Patience. Presence. Flow.
My stomach wasn’t taking any gels, my head was throbbing, I was walking as other runners streamed by me. Any incline was sending my heart rate soaring, and I was uncomfortably close to the cutoffs. I seriously didn’t know if I could continue past the next aid station.
I was almost to mile 8.
All my training was done, and I knew I was ready for Western States. I had learned about the race in 2011, and immediately went to work trying to get to the starting line. I don’t think a run went by without at least imagining myself running onto the track at Placer High. 5 years of accumulating tickets in the lottery finally paid off on that Saturday in December. On Monday before the race, I started feeling exhausted at work, so I went home early. I spent the next 36 hours violently expelling everything in my body.
The silver lining of this was it gave me a few days for my body to recover. The rest of the week went by in a blur, and before I knew it, the shotgun went off and I was off to Auburn with 368 other lucky people.
The first section to Lyon Ridge was a mix of ice, snow, mud and water. Movement was very slow for just about everyone. I was getting fuel down from the start, but around mile 6 I could tell something was wrong. The two gels I had consumed felt like lead in my stomach, and I knew something was wrong. Any time I tried to eat and run, my heart rate would spike. Uphills were reduced to a crawl, the flats to a walk. How was I going to make it to Lyon Ridge, much less Auburn?
My mind started scrambling for answers. As I came in to Lyon Ridge, I saw I was already 10 minutes over 30 hour pace, and things didn’t improve on the way to Red Star Ridge at mile 15.5. I watched as my friends Paul and Kevin flew by me, as I was forced to walk anything that wasn’t downhill. My legs had no pep and I was forcing calories in that my body wasn’t processing. I arrived at Red Star Ridge 30 minutes over the 30 hour pace and 20ish minutes before he absolute cutoff.
As I walked out of the aid station, I kept thinking about Joe Uhan’s two-part article about Western States (http://www.irunfar.com/2014/06/the-western-states-killing-machine-part-one.html)
One thing that kept coming back to me was that mantra of Patience, Presence, and Flow. I may be struggling right now, but there was lots of time left, and some great runnable sections ahead after Robinson at mile 30. Rather than panic, I focused on being patient, made sure I was listening to my body in the present, and taking things easy. On the 3 mile switchback descent into Duncan Canyon aid station at mile 24, I finally felt capable of finishing. They loaded me up with ice, I grabbed a sandwich and food, already an hour behind my projected time, and walked on down the trail.
I still was having trouble eating and running, so I walked for about a mile on terrain that was easily runnable. I wanted to run it, but my body wasn’t cooperating. I continued to choose patience, as I knew if I stopped eating to run more, I’d pay for it later. Finally reaching the creek at the bottom, my friend Joey caught up with me. It helped pass the time climbing up to Robinson’s Flat with him, taking my mind off my stomach. On this section I received my first bee sting, which was quite a surprise. I half expected my arm to swell up the way my day was going, but luckily it looks like I’m not allergic. Around 1:20 in the afternoon, I came in to Robinson’s Flat, over an hour behind my goal, but feeling an overwhelming joy towards the world. The high country was behind me, I got to see my Mom and Dad, and I knew the rest of the course.
The next 8ish miles went by quickly, mostly gentle rolling downhills towards Dusty Corners. The day was starting to heat up according to the runner carnage already around me, but I didn’t feel it. Getting doused and iced at aid stations was keeping me quite cold, so I was able to cruise through this section. My heat management was about the only thing that went right the first half of the race. Past Dusty Corners at mile 38 I kept plugging away, finally dropping into Deadwood Canyon and crossing Swinging Bridge, and heading up to Devil’s Thumb.
Within 5 minutes of starting the ~40 minute climb, I could tell something was very wrong with my stomach. Any attempt to take a deep breath left me with a sharp pain in my gut, causing me to double over. Looking back, I think the past 45 miles of eating without my body processing the calories properly had caught up with me. I desperately needed a bathroom, and the only way to get one was to climb. Getting to Devil’s Thumb when you cant breathe and feel like you are being stabbed in the stomach every minute is quite an ordeal. I finally came out of the canyon, 55 agonizing minutes later, and booked it towards the port-a-potty.
I patiently spent 15ish minutes in the port-a-potty, letting my body reset itself. Although it felt like forever, I knew if I didn’t take care of the problem now, I would continue to go nowhere fast. Finally exiting, I talked with Kevin and Paul, who both were suffering, made sure they were continuing on (misery does love company after all), grabbed a popsicle, and went on down the trail.
Taking the time to fully reset my stomach may have seemed like it took forever, but it was what completely changed my race. I could finally eat and run at the same time, and felt my body actually processing the calories. It was a complete 180 from earlier, and I knew things were about to be much more fun. Getting to see all my friends at El Dorado was great, and they loaded me up and sent me out. This is the point in the race where the carnage of the day started to become apparent to me. Climbing out of the canyon towards Michigan Bluff, other runners were looking ROUGH. As I assessed my own situation, one thing became very clear; I had strength in my legs, and I jogged the second half of the climb, which gave me tons of confidence on the condition of my legs.
I made my Michigan Bluff stop quick, as I knew I was feeling great, and wanted to get to Volcano Creek by dark, so I could put off grabbing a light. I got weird looks leaving the aid without a light, but I knew I’d be at bath road by the time it became too dark to see. Pretty much nailed it, as Tom was waiting for me as it got dark, so we hiked up bath road towards Foresthill, and I caught him up on how I was feeling. My legs felt so fresh, and my stomach was finally cooperating. After catching up with the crew, changing socks, and adding lights, Tom and I cruised on down Cal St.
