. Another shot of adrenaline… I love bagging peaks. While others groaned in annoyance or disbelief, I happily picked my way to the top, where we each retrieved a flag as proof of our summit.

Down to Road 2060

Tom went ahead to finish super-strong. My legs were slowly warming up to the idea of running again. Then I bumped into my “selfie buddy” for the last time ~ a young man from Nashville who posed with me for several photos during the day. I thought it would be funny to have a bunch of photos with a random stranger on my camera roll. It was funny. And fun.

Next I remember a section of steep downhill single track. My legs and mind weren’t quite ready for it. A woman passed me flying down the hill behind her pacer. So be it. Maybe I would be flying downhill if I had a pacer, I rationalized.

The sun was warming the forest floor and waking up all sorts of buzzing bees, wasps, insects, etc… I have been apprehensive of buzzing beasts since I was stung by a honey bee last month. The Road 2060 aid station was about 3 miles off, and I had to decide if I would take one last Vespa supplement as planned. Vespa is made from wasp-extract and I can’t get the idea out of my head that it somehow contributed to me being stung by that peace-loving honey bee.

I was finally feeling my legs run down the hill. I went through my pre-aid station list in my head. I imagine Betsy’s advice: dump everything and run light. There would be only 10 downhill miles to go.

Road 2060 Aid Station

I arrived at the last aid station where I asked for my drop bag. I felt great and wanted every advantage, so I swallowed my fears and took the Vespa. I left lights, batteries, and night-time layers in my drop bag. I finally pulled out my tunes and as I left the aid station I noticed a man and woman arriving. I wasn’t certain, but had a fair idea that the young woman was my competition and the man was her pacer.

I set the iPod to my “Anthems” playlist, packed with favorites from different times of my life. I tried to stay enough ahead so that the woman behind couldn’t see me. Each time I saw a bend in the road, I would speed up to get around it, to be just out of view. In reality, I was probably out of her view the whole time, but I didn’t know that. I wasn’t looking back.

Neil Diamond

I couldn’t believe that I was actually running at mile 90-something. Neil Diamond played in my ear bud. He had been a recurring theme of the day, as it turns out that few people can resist a little Song Sung Blue. During the day before, I had pulled out my iPhone on three occasions to host brief Neil Diamond dance parties on the trail.

Now I was having my own private dance party, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Loosy-Goosy Distances

I passed a fellow from earlier in the day. I think we had spent some time together in the wee nighttime hours on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). He and Tom were concerned because we hadn’t seen a course marking in some time and because the aid station was a solid 2 miles further than advertised. I shared concern about the aid station distance, but I was neither surprised nor annoyed. The distances had been loosy-goosy all day.

I was certain that we had not missed a turn and used the course GPS tracks to confirm that we were still on-course. The men were still very worried and driving me nuts. The only thing to do is keep running. And we did, eventually, arrive at the mis-placed aid station.

I wondered if there were any more distance surprises in these last 10 miles. Hal Koerner, the world’s most likable race director, mentioned that he had some “really fun” single track in store for us in the final miles as we dropped into Ashland. With fewer than 5 miles to go, I could see Ashland terribly far below us, and had a difficult time trying to figure out just what “really fun” could really mean.

4 Miles

I blew past a water-only station and a sign that said “4 miles” on it. I kept going over the math in my head… maybe I am off by an hour? Am I really coming in under 28 hours? Is there any truth to that “4 miles” sign?

About a mile later the course turned onto the single track. Two runners were just arriving at the intersection from the bottom. “How far?” I asked, even though I rarely trust on-course intelligence. The gal said, “3 miles.” The young man took a moment to look at his watch and reported, “2.8 miles.”

And, then the big surprise… it really was really fun single track! It was a buffed-out downhill trail that was just a bit on the steep side. Now my only question, as I calculated a possible finish in less than 27 hours and a half hours: is there a mile of pavement in addition to these 2.8 miles, or is that included? The suspense was killing me.

