I still don't know if I am a 100 mile runner or not?! I had some great moments between the start at Squaw and the finish line at Auburn; however, I also suffered through some moments that once again had me swearing off ever running another 100 mile race (and this despite the fact that I have already thrown down some hard earned change to run Bear in September). A little over a week later and a foggy memory has me not only thinking about the training that lies ahead for Bear, but in moments of pure stupidity considering other races -- other venues -- that might be worth dreaming about running someday . . . I think this is a good sign.
The Race started the night before with one of the worst nights of sleep I have ever endured pre-race. I flipped out waiting for sleep to grab hold of me on Friday night and started panicking as the clock counted down the hours of sleep I was not getting. My wife figures the problem was that we had arrived on Thursday so I was already in race mode 24hours ahead of my normal schedule -- this may be true, but given the schedule at Western I don't see how this could have been avoided . . . it may in actuality be a simple case of getting anxious and winding myself up into a ball of foolishness pre-race (my medical check on Thursday certainly showed my pulse and blood pressure measurements way higher than typical -- higher than they were in fact measured at the finish line) . . . anyhow I woke up from not sleeping in time to go through my pretty standard bathroom cycle of nervousness, but this time I had the advantage of a private bathroom in our hotel room as opposed to the more typical outhouse lineup so common at ultras.
I started Western with a tremondous amount of patience (perhaps too much patience at times considering that this was after all a race) and was hell bent on simply running the first half of the race as opposed to getting caught up by the fact that I was running 100 miles -- the one thing I remembered from all the pre-race jazz at WS was a comment made by somebody during the pre-race meeting about just taking some time to enjoy being out in the mountains and ironically (considering my nerves the day before) found myself being there in the mountains without gettting trapped into the race for a long time (perhaps the first 30 miles or so felt more like a training run than any other 100 I have run in the past -- and by training run, I don't mean I was slacking, I simply mean I was running for myself and ignoring the come and go of runners surrounding me).
It helped that the views during the initial climb were amazing. Western is definitely front-loaded with some out of this world beauty and I forgot about the missing sleep, the nagging issues with some soreness in my feet, and simply ran. On the other side of the climb -- the long descent out of the high country -- the snow running was simultaneously fun and ridiculous. I had been looking forward to running in the snow, but found that the combination of ice and people falling all over the place made it a bit more taxing than I anticipated. I could have run this section a lot faster, especially if I had been on my own in the mountains, but I am trying to change how I deal with the rest of the world and simply kept things mellow during the wierder sections and resisted for the most part passing people who were obviously uncomfortable sliding around on top of unbreakable crust . . . this part of the day actually reminded me of the single track climb at Squaw Peak 50 a few weeks before when everything got jammed up and I was able to simply smile and patiently enjoy the reality of trying to put 400 people on a technical single track course all at the same time . . . a crucial race moment happened as we hit the flats around (mile 15?). During this pretty easy period of dirt road running I ended up talking to a local runner (John Nelson) for a couple of miles who gave me a lot of information on both the pace of the race and the later sections of the course that proved to be way helpful to me later in the day. The next 30 or so miles of the race were relatively uneventful, but generally pretty positive in terms of being in the mountains . . . because of the modified snowcourse though we kinda had a wierd looping moment at one point where I realized just how slow I was running in terms of the competition -- I still can't decide if the field at Western really was that deep this year, or if I simply failed to compete?! Scott Jaime and Michael Foote both finished right in the same area as me, which blows my mind cause they are for real runners; however, other people I have beaten in other races (typically at 50 miles) finished sub-20 quite a long ways ahead of me . . . go figure. Maybe it would be best to stop worrying about anyone else on course and simply worry about myself . . . I am trying!
I thought the canyons section of the course was simply put -- EXCELLENT! The descents were technical at times, but 100% runnable and once again just out of this world beautiful. The climbs were solid enough, but they weren't crazy tough and I actually enjoyed the shift in gears they provided (you could even run parts of them without feeling like you were pushing the needle too far) . . . admittedly on a hot year this may have all gone very differently . . . As I came into Forest Hill aid station (mile 62) I felt good and was stoked to see Cara for a couple of minutes as I tried to take care of things before heading out on the long descent to Rucky Chucky . . . this is one of the few aid stations I think I could have handled a little bit better in terms of both speed and refueling not too mention attitude -- I may have been a little grumpy with both Cara and the whole set up of getting my drop bag and too many people asking me what I needed when all I really wanted was to keep running. In all honesty, I just realized what I didn't like about this aid station: all the civilization. It was like this sudden burst of activity after having been away from everything for so long and I wasn't mentally prepared for the shift . . .
