Sunday, July 4, 2010

WESTERN STATES ENDURANCE RUN 100


The journey, preparation, training that started over six months ago was coming down to just a few fleeting minutes from commencement. Let me preface this by saying I was a complete mental wreck for the week before States. Something came over me amidst all the planning and crew preparation that absolutely zapped every ounce of confidence I had all season! I was certain for every waking moment up til the gun went off that this was a huge mistake; that I had bitten off way more than I could chew and that I was destined to not only disappoint myself, but let down several dozen other friends and family that had looked forward to this weekend almost as much as I. I had said on more than one occasion that if I somehow could have created amnesia to all those who knew what I was about to undertake I would do so - walk away and chalk up my efforts to six months of insanity. Luckily as it was, this was not a possibility and I was inclined to at least toe the line and see what the next several hours had in store for me.

The race starts at the base of Squaw Valley Ski Resort(6,200') near the Gondola with the most intimidating start of a foot race one could imagine. First the intimidation of over 450 runners including the most talented and athletic endurance athletes in the world: Geoff Roes, Anton Krupicka, Killian Jornet, Hal Koerner for the men. Tracy Garneau, Nikki Kimball, Joelle Vaught and Devon Crosby-Helms for the women. Secondly, you have spent at least the last 24hrs looking up at the mountain and the start which over the first 4 miles takes you to the Summit a mere 8,750' high at Emigrant Pass. I was certain that if the elevation and nerves did not get the best of me within the first hour to the peak that one of many other perceived issues would take me out early enough that my family and crew would be waiting in vain while I laid along the trail licking my wounds. Looking back on all this I strongly feel that the lore of the most famous and oldest Ultra Trail race in the world can get the best of anyone and can and will on any given day bring down the best of the best and I was certainly in doubt of my odds!

Shortly before the gun went off at 5am amidst a chilly 40 degrees I was able to gather enough confidence from my fellow running partners and friends as we huddled together and in unison counted off 10,9,8,7,6,...2,1 and we were off to the bright lights of hundreds of camera flashes and just as many gut wrenching hoots and hollering from runners and family alike. The "Hike" for all but the elite starts and the next hour is spent climbing the summit, chatting with friends and slowly seeing darkness give way to dawn like presence. For me this time was spent still overwhelmed by the endeavor and breathing much heavier than a hike of any elevation should bring to my fitness level. My heart rate was monitored on several occasions and I was concerned that upon every check that it was in the mid 160s, as it was my goal to keep it under 150 throughout the race. So far, not so good! Two miles up the summit is the first aid station and I made sure to top off my two handhelds in an effort to get an early jump on hydration (one of my biggest concerns going into the day). As we reached the Encarpement at the top of the summit the trail was covered in snow but it was safely managed by all at this point though that would change quite quickly on the other side of this mountain range. As we now could see the summit with its Watson monument at the top there became more apparent an eary sound that seemed to mirror the nervous nature of my emotional state. I commented to my training partner Tony at this point that it sounds like we're approaching a huge meat grinder! He laughed and agreed as we then realized that it was instead an amazing steel symbol that was being rhythmically played to the beat of each runners pulse and it was perfectly fitting to the backdrop as we; one by one stopped at the Summit turned 180 degrees and looked back on the lightly strewn dawn break over the gorgeous Lake Tahoe behind us! It was HERE that we were off! It is HERE that no turning back could occur; we were truly heading into the back country without access to vehicles for several miles and it was breathtaking if not intimidating. The Epic aspect to this journey was clearly underway.

2010 was a very wet winter/spring so a week before the race it was decided there would be a change to the course that would have us avoid Lyon Ridge and Cougar Rock in lieu of the Poppy trail to the left that took us down to French Meadows Reservoir before returning to the original trail head at the base of Duncan Canyon near mile 24. Before getting there we would have to traverse the back side of the summit and approximately 6 miles of snow that made for very treacherous and obviously wet conditions. Within these miles I found myself as often on my back side sliding down the cambered hillside as I did upright and skiing down the trail. All in all for a guy who put in over 1500 miles of training over the last 6 months without a single fall it was a bit humbling to have fallen 8 times in the span of a 10K distance. At one point a particular fall was pulling well off the trail and down into a ravine until the helpful arm lock of a fellow runner pulled me back to my feet and was on his way. The beauty of ultra running is the camaraderie; had this been a road race or other competitive event I'm sure I would have been happily past by a dozen or more runners in an attempt to make up time and place so early in the day. Before making our way down towards the Poppy trail there was also the added adventure of a few upward hikes between natural crevices of snow melt that became more like small waterfalls that we made our way up than any small creek, and yes we were heading up them in calf high fresh snow melt - just a bit chilly for 7am!