Pavement

And, then, before I knew it, I was running down some of the steepest pavement I’d ever set foot on. Betsy’s husband Paul greeted me a few turns before the finish. Betsy is so awesome ~ she was the third woman finisher (24:58) after running on a sprained ankle for 95 miles.

Paul directed me around the final few turns and pointed out the finish arch in the middle of the street. The (college?) cross-country running team was running up the road as I approached the finish. “Go get high fives from them,” Paul advised. I couldn’t help but grin ear-to-ear as I slapped hands with a half-dozen shirtless 20-year-olds.

The Finish

I completed the 100-mile course in 27 hours and 24 minutes. Tom, who had spent the bulk of the day with me, was cleaned up and waiting at the finish. He had slammed down the hill to finish in 26:46. Betsy and my parents also greeted me at the finish. It was my parents’ first opportunity to see me at one of my ultras and I was excited to have them there. I missed having my husband and kids there, but was confident that they were tracking from afar.

My parents helped me retrieve my vehicle (a.k.a The Beast) from the start and we stayed for the finishing ceremony. Then we all ate a fabulous meal together. I slept well, then we all ate another fabulous meal together. And that was that.

Epilogue

I am now “qualified” to put my name in the had for one of the few, coveted spots at the Hardrock 100. But just barely. The day after my Pine to Palm finish, I received an email containing this statement: “Finishers of Pine to Palm 100 in 2013 and 2014 are qualified for the 2015 Hardrock, however Pine to Palm 100 will no longer be a qualifier after the 2016 HR.” I am thinking that, from now on, only I will decide what I am “qualified” to do… the Hardrock infatuation fades.

 

The Start: I’ve been here before. The Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) Endurance Runs are in my backyard and I have run both the 55k and 50-mile distances in the past. This would be my first 100-mile race. There were lots of poor-quality pre-dawn photos to snap, and then we were off.

Mile 15 – Overheating on the Read House Flume: The morning started fine but not great. It was a little warmer and more humid than normal for Tahoe, and so I tried to ice myself from early on. But I was already too hot early on, running the flat and miserable Red House Flume. I lowered my expectations. Maybe today will not be “my day.”

Mile 17 – Out of Red House: Oddly, I started to feel better on the steep climb out of the Red House Loop. It seemed a little cooler. My friend Julie (running the 55k) spotted me with her camera, and I was feeling good enough for some goofy poses.

Mile 18 – Weigh-In: I came into the Tunnel Creek Aid Station for my first weigh-in of the day – 3 pounds lower than my pre-race weight. It was my wake-up call. I have to troubleshoot my situation. Ice more. Drink more. I got on it.

I was fortunate to have my own crew up at Tunnel Creek. My friend Tom hiked the 3.5 miles up the hill to help me for less than 5 minutes at a time on my first three passes through the Tunnel Creek Aid Station. He had my Tailwind sports drink mixed and ready to swap with empties. He executed flawlessly as I barked orders for ice and other necessities. Later he said that I was bossy. Really? That’s well-documented. I can’t believe he didn’t already know that about me.

Mile 30 – Best Day of My Life: The rest of my A-Team was waiting at Diamond Peak. I felt fabulous and was right on schedule. My husband Javier and good friend Betsy were both there to help me through. This time the weigh-in was spot on. I got more ice, ate some turkey sliders (turkey & avocado) and got doused with hose water on my way out. My friend Pete gave me some of his famous rice balls to-go and caught me up on other friends running as he walked a little ways with me up the Diamond Peak ski slope.

Mile 42 – Easy Does It: I left the high-point of the course, Snow Valley Peak, well ahead of schedule. I tried to ease up, but I could see that I would be into the 50-mile aid station about 30 minutes early. Thunder clouds formed in the distance, and it was not a question of if, but when and where, the storm would hit.