Forest Hill is where I in theory began racing -- at least this is where I had stashed my watch. After blowing up at Wasatch last fall, I decided that one thing I wanted to do was run by listening to my body rather than a clock and when putting together my drop bags I figured 62 miles of not knowing how fast I was running was pretty good . . . I would like to do the next section of the race over -- I think I got too obsessed with my watch during the run down to the river. Ironically, not in terms of pace. I was running pretty much within myself as far as the pace went, but I started worrying about caloric intake, liquid intake, sodium intake (mental jetsjam intake) and was no longer simply listening to my body. Instead, I kept telling myself it had been 30 minutes I better eat this much or drink this much or whatever -- during the first 62 miles I simply ate and drank as I pleased, now all of the sudden I started listening to my watch instead. Long story short, at mile 70 my stomach told me to piss off and I ended up losing my cookies pretty good. I am so jealous of runners who can hurl once and then hit the restart button. In my case, it seems like once my stomach goes it really likes to stay gone for quite a while. I generally kept moving all the way to the river crossing, but my mood went to complete hell. And the ugliest part of the run for me was from just before the crossing until about mile 82 . . . These 4 or 5 miles temporarily destroyed me -- I totally lost track of how many times I threw up, how many times I thought about simply saying goodbye to the sport forever and how many times I simply wanted to quit. I made promises to myself that if I ever got to Auburn I would be smart enough to throw away my running shoes and that if my stomach would just stop turning over I would never make it go through this nonsense again. (A definite Wasatch flashback, but this time I kept moving and moving with relative strength) Unfortunately, I took a good chunk of this drama out on my wife who was foolish enough to meet me around mile 79 and walk a little ways with me . . . she is awesome and really helped me put things back into perspective as night fell but she probably didn't really need to deal with my poutiness. The great thing about being whiney during an ultra is that the only person you have to blame for your predicament is yourself, so the whining is pretty much pointless and inevitably falls on deaf ears.
Gradually my stomach sort of turned around -- for a long time I kept trying to force whatever calories I could into it (generally soda and GU at the aid stations) then sip on water and/or electrolytes until the next aid station. Finally, at mile 93 I was able to eat some vegan pudding and drink an Odwalla, which were probably the best calories I had gotten into my system in quite a while -- I know this sounds crazy, but I am starting to think that it's almost better to not eat than to eat and hurl immediately afterwards: WHATEVER.
Some props to WS 100 course -- I probably should have looked at the elevation profile for this section of the course -- it finishes strong. There were 2 decent climbs in the last few miles of the course with some good up down tendencies thrown into the mix. Once again, the climbs were not crazy tough and the descents were fully runnable even in the dark, but considering where they were on the course they were definitely there . . . good times.
The Auburn Track was good times . . . a giggling Cara met me for the last hundred yards and I got to full on collapse into a chair at the finish for a while . . . 21 hours 32 minutes . . .
Western exceeded my expectations! Good course, well organized, fun people, crazy Boston like history and competitiveness mixed with sincere support for the whole, and a full on solid race . . . I told myself going into this race that it would be a one time gig -- that I wouldn't throw down that kind of cash twice, that I wouldn't hassle with that particular lottery again . . . I am not so sure anymore. I could definitely see lining up for this one again some day . . .
A quick last thought on not having a pacer: I think this was a positive choice. I would be somewhat concerned to run without a pacer on a course that wasn't well marked, but the silence and stillness of the last 15 or 20 miles in the dark were truly special soul searching self reflective moments and being alone forced me into myself during these final miles . . . and Western was a good place to feel simultaneously alone and supported . . . even my paranoid route finding self could typically spot a flag or glowstick within 30 seconds of starting to worry that I had missed some hidden turn . . .
A thousand thanks to my crew . . . for Cara to throw this down on her own was a big deal and since there were only 3 places to meet me over the whole course it was definitely a long day and night for her . . . I promise to crew her during her first 100 -- I'll even crew her at a 50 miler:)
The Auburn Track was good times . . . a giggling Cara met me for the last hundred yards and I got to full on collapse into a chair at the finish for a while . . . 21 hours 32 minutes . . .
Western exceeded my expectations! Good course, well organized, fun people, crazy Boston like history and competitiveness mixed with sincere support for the whole, and a full on solid race . . . I told myself going into this race that it would be a one time gig -- that I wouldn't throw down that kind of cash twice, that I wouldn't hassle with that particular lottery again . . . I am not so sure anymore. I could definitely see lining up for this one again some day . . .
A quick last thought on not having a pacer: I think this was a positive choice. I would be somewhat concerned to run without a pacer on a course that wasn't well marked, but the silence and stillness of the last 15 or 20 miles in the dark were truly special soul searching self reflective moments and being alone forced me into myself during these final miles . . . and Western was a good place to feel simultaneously alone and supported . . . even my paranoid route finding self could typically spot a flag or glowstick within 30 seconds of starting to worry that I had missed some hidden turn . . .
A thousand thanks to my crew . . . for Cara to throw this down on her own was a big deal and since there were only 3 places to meet me over the whole course it was definitely a long day and night for her . . . I promise to crew her during her first 100 -- I'll even crew her at a 50 miler:)
