Pine to Palm - a birthday bash

With three previous 100 mile achievements to my name, I was eager to sign up for another one this year - to make it two in one calendar year for the first time. What a wonderful surprise to see, many months ago, that a new 100 miler was being contested in OREGON. I knew that the Hundred in the Hood from last year was a one-off race and now I didn't have to look far to find something else in September. And the fact that this race started on my birthday (#48) was another bonus. This bodes well.

Inaugural events...there's always a chance problems will be encountered at new races in their first year. But, bolstered by the reputation of the RD, I signed on almost as soon as I found out about it. Over the intervening months I saw more and more like-minded runners join up until there were over 160 names on the list by race day.

I sat back and waited for the race details, promised to us by mid August. Eventually maps were posted to the race web site. But frustratingly, no further specifics about the course, aid stations, crew instructions, etc. were forthcoming until 9 days before race day. Finally the driving instructions were posted and we were ready to make detailed plans for the run.

I figured the race would be challenging but doable. Yet, the mid course cut off (the only cut off ) at mile 65 was a cause for concern. The fact that the race had a total of 20,000 feet of climbing and 20,000 feet of decent sounded OK. Western States has 18,000 feet of climbing and almost 23,000 feet of decent. My first 100 miler, Headlands Hundred, had 17,000/17,000. I suspected that I'd have as good a chance as any, since my training included Western States and then Where's Waldo in the month preceding P2P. I felt confident I'd be ready. But, then I'd get to talking with my running comrades and we'd start to wonder about that 19 hour cut off...

Being a slower runner I always have to sweat the cut offs in most races. I memorize them and work to stay ahead of them most of the time. Here my mantra became: just get to Dutchman Peak by 1 am.

This time Karen, my sister and professional crew boss, brought along another running friends of her's, Heather. We would be a threesome team to get the job done. In the week leading up to the race I saw the weather forecast go from predicting a 20% chance of rain on race day up to a 90% chance of rain. Oh well. This is Oregon after all and I planned appropriately. It was amazing how much more stuff I needed to bring along, though. It's a far cry from planning for the heat at Western States.

So we eventually found our way to Grants Pass, the nearest city to the race start, and we drove the 20 minute route to the race check-in and briefing. I found the 5:30 pm race briefing time somewhat inconvenient since I didn't want to take my chances on the pasta dinner being served there. We'd needed to either eat really early, before the briefing, or pretty late, after it. We chose before. We arrived in Williams and met up with my running buddy, and fellow almost-birthday celebrator, Russ. He was was taking his third stab at conquering the 100 mile distance and had paced me at my first. We sat together and waited for the briefing and check-in to take place. And waited. And waited. Finally, an hour after promised, the check in process started but crawled very slowly.

Another hour after it was suppose to begin, the briefing itself commenced, just as I was getting to the front of the check-in line. Rather than miss what was being said, I stopped and attended to the briefing. I think some people behind me in line thought I was rude and they went around me to continue their check in, ignoring the RD's presentation about the race.

Apparently Ian Torrance has become the co-RD and he started to give us a briefing of the route and important points for crucial turns. He kept referring to sections of the trail, by name. We hadn't been provided these references in the online information. I had no point of reference to understand what he was talking about. Regardless, I started taking notes about what not to miss but I was confused about most of it and he went through them so fast that eventually I wasn't able to keep up. He kept reassuring us (after warning to be sure not to miss this or that turn) that it would all be very well marked.

Once the briefing ended I finished my check in and got some really nice swag including a nice canvas bag, flip-flop sandals and a great fleece pull over.

Finally back at the hotel we made our final preparations before hitting the hay. I got my feet taped up and smeared with hydropel, in anticipation of a likely very soggy day. I expected to be wet but not too cold until later in the evening if the rain kept up.

In the morning we made our way back to the start but the porta-potty line was way too long to take care of any last minute business (2 port-a-potties for 130+ entrants). Luckily it's not a big deal for me at this point. We leave the start with the usual whoops and head up the road just as a sprinkle of rain starts.

The first 6 miles are on paved road of increasing incline. For the last three I do my 20 steps running alternating with 20 steps walking. We hit the first water-only aid station and I drop off my head lamp - a nice touch of organization so I don't have to carry it with me for 31 miles - I had another one in my appropriate drop bag for later. I knew that we'd be going essentially 17 miles before the first real aid station so I managed to bring along an appropriate amount of nibbles to keep me fueled for the first three hours or so it would take me. I know I have to pay close attention to my fueling and intended to consume about 300 calories an hour. If I get behind I lose my appetite and then it's only a matter of time before I crash.

Immediately we're on single track and we wind our way around the hills with a generally increasing steepness and switchbacks going up and up and up. The rain starts now but it's still warm and it's not falling heavy. The trail is very debris-strewn with branches and bark and rocks and I'm thankful over and over again that we don't have to try and navigate this going downhill.

Less than 11 miles later we hit the first peak, shrouded in fog and a harder drizzle. Then we start our decent down to the aid station at mile 17. The footing is still fairly debris strewn but thankfully not yet too slick with wet and mud but it's getting there in places. Eventually a volunteer is manning a trail detour through the brush to help us avoid a yellow-jacket nest that had already lead to stings for a number of people. The advantages of being in the back of the pack! Shortly we're at the first regular aid station, and as I was to find throughout the race, it was very well run and full of pleasant and helpful people.

I've made it a new rule to myself never to sit down at aid stations. I collect my resupplies and head off to the next 7 mile section that is on undulating dirt road. Generally the route in downhill and I try to cut the tangents to save distance. It's raining off and on and this keeps the dust down. I suspect that on a dryer, more typical race day it would be pretty dusty, exposed and hot section. There's not much traffic now, maybe a half-dozen cars pass me by. I run 20 minutes and walk 2 minutes most of the time as I would on a mostly flat non-technical run. This helps preserve my legs from the monotonous pounding of that sort of terrain.

I make it uneventfully to the next aid station and efficiently back onto the dirt road. This continues to weave up down and around until we get close to the Applegate River aid station where it takes a dive back onto a weird little trail bordered the whole way by a chain link fence on the left. It's steep up and steep down like a roller coaster. Then we spill out into a campground area with signs directing us in a circuitous route to an area labeled as "California." After a few hundred yards we're notified we're back in Oregon again. I think this is a nice touch, since we're so close to the state border - why not say your race covers terrain in two states?

Back onto paved road and to the next aid station where my crew is accessible for the first time. Karen and Heather see me and there's a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday as I run in! Russ is just heading back out and we start the Happy Birthday song for him as well.

YouTube recording of the event.

I get weighed and head off to the car to get together my things for the next section. It's great to have the team there to get me in and out quickly. It's been raining off and on all morning but I'm still doing well with my light shell since it's also not very cold. I also grab my Garmin for the first time in a race. I figure it will help me to keep on track with distances if I get discouraged or, god forbid, lost.

Off I go onto the next section of trail, this time mostly surrounded by red-hued poison oak. I had a surprise gift of poison oak form Western States and so I was careful to avoid contact this time around. The trail was lovely and it snaked upwards and over hills of increasing steepness. I pass a few people for the first time. Someone here was verbally averse to switchbacks towards the top. I found this amusing and fodder for good stories of adventure later on. Besides, I was already almost to the next aid station, just 5 miles from the last. Or was it...Now I know my Garmin can be off a bit and I use it for rough estimates, but at 6.5 miles I finally get into the next aid station, Stein Butte.

They are huddled under the tent and making a valiant effort at putting together some warm food - I eat some almost ready soup and appreciate it. I mention that it seems like more than 5 miles since the last aid station and they confirm "yeah, we've been hearing that a lot." I asked them how everyone seemed to be doing. The soup maker told me people seemed to be coming in discouraged but are leaving in good spirits. No doubt. These guys were very upbeat!

I left them behind and went back out onto the next section of trail, - actually a very old logging road. After a quarter mile down the trail a large tree was blocking the road and I see that this is where the volunteers had to park and then WALK in all their gear for the aid station. Wow. Now that's dedication and effort!

This road was pleasant and I was particularly interested to see every 200 yards or so there was a big pile of bear poop. I noted this along the whole way! We really are out in the wilderness now, despite that we're on a man made "road." I know there's 6 miles to the next AS and I tick them off as the rain continues to pour down pretty heavy.

Soon we're on a very steep downhill section that, in the rain, has turned into a trail runners version of the Luge. I slip-slide my way down and just before the next AS there's my crew waiting for me with hot soup. I make a complete wardrobe change into my capri tights and a new dry set of shirts and a better rain jacket with a hood. Karen reapplies hydropel to my feet and I get dry socks and new shoes. It takes me about 10 minutes here but the effort is well worth it! I feel much better - dry, warm, filled up and ready to get moving. I'm at mile 42 and it's about an hour before dark so I'm still right on track to make the cut off at Dutchman.