Our extra efforts thus far were rewarded when we finally dropped low enough in elevation that we arrived at the next aid station approximately 13 miles into the race and we now had some pretty fast fire roads and aggregate like pavement that directed us towards French Meadows. It was here that I found myself reconvening with many of my local training buddies as a caravan of Auburn Running Company clad runners ran in unison. Matt K, Derek S, Ryan R, Dr. Marty, Steve I, and Eddie S were among the group and I was still a mess mentally. Seeing that I'm not one to try to be too stoic I shared with them my concerns that my pulse was still too high and Derek and Matt jokingly laughed about it as they are the self appointed Kings of HR monitoring in training. They simply said to walk, as I did, without much success to dropping my numbers or my concern, so I continued along deciding it was best to hang with them if walking a bit was not going to assist me anyway. At this point in the race I was still full of self doubt and it showed itself in legs that were already feeling weak and a bit jittery. I only could wonder how this all might affect my run on the other side of the day with much more challenging terrain in the Canyons left to tackle.

Nearly 20 miles into the race running along the beautiful single track soft pine fallen trail of French Meadows Lake I finally started to feel myself. I'm not sure if we were now on more familiar trail like settings, or that we had dropped in elevation substantially enough to get my heart back in rhythm, or if my body finally gave up the anxiety tantrum realizing my spirit was not going to give up so easily today - but I did finally start to get in a rhythm. Coming out of this park like setting the gang of runners all started the climb up to Duncan Canyon near the site of the 08' fires that called a cancel to that years race. This was a pretty heavy climb but nothing like others we had left to do over the day and night. Duncan Canyon(23.8mi) aid station was the first "real" aid station along the normal route and it was pretty amazing to come up the ridge and see that the seven of us were leading a conga line of about 30 runners into the aid station. We felt like rock stars and we must have appeared to be an organized running team with our jerseys on and unison march. Luckily for us we were in first and it made for a smooth transition thru and out we went while others likely struggled for assistance as things backed up a bit. From Duncan Canyon we had about 6miles to cover that would have us crossing, on any other year, a small creek that could be navigated without getting damp, but this year it was a full blown river crossing with rope and knee high moving water for about 40ft of distance. The cold water was a nice way to relax the quads and cool the core temperature as we headed up towards Robinson Flat(6,730'-30mi) where our families and Crew awaited their first site of us in several hours.

Within a mile or so of RF we were back in snow covered terrain and the aid station this year was layered in the stuff making for a cool setting for families and again a bit slippery surfaces for us. It was great to see everyone here, but I found myself a bit disoriented by the layout and ended up only briefly stopping to refuel and replenish my S-caps and gels before I was again on my way. Just prior to our leaving the station Matt was able to again offer some very sound tips for the day and it was good he did because our group as we knew it seemed to all go our separate ways from here. Initially, I was not sure if I exited the station in front of my mates or behind but soon realized I was essentially somewhere in the middle, but separated nonetheless. Curt and Stuart managed to walk about a quarter mile out of the station with me as did Natalie to capture a few shots and I told them I was starting to get the hang of this and would see them at the end of the afternoon near Michigan Bluff. Seeing that we all became separated and it was now 11:30am I took the opportunity to get my Ipod out and start to enjoy the solice, but familiar comforts, of tunes I had put together over the last months in training. It is here that I would find my footing, move at one with the Earth and find my Peace.

Leaving RF and the snow behind you come around a bend and take in some of the most beautiful vistas overlooking the high country of the Sierras running along an expanse of single track exposed granite outcroppings. The combination of the solitude and great music made for enjoyable and effortless running as I slowly started picking off runner after runner on my way to Miller's Defeat and Dusty Corners aid stations during this time I ran off an on with Eddie and and Steve. Miller's Defeat made for my first opportunity for real food as I took in a tasty turkey and cheese wrap that hit the spot washed down with some defizzed Pepsi. From Dusty Corners you are directed to the right and onto a single track of well shaded pine trees and rolling soft descent. If there is heaven on Earth it might look alot like Puckers Point! About half way between DC and upcoming Last Chance you round the bend to see a shear drop off of about 2,000' to the River's floor below - breath taking especially since the trail width along this portion is a mere 2-3ft wide. Although I was feeling well I did start to feel that the quads were being taxed and I had over 60 miles left to go on this journey. I mentioned this to Steve as he passed me and he said to watch it and that, that is not a good sign at this early juncture heading into the well known Canyons below. I took his experience and words to heart and purposely hiked any possible up here to conserve what I could for latter in the race.