Mile 50 – Hail: My early arrival caught the team by surprise, but they jumped into action. I had hoped to spend as long as 15 minutes here to prepare for the night of running. As I started to change my shoes, it started to rain. And then hail. And then flash lightening. I put my coat on (I had been carrying it all day) and my team covered me with towels and plastic. I was already getting cold.

Betsy would be running with me for the next 30 miles. She has almost 3 dozen 100-mile finishes under her belt, so she knows what it takes. Sitting still makes you cold and wastes time. We saw a flash of lightening and heard the thunder just a second later. Time to leave. I missed seeing our kids who had arrived from Truckee just as the storm started. Javier intercepted them in the car and told them to turn around. He was soaked to the bone himself.

Mile 70 – A Hundred Miles is My Distance: We ultimately dried out and the sunset was beautiful. Running into the night with Betsy went smoothly. I was in better spirits than I had expected to be at this point and just kept marveling to myself, “A Hundred Miles is My Distance.”

Mile 80 – Not Enough Air: Javier met us at Diamond Peak Lodge at Mile 80, where he would take over pacing duties. It felt like a slow aid station stop. I had to go outside to find the toilets, but was pleased with the first flushing toilets in so many hours. I felt fine as we initially headed up the ski slope once again, but that didn’t last long.

Diamond Peak is the steepest and longest climb on the course. I have climbed it over a dozen times in training, and one training day climbed it 3 times back-to-back. I don’t do it quickly, but I don’t stop on the climb and it generally is not a problem for me. Except for this time.

I simply couldn’t get enough air. Is this just how it goes at mile 80? My chest was tight under the sternum strap of my pack. Did I over-tighten it this time? I took the tiniest, easiest steps possible, but I still had to stop and gasp for air on several occasions. It took me almost twice as long as normal to make it to the top of the 2-mile climb. I was annoyed, but not freaking out.

Mile 85 – Temporary Relief: I mostly hiked the remaining 3 miles back to the Tunnel Creek Aid Station, where I knew at least 3 volunteer physicians were waiting to help out. They administered oral albuterol and I felt better almost immediately. I was able to run the next 5 miles to the Hobart Aid Station.

I felt the air slip away from me again just out of Hobart. The next section is a climb to Snow Valley Peak up at 9000′ feet. I did alright with moderate hiking.

Mile 90 – This is Going to Take Forever: By the time we were to descend the final 10 miles to the finish, however, I just couldn’t catch my breath. Not even for a light downhill effort. I tried frequently to at least jog downhill, but would be gasping for air after just a few seconds.

Here I hit the low point. I did the math. This downhill to the finish, instead of taking one-and-half to two hours, it was going to take FOUR HOURS. Really? We are going to be out here for FOUR. MORE. HOURS.? I almost cried a few times, but then reminded myself that I chose this and that many are not so lucky to have this choice.

All this time, Javier dutifully followed me at my meager hiking pace. Spending the whole night and well into the morning on his feet, after spending all day crewing me. I felt bad for him. We were doing a “death march” and I know that they are particularly painful on the pacer. I couldn’t talk with him. I couldn’t even listen.

Mile 95 – Seeing Things. Cool: I knew they were coming and totally expected it, but that didn’t stop the hallucinations. I actually found this to be a bonus and it entertained me for a while. That looks like a circus clown’s suitcase at the side of the trail. I wonder what it really is? A stump. And not even a very interesting one at that. It went on like that for a while.

Mile 96 or so – Running Again! At last, I had descended and recovered enough that one of my attempts to “run” was successful. I could breath again! And I was able to run the final downhill miles to the finish!

Mile 101.5 – The Finish: Somewhere along the death march I had instructed Javier (bossy, indeed!) to update everyone via text message to expect us around 10:15am. We found our kids and friend Rachael waiting for us just before the final single track into the finish. Rachael ran ahead to take photos and my sweet family ran me into the finish 29 hours and 10 minutes after I had started the day before.