I suspect I'm in the very back of the pack and they confirm that I probably am the last runner out there. Already at mile 36?! I know I'm not fast and I know it's not unlikely I'll crawl in at the very end tomorrow, but to be so far in the back already? Wow. I'm reassured that I've completed about the same amount of mileage in about the same amount of time as at Western States. I certainly wasn't that far back in the pack then. This race must be eating runners up and spitting them out at quite a rate.

As I head off on the road for a loop around the lake I feel strong and happy anyway. I hear that Russ is right in front of me, maybe 10 minutes, and I feel like I might be able to catch him before too long! After rounding the lake, (longer than the 2 miles advertised) I accept that the mileages listed on the race info are probably not recently measured and merely "approximate." So far there's an equal mix of sections longer and shorter than advertised.

Karen and Heather wait in the car as I leave the lake and are back onto the dirt road to make sure I'm OK. I mention that my right pinky toe is a little sore since the shoe change. "Is it OK?" my sister asks? I consider it..."Yeah, it's OK." Pause. She replies "Are you just saying that so you don't have to deal with it or is it really not a problem?" You can't lie to your sister, the professional crew chief. I admit it - it's a problem. So I stop and take off the extra sock and replace my shoe. Now I'm fine. She was right, take care of it now so it's not a bigger problem later. Words to run by.

I start back up and they drive off, waving. It's a nice dirt road again and I wander down, down, down. It's only "3 miles" until the next aid station and I expect to see Russ any minute up ahead. I feel really great. But, as expected, the mileage is off and after about 4 miles I still don't see an aid station. Funny, I don't remember any confidence flagging either. Uh, oh. Did I miss something or did someone remove the flags? The mileages aren't trustworthy in my mind...then a car comes towards me and they pull over so I can asks them if there's an aid station up ahead along the road? Nope. " We're headed to the Squaw Lake aid station - did you miss a turn?" Well, obviously I did. DRAT!!!

Now I can see that my time cushion is shrinking. Can I still make it to Dutchman peak by 1 AM? They offer me a ride back to where ever it is I needed to turn off. I consider this but expect it could get me disqualified so I stoically decline and head back, now uphill, the way I came. Inside I'm stating to crumble. How could I be so stupid? This might be my fatal mistake - just when I was starting to get a second wind and feel really great and optimistic. Now I've gained extra mileage (not as big a deal to me) and lost precious time (a really big deal). And I only brought along enough food to last me for 3 miles.

I find the missing turn, off the road on the opposite side of where I was running. It's marked over there but I never even saw it from the other side. Crap. This is another problem with so much road running. I head up this now more rugged road and as it's starting to get dark I finally make it to the next aid station. Instead of 3 miles, I've gone 7. They help me get some nutrition in but I'm already behind. Once this happens I tend to start on a downhill spiral of anorexia. Nothing sounds good, I'm not hungry and I stop eating or have to force myself to eat. The less I eat the weaker and slower I get. But there's nothing I can do about it because I'm way behind and need to get moving if I'm to get to the cut off before 1 AM. I didn't bring extra batteries for my flashlight (I didn't expect to need it before the next aid station) so I use my dimmer head lamp.

As I move along the trail it gets very over grown. I need to use the hand-held to stay on my feet. The trail is so over grown I can't see my footing. Then WHAP! I get slapped in the face by an overhanging branch I didn't see coming because I'm concentrating on my feet. I teeter and almost fall. To the right is a sharp drop off. I try to lean left and catch myself on the uphill side of the incline. And so it goes, over and over, concentrate on feet, branches slap me in the face and I catch myself from falling down the slope. I'm losing heart and won't be catching up to Russ any time soon but I have no choice except to keep pressing on. At least I'm still running!

Finally I see the lights of the next aid station and Handley Gap! Hooray! I get to the table and right away the guy there says to me - "you're not going to make it to the cut off." A guy next to him on a walky-talky says to someone on the other end "you got room for one more?" I realize they expect me to give up and take a ride out. What? Now? There's not an intermediate cut off here. My crew is at Dutchman Peak, I argue. How are they going to figure out where I am if you take me out here? (There's no cell service out here.) Even if I don't get there in time to beat the cut off I'd like to get there and be pulled at that point. I don't want to give up. "Unless you're telling me I'm not allowed to keep going, then I'm going to move on." Reluctantly he agreed that I could go on.

I look over and see my friend Kelly hanging around. I figure he's working the aid station but it turns out he's the sweeper and this is where his job starts - to follow the last runner out. I guess that's me. He points me in the right direction to go the mile (or so) up to the top of Hanley peak where I have to retrieve a flag and bring it back down. I don't want to waste any more time so I trudge off. After the first intersection there's a pile of gravel to the left. And one to the right. There are no course markings (or glow sticks) indicating which way to go. As I stand there perplexed another runner appears, coming back down towards me and points me in the right direction around the gravel pile on my right and I make it the rest of the way to the top, retrieve my flag and get back down to...what used to be the aid station. Crap. I didn't fuel up before I left to the peak and now there's nothing left out for me to eat. If I wasn't already hosed, this cinches it. They do dig up some batteries for me so my flashlight will be useful again.

Off I head with the really lucky happenstance to have Kelly there as an impromptu pacer! If I had bad luck so far, this definitely was a stroke of good luck. I have a great time catching up on what we've each been up to since our trail work days on the Waldo course in July. He also imparts some hopeful news to me. While I was up on the last peak, the RD drove through to check on things. Kelly, now my advocate, told him how I had taken a wrong turn and run some bonus miles but was "still running well." The RD suggested that he might give me an extra hour on the cut off to compensate for my error! By this time I had resigned myself to getting pulled from the race at Dutchman Peak but now there was new hope I could go on.

Buoyed by this news I tried my best to put on a show of strength run/hiking up the dirt road on which we found ourselves. The flashlight wasn't often necessary since the route was wide and non technical. However it was incessantly steep and ever climbing. Occasionally it would dip a bit and be runnable but then go back to uphill. Kelly was pulling down flagging as he went, having no trouble catching up to me between detours. I began to feel the effects of multiple missed opportunities to fuel myself. I didn't realize it at the time, either, but the altitude really compromised my progress as well despite the smooth road surface. My strong hike turned more and more into a slow trudge. I had not consumed anywhere near my 300 calories an hour for several hours.

Poor Kelly, having to walk so slowly in that weather. Ah...the weather. I don't really mention much about it here because I didn't ever consider it much of a factor for me. By this time the wind had picked up, as did the rain. I was warm and cozy in my rain gear and didn't consider the conditions a problem. The lack of food and the altitude were my relevant issues.

Finally we hit the next aid station and lo and behold, there's Karen! Apparently she and Heather drove there by accident thinking it was Dutchman Peak and waited for me for a while. They finally figured out they where one aid station shy of where they needed to be but by then the RD had arrived for a check-in and he informed them I was on my way. He gave Karen permission to start pacing me from there. Heather had driven on ahead to wait for us at Dutchman Peak.

Cool - now I had two pacers, Kelly the sweep and Karen my official pacer. This was great company and I'd like to say that it bolstered my resolve to work hard to make it up the next 5 miles of inclined dirt road to get up to the cut off now by 2 AM. I really wish I could say that. Unfortunately I had completely lost my stomach. Karen offered all manner of available foodstuffs and nothing sounded good. Knowing that my mantra was "300 calories per hour" I choked down some shot blocks, hoping that it would prime me to want more soon. No luck.

A car headed towards us and who did I see leaning out the window to greet me but Russ. WTF? What are you doing in there?! He told me he was done and searching for his crew so they could get the hell out of there. I was sad to see him done before the finish line on attempt number three at the 100 mile distance. Obviously, this course was a lot more to handle than either of us had hoped.

The road got steeper and the air hot thinner and my resolve crumbled. Even at my previous pace, I was unlikely to get to Dutchman Peak in time. At this pace I was clearly out of the running. But, trudge we did, on and on until finally, slowly with my "climbing Mt. Everest" style of step, pause, gasp step, pause, gasp rhythm we emerged at the base are of Dutchman Peak. The AS is "just" up the next steep hill and a few switchbacks more.