Last Chance(43.3mi) is just that, your last chance to walk away before you drop into the meat of this race and some of the most isolated and certainly challenging aspects of the race. Last Chance is known as a deserted old mining town during the gold and silver rush of the turn of the century. Really all that is there now is some large old mining equipment as a reminder of what life might have been like for those traveling westward to find their fortunes. At LC I weighed in as I had done a couple times earlier in the day and was excited and quite surprised that I continued to maintain weight to a tee - 150lbs nearly all day and night. I allowed the volunteers here to soak me down with ice cold sponges over my head and body, ate some fruit of watermelon and nectarines and took in more of my S-caps and gels at my typical rate of every 30-45min. Dr Marty Hoffman came through this aid station with me and found himself exiting sooner than I. We chatted a bit and I told him how pleased I was with my weight and hydration since he was the expert professionally on the topic and the researcher for hyponatremia for WSER. Marty has run this race a few times before and was still searching for his perfect race.

As I left LC some of the earliest signs of runner carnage started to surface. Nothing serious at this point but some runners walking stiff legged with quads that had already shut down. I did what I could to encourage those that I passed as well as warn them of the upcoming Deadwood Canyon and it's steep vertical descent and technical terrain. I knew the next 10 miles of Canyons like the back of my hand. Every switchback, root, and hidden rock was there for my recollection from weekend after weekend of training these canyons forward and backward in the months of April-May. If your quads are gone here so is your chance of finishing this race! You have a three mile descent of constant single track swithcbacks as you drop approximately 1,600' in approximately three miles to Swinging Bridge. Simply ask my pacer and friend Curt what these trails can do to your quads. On Memorial Day training run within one mile he was taken out and onto the sidelines of running for three weeks with an aggravation of a femur stress fracture. Personally, I love the stuff - give me quick drops, fast turns and areas where you can open up the wheels and let gravity pull you down and I am like a 9yo boy running without a care in the world. I ran this location just like that and likely would pay the price for my unabashed freedom somewhere later in the day. At Swinging Bridge(2,800') you reach the bottom of this first canyon floor and prepare for the steepest ascent of the entire race - Devils Thumb! If you are under hydrated here you might be lights out and find yourself perched against a rock or tree for hours waiting for medical assistance. Knowing this and coming up on Marty and the base of the climb I asked for assurance to fill my bottle with the water from a small waterfall here. He said if you don't have anything go for it but if you don't need it be aware of Geardia. Taking heed to his advice I placed all my fluids into one bottle and filled the other from the falls. I would use one to hydrate/drink from and the other to keep my core temperature down via dowsing myself along the way.

So, Devils Thumb! This is a 1.7mi climb that shoots nearly straight up over 1,500' with grades over 20% the entire way and the ground is extremely technical with rock out shoots and roots abound. In training we would hike this climb as hard as we could and be pleased if we could reach the summit in 30min. This of course was on fresher legs, cooler temperatures and a day that would conclude only a few miles later. Today I would double up on my salts and begin my approach. I found myself feeling confident as I past nearly a half a dozen other hikers here all with varying levels of discomfort and fear etched across their faces. Many were stopped in their tracks, breathing heavy and heart rates soaring. Marty was one here who was bent over with a look of concern. I stopped and asked if I could offer him anything and he simply said he was over heated and would need to rest to drop his core temp and recover his heart rate a bit. He was the expert and he knew his limitations so I felt assured I could move on. The top of DT awaits one of the more elaborate aid stations "Hells Kitchen" and if nothing else I knew they were known for great Popsicles to cool you down - that and my ego pushed me to the summit in near record time. I arrived at the top in approximately 35minutes to the applause and assistance of the volunteers. I was directed over to the scales where I found out I was a bit overzealous in my salt consumption out of fear of bonking in the canyons. My weight had climbed a quick 3 lbs over 6 miles and I was warned to back off the salts for a bit to prevent being held back or developing hyponatremia. I promised to do so even as I gulped down some chicken broth(Oops), watermelon and rainbow Popsicle.

