June 29, 2009

Western States 100, An Epilogue

This one is hard to put into words. I’m not sure if it is because there is so much to say, or because there is so much I just don’t know how to say. In short it’s been a long road with many bumps and turns along the way, and I wouldn’t have made it without the help of my family and friends.

Saturday, June 27th. 5:00 am. Literally the moment for which I’d been waiting three consecutive years. It finally came. When it did, a crazy, chanting group of some 400 eccentric runners started up the face of Squaw Valley, destine for the small town of Auburn exactly 100.2 miles away. We would travel on foot over mountains, under forests, across canyons, through a river, beneath the blazing sun, and then into the darkness of night. It was a surreal feeling to be there at that moment, with so much anticipation. As I pushed up the mountain, I couldn’t help but think to myself, will I get through this?

Start to Robinson Flat (First 29 miles). From the start at Squaw Valley to the top of the Escarpment, the first 3.5 miles, is the steepest and highest climb of this race. Starting at 6,200’ above sea level and rising to 8,720’, this section had me checking and rechecking my heart rate, which was reading north of 160 bpm for the entire climb, just power walking. This was a much higher rate than I anticipated, which had me a little concerned with some 97 miles to go. Once we summited, I looked back over Lake Tahoe and the surrounding mountains, and felt a nice, important rush of energy.

For the next 26 miles we ran what was for me the hardest part of the course. This was mostly a single track, up and down, winding trail at or above 7,000’. My goal here was to eat and drink as often as possible, avoid overexertion, and try to get through the section with minimal episodes. I knew my body would have to work 20% harder through this section just because of the altitude. All was going well, so well in fact I decided to celebrate by listening to some music on my Ipod. Then, just like that, my left ankle buckled as I was rounding the tight, rocky trail. I felt a sharp pain shoot up my leg. Shit! Did that just happen? I just sprained my ankle and I have 83 miles left to run! I stopped, collected myself, then began slowly walking. My ankle was stiff and in pain, but I could still walk on it. After a few minutes, I started to jog slowly. I continued to feel pain, but it was muted by the endorphins now rushing through my body. I continued gingerly through the most technical sections of the course.

As the miles crept by, my confidence began to return. Having experienced an ankle sprain on a long run before, I knew that there was a good chance the pain and stiffness would work itself out if I continued running. And it did. After a couple hours I didn’t feel the pain anymore and I was able to get back to my normal stride. I deemed this ankle sprain to be a blessing in disguise, forcing me to slow things down for the long run ahead. I continued through the long decent into Duncan Canyon, and then up the 1,400' climb to Robinson Flat. In terms of difficulty, this was not far off from the first climb up the face of Squaw because we were still at altitude. The heat was also beginning to set in. Seeing my crew at Robinson was a welcome site. They made sure I got my nutrition and got me on my way.

The Canyons – Robinson Flat to Forrest Hill (Miles 29 to 62). If there is one dreaded section of the Western States trail, it would be the canyons. Hot, steep and unrelenting, the canyons come in the middle of the course, when the sun is at its highest arch. I knew the heat would be a factor so I loaded up with more water than normal, carrying at certain points 110 ounces in a hydration pack and two hand held bottles, 60% of which I would dump over my head along the way to stay cool. This strategy worked as I never felt too hot, even with temperatures

reaching triple digits and climbing the nasty Devil’s Thumb and Michigan Bluff ascents. What I didn’t do so well was to conserve my quads on the descents. I’d been told by many Western gurus that running with any intensity down the canyons was risky business because my quads could really suffer, which would slow me down later in the race. I moved quickly down these descents despite these warnings. I met my unflappable crew again at Michigan Bluff (Mile 55) and Forrest Hill (mile 62) for a much needed, but quick break. My pacer Rob McNair joined me at Forrest Hill for the rest of the run.

Forest Hill to Auburn (miles 62 to 100.2) – Western States veterans all say that you need to save your energy until Forrest Hill, for it is here where you can really run. The trail is smooth with a gentle downhill and it is the most runable section of the course. I entered the section with some life still left in my legs. As Rob and I continued down the long winding single track I knew every step I took in daylight was a step faster than I could take at nightfall. We pushed under the fading light.

At the end of the Forrest Hill trail we reached the river crossing at Rucky Chucky. Nightfall had set in. Here we crossed the American river, submerging ourselves in the chilly, chest high running water, stepping on boulders illuminated only by glow sticks glimmering beneath the surface. The glow of the lights in the river and a long cable beckoned me across. As I stepped into the water a cold shiver ran through my body. After 78 miles of running, my mind was beginning to slip. The mountain water was a good wake up call. Volunteers were in rafts telling us where to step, and where not to. The whole thing reminded me of a scene in the movie Apocalypse Now, when American Captain Benjamin L. Willard (Marten Sheen) and his men were stuck at night at a bridge under heavy fire by the Vietcong. Lights flashing, people barking out orders. Organized chaos.

We moved up Rucky Chukcy to Greengate, were my fearless crew waited for us. They had hiked 1.25 miles in at 10 pm just to see me wave at them and keep moving. From there we made our way through a very runnable section of the course. And it was here where my quads began to give way. I’d been running some 18 hours by now, up and down tens of thousands of feet of mountain trails, and my legs were now saying enough already! Every step I took hurt. Wait, I remember saying to myself, you can’t give up now! And so I persisted in a fight with my quads for the rest of the night, pushing them as they pushed back. I had to shorten my stride just keep my legs from buckling under my own weight. I continued this battle as Rob and I made our way over the dark undulating trail toward the finish line.