My dilemma isn't the only drama playing itself out at this point, however. We bump right into Heather as we intend to head up the last pitch. "I think I'm going to throw up!" she informs us. Me too, I think. Karen's (new) Subaru is parked there but I walk right past it to finish my race at the AS with the little bit of dignity I have left. I make my way to the AS to get my wrist band cut off for an official drop and end to this fiasco, well past the 2 AM enhanced cut off time. Heather informs us that the car isn't parked on the side of the muddy road: it's stuck there and we need to find someone to help us tow it out. I can't process this (I can't really care about it yet) so I continue on. Karen follows behind me shortly with a hope of organizing the needed help from he aid station folk.

We get to the top, I thrust my wrist into someone's face and they cut off my band. That's it. Mile 65 (ish) and I'm done. I would have been willing to regroup and head out again if I was allowed. I've been doing this long enough to know that with a little nutrition and time, even overwhelming fatigue can be overcome. But instead I turn around and head back down to the car. It's raining very heavily and now the wind is howling. The aid station is just barely in one piece and the volunteers are already breaking it down to get the hell out of there. Karen stops to ask for help. Now that I'm not moving I'm getting really cold. Fast.

No Dice.

No one at the AS seems able to help us with the car problem - they have their own problems to deal with - but we find a really nice couple who are parked up by the AS and they agree to let me get into their car while Karen continues to search for help. Eventually she gives up looking for help at the AS and these kind folks drive us down the short but steep road to where our car is stuck.

The real drama of the day is about to unfold. Over the next few hours we experience the best and the worst of being caught in bad weather, in the middle of nowhere with the rear passenger tire hanging over the edge of a muddy, crumbling dirt road. If the car slips any farther it will tumble off the road edge and down the bank onto it's hood, then probably it'll keep rolling a while. Remember, this is a new car? Karen is holding it together pretty well considering the potential outcome.

How this develops would be funny if we weren't exhausted, wet, cold and in the dark. Some other nice people driving by stop to help us try and drive or push the car forward. No go. With our attempts to move it, it gets worse and the back tire is left more precarious. Now someone needs to sit in the driver's seat to keep the car from tipping over. We empty the car of all it's contents, to reduce the weight that is trying to pull it over the edge of the increasingly muddy road.

We continue to search for someone with a rope so we can pull us out. There is NO ROPE any where. There are various AS people around and a tent with ham operators near by and various comers and goers trying to get around our disabled car at this intersection of many dirt roads but no one has a rope. Everyone recommends we leave the car and bring back a tow truck in the morning. Without help soon and someone continually sitting in the drivers seat, we know the car will be completely over the edge and in need of a funeral by morning.

The folks who have given me refuge in their car wait patiently and try to help push and search for rope. Another truck with a nice fellow and his dad offer to pull us out once the rope is found. When all avenues of rope procurement are unsuccessful, the man and his dad offer to drive back into town, get a rope and return (a several hour round trip). Remember, it's nigh on 3 AM by this time. The refuge folks offer to take me with them to their hotel where I can have the spare bed and they will reunite me with my crew in the morning. It still blows my mind that total strangers are so generous to people in need. Especially since we're muddying up the back of their car.

Finally we are saved by the most unlikely of people - a hunter. Unknown to him, runners and crews have invaded the logging roads and as he heads down our road (it's ours now because we're stuck on it and no one can pass) he gets caught in our web. He can't back out up the hill so he can't get home unless he helps us figure out how to find a frigging rope!

Frankly, I don't know how, maybe it fell from the sky, maybe someone tossed it out a window as they drove by but somehow a little thin almost-rope was found. It got doubled, tripled up and threaded through the tow ports on both vehicles and mister bow hunter pulled the Subaru free!!!! HURRAY!!!! We throw everything back into the car wet and in total disarray. We dig out enough space to sit and buckle ourselves in. We're home FREEEEEEEE!!!!!

OR are we? Sure, we're drivable now. But how the hell do we get out of here? The return route is a long trek back so we (a caravan of the saviors and us) forge ahead, reading the crew instructions that should lead us to a quicker escape route. Off we go, onto ever more rugged dirt roads, through (past?) obscure and unmarked turns. Our all-wheel drive is absolutely necessary and the ride is harrowing even so. After about 30 minutes of this we hit an open area of criss-crossing dirt roads. We have the driving instructions. We have a map. We have ourselves located on a GPS. We still can't figure out what the hell to do to get out of there. Did I mention it's after 3 AM now and we're EXHAUSTED? And it's still storming? Luckily we're warm.

We all get out of our vehicles and reconeutre. The saviors decide to press on and hope they are on the right track. Somewhere ahead we've heard there's a bridge out and we're not sure which road it's on. We'd rather not get that far, only to have to turn back again. So, we decide to return the way we came and take the know route, the long way home. The others take their chances and press on. We wish them luck. We all do make it back to civilization eventually.

It's nearly daylight as we get back onto pavement and travel back towards the lights of the nearest town. Karen is nodding off behind the wheel so we pull over into some parking lot and take a need nap, sitting up in our seats. It's been a harrowing experience and a seriously disappointing DNF for me. We did meet up with our saviors again the next day at the awards ceremony and we relived our shared struggle. I can't thank them enough to have sacrificed their own comfort and safety to help us out.

This epitomizes the type of people you're bound to meet at ultra events. Even though my race ended unsuccessfully, and I'd rather not have had "the car incident" (as it's come to be known), it was an experience that reminded me again why I so love these ultra events. We help each other out. Strangers who find you in need will come to your aid most of the time.

To sum up this race, there were some organizational issues I think could have gone better and hopefully will in the upcoming iterations of this event. I believe that the mileages listed are a very rough guide. I was lulled into thinking that with a 32 hour final cut off that this race was a good option for back of the pack runners like me. Whether it's due to mileage discrepancies or the other factors I encountered, I remain dismayed that I was unable to make the mid-point cut off. I've always been concerned about meeting cut offs but this is the first time I've not been successful. It still haunts me.

On the other hand, without all the hardships, the kindness of strangers and friends would not have been revealed.

Where's Waldo?

Chapter One

Waldo Kicks Kate's ass and humiliates her in the process. Score: Waldo 1, Kate 0

Chapter Two

Waldo tries and is nearly successful at kicking Kate's ass. Waldo 1, Kate 1

Chapter Three

All the forces align this weekend to help me find a way to complete this race without feeling like death warmed over. The weather is predicted to reach into the mid 60s and there is a slight chance of rain late in the day/early evening or at least some good amount of chilly wind on the last climb up to Maiden Peak. Dress accordingly.

So I take the early start as usual only this year I have the ULTRAMOBILE to camp out in at the start so I get as much sleep as is possible right near the starting line. This makes the 3 AM start time, if not reasonable, at least not totally unbearable. It's still really early and I didn't sleep that well anyway. Probably from the elevation.

It's dark and cool as we wait for the clock to hit 3 am and them off we go up the hill and into the woods. I feel like I'm working comfortably hard and cruise a wonderful section of trail to the first aid station which I hit in the dark, right on schedule. I peel off to use the toilets right inside the camp ground then make a quick stop at the aid station table for some food. So far I'm subsisting on donuts. They still sound good, especially when mixed with potato chips. Sweet, salt. Yum.

The run up to Fuji seems difficult and I'm huffing and puffing. It's the elevation but I forget this point and wonder if I'm carrying too much of Western States in my legs still. Dawn breaks before I hit the next aid station and I grab a pie on my way through then up to the top of Fuji peak. I get a nice view of the rest of the course, greet the sun then head right back down. I've really grown to love this course because of it's challenges and spectacular scenery from high vantage points.

Between Fuji and Mt. Ray aid stations I run steady and continue to try to run more of the up hill sections, twenty steps at a time alternating with twenty of walking when necessary. I get to the aid station right on time and grab another pie. The aid station volunteers continue to wait on us hand and foot. Very professional and helpful. It really keeps me moving in and out quickly.

Off to the Twins and I just try to keep moving at a regular pace and do as much run:waling as I can rather than just straight hiking. I hit the aid station at about the same time as last year and clear out after just a brief stop knowing that the next section is mainly downhill. It is and I enjoy it.

It's not getting hot and my fatigue level is about the same so I concentrate on keeping the calories going in. After getting to and through Charlton Lake I start on the section of trail that's usually quite warm but not today. Unfortunately I tart to get some side stitches and it slows me down. But by the time I get to Rd 4290 I'm still on my pace and I get through there quickly. This is the theme of my aid station stops for this run. I never sit down and get out fairly fast. The food is starting to look like a chore so I start to take some gels instead of solids. It seems easier.

Part way back to the Twins aid station I remind myself that I need to finish the pie I started and I force myself to do so. My side stitches disappear after a few stops in the woods and I feel not half bad. I keep walk/running the hills and get back into the Twins five minutes ahead of schedule. Then it's off to Maiden Peak aid station. There seems like a lot more downhill running this time than I remember from last year and I'm happy for it. Before I know it I'm at Maiden Peak AS and I load up on food and head up the trail to reach the peak.

