20th Century 100K

This is a brand new ultra in the Seattle area, east of the city between Easton, Washington (the start/finish of Cascade Crest Classic 100) and Carnation. The majority of the run takes place on a rails-to-trail conversion and the footing is generally flat gravel road. There is a very minor uphill grade for the first 20 miles, and then it's downhill for the remainder of the run.
The weather was just perfect staying between 40 and 60 most of the day. It was pretty cool in the morning and most of the day I did OK with the long sleeved shirt. When we arrived at the start it was still dark and the cloudless sky revealed bright stars twinkling at us. We needed head lamps for just the first 15 minutes or so. After about the first 5 miles I felt very tired and I continued to feel very tired all day long and it was a real struggle to just keep moving. Things improved briefly for about an hour around 45 miles, but then I went back to feeling tired and I was pretty much miserable all day long. The footing was basically gravel road the whole way and far to hard of a running surface for my taste. I think that contributed to some of the difficulty I had. My legs and feet ached terribly and every step was an exercise in mental focus and thought tactics to help ignore the discomfort. I guess that would constitute a long day of practicing "mental toughness." Whatever. It always seems incredible in retrospect that I ran ALL DAY but while I'm doing it, it doesn't seem that remarkable. Time passes and the miles just tick themselves off.

My friend Pete ran with me at the start and at least we had a good time keeping each other company. He ended up having a hard run as well so I was lucky enough to have him decide to stick with me the whole day. In the end I had to drag him over the finish line. We were both happy to have it be over. The views were really nice and up near Easton there was a lot of pretty fall color and we saw the pass peaks and alpine meadows way up above us. Pete got some nice pictures I'll share after he sends them to me. We got to run through the 1.8 mile train tunnel at Hyak station. There's a huge, train-sized opening in the side of a mountain and then way down the tunnel there's a pinpoint of light. Pete and I both agreed that we were really looking forward to the experience, but that after about the first half mile it was tedious and we just wanted it to end. Even though you could see the exit the whole time, it just never seemed like you were getting any closer to it. And we were told to expect the temps to be cool in there but it was actually warmer than outside and we were really sweating the whole way and peeling off layers as we ran. Luckily the race director had a box of head lamps to borrow (I forgot mine in the car) and he had a drop box just after the tunnel so I didn't have to carry it all day.

We passed by Snoqualmie Falls and had to weave around the tourists. Towards the end we had about a half mile of very pleasant single track and my feet and legs appreciated the varied terrain and softer footing. There were fall leaves to scuff through most of the day and that nice smell they make when they are damp and moldering. Pete saw a coyote while I ran back to an aid station to retrieve my water bottle I forgot there. So I guess I technically ran 62.75 miles rather than 62.5 but I didn't get to see the coyote.

Between the last aid station and the end it was dark and we ran with head lamps again. We started in the dark with headlamps so it framed the day. The race organization was really good. The rotating aid stations were always stocked and we had our drop bags rotated regularly, too. Since it was a small field of runners (less than a dozen) they all knew our names and we didn't have to wear race numbers. We were always greeted by name and they all knew where every one was and how we all were doing. There were some roving aid bikes that kept tabs on us between aid stations and updated us on everyone else. Several times one guy even road on ahead of us after checking in, stopped and step up to photograph us as we ran by.

I intended to finish around 12 hours but 13 1/2 is just fine considering I felt like crap all day. I did fine with keeping up my hydration and salt and food intake. We took a 2 minute (or more!) walk break every 20 minutes and that really kept us going, psychologically. All we had to do was gird our loins to move for 18 more minutes and then we could have a rest. I don't know what the deal was but suspect I'm just ready for some running down time. All things being relative that means down to 30 miles a week (instead of 50) and a break from racing. I don't think I'll do anything more than the next 2 marathons I have already planned (Manchester NH and the Christmas marathon) until Hagg Lake in February. Hmm. Looks like I'm only giving myself a whole month off. Well, technically that will be 3 months off from doing ultras.