Leaving DT I had caught back up to Steve who was having a better day than last year and we headed out together on our race to the bottom of El Dorado Creek(52.9mi) some 5miles away and 2,600' below. Glorious running is all I can say about this time of the day. I ran with wings at my feet and a Halo over my head as the miles flew under me. Canyon vistas, foliage abound and runner after runner stepping aside as I flew to the creek below with a smile from ear to ear. Everyone who had an interest in my day and a hope for success for me was felt at this time. I succinctly recall thinking OK any anxiety early on or any trouble later in the evening will all be worth it for this hour or more of running. I was in heaven and surrounded by the support of all my loved ones!

At the base of ED Creek Steve and I applauded one another's efforts as we both likely gobbled up a dozen or more runners here and gathered ourselves in preparation for another large hike up to Michigan Bluff and our family and friends. Prior to heading up the hill there was a lot more carnage at the creek including a local runner of superb talent that clearly had been there for sometime trying to regroup. After talking to him and encouraging his efforts he shared that he was unable to keep food down for sometime and that this might be the end of his day. I patted him on the shoulder and told him to be strong. To date my only issues or concerns were a number of toenails that I had managed to rip off as I caught them on rocks and roots and the apparent "trench foot" that I had developed from sopping wet feet for hours.

Steve and I were on our way and were well aware we had close to an hours hike to reach Michigan Bluff(55.7mi) and some 1,800' above us. I lead the way and managed to keep us going at a good clip as we continued to pass a few runners less skilled on our home course. This is generally the hottest part of the day with one's heart rate climbing and some exposed terrain driving up the temperatures. Fortunate for us the daily peak likely reached close to 90 degrees; that by WS standards was pretty favorable. Between that and the 10 days of heat training in the local sauna for up to 60 min at a time I did not notice the heat all day. Running friends who know me would be shocked at that statement as I have been known to bonk at half marathon distances in temperatures much cooler than this day.

Michigan Bluff is a sleepy little town built around the Gold Rush days that now is a little more than sparse outcroppings of home perched upon vistas on the rivers canyons below, but on the last Saturday of June every year its population floods exponentially if just for the day! Running out of the canyons to MB is like running into the coliseum during the gladiator days. The small street is peppered with friends and families anxiously awaiting their runner to emerge from the many hours in the rugged canyons. At best most have not seen their runner for 5 hours or more so needless to say it is as much a relief for the family as it is for us the runners when we come down the gravel road take a swift right turn and see the hundreds of people cheering us on and basically treating us like Rock stars! From the aire of BBQ to the well stocked aid station to liklihood that your loved one has "real food" waiting for you this is certainly one of the brightest spots of the day. For me it meant seeing my Crew for the second time and getting some very needed medical attention. I came in on a high note seeing many familiar faces including Jeffery who has worked on my body via Monsters of Massage over the recent months as well as Stuart, his wife Katy and parents Mike and Maxine. I bypassed the aid station other than for the required weigh in (150lbs again!) and my Crew had a comfy chair awaiting my arrival. Unlike smarter runners this was the first time all day I had actually stopped moving and sat down to eat and get some foot attention. As I munched on a Subway turkey sandwich and downed a Mountain Dew while Mike kneeled at my feet and cared for my sorely needed feet. Let me tell you there are some people in life that are just pure saints and Mike (well the entire Short family) definately fall into this category. At one point or another each of them took turns carefully taking off my shoes, watering down my feet and legs and cleaning every crevice between my toes. On a good day when my feet are clean one could not ask for such attention but today, in the current state of my feet this was above and beyond the call! My wife and pacer looked on in both disgust and surprise that they would do this - but it was necessary. I knew with little less than half the race distance left to go that I had already given up half my toenails to the trails and my feet had swollen beyond recognition. No blisters but my feet were so macerated that it looked like I had been swimming in the ocean for a couple days. White as a ghost and more wrinklie than a bag of prunes they concluded my pedicure with a gentle changing of socks and donning my shoes before I was up out of the chair and on my way out through Volcano Canyon for another 90 minutes of running before emerging on Bath Rd outside of Foresthill.