Last year it took me 1:35 to get to the top. This year I shaved off 10 minutes and didn't feel like I had spent all my effort getting there. Never-the-less when I saw Kelly the peak monitor at the top all I could do was confirm that I had climbed up far enough and I turned on my heel and headed right back down.

The route from Maiden Peak to the next aid station always seems to take way too long and I thought I might have gone off track for a while. Yet I'm happy to feel like I'm running within my capabilities and despite the route seeming long I get to the last AS 20 minutes faster than last year. I grab some food, pack some gels and head out for the last 7.5 mile stretch feeling no ominous catastrophic symptoms.

I do swear, however, that this next section can't possibly be 7.5 miles. This should take me about 1:30 but even though I'm pushing my pace pretty hard I still take 1:45 to come into the finish line. Regardless, I'll take it and I'm proud to have received my hat!

Contrary to years past this year I am able to walk around and visit and even eat at the BBQ. My friend Karen finishes - with a broken hand. Even though I feel tough sometimes, enduring hardships of the trail, she wins the award. She fell coming down the trail between Maiden Peak and Maiden Lake AS and just ran in the rest of the way without even seriously considering stopping. That would certainly be a reasonable excuse. I guess the drive to get a hat was just too strong.

So, I think I have figured out the perfect training scheme for this race. Warm up by running Western States at the end of June.

Final score Waldo 1 - Kate 2

WESTERN STATES 100 MILE ENDURANCE RUN June 26-27, 2010




(near the end - at Mile 93.5, just after 8:00 am on Sunday.)

From the race website:

"The Western States Endurance Run will be conducted along the Western States Trail starting at Squaw Valley, California, and ending in Auburn, California. The Run will begin at 5:00 a.m. on Saturday, June 26, 2010, at the west end of Squaw Valley. Runners must reach the finish line no later than 10:59:59 a.m. on Sunday, June 27, 2010, in order to be eligible for an award."

and further:

"Beginning in Squaw Valley, site of the 1960 Winter Olympic Games, the trail ascends from the valley floor (elevation 6,200 feet) to Emigrant Pass (elevation 8,750 feet), a climb of 2,550 vertical feet in the first 4½ miles. From the pass, following the original trails used by the gold and silver miners of the 1850’s, runners travel west, climbing another 15,540 feet and descending 22,970 feet before reaching Auburn, a small town in the heart of California's historic gold country. Most of the trail passes through remote and rugged territory."


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This is my third attempt at a 100 mile trail race. Previously I've managed to finish under 29 hours and hope to do the same here at Western States but knew there would be major challenges for me making any finish at all less than inevitable. The race takes place in the mountains with elevations up to 8700 feet and there is generally a lot of heat during the run. Since I live at sea level we planned to spend about a week prior to the race camping at elevations ranging from 5500 - 6500 feet. We went to Willamette Pass in Oregon, past Crater Lake then on to Lassen National Park before arriving in Squaw Valley on Wednesday before the race. For the heat - sauna training and running overdressed was all I could do to simulate the sweating rates more typical for California in the summer.

I again took with me my trusty crew: Karen, my sister, and Leslie, her running buddy. This combination helped me to finish my first 100 mile race and I knew that their experienced help would be invaluable to me on race day. They helped me organize my drop bags and helped with much of the pre-race logistics. During the race they stayed up with me all night and soldiered through endless hours of waiting not to mention the hiking they did, laden with supplies, to reach me at remote places along the trail. Not being slouchers, I heard later that they also lent themselves out to others for impromptu crewing and technology support (they had the only working i-phone at some spots). Karen would also run with me for a while if I came in after 8:00 pm at the Michigan Bluff aid station.

This time I also enlisted the help of Glenn, aka Mudrunner (or Muddy as we affectionately call him) as my primary pacer. I enticed him to come all the way from Vancouver, B.C. (yes, that's in Canada). I also had my husband Rodney along for the ride and as my post race driver and general support person. He even knew it would be hot as blazes in Auburn and still wanted to come and help me out. As my faithful readers may remember, my first 100 mile run was paced by my now good friend Russ, who this time was producing a radio piece on the event, including some interviews with yours truly. He wasn't able to pace for me this time but participated in some of our pre and post race festivities. During our get together time pre-race we all finally realized we knew each other and introduced ourselves by our online names to made the final connection: Fatozzig, Rustyboy, KateMD, Mudrunner. We had all "known" each other for a long time, we just didn't realize it. Rounding out our happy crowd was Russ' newest running friend and helper, as well as an acquaintance of mine, Gary (no online name he will admit to).
It's 4:30 am and I'm just about dressed and ready to go. Deep breath, others stir in the room and we quietly leave to assemble outside. It's dark but won't be for long. It's a little chilly, but won't be for long. Soon I'm in a sea of people: runners, crews, spectators, all milling around before the beginning of the race. The race clock ticks down the final minutes. I quickly check in and do my number pinning routine (fold it up first so it fits better - race voodoo) then the pre-race weight for the medical research team and I'm back outside trying to find everyone again.


Russ spots me and continues the interview we started last month. "Are you nervous?" he asks. "I wasn't until I got out here." The excitement is palpable and it's a replay of videos of the start of this race I've seen over and over. Only this time I'm in the crowd of runners that will pass under the timing clock and be illuminated by hundreds of camera flashes and enveloped in the whooping and cheering as we count down 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 gunshot!



Positioned in the last third of the pack I'm hopeful this will be my finishing placement as well. Of course, a finish further up in the pack would be great but I'm realistic and hope to just survive this run to make it to the end. After a short jog we're hiking up the lighted ski slopes getting steeper and steeper as we ascend. I feel like I'm keeping up a decent pace, not too fast, not too slow. The week we just spent at elevation has really helped and although it's not like being back at sea level it certainly is doable. The runners all start their early race chatter amongst themselves. Conversations between old friends and introductions with new ones float in the air as the sun starts to rise. WE pass the first aid station and refill water bottles in anticipation of a 10 mile stretch before the next aid station. Then there's Gary up ahead! He hiked up all that way just to say a big "Hi, Howdy" to me as I passed by! See you again in Auburn, buddy!

Huge mounds of snow reveal gushing streams at their bases and as we ascend to the snow fields we have to start hiking over them. Dirt gets tracked onto the snow from the myriad of feet and it gives us a sanded effect to help grip better. This is an advantage to not being a front runner. As we get to the top of the climb we hear the gong player (Chris Thorney) playing along the side of the trail to greet us and the rising sun. I pass by with a thanks and turn to look where we've come. As small line of hikers strings below, beyond is the fog valley in Squaw and beyond that Lake Tahoe and purple mountains stretch off into the distance. I'm further back in the pack now than when I started.

Deep breath and I plunge over the side onto the single track trail on the backside of the mountain. Now it seems real. Now it seems like my personal quest to get to Auburn sometime on Sunday has begun for real.

Not too far along we hit the snow and at first it's runnable. Eventually the snow trail gets more technical and I begin to curse my shoe choice. They seem much more slippery than I had anticipated. Some steep areas send my feet out from under me and I'm unto my butt for what won't be the first time. My goal is to get through this section without injury. My arm sleeves keep me from getting snow rash from the frequent falling. I don't feel steady enough to ski down as I see some people around me doing. Drat! I purposely butt slide down the steeper places. Eventually as we descend we get to the snow melt run off and then the streams, many of which inhabit the trail itself as a stream. Now I'm at home. In the Pacific Northwest we know how to run in the wet. We do it most of the year. I plunge ahead right into the streams and skip around people who try to keep their feet dry.

Then there is mud but I'm used to that as well. What I didn't anticipate was the cold plunges into the water followed by snow running followed by more mud or water. I worry about the potential for frost bite as my feet start to go numb. Luckily time and trail passes and we're below the snow line again and to the second then third aid stations along first a dirt then a paved road. I manage to get through without much fuss and the trail eventually takes a gentle downhill trek towards the French Meadows reservoir. We pass by camp grounds and campers getting up for morning coffee. If anyone needed to there were plenty of pit toilets to stop at right off the dirt road.

The trail next takes a turn back onto single track and it's divine running along the reservoir with a deep blue lake and trees all around. What a beautiful view we're privileged to witness. Then we start to climb into a new area that was affected by fire a few years ago. Trail workers have recently brought in a bush hog and cleared a way through but we have to be careful of the 2-3 inch stubs of stems sticking up just high enough to trip us.