Reflections: I loved (almost) every minute of my first 100-mile experience. Though I was frustrated hiking so much of the final downhill, I was never really mad that my goal time of 28 hours slipped away. I did what I could. And I did have some good luck with moving away from that storm, so I was actually able to claim a spot as the 10th woman finisher.

The Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) Endurance Runs will always have a special place in my heart as my first ultra (the 55k a few years ago) and now my first 100-miler. It’s in my backyard and it’s an incredibly beautiful place to train and race. The run is well-organized, the volunteers are fabulous, and it all just keeps getting better.

Huge thanks to all who have supported me in this endeavor! I was especially lucky to have the A-Team including Javier, Betsy, Tom and Rachael. The encouragement and training support of my fellow Donner Party Mountain Runners made the ride much more enjoyable. I also want to thank my friends “down the hill,” the Wrong Distance Runners of Sacramento, who helped me get into shape earlier in the season. And, finally, to my parents and my family, cheering and sending love from afar, I knew you were with me!

Afterward: I slept surprisingly well the first night. I am still quite tired four days later, but my body is no more sore than after my first road marathon. Good thing, because a couple of weeks ago I already signed up for my next 100-miler, Pine to Palm! Abundance.

More Info:

• Coverage by the Sierra Sun (our local newspaper)
• Garmin GPS tracks lap 1 / first half
• Garmin GPS tracks lap 2 / second half
• Article about my pacing plan
• Article about Abundance

 

Months of training, days of obsessing over drop bags, and the big day is fast approaching: my first 100-mile trail race at the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) Endurance Runs is this Saturday, July 19, 2014! My body feels good, my mind feels taper-kooky, and I’ve got the A-team pacing and crewing me.

I know that many of you want to follow this zany adventure from afar, but need a little guidance on what the numbers mean. Let’s start with the basics. The course is two laps of 50 miles each, starting at Spooner Lake, passing through Tunnel Creek on several occasions, once through Diamond Peak, then returning to Spooner Lake via Snow Valley Peak.

Click here for TRT Live Tracking. I am bib #48.

Tracking mats will be in place at the following locations: Tunnel Creek, Diamond Peak Lodge, Snow Valley Peak, 50-Mile Lap and at the Finish. Keep in mind that some of these locations (Tunnel Creek and Snow Valley Peak in particular) are not exactly on-the-grid and sometimes communications go down.

How do you know if your runner is doing well? To start, if your runner is still on-course, that’s pretty great! If your runner previously ran TRT, you can do a little internet stalking for more guidance. Start with last year’s tracking and splits at UltraLive.net. Click on that bib number for your runner’s splits. (50-mile splits from last year are here and 50k splits are here.)

Are you really into the numbers? Go to UltraSplits.com’s Pace Analysis, which is an insanely cool free tool for estimating splits. Stalk your runner on UltraSignup.com to get a ballpark idea of your runner’s finish time (make sure you are looking at the entrant list for the correct distance.)

If numbers aren’t your thing, there is a simpler way… just keep an eye on your runner’s relative place in the field. Is your runner’s place staying consistent from one aid station to the next? Is she or he moving up in the field or falling behind? This gives you an idea of how things are going out on the course relative to other runners.

Now, following yours truly will be much simpler. I have put together a pace plan and we’ll see how close I can get. Being my first 100-miler, the second lap is the big wildcard, obviously. I am planning for a leisurely 13-hour first lap followed by a (probably grueling) 15-hour second lap.

Location         Mile     Target
Start               0     5:00am
Tunnel Creek 1     11     7:30am
Tunnel Creek 2   17.3     9:00am
Diamond Peak 1   30.3     11:30am
Tunnel Creek 3   35.3     1:25pm
Snow Valley 1    43.1     4:10pm
50-Mile Lap      50.2     6:00pm
Tunnel Creek 4   61.2     8:45pm
Tunnel Creek 5   67.5     10:45pm
Diamond Peak 2   80.5     1:30am
Tunnel Creek 6   85.5     3:40am
Snow Valley 2    93.3     6:50am
Finish           100.4    8:55am

If I get too far ahead of pace on the first lap, that is no bueno. I want to have legs and lungs for the second lap, where I’m looking to stay on task. Don’t give up free speed. Don’t linger at aid stations. Continual forward progress.