After the run I was very sore and achy. The discomfort I had all day just escalated. I drove back to Renton (about a 45 minute drive) where we were staying with a friend. I took a handful of Ibuprofen and a Percocet and ate some treats and went to bed. The next day as long as I kept moving I felt ok. If I sat too long I seized up and got stiff. I did take a few walks and that helped. I only got one small blister in my usual place, although I think it's an unusual pace to get one...the end of my middle toe on the right foot. It's never on the left and that toe isn't longer than the others. It's odd but predictable. That toe nail came off after Waldo so it's not even halfway grown back and survived this time.

McKenzie River Trail 50K

Even coming just off of my disastrous experience at Waldo, I wasn't really that worried about this run. However, since I also had failed to complete the whole trail series this year (having bombed at Waldo) I was a bit more determined to run a faster race to try and make up for my bruised ego. I figured this course, with it's overall downhill elevation profile, would be as good a place as any to get a 50K PR. Not knowing the course is a disadvantage to pie-in-the-sky goal setting.

It's a very pretty area again in the Oregon Cascades. The run took me along trails bordering a deep blue lake as well as along side the McKenzie river. At the beginning of the run the river is narrow and rocky, but as we descend, it becomes more of a torrent then eventually a wide gushing and swift rafting kind of river. I gleaned most of this impression by listening since the technical aspects of the trail did not lend themselves to looking around. One false step and a fall was certain. There were a few stretches where the trail traverses pumice and lava flows as well as the regular roots and rocks and a fall could prove to be quite a blood letting. Therefore I kept my eyes glued to the ground most of the run. Sometimes I even forgot to blink and my eyes would start to dry out and blur. I did have a new watch that I set to beep at me every 20 minutes and I used this to remind myself to eat and drink and consider salting myself.



I ran the first 2 hours pretty hard, coming in to aid stations one and two right as my watch beeped on the hour, just as I planned. I wanted to get in place to establish a pattern of pushing myself more than usual. It seemed doable. But then the temperatures increased a bit and I only carried one water bottle. Trying to make up for under-hydration by taking in extra fluids at the aid stations (along with solid food) really bloated my stomach and gave me side stitches. I slowed and somehow gained 30 minutes on my projected goal by the time I hit the last aid station. I pushed on after this as best as I could, but I was passed by multiple people until I got to the last few miles. I finally recovered enough to start running hard and the last 1.4 miles section was especially speedy for me.

I finished in 6:03, a full 30 minutes slower than I had planned. Ah well, it was a fun run anyway. Now I have a baseline for comparison and if I run it next year I'll have a better strategy.

Where's Waldo 100K Race Report

Well, here it is, the latest race report from me about an event I'll not soon forget. Even if I wanted to.

It was a beautiful day for trail running. It was a beautiful place for trail running, too. Willamette Pass, 1 hour east of Eugene, is the Oregon Cascade mountains at their best. Picture high conifer forests and mountain peaks with fog shrouded valleys and glistening lakes. The run takes place in this setting and on some of the sweetest soft single track trail you can imagine. Running between 5000 and 7800 feet, this is an altitude course but the views from the peaks are spectacular!

I took the early start and found my friend Pete right there in the dark with me at 3 am. We took off, ran about 50 yards then headed for a hike a mile or so straight up the mountain to the trail. It reminded me of the section from Rucky Chucky to Green Gate at Western States. Pete was way out in front as usual, but we planned on meeting up at the end to share stories.

It was dark for the first 3 hours and I fell once but didn't suffer more than a bruised and scratched knee cap. We climbed up and down in the prettiest forest (seen after it was lighter) and before I knew it we were ready to climbed up the first peak, Mt. Fuji, right at sunrise. Waldo Lake was shrouded in fog but we could see around us for miles and miles. The weather stayed cool all day and I wore a long sleeved shirt over my short sleeved one most of time. I was feeling pretty strong and kept up well with my hydration and eating.