Up over the top and then down the over side and we're at the Duncan Canyon aid station - mile 23.8. A guy in a Bishop's outfit takes my bottle to refill it. He treats me like I'm the Mother Superior; with deference and respect. I grab some snacks and down some fluids and off I go on the climb to Robinson Flat.

The trail rolls up and down and we start crossing more streams. Eventually we reach Duncan Creek and a rope strung across helps us to stay upright in the thigh deep water of mid stream. It's starting to heat up a bit so people are splashing around like elephants and there's still lots of camaraderie and high spirits among them. Then the climbing begins. Then we're back into the snow after getting above 6500 feet. I pick up some snow to hold in my hands to keep them cool. I notice someone behind me does the same thing. The trail flattens out and despite the snow we're able to run again. Then we hear the unmistakable sounds of an aid station ahead at Robinson Flat, mile 29.7.

A volunteer takes my bottle and pack while I get weighed. I'm 5 pounds up. But I already know I was 2 pound heavier this morning compared to the race weigh-in the day before. And I need to use the porta-potty, which I did. Then I found my crew and they got me the rest of my things and sent me off on my way. I returned my sunglasses since the snow was on shaded slopes and I hadn't really used them to this point. But, shortly after leaving Robinson Flat the snow started again and I was in the bright sun. I squinted and cursed my decision briefly but the snow petered out before too long and the trail continued on its generally downhill meander.

By now I was running alone and I was happy to do so. I'm not asocial but find that running with others alters my pace and generally I run faster than I should and regret it later. I really wanted to run my own race at this point. There were some puffy clouds overhead accumulating in greater numbers so we got to run in the shade some of the time. I had my ice clothing on (bandanna and hat) and my body temp was comfortable even though it was warming up so I was able to keep up a consistent speed and soon enough I was at the next aid station at Miller's Defeat, mile 35.3. Restock the ice clothing and grab some food and drink and off I go.

Even in the training runs I did here I found the sections between Robinson Flat and the climb to Devil's Thumb to be all fairly similar. It's pleasant there but I don't remember much detail about it. I did start to have some blistering on my left foot so when I got to Dusty Corners aid station (mile 38)I spent some time in the chair taping up. I hopped over to a volunteer and got my mud infused sock rinsed out a few times. There was mud caked on the inside right where my toe was bothering me. I should have changed socks at Robinson Flat. Maybe shoes, too.

After the sock change I headed out again and eventually was directed onto the trail that leads to Pucker Point, one of the most picturesque places I've ever seen and I paused briefly to appreciate the view: a steep wooded canyon with a roaring river plunging steeply down it. The trail was perched right on the edge of a cliff with a shear drop off below. Stunning, if a bit scary...don't fall here. I was still running alone and enjoying myself. Then I got to the downhill section leading to the bottom of the first canyon. I don't mind this section but note that my quads are starting to feel tired on the steep descent. This is seriously too early in the race for my legs to start barking at me.There's not much to do about it at this point, though.

The trail heading down had a sea of black and orange butterflies flitting here and there and accumulating around the few puddles in the trail. As I ran by I'd disturb them and they'd all fly up and surround me with their colorful flapping wings. They'd dance around for a while until I out ran them. Then I'd flush out another flock at the next puddle and they'd run with me for a while, too. It was enchanting.

When I get to the bottom of the canyon and over the bridge, just beyond it there's a small waterfall along the trail and I douse myself in it before I start the climb to the Devil's Thumb aid station. This climb does not intimidate me. I feel I've trained well for climbing and I actually have a way of doing the steep stuff that somewhat rests my legs. During the training runs I managed to get up the hill in 40 minutes. This time I'm at the top in 47. I pass quite a few people here and see more than a few struggling on the way. I'm not over heated at all and I get my ice clothing refilled at this aid station (mile 47.8) before the next drop into the canyon at Eldorado Creek. And hour and 15 minutes later and I'm there refilling my water bottles and ice clothing at the aid station. I'm at mile 52.9 and just over half way done. I snag a Popsicle on my way "out the door."

Likewise I don't find the next climb up to Michigan Bluff climb intimidating. Just take it one step at a time and with 1/4 mile to go a volunteer is there to tell us we're almost to the top and ask if we want mosquito repellent spray. Why certainly! And thank you! What great service. I wish my feet we're feeling as spry as my bugless attitude. Shortly I'm on the short road leading to the Michigan Bluff aid station and enter the party there 40 minutes ahead of my pace chart - mile 55.7. My weight is down 1/2 pound but still slightly above my pre-race weight.


Time now to submit myself to the fawning by my crew and a foot check and blister care conference. My sister Karen is ready to run with me the next section to Foresthill since we're leaving after 8:00 pm and I'm grateful to have the company. As we run I encourage her to keep up the chatter to distract me from my growing fatigue. I'm still happy to be doing this but the task is far from easy at this point. Luckily this is expected so I don't fret. Likely I will find a second wind later.

As we run darkness starts to fall and we switch on our headlamps. Suddenly a small animal darts between my feet and I leap out of the way with a small shriek. It's mouse sized but had a big bushy tail and it's black. I tell Karen to watch out and then she sees it too and screeches as she leaps out of the wasy. Then I see another and it finally hits me. It's just the shadow of my headlamp against some grassy puff balls along the side of the trail. A mouse illusion. We have a good laugh about the phantom rodents since both of us were fooled. My excuse is that I was getting tired and her's is that she's suggestible.

We make our way to Bath road with a few more "mouse" encounters and start the short hike up to the road towards the big Foresthill aid station. Soon we're nearing the aid station and Karen has to resume crewing. But I do get to pick up my pacer, Glenn, who has finished the race himself and just two years ago paced for a mutual friend. In addition he has run many much harder 100 milers. It was a race report he wrote of his first 100 mile race that introduced me to this type of distance running long before I ever tried it myself. I feel lucky to have such an experienced ultra runner with me and it is destined pay off. I don't think I looked at my pace chart again after Glenn joined me. He was the keeper of time, strategy, spunk and reason.

Before leaving there was more time in the chair for foot repair and sock changes. We were outfitted with glow-lite bracelets and necklaces which added to the festive atmosphere. Rodney was there to wish me luck into the night.


He was going to follow online at the hotel throughout the rest of the night and again in the morning until he walked down to the track to see me finish. He would provide IT support to the crew (call them with my splits w from the online webcast). Now it was time for the long descent to the River - 62 miles down, 38 to go! Take me to the River. Drop me in the water. Except we knew the river crossing this year would take place in inflatable Zodiac rafts piloted by rowers rather than the usual rope crossing because the river was running so high from the late snow melt off. Glenn had done this for his WS race year and noted to me that the wait time was about 30 minutes to get a spot on the boat. Ouch. I know I was still ahead of the 30 hour pace but that could be getting uncomfortably close. But no time to worry about that and off we go, me with my increasing quad soreness but with a fresh pacer in tow to keep me going. Despite the sock change, my feet are really talking back, too.

Somewhere along here I fall. I don't even remember tripping but there I am on the ground, skidded to a halt on my right shoulder. Nothing but scrapes and bruises so up I get and we go on. Later I see the face of my (borrowed) watch is cracked. Sorry Karen

One of my goals for this race was to keep running. Ah, sounds like a given in a running race, doesn't it? But all too often we succumb to the desire to walk "for just a while", even when the trail is flat or downhill or only gently sloping. Even a good hike up a steeper hill will frequently lead to a continued walk after the hill is long gone if the tired runner isn't observant. I lost a lot of time in previous races to this phenomenon. And the funny thing is, running actually feels fine if you just keep doing it. Walking gives the illusion that you're able to rest. It's not usually true. It just takes more time to get where you're going and that will make you more tired anyway.

So I'm keeping up a "running" pace most of the time and Glenn and I get into a rhythm at the aid stations. He waits on me hand and foot. I look at the food and shun it all. He cajoles me to try to eat something. I turn up my nose. He urges me to try the soup. I do. Soup is good. So soup it is. My pre-race dreams of all the junk food you can eat on race day plays out like the cruel trick of all-you-can-eat ice cream after a tonsillectomy. Sigh. Aid station after aid station it's the same: refuse to eat, force feed, repeat. I keep trying to remember the conclusion of a recent medical study done at the race: finishers of the race tended to eat 300 calories an hour. Non-finishers consumed 150 or less. "I must eat to finish" became an internal mantra.

Having been on this part of the course before I remember the particularly steep up and down sections on the way to the river. As we get closer to the river bottom we can see a glow in the canyon up ahead indicating the lights of the two aid stations on either side of the crossing. I remember the steep "paradoxical run down to the river" where they put in a steep uphill switchback section that takes us on a U-turn to our previous progress. But it's over sooner than I expect and we're on the last section before the crossing. The moon is full and helps illuminate our path and the temperature is dropping to a comfortable level.