And just in case you still need to know even more about how my day (and night and day) are going, I will be carrying my DeLorme InReach Satellite Messenger. Click here to see my GPS tracks, updated every 10 minutes. Enter password: helenisagoat (Yes, it may think I am still in Silverton, Colorado, until the race.)

Let me close with these lyrics by my friend Tom:

Every breath you take
Every relentless forward move you make
Every hill crest you break
Every aching step you take
I’ll be tracking you

Every moment of the day
Every sound your body may “say”
Every mental game you play
Through the night I’ll stay
I’ll be tracking you

O, I may not see
When you stop to pee
But how my poor heart aches when a belching vomit you’ll take

Every relentless forward move you make
Every vow you make and break
Every smile you fake
When people say, “You look great!”
I’ll be tracking you

Since you’ve gone I’ve seen you slow down through this race
I dream you’re going to pick up your pace
I look for you but can’t find your bib number any place
I feel so sad and I long for your name to appear some place
I keep crying baby, baby please…get there….

Every time you trip on root or rock and scrape
Every drop of blood your dirty knees will make
As the skies above you thunder and shake
Please, no bones shall you ever break…
I’ll be tracking you

Every relentless forward move you make
Every vow you make and break
Every smile you fake
When people say, “You look great!”
I’ll be tracking you

100 Miles – One Day

My friend Tom wanted to run 100 miles in one day. Only those who can cover the 100.2 miles from Squaw Valley to Auburn, California, in under 24 hours receive the coveted Western States silver buckle.

Tom is no ultrarunning newbie. He has many 100-mile finishes, including two previous finishes at Western States, though that silver buckle remained elusive.

I was honored and, frankly, a little nervous when he asked if I wanted to pace him. After all, I have yet to run my own 100-miler (to be remedied on July 19, 2014, on the Tahoe Rim Trail.) That being said, I did learn the art of pacing from my dear friend and 100-mile superstar Betsy Nye. I told Tom that I was in shape to pace the whole 40 miles, and he actually took me up on the offer.

Stay Calm and Taper On

I got a jump-start on pacing duties as Tom spent the week before the race at our Truckee home at 6,500 feet. I read iRunFar.com’s excellent article on “The Western States Killing Machine” and realized that I needed to help maintain a calm environment, even at the house.

Though we discussed race plans over the course of the week, I tried to keep my visible enthusiasm to a minimum. I learned a lot from Tom’s taper, which was methodical and disciplined. He intentionally avoided the pre-race hype at Squaw and instead spent plenty of time enjoying the patio at Truckee’s Coffeebar (also my very favorite place to taper!)

The Plan

Tom’s goal for WS 2014 was clear: to earn a silver buckle by finishing in less than 24 hours. He told me that he really wanted it. I asked him if he wanted it to be his most difficult physical feat ever. He said yes. He wanted to give it everything. I took note and planned to remind him of that later.

Tom had a pace plan based on his previous race performance, training runs on the course, and the published “24-hour” splits. It was a smart plan that put him 40 minutes behind the published 24-hour splits at Bath Road (mile 60.6). The plan called for him to slowly make up the difference in the back half of the race. It was smart, but also very nerve-racking.

Tom wore a GPS watch and Pacelet (my homemade pace bracelet) until I picked him up after mile 60. I wore a different Pacelet for the back 40 miles and a fresh GPS watch.