The race directors had a "Show us your Waldo" contest that was about the only award I stood any chance of winning. Intended as a way to promote a happy atmosphere at the aid stations, runners were encouraged to interpret this challenge any way they wanted that would to get the volunteers to vote for them. I decided my "Waldo" would be a big hug and kiss for all the volunteers at each aid station. I'm sure the volunteers at the later aid stations were a bit less inclined to vote for a stinky sweaty Waldo-bearer than those I encountered when I was more fresh. Even so, I had many enthusiastic return hugs. What I didn't anticipate was that giving and receiving hugs back would make me feel so good! I entered each aid station full of needs but I always left with a huge smile on my face, loaded with good will. It's a great feeling and I think I'll have to do it more often in races. In the end I only got one vote in the contest and it was indeed from an earlier aid station. Maybe next time I'll kiss everyone on the lips...or not.

Sadly, there were some trail vandals who messed up some of the directional signs but by the time I got to them they were already fixed so I didn't get in any "bonus miles" like many folks did. This includes most of the front runners and anyone else who had a chance for a good time. Poor Pete says he got 5 bonus miles! One of the hardest sections for me was the trail going up between The Twins. This section is rolling but mostly up and never ending. Then it's out to Charlton lake and then back towards the Twins from a different direction but it's another hard section for me. I think I was already starting to drink less than I should have at this point. Since the weather was so cool, I didn't really seem to be sweating much but the dry air at altitude sucks the moisture right out of you anyway.

When it came time for the last big climb at mile 50 up Maiden Peak to 7800 feet it was a real struggle for me. I knew it would be hard for me but seemed like I was climbing Mt. Everest: step, rest, gasp...step, rest, gasp... most of the way up. It felt far harder than it should have been. The view was spectacular at the top and Waldo Lake was now visible. I didn't tarry too long because I was on pace to finish in just under 18 hours so I could get my finishers hat. Come in later than that cut off and it's "no hat for you." I must have that hat.

Coming down Maiden was steep but swift and I was excited to be at the last aid station. The last 7.5 mile section wouldn't have any difficult climbing and is an essentially downhill course to the finish line. When I had the aid station workers take out my hydration bladder to refill it, it was only a little bit down. Oops. Apparently the difficulty of the climb up Maiden Peak contributed to my lack of focus on eating and drinking, and the lack of eating and drinking obviously contributed to the difficulty of the climb. I didn't know it quite yet, but I was screwed.

I sat at that aid station and downed a couple of cups of chicken broth before I left, hoping I would catch up. But, not far out on the trail as I started to run up a small rise I felt light-headed. I had to walk. A the next one I actually had to crouch down and put my head between my knees to make the feeling pass. Eventually I had to just walk up the hills slowly but I could still run down them. Over the next four miles things progressively deteriorated. I've never experienced any of this in a race before and I started to spin all sorts of diagnoses to account for my symptoms and none of them were good. I got ringing in my ears. I got a burning ache in my stomach. At one point I actually laid on the trail with my legs up the slope and my head downward hoping I could recover enough to finish. Two guys ran past me and I waved at them to assure them (and myself) that I'd be fine in a minute. Eventually I was reduced to walking even the downs and knew I wouldn't make the 18 hour time limit for my hat. But not long after that things got even worse and finally I couldn't even walk slowly on the flats without getting light-headed and nauseated. It was the very unsettling feeling of almost passing out and I began to seriously consider if I actually could finish at all.

I was 3 miles from the end and crouched over contemplating all this when a couple in a tent right off the trail saw me and asked if I was OK or needed help. This was the first tent I'd see all day. I paused for a bit, knowing that if I said "yes" my race was over. But honestly I couldn't see being able to go another 3 steps let alone another 3 miles. These very nice people (Randy and Kathy) were PCT through-hikers and lucky for me, the wife was a trainer for wilderness first aid courses. Eventually I admitted to myself, and them, that I was indeed in trouble.