Volcano Canyon has always been an unfavorable part of the course than has never been to my liking. It is about 6 miles of a mix of exposed, hot hiking followed by some quick downhills, a river crossing and a climb onto the steep Bath Rd where your Crew and pacer may join you on your journey into Foresthill. I ran this section without incident and felt strong as Steve, Sarah and I traded places throughout the section. Coming out of the trails Auburn Running Co. mans the aid station on Bath Rd and I got a very warm welcome due to my choice of jerseys and some familiar friends. About half way up my march on Bath Rd I had enough energy to rib my pacer Curt for showing up late. Seems he had lost sight of Stuart at this point and delayed his departure from FH to me. Nonetheless, we met up and ran the mile or so along Auburn Folsom Rd coming into the party which is Foresthill(62mi).

If Michigan Bluff was like enterring the coliseum in ancient Greek times, running into Foresthill is like enterring the Superbowl to kick off the half time festivities. Hundreds of families, pacers, and crew line this town for a length of about half a mile each taking special notice to every individual runner. Cowbells, whistles, cheers and claps abound as you enter the elementary school parking lot for weigh in and some good grub. I walked out of the station with a couple cups of broth and found my family waiting just down the road. Awaiting me was my parents, my wife and girls, my sister's family, my crew, Curt, Lhia, Antonio and Chris. I changed out my shirt, hat and down sized to two smaller handheld bottles. Curt packed his camelback with headlamps, batteries, flashlights and all my S-caps and gels as I kissed my loved ones - (especially my girls who had made homemade signs that said "Go Daddy Go" and "#357 Rocks"). The next time they would all see me it would be sometime on Sunday as I came into the track at Placer High School. A few tears were shed on my part at this point but I was on a huge high as it started to approach dusk around 7-7:30pm. I was stoked to realize I was right on schedule and still on target for a 24hr finish and possible Silver Buckle finish. I asked Curt if he was ready to let it Rip and I replaced my first Ipod with my next after killing the first one over the last 8hrs of running.

As you exit the town of Foresthill you turn left and onto the trails over the Middle Fork of the American River. This section from FH to Rucky Chucky river crossing is best know as the Cal loop and is made up of very runnable single tracks that slowly descend to the rivers edge over the next 16miles. Race day this is split up by several aid stations every few miles: Dardelles, Peachstone, Fords Bar all are spread out along the single track as little mirages in the night that seem to pop up out of nowhere. Along this time the headlamps were donned and the pace began to pick up. On average I was likely running about a 12 min pace which by WS standards was a great clip with 70 miles on my feet. I was slowly still picking off runners as each now had their pacer in tow. It was a magical part of the night. It was sometime around 8-10pm when the journey just seemed so special. The stars were abundant, the full moon was starting to crest the hillside and the crickets were singing trail side. In fact the only sound out of the ordinary was the occasional stumble and fall of my pacer Curt who swears he was only reaching down for loose change on the course. Funny how a speedy road runner with fresh legs struggles to stay a foot while leisurely jogging behind the guy that has been on his feet now for 16 hours. Most of this time your pacer and you are at it alone and it is only every hour or so that you start to hear some distant cheers as the aid station that might be a few hundred feet down the trail starts to get a glimpse of your headlamp as you round a bend. You're not sure the cheers are for you until sure enough you see the aid station lit up like a glorious Christmas setting and a dozen volunteers are at your beckon call grabbing your bottles refilling them and offering you everything from hot grilled cheese, to soup, to quesadillas. Once again you feel like a rock star where everyone is congratulating you, calling you by your first name and assuring you that you are on Silver buckle time! This time a night is so worth every ache and pain your body might remotely feel and is the perfect natural analgesic for it all.

Rucky Chucky(78mi) last year was my initiation to States as a handful of us manned the aid station last year as runners navigate their way across the Middle Fork of the American River. This year with all the snow it was decided this would be raft crossing year due to high water levels. As Curt and I approached this aid station I was beginning to slow a little coming into the river basin and when we hit the hardpan surfaces and cement entrance to Rucky Chucky I felt a surge of pain in my left foot near my 1st toe and into my plantar surface of my sole. I mentioned it to Curt but did not think too much about it at the time as we were starting to navigate our strrategy coming into this aid station. Our plan was to get my weigh in and go straight to the river without seeking aid or fluids til we crossed in case the boat crossing might delay us some. We were fortunate that we timed it perfectly, basically trotting down the river trail, donning a lifevest and making it across with one other runner in a minute or two. Making such swift time we took advantage of the aid station at RC Far to allow Curt to eat a bit while I had the medics deal with a hot spot oh my left heel that was raw from the friction of my shoes. We spent about 5minutes here before I was up and starting to hike the 1-2miles up to Greengate where my Crew Stuart and Katy would be waiting us. I noticed I felt a little lightheaded for the first time here and also recalled we were to have me take some Tylenol once we crossed. I swigged some water and asked Curt to toss a couple extra strength in my mouth here. Well, maybe not the best plan as the pills fell down my throat awckwardly and I began to gag! Gag turned into dry heeve, which turned into a sequence of several vomit efforts that resulted in a significant loss in time as well as confidence in my next several hours. I was not sure if my stomach was finally catching up to me or if it was simply the pills, in either case I think we lost about 15 minutes hiking out towards GG dealing with this minor dilemmma.