The Rules

No Whining
“No Whining” was Tom’s rule for himself, and I was happy to help him comply. Fortunately, he’s not much of a complainer to begin with. We both heard Jeff Browning‘s talk at Alpenglow’s Mountain Festival. Jeff explained that one reason he didn’t always use pacers is that they give you an unneccessary opportunity to whine and generate negativity.

However, at some point on the trail, I realized that the “No Whining” rule was preventing me from understanding what was going on with my runner. I had to clarify: “If you are complaining about something that I can help remedy, then it does not count as whining.”

Don’t Give Up Free Speed
This is my rule, as taught to me by Betsy Nye. Simply put, if the terrain is flat or downhill, then we will at least shuffle. “Shuffle” is what you ask your runner to do when “running” is too painful to fathom.

Squaw Valley to Bath Road

I drove Tom to the start on Saturday morning. After seeing the runners off, I had the luxury of returning home for a nap before my pacing would start. Another friend would crew Tom in the meanwhile.

I woke up from my nap a couple of hours later with that sick feeling that happens when solid sleep has been interrupted. I immediately picked up my phone to track Tom’s progress and found his aid station splits to be spot-on –  even a few minutes ahead of his plan.

Calm went out the window. Nerves and excitement took over. I was very close to vomiting. “It’ll pass,” I told myself. And it did. Coincidentally, at this very moment, Tom’s crew texted me that Tom was having stomach problems. “It’ll pass,” I texted back.

Bath Road and Foresthill

Crew and pacers are allowed to drive to Foresthill (mile 62), but may also walk 1.4 miles down to the Bath Road Aid Station (mile 60.6). I met Tom at Bath Road right on schedule. He was hot and tired. His stomach was not doing great, nor were his legs.

We hiked back up the road to Foresthill and I called the crew to bark instructions: Have the chair ready. Someone needs to rub Traumeel on his legs. Tighten his shoes. Prepare the caffeinated Tailwind sports drink.

I made the mistake of not better managing Tom’s body temperature. We should have cooled him with water and ice, but it took me an hour or two to realize that he was still overheated, despite the setting sun and his shirtless back.

Cal Street to the River (Rucky Chucky)

We left Foresthill perfectly according to plan at 7:20pm. It was time to hit our stride; find the balance between fast enough to make up the 40 minutes in Tom’s pace plan but not so fast as to blow the legs. It was delicate. The legs were already close to blown.

The overheating was contributing to stomach issues. How would he keep down the calories, fluids and salts? Baby sips. Constant but tiny sips of the magical Tailwind sports drink could cover all three needs.

Tom’s hopes for a silver buckle waned, but I still had faith in his pace plan. We just focused on each next aid station and he dutifully followed the rule: don’t give up free speed.

And then there was the puking. It was brief and impressive.

Like a frat boy who vomits between drinking games, Tom returned some liquids to the side of the trail, barely wiped his mouth, and then continued hiking up the road. Wow – that’s some serious mental grit!

Our aid station stops were expedient but calm. Tom continued to worry about the viability of a sub-24 finish. I convinced him that as long as we made it to the river (mile 78) by 11pm, the silver buckle was still happening. I have to admit that I shared only limited pace and timing data because it was stressing him out (even if he couldn’t recognize that fact). I know that made him mad, but I’m glad that he somehow trusted me and the plan.

Meanwhile, his legs were on the brink of destruction, but he kept shuffling. I assured him that they would feel better after the cold plunge of the river. We arrived at the river at 10:52pm, and the cold plunge felt like heaven to me. Not so much to Tom. Nonetheless, arriving at the river “on time” was a giant mental boost and his legs were moving better, even if that wasn’t apparent to him.

Green Gate to Highway 49

Tom came out of the river quite cold, but recovered quickly on the climb to Green Gate (mile 79.8) I think this is where he puked again. Right in the aid station. It was after two cups of Coke and a cup of broth. Uhhg! Only one cup of anything from now on!