They immediately went into rescue mode. They brought me into their tent and put me on a therm-a-rest pad, in their sleeping bag, put my feet up and started assessing me for what might be wrong. Thinking I was likely suffering from low blood pressure we tried to orally rehydrate me by sips of my GU2O and salt tabs. By this time I was hardly able to keep things down and eventually threw up about a half-liter of the fluids I did get in. Even with my head pitched down the slope and my feet up I still felt like I was going to faint. It was really scary and I don't mind admitting there were times I really wasn't sure if I might be a goner before anyone with the right equipment could get to me. Half joking I asked Kathy if she remembered her CPR.

When we finally realized I wasn't likely to recover with basic rest and oral fluids, they used their cell phone and we called my family who, when they couldn't find any way to contact the race people directly, contacted the local search and rescue. They happened to be right at the finish line monitoring the race for paramedic needs. Meanwhile, Pete was at the finish line waiting for me and alerted them when the trail sweeps came through that although I had been erroneously confirmed as a finisher, I was not accounted for. The trail sweeps had already passed us by when we were in the tent and not yet sure I needed more outside help. I was not coherent enough to remember to leave something obvious on the trail to alert the trail sweeps to my presence off the trail. Eventually the RD and the search and rescue folks on hand figured out that I was 3 miles down the trail and they hiked in to me, laden with equipment.

After the first liter of IV fluids they put in me I wasn't feeling any better so they had to pack me into a rolling gurney/stretcher and half carry, half roll me back out on the trail. After close to 2 hours of this I tried walking again and after initially feeling faint and nauseous I seemed to stabilize. With the support of one of the EMTs I was able to walk the last 1/2 mile in. They took me to their mini triage station and put another liter of fluid in me and I began to feel better. They encouraged me to spend the night there, rather than try to drive alone the 30 minutes back to my hotel, so I did. It was about 4 am by this time. I slept for a few hours, then woke up feeling OK and drove back to the hotel where I slept for about 4 more hours until my check out time. Then I drove home to the coast.

I just can't say enough about the nice people that helped me. The RD came out with the EMTs and stayed by my side every single minute. Randy and Kathy were the best trail angels I could have run into. I was very lucky. And I'll pat myself on the back because I wasn't so stubborn that I caused myself any permanent damage. If I had pushed it until I absolutely collapsed on the trail I would have risked severe hypothermia or worse before anyone with the right equipment found me and who knows what might have happened.

And now I have learned another valuable lesson about the importance of mental concentration for fueling, even when weary. Especially when weary. And it's even more important when I'm exerting myself at altitude if I'm not acclimated. I doubt I'll make the exact same mistake again. What I'm learning about human endurance is as much a study of mental processes as it is about the physical ones. Even though I can spout off line and verse about what the right things are to do in practically any given endurance situation, I still struggle to have the mental focus to put it all into practice when I get really tired. I'm still trying to solve this problem and hope it doesn't require too many more such mistakes before I learn.

Once again, Pete helped save my day and I owe him a lot. Although I try to be self-sufficient in these events, it is important to have friends who will watch your back. You never know when it could be a matter of grave importance. Luckily at ultra events and in our tight-knit online community I've found it pretty easy to make these connections. All of the happenings of the day just reinforce to me that there is a basic goodness in most people who will help out a fellow human being in need (trail vandals excepted).

It's heartbreaking to have come so close...59.5 miles out of 62.5. And I had really wanted to accomplish the entire Oregon trail series this year, a lofty goal for me. I'm very disappointed to have failed. But, oh well. As a ultra runner friend of mine says, "it is what it is." I certainly can't change things now so the best outcome is to learn from my experiences. At least I'll live to run another day. I'm suppose to be doing this for fun so I try not to feel too bad about it.

Mt. Hood PCT 50/50 Race Report

Two years ago I ran the PCT Mt. Hood 50 miler as my first ultra. It was grueling and I finished just over 12 hours after moaning through my last 9 miles. Of course the whole experience just whetted my appetite and I'm a true junkie now. Last year I was recovering from an ankle injury so I just ran as a trail sweep. This year was my chance to try PCT again after 2 years of trail running. Will is seem easier? Have I improved much? This year's PCT marked my 7th ultra in 2007 and I was ready! The course starts at Timothy Lake, 25 miles from Mt. Hood. We cross a few passes and end up right at the Timberline Lodge area and mingle with incoming and outgoing skiers at the top aid station. Then it's back down to the lake to finish. I wanted to run strong but smart. I want to save myself for the Where's Waldo 100K in three weeks.