Crossing the river we were still at or slightly ahead of 24hr pace as we hit the river at 11pm but by the time we reached Green Gate things had started to change both physically and mentally. The issues with my dry heeving as well as the increasing pain in my left foot from just prior to RC had me concerned. I had now nearly 80miles on my feet and about 19 hours of running. I was fatigued, I was now in pain and my motivation was weening. To this point I felt stronger than every runner in my proximity but that soon would change. Coming into Green Gate there was much more conversation between my pacer and my Crew that there was between me and anyone. Suffice to say I was feeling pretty well spent. The only thing I do remember is Stuart's wife talking to me, asking how I was feeling and I just remember starring at her with my bright headlamp shinning in her eyes thinking - Wow you sure are pretty but I have no interest in answering your question right now!

Stuart made sure Curt was in good shape to continue for had he not, he would have taken over pacing duties. Luckily for Stuart, Curt felt fine because had he taken over he had no idea what kind of Death March he would be undertaking. We left GG after some encouraging words from Mike Ong who was working the station and we hiked out the fire road with a hope that running would commence once we found the single track in the next short distance. Sure enough the single track came up on us and I gave my best to run and there was some minimal success at moving forward at something more than a fast hike. At this point the quads were beginning to go, my foot pain was beginning to escalate and had me wondering if I had a stress fracture. Motivation was short in presenting itself during the early morning hours as we motored on towards ALT aid station after now killing my second Ipod. During this tenuious time I started to feel the presence of upcoming runners behind me for the first time in the day/night. I wondered if this was the well heard of 24hr Night Train rolling through? About this time of night those that have the legs start to move forward and strive for that Silver buckle while those that have shot their wod get eaten up by the train on their way to Silver. I was pretty confident at this point with my foot and quads that I would fall into the latter category and seemed OK with that prospect. I simply knew that shy of any overt injury where blood and bone were exposed I would finish my first WSER and that was a huge accomplishemnt. I was not willing to jeopardize my future running career in hopes of a different color belt buckle. That being said I was not prepared for the mental loss I would experience over the next 15 miles.

Shortly before ALT we were first passed by my friend Eddie and his pacer James who had been a huge resource to me over the season. They flew past us and encouraged me to jump on the back and ride this thing in. I was thankful for the offer but knew I could not hang at this point and pushed them on towards their goal. Within a few more miles I felt the presence of another runner coming up behind us and Curt was impressed at my insights as it was very isolated out there and he was unaware of the runners presence. Something told me it was another familiar runner and I would be deflated once again. Sure enough it was my good buddies Tony Overbay and his pacer Jeffery who I had not seen since the first 8 miles of the day. They were flying! Full of energy and full of talk. They both patted me on the back and tried to push me forward. I said to them "keep it up - silver is just up the way". I got a bit of lift from their arrival and energy but it was certainly Fool's Gold. I was able to roll into ALT aid station right behind them and was congratulated for the effort but that was short lived. I was done for the night and I knew it! I wanted nothing more than Tony and Eddie both to reach Silver, but I would be lying to you if their presence at this late juncture in the race was not totally deflating to my day. Not that they should not be here, but that I had somehow allowed myself to loose the edge that kept me where I was for 80% of the day.