I remember there's a concrete spillway we cross...there it is. And we start passing a few runners and pacers here and there. One couple is within striking distance before we get to the aid station and I turn to Glenn and say "are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "Yes, I am" and we surge a bit to pass them so we can get ahead in line to the boats. A quick weigh-in at the aid station (I'm right on target) and we dash down the steps to the boat launch area. Volunteers support me on the steep stairs and we ask how long the wait is - "loading right now" so we snag 2 seats in the back of the boat and the oarsman hauls us to the other side in less than a minute. I don't even get a full rendition of "Yo-ho, Yo-ho a pirate's life for me!" before we're on the other side. My crew is there again and Glenn brings me more food.



My feet have been increasingly tender over the last 20 miles and I know I need to seek advice from the podiatrist here. So I sit myself down on the examination chair. I drill a hole in my left toenail to relieve the pressure of a blister under that nail while I await a professional opinion about the big blister on my left pinkie toe. The whole toe is essentially one giant circumferential blister. So is another toe on the other foot. The constant wetness has macerated my skin, turning the soles white and soft which makes everything prone to sloughing off. He shakes his head and sighs at the trench foot condition of my hooves. He works to tape the worst toe while I drain the other then he tapes there as well. After he's done I notice a few more that I drain and tape. New socks and back into my shoes. OUCH. Ouch. Each step is a searing pain of "OUCH!" This joins the increasing pain of my quads which accompanies all my downhill steps - it's like the quad soreness a day or two after a really hard training run or race. You know, the kind that makes getting on and off the toilet or walking downstairs an ordeal. Glenn assures me that it will get better once I'm moving again and I know it's true. The blister pain does improve a little but it never really goes away much more. I have to learn to tolerate it.

What else are you going to do? I'm now almost at mile 80 and I don't want to make all my previous effort be for nothing by giving up now, just because it hurts. Pain is temporary. I know I'll have blisters to contend with later but I know it's not doing serious damage. The quads will repair themselves over time as well and I know I'm not injured so there's nothing more to do but suck it up and keep moving the best I can.

So, 30 more minutes are lost to the chair, probably an hour total by now if I count up all the aid station breaks for foot repair. My crew packs up and we get moving up the hill. I am fed a chocolate donut but stupidly refuse to take one "for the road." We finally climb up to the Green Gate aid station, make a quick soup stop then we're out into the wilderness again with 20.8 miles to go.

I had imagined this next section happening in the dark but, alas, it soon became light and by the time we made it to the next aid station at Auburn Lakes Trail even the bonfire was burning down. More soup, more picking at the food supplies and we take off to Brown's Bar. The short steep (and not so steep) downhill sections continue to take a toll on my feet and legs.

Glenn keeps my spirits up by telling me how I'm progressing and how we're managing to stay on schedule. He estimates our next split and how easily we will be able to make it in under the 30 hour cut off, as well as all the intermediate cut offs. I find this hopeful but I don't feel like I'm moving very fast. I try to pick it up now and again, telling myself over and over that it doesn't hurt any less to run slower. Sometimes I tell myself the corollary: that it doesn't hurt any more to run faster. But about the only refrain I have in my head is that I've never been so exhausted or in so much pain in my entire life. I'm not lively company. I doubt I have said anything at all in miles and miles.

We get to Brown's Bar aid station (mile 89.9) and it's more soup, fluids and we move along. Glenn calculates my split for the next section right as we're hitting a fairly steep downhill and I tell him "I can't do this." What I mean is, "I have to walk this steep section because my quads are not cooperating and I think I'll fall if I try to run." What he hears is, "I can't finish this race." He immediately tries to reassure me that all will be well and I'm doing fine and when I realize the misunderstanding I assure him I'm not that far gone - yet! I do try to walk backwards downhill to see if it helps but it doesn't really. And I haven't practiced that in training so I forgo this new option for falling. Glenn reminds me that at the end of the race my pain will magically subside and I'll run in like I'm fresh and blister free. That's something to hold on to and incentive to get to the end as soon as possible.

I have generally assumed that I could suck up discomfort in the run no matter what. But a few times I began to feel my legs actually tremble and buckle on me like they wouldn't do what I asked them to do even if I was willing to put up with the pain. That scared me the most but luckily is was intermittent and short lived so all I had to do was suck it up some more. That seemed the better option now after 90 miles.

We started the short climb up to the Hwy 49 aid station, the last point my crew would see us before the end (now mile 93.5). Glenn seemed to remember every nook and cranny of the course and it reinforced my memory of it as well. Sure enough we made it up a hill then down again towards the aid station. The runners before us were being cheered in and there's nothing better than to hear an aid station up ahead well before you see it. What a relief to know you're almost there.

I knew that at the most it could take about 2 hours from here to get to the end of the race. Since we arrived at 8:15 am I figured I'd make it in well before the 11 am final cut off and I was relieved. My crew were all smiles and encouragement. I got my ice bandanna refilled since the temperatures were starting to climb again. I drank a fruit smoothie while Glenn had a peanut butter and bacon sandwich. That sandwich sounds good now but at the time I thought it was disgusting. After a bathroom stop we were gone.

I knew the trail went up for about a half mile then it was the most pleasant rolling trail, all essentially gentle rolling downhill from there to the next and final aid station. And so it went. My feet and legs protested but I tried to ignore them and we moved along as best as I could. The open meadow grasslands were as lovely as I remembered and then we were on the rolling trail under the tress again. Now we're near the river again and as we run up a small rise there's a volunteer to tell us the aid station was just 100 yards away. He commented that we were the only ones he saw still running up that small hill. Great! All this suffering isn't for nothing! At least we look good.

We're in and out of the No Hand Bridge aid station probably the fastest of the whole run. Who wouldn't be at mile 96.8? I know this next section of trail fairly well. I try to do my run:walk combo on the ups and try to run harder on the downs and we pass some people here and there. "What am I saving it for at this point?" I observe and I try to run harder. Eventually we're on the steep single track switchbacks on the final pitch to the road at Robie Point and we find a place to pass a runner and his pacer. Then we pass another and then we see a whole line of them and I decide we will just have to follow the train at this point.

When we get to the top we sneak around the whole lot of them and head up to the gate at Robie Point. Russ is there with Gary and he has his microphone all warmed up and the two of them fall in beside us as we trudge up the paved hill for the final climb. I doubt I remember any but the fuzziest of details of that last 1.3 miles, but Russ recorded it all. I do remember we started running when it got less steep. I did my run:walk intervals when we weren't going downhill. Then we hit the last turn and it's all downhill to the finish. No, really, this time it's true. It isn't just "downhill" - it all really is downhill. And not too steep.

As Glenn had previously predicted, at this point I was feeling remarkably less pain than before and I commented on that. Then Glenn looked at his watch and noted that I had a few minutes left to break 29 hours. I was incredulous. I figured that milestone was long gone and I was happy to just finish before they turned off the clock! Now I have motivation to really move.

Glenn strategized that he'll grab my fanny pack as soon as I get onto the track and I should haul ass around the track to the finish line unencumbered. I'm saddened that he won't finish with me but I don't have the time or strength to argue. So I hit the track and start running a good strong pace. I pass a runner and his entourage. I speed up a bit because it miraculously feels good. Then I do start to get a little winded and think about slowing down right as I start the last corner and I hear the announcer say "28 hours 59 minutes and.... Oh crap! I have only seconds to finish under 29 hours?! I though I'd have a few minutes buffer. Oh crap, look at the clock: 35, 36, 37, 38....ahhhh!....a full on sprint as hard as I can....49, 50, 51...I hear the wind in my ears as I sail down the final straightaway towards the finish banner and in my mind the crowd is roaring and I stride out as far as I can and....28:59:56 I cross the finish line with my hands over my head in victory!





What an exhilarating end to a long and painful run. And it was true. My feet didn't hurt much, my legs didn't hurt much, I was laughing and happy. I popped into and out of the examination chair to have my BP taken and then my weight measured for the medical study. Hugs and kisses all around and then a huge sense of accomplishment and relief.

Not long after we went to the hotel to check in and I showered, then decided to soak in the tub where I fell asleep. We all made it back to the track in time for the awards ceremony which was just another opportunity for a nap in a chair. Karen laid curled up in a ball practically at my feet, Rodney was by my side and even though it was over 100 degrees in the shade, I felt great walking over to collect my buckle and a congratulatory hand shake.