We chatted and cracked jokes, and about a mile down the trail, we started passing runners. I wasn’t pushing at all, but we were running about 90% of everything, and the tough day was catching up with everyone. Coming into Cal 1, I was focused on getting soup and coke, when someone asked if that was Nick. I turned and saw Craig in a chair, with a smile on his face. I admire Craig a lot as a runner, and if he is struggling, I know it’s a tough day out there. We left with our pacers, and a few hundred yards out, he let Tom and I by, and we kept chugging along.
Between Foresthill and Cal 2 (miles 62-70) we passed 41 runners according to the splits, as I kept the pace steady. I knew my friend Melissa had left Foresthill slightly ahead of me, and we kept wondering where she was. Finally caught up with her right before Cal 2, as she was the only one on Cal st who seemed to still be moving at a steady pace. It was nice to stick with another runner/pacer through Cal 3, as we caught up about our days. Tom and I would leave them shortly after Cal 3, as we would run the majority of the section from Cal 3 to the river.
Approaching the river was magical. Tom had never been down here before, and it was pitch black, save for the stars and our lights. About a mile from Rucky Chucky aid station, you could start to see the lights. I had been thinking about this crossing for years, it was awe-inspiring to finally be here. By this point, Tom and I had a solid system, where I’d tell him exactly the plan for the aid station as we approached it, and he would remind me of everything on the way out. It was a smooth running operation, and kept the machine rolling towards the finish. We were both excited to hop into the rafts, and we donned our life jackets, continued to crack jokes, and I marveled at how majestic it was to be me at that exact moment. I was running the race of my dreams, my legs felt fresh at mile 78, and I was heading home fast. We departed the raft on the other side of the American River, onto a sandy hill. I went to take a sip of electrolyte drink from my bottle, when I realized I had not grabbed my bottles from the other side of the river.
I felt instantly like the worlds biggest idiot. I got caught up in the excitement of the moment, and completely forgot to get my bottles from the aid station worker who was helping me. I wanted to just leave them, but Tom made the rational decision that I needed to keep hydrating (it was still +70 degrees out, even at 2am). I went and sat in a chair while Tom hopped in a river back, and I kicked myself for my own incompetence. What else could go wrong today? All that hard work I put in on the Cal St loop felt pointless, as runners I had passed hopped out of rafts and continued up towards Green Gate, while I sat in a chair, trying to explain my situation without sounding like a nincompoop. After what seemed like forever (about 20 minutes), Tom emerged from the river with my bottles, I crawled out of the chair, and very stiffly (for me at least), we hiked up towards Green Gate.
The next 10 or so miles went by without much. Tom and Joel switched out pacing duties at Green Gate, my crew had hiked down to see me one last time, and with a quick cup of soup and cup of coke, we were on the way to Auburn. I passed MJ again at ALT, where she was going through a low patch. The sun started rising a little before we got to Brown’s Bar, which gave me some energy. My feet were really tender at this point, and my energy flagging. I barely stopped at the Quarry RD aid station, as I just wanted to be done. Climbing up to upper 49 I was feeling like time wasn’t moving, and every step took forever. I didn’t want to eat any more gels, but Joel told me it was time to eat, so I took one. By the time we got to Pointed Rocks, I was feeling better. Funny how calories will do that! From there I could really smell the barn, as I knew I had less than an hour and a half left before I could stop. Seeing a bunch of friends there was great, Janae offered to take my waist light, and I was on a short 5.5 mile fun run to the track.
My feet were pretty tender, and my quads feeling a little rough, so we weren’t exactly bombing down to No Hands Bridge, but I was running (“running”). Finally seeing the bridge was a real treat for me, as I had been thinking of this moment for years. That bridge has always been a special place to me, and now has even more meaning. Joel let me know that Avery was going to be at the track (top notch pacing Joel!) and that gave me the energy to run the fire road up to the last steep climb. Hands on quads, head down, I grinded up the last steep section to see Tom at the top of Robie, and we finally left the trail after 99 miles.
The street was a crazy party, so many people out cheering runners in. I have been out there before, on the other side of it, and I can definitely say now that the runners appreciate it! One more little hill, and the white bridge was ahead. It was actually, finally, all downhill from there.
I had thought about a lot in the past day. You tend to do that when you have to run 100 miles. There have been times in my life where I didn’t want to keep going. No matter how hard a 100 gets, how dark it gets late in the race, I’m always grateful that I get to be out there, feeling those feelings. Plenty of people will never get to discover that thing in their life that makes them truly happy, their passion.
I was so thankful of everything coming into the track. My family and friends, who helped me get there. I was thankful for all the volunteers who put on such a great race. Training partners, crew, pacers, random people out on a Sunday, sitting in the stands cheering people on. But most of all I was thankful that I believed in myself, that I didn’t quit. Not just in the race, but during those dark times in my life, where all I wanted to do was stop. I never would have got to experience that absolute joy I was feeling right now. I grabbed the love of my life, Avery, and got to round the last quarter of the track with him in my arms. Time seemed to stand still, and everything else out there faded away, until it was just me holding my boy, walking forward. I can’t imagine a more perfect end to such a perfect day.
CampinMonkey 