The next section was hard-fought, but Tom kept pushing. He was taking only little sips of Tailwind and occasional food such as one Honey Stinger chews or a single sip on a GU gel (just a tiny swallow at a time). Since the Tailwind provides ample salts, I didn’t dare let him take an electrolyte pill, for fear that it would further aggravate the stomach issues.

We came into Brown’s Bar (mile 89.9) at 2:04am, ten minutes ahead of Tom’s plan and only 4 minutes behind the official 24-hour historic pace. The heat of the day had waned and Tom was moving better since the river plunge. And here I again had confidence in the plan. I fully expected a sub-24 finish.

Highway 49 to the Finish

We crossed Highway 49 (mile 93.5) and stopped briefly at the aid station. According to UltraLive, we apparently passed eight runners in the 3.3 miles (mostly) down to No Hands Bridge. Tom was now 25 minutes ahead of the official 24-hour pace. We stopped for a photo op on the bridge.

But nothing is given and the climb up from No Hands was difficult. Very difficult. Tom cooked and wanted to let up once he felt his sub-24 time was secure. I admitted to him I wanted to see him finish in 23h 45m. Who really wants to finish with just one minute to spare?

My adrenaline took over and I pushed Tom a little too hard up the hill. He was far enough behind that I couldn’t hear his labored breathing. He had to finally chime in, “Really. I’m serious. You are going to kill me.” I felt awful and we backed off significantly.

The final 1/2 mile stretch to the high school track is flat to downhill. I didn’t expecting any running, but I suggested just in case: “Let’s shuffle.” And then, to my surprise, Tom ran like the wind onto the track – my GPS shows that last section at an 8:30 min/mile pace.

Tom passed under the finish arch 23 hours and 39 minutes after he left Squaw Valley the previous morning. After a shower and nap, he received his silver buckle, and claims that he now “doesn’t have to do Western States anymore.”

Afterward

It was his hardest run ever and he gave it everything.

My own training for the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) 100 is substantially done. I will carry Tom’s mental grit and determination into my first 100-miler. Tom’s pacing strategy was textbook and his execution of it was spectacular. I couldn’t be happier for his accomplishment or more proud to be part of it.

by Alex (7 years old)
1.25-mile trail race by Donner Party Mountain Runners

In the morning I helped my Mom do the course marking for the kids race. I biked around. Then I wrote my name on my bib. The bib was recycled from my Mom’s birthday run.

Soon it was time to start the little kids race. I cheered them on. Then it was time for the longer race. It was 1.25 miles.

I got to start first with Ian because we were the youngest. I thought that at the middle of the run, people who saved their energy would pass me. And then they did not.

For the next loop, I was about 12 feet ahead. At the end, I finished first and Ian finished second. Every kid got to pick their own medal.

And, then, after the race, I got Gatorade and I ate four tacos. The chef was really great. All the guys had yellow shirts on, so I didn’t know which one to thank.

Then, I ran 3/4 of the course again. It was pretty fun.

My good friend and running mentor Betsy Nye offered the following advice prior to the Bishop High Sierra ultramarathons:

• At the start of this year: “When you’re training for a Hundred, every race is about the Hundred.”
• Last week: “Put your blinders on and do your own race.”
• Then this at the start line: “Take it easy.”

50 miles or 100k ?

I originally registered for the 50-mile distance at Bishop, then flip-flopped in my mind for weeks over which distance I should do. The courses are the same for the first 48.5 mies, then the 100k runners do a 12-mile out-and-back before going to the finish.

To make it even more mentally challenging, this 21-year-old race has a tradition that allows 100k runners to downgrade to 50 miles while on-course. At 48.5 miles, you see a downhill road to the finish and an uphill road to your remaining 12 miles… you decide.

Bishop is high and dry. My longest previous race was the inagural Gold Rush 100k last year. That race was flat and at sea level, though the temps were through the roof. I wanted to upgrade to the 100k to further my training for my first 100-miler (TRT in July) and to challenge myself to my next “hardest race to date.” With this in mind, I finally committed to the 100k.