Finish Line – Placer High School. How does one describe the feeling finishing a 100 mile run? How does one tell a story of spending three years to qualify, train, plan and then run a 100 mile race? I don’t know if this is possible. I do know, however, that as I ran the last half mile of this long journey, the pain began to melt away. When I saw the finish line, I could hear my crew and friends yelling for me. It was a moment for which I had been waiting a long, long time. And then, just like that, 23 hours and 28 minutes after taking my first step, I crossed the finish line.

I can't say how much help I received from others to make this possible. My crew, which included my wife Jen and friends Laura, Rob and Jeff, where phenomenal. They met me at every stop throughout the day and night, often hiking long distances just to see me for a minute. They took great care of me. As for Rob, my pacer, I simply couldn't have made it those last 20 miles without him. His words of wisdom along the way gave me the confidence to push through the dark moments. Thanks guys, running 100's is truly a team sport and I had the best team!

June 26, 2009

Western States Live Webcast

Click here for the live Western States webcast and follow your runner through the course. There are 24 aid stations and each runner must pass a mandatory weigh-in 10 times along the course.

My number is 167.

June 22, 2009

Don't Ignore the Journey

When I crossed the finish line at the London Marathon three years ago, I had not a clue what was in store for me. After my return, I remember sitting across the table from my friend Jeff Padilla, trying to explain how awesome that experience was. Then, in a moment of weakness, I remember raising my beer and exclaiming, let's do Western States! "Are you nuts" I recall hearing. "You've never run anything over a marathon!"

A few short months later Jeff and I were sitting on a plane headed for Sacramento to run the Helen Klein 50 miler to qualify for Western. We both qualified but didn't make the lottery. Months passed. Should I try again? Why not. Another 50 miler qualifier done, I sent my application, and well, you know the rest.

This has been a wild ride for me. Until then, I never dreamed about running a 100 miler. It seemed absurd, sort of self indulgent, to run that far let alone to train for something that far. But there are two things I've learned along the way.

First, training for a 100 miler is a team sport. There is simply no way one can do it--and I mean "do it" as in learn, prepare, train and then run it--totally on your own. I can't even say here how much I've relied on my wife, my kids, my parents, my friends and other runners to get through this. And I haven't even reached the finish line yet!

Second, to train for this kind of thing I don't think the end can justify the means. In other words, and this goes out to all you runners, if you can't find enjoyment in what you are doing, especially a sport or hobby like this, don't do it. Otherwise change how you do it so you will enjoy it. I've learned to enjoy and appreciate the little things along the way--a flock of geese flying over head, my pacer's endless stories, a tumble down the hill, the breathtaking fatigue that (sometimes) fades to a source of energy, the view from the top of a mountain peak. Would I be the same person if I hadn't pursued this? I don't know the answer to that, but I do know I wouldn't be feeling the nervous energy I'm feeling right now.

Keep it real runners!

June 8, 2009


Ta-per-ing. vb. 1. To become progressively smaller toward one end. 2. To diminish gradually. ~vt: to cause to taper.

On a warm summer day in 1984, Alberto Salazar, one of America’s most revered distance runners, stood at the starting line the Olympic Marathon. Three weeks prior the race, succumbing to the pressures to win, he tried to “catch up” with his training, rather than rest. When the gun went off and the runners assumed an arduous pace, his dream of capturing an Olympic medal quickly faded away. In his words, he had “the horrible experience of watching the leaders pull away…in the first mile and knowing there was nothing I could do about it”.

On that same summer day, another runner, unheralded and running under the radar, stood at the same starting line. But this runner was unable to run for 10 days prior to the race due to a car accident. That runner was Carlos Lopes of Portugal, age 37. He went on to win the marathon and take home the Olympic gold medal that day, and set a Olympic Record in the process. According to Salazar, its “better to taper a little too strongly, than not enough”.

Have you ever stood at the starting line after months of training, wondering if you’ve rested enough? Too much? If so then you are, indeed, an endurance runner. Rest assured, there is no such thing as the perfect taper. But perfection isn’t on the menu in our sport. But if you’re looking for the perfect recipe here, don’t lose your appetite.

There are some basic guidelines that should be heeded when tapering. The first, like Salazar suggested, is to go into a race a little too tapered, rather than not enough. Pete Pfitzinger, author of Advanced Marathoning who beat Salazar in the Olympic Marathon in 1984, suggests starting your taper three weeks prior to race day, and cutting back your total mileage by 20% to 25% in the first week; 40% in the second week and 60% the week of your race. If you are doing speed work, progressively easing back on the intensity during your taper is recommended. Also be aware that too much time off though can leave your legs feeling a little flat on race day, so don’t turn into a couch potato for three weeks. Taking several full days off during the week of race day is advised.

There is one other thing to remember during your taper, especially for us older runners. Watch your calories! It’s pretty simple, but when you start ramping down the miles you need to remember that your body doesn’t need as many calories. And the last thing you need is to put on pounds before your race! Take this time to cut back and even lose weight.