I took the early start, a great decision considering the cooler temps and the chance to run near more people, more often. I've really grown to hate the back-of-the pack almost DFL feeling. The only down side to the early start here was that the RD mis-marked the entrance to the PCT off of the short road section and sent us early starters down who knows where. Luckily, after less than half a mile, the other runners figured it out and we all retraced our footsteps and got back on track. There's about 5 minutes lost.

Not to worry, the beauty of the trail makes up for it and soon we're flying up the hills towards Mt. Hood which can eventually be seen through the trees, off in the distance. Another advantage of the early start is that the bears are still out and we see one! A little baby bear is standing in our way on the trail and won't move. Where's mom? Are we standing between mom and her baby?! How do we know? The infant looks harmless but I'm sure that his mother won't be if she finds us surrounding her offspring. Eventually we collect 5-6 runners waiting for the tyke to move on and move on he does...up a tree. We make a mad dash for it and never do see mom. Though, now come to think about it, the guy who stayed behind to take pictures...did I ever see him again? I'm just not sure.

The first of the regular starters passes (blazes by) me after I've been out 2.5 hours. The first woman in 3.5 hours. I seem to be able to run more and hike faster than my last time here. All the aid stations seem to come sooner than I think they should. Eventually I make my way up the steepest part of the trail, above the timberline and through a sand field towards the turn-around point and I'm still feeling strong. I've learned how to hike well up sand. Here's a secret: always find someone else's foot step to step into. They have already compressed the sand for you. I hardly slipped backwards at all. The lupines were in bloom - fields of them and they wafted a pleasant sweet scent as I ran by. Eventually sand becomes pumice and the trail drops down into the top aid station. It's 6500 feet elevation and the view is spectacular, both up the mountain and out into the distance. I see the peak of the next mountain southwards.

After the turn-around it's all mostly downhill and I had managed my food and liquid intake well enough to feel good and I made good time coming back down. There are long, long sections of downhill running and I thank the Western States training camp for getting me started on toughening up my quads this year. Up and down the passes I go, still keeping up a steady pace. I change shoes at 41 miles to alleviate my only major discomfort (one toenail lost this year - down by two from my first time on this run). I refill my water bladder and I'm ready to tackle the last 9 mile section feeling tired by OK. I know I'll easily beat my time from 2 years ago, but not by a huge margin. That's somewhat disappointing.

Then who catches up to me at this point but my friend Pete who had taken the regular start! This the the second time I see him today. When last we met I was already coming down from Timberline and he was on his way up. We meet, we greet and then we're both ready to leave at the same time. I lead out of the aid station, then step aside to let him pass, since he's obviously going faster than I am. I try to keep up so we can talk for a while and he slows a bit to allow me to keep up. I'm pushing it more than I would have if I was alone, that's for sure. But I don't really feel that bad after all. We have a nice distracting conversation and make some really great time to the last aid station. Maybe I can keep up with Pete some more. And I do.

So before I know it, Pete has become my pacer! How could I get any luckier? We keep up a pretty good clip through the last 6 miles, too. I wouldn't have thought it possible to push steady that hard for that long. He, of course was taking it easy, but I was really getting the most out of my self that I think I could. What a joyful exhaustion knowing I was "making good time" in the truest sense!

We finally hit the last road section and run in the last 1/4 mile side by side and under the finish line with final times exactly 1 hour apart. And mine was under 11 hours, making me eligible for a WS lottery application next year. I took 1:20 off my previous PCT time and felt much better doing it than 2 years ago.

I owe many thanks to Pete, the best pacer I could ever have had!