Leaving ALT, or as some people call it "The Cave" I did not need to say much to Curt. It was apparent that for the next 15 miles or so it would be a long night. Curt was perfect at this point as he did not try to push something I did not have or make me feel bad for the effort I was putting forth. From here forward it was, as I have said, a Death March. I never stopped moving forward and infact walked at a very good clip but running was done. As I write this a week later I can not say with any certainty what the predominant factor was here. I'd like to say it was the pain in my foot that kept me from bearing enough weight to stride in a running fashion but that would likely be a vain effort of an excuse. I'd like to say my quads had fully seized up and any effort to run would have caused them to fail and send me to the trail in a full seize. The reality of the night was it was likely a bit of all the above mixed with the realization that 24hrs had slipped from my hands. Once I knew that Silver was out of reach I think subconsciously I had made a deal with the Devil that finishing was all that was important and thus the hike began.

Although at this point I had less than 15 miles left I can say with no hesitation of thought that the 5 hours left on my feet would trickle away at a pace so slowly that for its time it would swipe away every love I had for this race and my training. I was a mess! I was sour inside and I was sour to my pacer Curt. I barked out demands, I breezed through aid stations like Browns Bar and Hwy 49 without conversing with the great volunteers or my pacer and crew simple to get this task finished and over with. I knew exactly what I was doing and I was so dissapointed with my perspective at this point. I was just a short distance from finishing a task few have ever heard of, fewer had ever contemplated and even fewer had ever completed and here I was sour at my finishing efforts.

Day light was starting to reveal itself and although it brought a bit of energy to my soul it too was a reminder that I had missed my mark of hitting 24hrs. As we came into No Hands Bridge and the last aid station we stopped briefly to take off my shoe to see what searing pain I was feeling in the ball of my foot could be removed. I was certain I would take off my shoe/sock to find a large jagged pebble inbedded in my foot only to find nothing there but a foot that looked like something close to road rash. The aid station volunteers took one look at it and said "what do you want me to do with that?" Well that was all I needed to hear to put my shoes back on and persevere up the trail to get to this damn track! Curt and I began to climb out even as we continued to get passed by other runners who could smell the finish better than I. My mood was a bit better at this point as I made it a necessity to congratulate and applaud every runner and pacer who came up on us. Karma is so important on the Trail as in Life and I was not about to let my mood get the best of me and those around me any longer.

Half way up the trail we were met by some familiar faces calling out my name. Kuni and Sam were there with about 2 miles left to go cheering me up the trail and reminding me I was going to get this thing done! Kuni was deep into his filming the event, which at the time I did not want to be a part of, while Sam and him carried on great conversations with Curt. I was simply a bystandard of my own events - hearing the praise and details of my own journey but not fully able to appreciate it myself. Coming off the trail at the top of Robie Rd you are met by another group of folks there simply to applaud your efforts and they did their job. I was hiking at a good clip even if I was unable to run this steep ascent to the top of the town of Auburn. With a little over a mile left you are at the top of Robie point and I knew exactly what was left to bring this morning to an end. I knew, too that my family was there and aware I was near my completion.

So at the top of Robie point with Curt, Stuart, Kuni and Sam at my side I startled them all by saying "you ready to run this thing home?" I never have understood what it is that the body allows you to do under the most unusual of circumstances, but I was about to discover it for myself. After not being able to even jog a 50ft section of the last 15 miles I began the stride that would convene in a final mile at less than 10min/pace with 100 miles on my legs. To be honest it felt like a 7min/mile! I felt no pain, no alter to my gait - only freedom from the pain and and anguish of
+24hours of expended energy. I was applaused for my efforts by my friends along with local bystanders who fill the streets of Auburn simply to get a glimpse of what we had put ourselves through. As I made the turn over the infamous white bridge and circle down towards the track I felt FREE. My friends took a slight back seat as I enterred the track and my family awaited my arrival. Natalie and Caitlyn were there to greet me at the entrance of the track and the three of us grabbed hands and ran the length of the track to the finish.

As I came around the bend I could here the announcer tell of my arrival and a bit about my background as I glanced up at the the clock to see I had finished 100.2miles in 25hrs 50min for 151st place out of over 460 runners. It was not the cathartic finish I had envisioned for over 6 months or had spent the last 30 days visualizing but I was done! As I spent the next handful of hours on the track with increasing pain and opportunity to absorb my accomplishment it came to me that it is never about the Destination but simply about the Journey! For that matter I had reached my goal months ago when I dedicated my Soul to this travel and to Finish in some respects was anti-climatic to the Journey I have only just begun as I crossed the line now a finisher of Western States Endurance Run 2010!


Asked by many in the week since I completed States if I would ever consider doing it again? The simple response back is I could never consider not doing it Again!!!




Posted by cperillo at 10:10 PM 0 comments