I now have a buckle and some really dirty running clothes that will never be completely clean again. I also have new proof that I can overcome physical adversity if the goal is imprinted in my psyche deep enough. And as I knew all along, my feet and legs are recovering - pain is temporary, but success is forever.

It goes without saying but won't here, that without the help of crew, family, pacers, paparazzi, and volunteers, I wouldn't have the privilege of doing this race and finishing it despite the abuse I subjected my body to. To Karen, Leslie and Glenn: a huge debt of gratitude. To Rodney: my continued appreciation that you put up with all this. To Russ and Gary: I couldn't run as well without adoring fans and the audio chronicle will be priceless to me. And a special THANKS to my friend Roy who took on my professional burdens during some of my training and during this race week so I could get away and participate in my passion of ultra running. Thank you all!!

Many more photos of the weekend can be found here thanks to Leslie, also my personal photographer.

Capitol Peak 50 mile

11:25 and change. Better than 11:50 two years ago but the course was different. It was a perfect day for running with moderate temperatures all day and no rain. There had been plenty the week before so there was also plenty of mud to contend with at the beginning (and end). I took the early start and set a steady pace through the first half. We climbed up to Capitol Peak the first time along a steep and bolder strewn climb that I was glad not to have to descend later. There were some flatter dirt road sections but also plenty of quad working long downhills in the second half that suited me well for training myself to endure some of the same at Western Sates in June.

I practiced with some new fueling options (Hostess fruit pies) which worked really well but didn't get in enough calories in the last 10 miles so it slowed me up way too much. Not as strong a finish as I had hoped but a finish none the less. Karen Wiggins asked afterward if I was felling ready for WS. Do you ever feel ready for WS? I doubt it.

After the race Rodney and I walked almost all the way back to the RV before I remembered I forgot my drop bags so we turned around and walked back to retrieve them. Then back to the RV again. Then back and forth to the showers before we packed up and drove off for the rest of our vacation week. It must have been helpful because I felt recovered within 24 hours and was back to running normally in 48. I really like these fast recovery times.

Hundred in the Hood - September 25-26 2009

I've procrastinated a while on getting this down in part because I'm finding it hard to sum up the experience of running another 100 miler. It's not surprising I suppose, since more than half of the race I was in the dark and a good portion of that I was in a stupor. I once read that people better remember things they did while they were drunk if they are drunk again than when they are sober. Being out on the trail is likely to conjure up details I've already forgotten but it will be a while before I get out on the PCT again, now that winter is looming.

The race seemed, in my mind, to be a fairly doable accomplishment when I signed up for it. This is an area I've run a number of times. The PCT 50 is partly on the same course and was my first ultra marathon. I've run it several times since then, including just this last July. I felt like the course was reasonable and familiarity with the route would make it seem to go fast.

I planned to do it mostly alone this time, to see what that was like. Frankly, the logistics of trying to figure out how to get a pacer to the right spot and then get them back to their car, etc. was just too much for me to manage so I decided to just manage without. Then I was lucky enough to have my friend Wayne volunteer to run in with me from the 85 mile aid station where he would be volunteering. So, in the end I did get to travel with someone for the last portion. Thanks Wayne!

Glen and me on the way to the race



Ultra Trunk


My husband Rodney came with me this time and my running buddy Glen carpooled up with us as well. We got into Government Camp in the afternoon, checked into the hotel and then drove to the packet pick up. Then we scouted out the crew check points for Rodney to hit the first 28 miles of the race. He did great and was a real big help getting me in and out of the aid stations quickly.






Starting at 5:00 am meant darkness, of course. It was a little chilly but not bad. The first 3 miles or so of trail are notoriously dusty and big clouds of it were kicked up as we headed off into the forest, headlamps not much of a help. Glen and Russ and I stayed close together for much of the morning, leap frogging back and forth and taking turns running point. Occasionally I'd lose sight of Glen and we would "Marco!" "Polo!" signal to each other our relative positions. This was better than looking around and risk tripping and falling.

After it got light the bees came out and just about everyone (except me!) got stung. We seemed to be pushing moderately hard up and over the elevation changes but chatting with each other helped pass the time. However, by the time we got to about the 22 mile aid station I was starting to feel quite a bit more tired than I should have. I decided to ratchet back the pace and began a more conservative strategy with more walking. Glen stayed with me but Russ pulled ahead for the rest of the race, as I expected he would.


At the 28 mile mark and the last aid station I would see Rodney I got together all the things I would need and was required to take (headlamp at 11:30 am?). Off Glen and I went towards the southern 35 mile stretch, the last 20 miles of which would be new to us. It was warming up but it never got very hot and the ice bandanna was enough to keep me cool.


Coming into Horse Camp Aid Station mile 28 where someone brought an Ultra-Puppy that I wanted to take home with me.



Fall was definitely in evidence as we ran under the trees just near the edge of clear cuts and they were filled with tall shrubs turned golden, orange and red in the sun light. It was very beautiful. As I suspected the run up to this point seemed to pass fairly quickly. After we passed the aid station at Warm Springs Meadows (great pumpkin bread - thanks guys!) the trail was new territory. We climbed and climbed quite a bit before hitting the Pinheads aid station where Wayne was helping out. They made me a great burrito and I refueled at an increasingly leisurely pace, a time wasting trend throughout the rest of my run.

The following section of trail was a 10 mile stretch before the next aid and the promised water drop at the mid point didn't materialize, but we anticipated this after leaving Pinheads. Someone did traipse down the trail about a mile or so and dropped off some water bottles and I topped off a little. This stretch seemed to really take a lot out of Glen's generally upbeat mood. The lack of aid and the constant climbing did not settle well. Well, let's face it, 55 miles into a race of 100 is pretty much a no man's land. You're barely into the meat of the race and so far from it's end that every step seems pretty meager in it's impact towards drawing you closer to the end. About a mile from the aid station someone had traipsed up with water again and we replenished a little bit, being careful to save some of the limited supply for those who would be coming later.

Finally we came to the turnoff to the Olallie camp ground aid station which was accessible to crew and buzzing with activity. We passed Russ who was leaving just as we were heading in. I had a volunteer to find me my drop box and Glen picked up Jerry, his pacer for the next stretch to the turn around and back.

I focused on getting myself ready for the upcoming darkness. This was the only aspect of running the race without a pacer that had me a bit spooked - running alone in the wilderness in the dark. I had a secret weapon to keep me going alone in the dark. My sister had given me a safety vest for Christmas in anticipation of just this need. This was no ordinary reflective vest. It was super reflective and...it had red flashing LED lights all over it! I looked like a moving runway! Or a Christmas tree, as I was frequently told.

It wasn't quite dark when I left the aid station but I was outfitted and ready to go. Glen left ahead of me with Jerry. The next section was rocky and less runnable and the main regret I had was that as it got dark I missed out on what must have been some really great views. Right at dusk, not 30 minutes out of the aid station I passed Jerry who was standing in the trail waiting for Glen who was off in the bushes. Apparently he hit a low point and he was having some problems. Luckily he was in good hands and so I pressed on.

Once it got dark I turned on the flashing vest and my head lamp. I had also recently bought a hand help Fenix flashlight that was compact but bright enough to signal outer space. Wow! Never underestimate the advantage of adequate light on your ability to run in the dark. Seriously; get the best and brightest lighting you can afford and you won't be sorry. I was able to really keep moving at a decent (for me) pace despite the rocks and hills because I could see them really well, even when it was pitch dark. I had to change the batteries once in the night but that was a small price to pay for really, really great lighting.

There were some boulder fields that we passed through. The best I could make out in the dark was that we were crossing a steep slope on a thin sliver of trail through a swath of rocks. Up over my head on the left they were stacked one on top of the other, some the size of refrigerators which were stacked on top of VW sized ones. Hoping not 1) to be in the boulder field during an earthquake that would send them all down upon my head and 2) to trip and fall off to my right were the boulders seemed to resemble more of a cliff leading to an abyss, I ran/walked gingerly but as quickly as possible. Luckily I had my FLASHING safety vest. If I did fall over the edge, someone was likely to see me flashing down below making body recover more likely.

A lot of people were heading towards me on their return from the turnaround and I had quite a few comments about my flashing lights. "Wow! Great Vest - looks like Christmas." "Safety First!" was my usual reply.

The final stretch to the turnaround aid station included lots of climbing and more rocks and some meadow crossings. There was one tricky trail intersection that I navigated correctly and eventually people (after they commented on my vest) started to tell me I wasn't far from the aid station. With a few minutes to go I bumped into Russ on his way back out. He was still running with his friend Gary and they seemed to be upbeat.