Expectations

I expected everything about the race to make it my hardest physical endeavor to date (other than childbirth). The initial 20-mile climb could be long and sandy. The heat could be relentless. Leaving for the 12-mile out-and-back could be unbearable.

As it turned out, there was light cloud cover in the morning and the climb was less steep and more scenic than I imagined. Fuzzy shadows and soft light bathed the snow-streaked peaks. I wished I was carrying my phone to snap some photos.

I reached the scenic overlook at the top of the course much earlier than I expected, but the next 18 miles running at an elevation of 8000+ feet was more difficult than I realized based on my reading of the course profile. Furthermore, someone turned up the thermostat and the cloud cover burned off. This part of the course was much slower for me than I was expecting.

My Running Doppelgänger

I was doing OK, but my enthusiasm was waning until I settled in with another runner that I had been back-and-forth with on the course for a while. Her name is Marisol and in one conversation we simultaneously asked each other, “How old are you?” and then simultaneously answered, “Forty-one.” (I realize now that I am not actually 41 until my birthday later this week.)

It turns out that Marisol is not only a delightful person, but our running style and strengths are strikingly similar. She is more experienced than me and has a number of Bishop finishes under her belt, so she wisely advised that we take it easy on the hot descent. We decided to stick together unless something unforeseen came up.

By the time we reached the final 12-mile out-and-back, there was no difficult decision to make. We knew we were both finishing the 100k course. Unfortunately, this climb up Sage Summit, down the other side and then back again, was again more challenging than I understood from the course profile. Nonetheless, we continued pacing each other as we watched the sun fade behind the jagged mountain peaks.

Home After Dark

I had predicted a 15- to 16-hour finish from the beginning. Early in the day I thought it would be on the shorter side, but as the heat turned up and the “non-climbing” sections of the course took longer than I calculated, it was clear that I was again looking at a longer finish.

I was feeling better now that the evening had cooled and Marisol and I were pulling each other along. We took a quick drink at the final aid station about 1.5 miles from the finish and continued cruising strong until suddenly there were intersections with no course markings. Because the course had been so exceptionally well-marked, I knew this had to be vandalism, but that didn’t help decipher the correct direction to turn.

By this time we had grown to a group of five runners. Fortunately, Marisol had a general recollection of the course and that helped. We didn’t get more than a few hundred feet off course, but we did spend 5-10 minutes running back-and-forth and looking for ribbons before I suggested that we turn at the site of a race sign-post that had obviously been stripped of its signage.

I was delighted when we passed through the campground to the cheers of my fellow Donner Party Mountain Runners and then my husband ran us into the finish. I returned to the campsite and enjoyed visiting with friends and hearing how the hubby monitored my progress via the DeLorme inReach satellite tracker that I carried.

After the Finish

I’m really happy with my 15 hour, 35 minutes finish. You would think it’d be difficult to be happy when you finish hours after your friends, but not actually… we’re each just out there doing our thing, and we all face different challenges in different ways. I can’t express how much I appreciate their support and encouragement. Plus it’s super-fun to see your peeps on the out-and-back sections.

For me, it was the most difficult course that I have completed, but it was not my most difficult day running. Despite the uncomfortable heat and evening wind, I never thought, “man, I’m gonna die.” And at the end of the day I didn’t feel like I’d left anything on the table at the end, either. Just the right balance for a race on the road to my first 100-miler. I think I did a good job following Betsy’s advice.

Huge thanks to Betsy for her unconditional friendship, to Marisol for kindly sharing the day with me, to Pete B for goading me to upgrade to the 100k, to my daughter Clara for making a custom lucky race bracelet, to my son Alex for being my biggest fan, and to my husband Javier for absolutely everything.

P.S. It was fabulous to have the family camping right there. I loved having them around and I hope they had a good enough time to keep tagging along.