I found a chair at the aid station and sat down, waited on by volunteers who brought me food and drink while I changed socks and patched a hot spot on my right heel. I had some tights in my drop box but it wasn't really that cold so I left them there. I was glad that we seemed to have hit the end of summer weather rather than touched the beginning of fall considering the timing of the race so late in September. Getting snow or rain this time of year wouldn't be unheard of.

Replenished and satisfied, all I had to do was turn around and go back the way I came and I'd be back at the finish line in no time! Ha! Well, it was a pleasant thought that kept me going for the time being. My flashing vest and I headed back out onto the trail, probably scaring all the little critters in the woods. Almost as soon as I got back out onto the trail it seemed to get colder. A lot colder. I had on my long sleeved shirt over my short sleeved shirt, my hat, my vest and my wool socks but I was still not generating enough heat to stay comfortable all the time. I passed through little micro climates of chill and warmth but the chilly spots began to predominate. It motivated me to keep moving faster but the rocky terrain slowed me to a walk far too often.

While I was making my way back through rocks, hills, meadows, and tricky trail intersections I'd occasionally look over my shoulder at a headlamp coming up behind me, up on the ridge above. It took me a while to realize it was the moon peaking over the ridge and not someone with a headlamp. Eventually I made it to the potato soup aid station and it was nice and warm. I stayed too long but tried to eat and warm up a bit before heading out again.

The trip to the Olallie camp ground aid station was even more chilling. The rocks were harder still to navigate safely despite my adequate lighting. By the time I got there I was shivering and wondering how I would stay warm for the rest of the run. Once again, Russ was leaving just as I was heading in. As I entered the lights and activity of the aid station I saw Kevin, Glen's next pacer, wrapped up in a sleeping bag looking very warm and cozy. Like a tractor beam I was drawn to his warmth and he stood up and then kindly opened up his arms and wrapped the sleeping bag around me and let me suck all the heat out of him. That's what women really want from men, you know. Body heat. Kevin sacrificed his own comfort and handed the sleeping bag over to me to use while I sat and refueled and considered my resources for getting through the cold night. The temps were reported to be at freezing. And I had left my tights at the turn around. I never run at freezing temps in shorts, and there's a reason why. It's too cold! BRRRRRR!

Hot soup helped. Pumpkin pie helped. I had spare wool socks so they became mittens and then my best idea mimicked what I saw happening around me with some other runners who were wrapped in garbage bags with duct tape. I had a cheap rain poncho (in case it rained) and I put that over my clothes and under my vest and the hood pulled up over my head and my beanie pulled over that. This combination really worked pretty well and it saved my race from a potential DNF due to hypothermia. Reluctantly I left behind the sleeping bag and headed out onto the trail again and the next 10 mile section. Alone. Into the cold, dark woods. Glen and Kevin caught up to me and I tried to keep up as they passed but they were moving too fast and pulled on ahead. I never saw them again on the trail. Go Glen!

I'll admit that the flashing lights kept me company at first but eventually as I got more tired and sleepy they became unpleasantly mesmerizing. I started to notice the flashing on the rims of my glasses. It was startling to get annoying so I turned them off for a while. Then I'd think about how I was alone out there and who would find me if I got lost so I'd turn them back on again. Then off. Then on. I must have resembled some sort of deranged fire fly.

Although I had anticipated being pacer-less would be kind of scary in the dark, what I hadn't counted on was the factor of sleepiness. I haven't ever had much problem staying up all night if I'm busy. I don't really remember getting sleepy at my last 100 miler and I now realize that was in large part due to having Russ there to keep me company. We were busy gabbing so I don't remember getting sleepy. But alone in the dark, flashing vest or not, I was getting mighty drowsy. And I started to feel sorry for myself. Poor me. Cold. Tired. Alone. In the dark. Boo Hoo. Eventually it seemed ridiculous to me to get so worked up over something I volunteered to do. For fun. After some internal eye-rolling I turned my vest back on and told my brain to "shut up" and I just kept moving.

At some point in this stretch of no-man's-land I noticed some lights in a clearing off to my left. There was a guy sitting in a chair over there where an aid station was suppose to be (but was canceled due to extreme access problems). "Are you the sweep?" he asked me. Huh? What? "No..." Apparently he was a ham operator who had packed it out there to keep an eye on people passing through. He must have thought my flashing vest was an official sign of something. He must have been cold and tired too and hoped the ordeal was almost over. Sorry to disappoint. I'm just a fire fly passing through.

Next I saw a fellow runner sitting slumped on a stump by the side of the trail with his head in his hands. Concerned, I put my arm around him and asked if he was OK only to have him startle awake. "I was just sleeping!" Oops. Sorry to wake you and I was off "in a flash." Poor guy. I found out later that he dropped at the next aid station because he was sleep running - not a safe mode of transportation. I wish it had occurred to me to have him come along and we could keep each other awake. Sorry Anil!

Finally I got to the Pinheads aid station and my pacer who would save me from sleep running and self pity. I sat and ate and eventually was kicked back onto the trail by Wayne. I knew there were just two more aid stations before the end and it seemed not impossible to actually get there.

Funny how things seemed to just get slower and farther the longer I was out there. And fuzzy. I have very limited recollection of the last 15 miles, especially those in the dark. I remember we did finally make it to the next to the last aid station and it was still dark. And Russ was there and I couldn't believe him when he said he was dropping out! But why? "Dead quads." Don't you just want to try making it to one more aid station before you decide? He was sure he was done and I didn't want to keep badgering him but I felt bad. I don't think I've ever known anyone who was more ready to tackle a 100 miler. It just wasn't right, but he seemed at peace with his decision and in the end that's all that matters.

Reluctantly but gratefully I let Wayne get me back on my feet and we headed out to a long downhill section which I new was followed by a creek crossing on a little bridge then a moderate uphill (I ran most of it during the 50 miler so how hard could it be?) and then the last aid station before a sweet 6 mile downhill section to the finish. Piece of cake, right? And the coming of dawn will re-spark me and make the final push even more speedy. Right?

Wrong. Sure the trail went down, then the bridge then the steep uphill for...just...a...short...while...but maybe just a bit longer than I remember...quite a bit longer. I don't remember it being so steep for so long. Crap. Now I'm walking. More walking. No running, more up, more up, more up, more up, more up, more walking. There's the dawn! I don't feel ANY burst of energy. I'm dejected that I had been able to run this section before but now it's all different and much harder. Drat. My triumphant finish will be taking a bit longer than I had hoped.

The final aid station was very low key. Everyone looked very tired: runners, volunteers, trees, dirt, air. Digressing into a fatigue shrouded babble, I ditched my rain poncho and I reluctantly swallowed a raspberry gel as we headed out. Before long I was actually running on a sweet section of gentle downhill. But this didn't last for long and too soon I was walking that which was perfectly runnable. What a waste of great trail.

We tried to do the math about my progress. It looked like I wouldn't be able to come in faster than my last 100 miler. I was going to be over an hour slower than last time. Realizing the hopelessness of pushing hard just to come in not quite as slow, I gave up trying. I walked. I saw electrical transformer boxes on the side of the trail. I saw people waiting on the side of the trail around every corner. As I got closer to these objects they transformed into the trees and bushes they really were. I was not actually having hallucinations (seeing something that's not really there), but illusions (misinterpreting something that actually is there).

Then I began to sense someone was running behind us...now I was motivated not to get passed in the last few miles so I started running again, slowly, but at least I was moving faster than a walk! It got really quiet behind me so I turned around to see if Wayne was still there and there he was, walking and able to keep up very easily with my snail's pace run. Sheesh, if I can walk as fast as I can "run" why waste my energy "running?" There wasn't really anyone behind us anyway.

I won't bore the reader here with the true perception I had of time nearly standing still and the never ending trail and the growing fatigue I was experiencing. But just imagine it for about another hour or so and you'll have some idea of how it felt in person.

Finally, the last stretch, and I have to pretend I can still run up onto the road and up the driveway to the finish line. Rodney's there waiting, as are Glen and Jerry and Kevin. I get my finishers prize and some extra swag and then find a chair by the fire to check out my feet and to rest. I was happy to be done and happy to have a second 100 miler under my belt.

Wayne disappeared and I didn't hear from him again until later that afternoon by email. After a short nap he was able to recalculate my finishing time and, as it turns out, I was an hour faster than we had thought. I did beat my previous time by 22 minutes on a course that was 2.1 miles longer (103 miles). It must have been because of the flashing safety vest, right?

Once again, it goes without saying that I couldn't have done this without the generous help of the volunteers who put on this race. No one gets paid for their trouble and I appreciate the sacrifices they made so that I could have the opportunity to run 100 (+) miles on the PCT.