Race Report Siskiyou Out and Back 50K

Going into this run my idea was to see just how well I could execute an ultra at altitude (6000-7000 ft) as a prelude to Waldo in August. Knowing that Waldo is at similar elevation along with plenty of climbing has me pretty worried. How can this flat-lander handle thin air? I remember Flagstaff really kicking my butt so I went into S.O.B. knowing I'd have to pay very close attention to my exertion in an effort to avoid red-lining myself early in the run and crashing miserably.

Well, details to follow, but I have to say, this was the BEST 50K I have ever run. It wasn't the fastest, but it was the very best executed run at this distance I have ever managed. I finished feeling very strong and was almost exactly evenly paced throughout the whole run. From the halfway point out and back I ran nearly the identical splits.

I did the early start and this made for comfortable temps (55-75 degrees for the day). I was determined to be very disciplined from the beginning. My friend Jerry started off with me and at 100 yards I could tell I couldn't keep up with him so I waved goodbye and saw him at the finish line later. I kept a pace such that my heart rate stayed in the 130-160 range. Although it was initially frustrating to have to walk some fairly tame uphills, the thin air did not allow me to be as aggressive as I would have been able to at sea level. I packed my ego in my bag and just kept track of my pulse. I ran when I could and I walked when I had to. I let people pass and didn't get sucked into running faster than I could, just to keep up with them.

Every aid station came long before I expected it. I ate well and drank well the whole time and never had much of a loss of appetite issue. I never had a low point and felt relaxed and happy the whole way. I enjoyed the spectacular alpine views above tree line, although the peaks we would normally have had in view were obscured by forest fire smoke from numerous blazes in the area (nothing dangerous near by). There were some wonderful long, long downhill stretches that reminded me of the canyons at WS, and then there were the accompanying uphill hikes, too. It was all enjoyable. I never fell and I only stumbled a few times. I ran the last mile hard just for the fun of the final kick, but not enough to hurt myself. My finish time was 7:13.

Finishing as strong as I did is a huge confidence boost for the next two runs. I think I have developed enough discipline to hopefully execute things well again for the 50 mile and 100K. Although I still have some healthy respect for Waldo and don't take for granted that I actually can finish that one within the time cut offs, I believe that I have a good shot at it if I run smart.

Western States Pacers Report

I was a pacer for a friend of mine who was attempting his first 100 miler. It was really a privilege to be part of it all. I got in on Thursday afternoon so I could spend some time helping Wayne prepare for the event. I got to meet some online folks I've been meaning to bump into (Muddy) and reunite with others I met at the Memorial Day weekend training camp (Tim Looney). That weekend I covered 70 miles of the trail in 3 days. For pacing purposes I'd only be doing the last 40 but it was good to know what Wayne would be going through before we met up.

Wayne is 58 years old, a runner for many years, but only recently doing ultras. He trained long and hard for this event, using Scott Jurek as his coach. He wanted to finish under 24 hours. I went with him for check-in as a handler, not because he really needed any help, but because I really wanted to immerse myself in the event as much as an outsider could. He got his goody bag, medical check (BP & weight) and his official arm band. Later that night I spied lots of folks in the Squaw Valley/Tahoe area with yellow wrist bands. Mini celebrities, all. I helped him strategize and put together his drop bags and crew meetings for race day.

I decided to sleep in through the start of the race since I figured one of us should have more of a chance to stay awake through the next night of running together. I got up about 90 minutes after the race start and made my way slowly to our rendezvous point in Forest Hill. The drive took me about 2 hours and when Wayne got there he would have only covered 60% of the run. Wow! I ran into his crew/family in the early afternoon and we caught up on how Wayne was doing so far and when we could expect him in. They took off to meet him at the last crew spot before I started pacing.

Being a pacer is so different from being a racer. There's no room for the pacer to have any issues about covering the distance...you must be very self sufficient, unobtrusive and the total willing slave to every need of your runner. There's no margin for you to have any complaints about your own experience. No one needs to know about your feet hurting, your stomach's going south, or if you're tired. In fact, you'd better just not have any problems of your own. You don't have the luxury to squander any of your racer's time or energy on yourself. I loved it. I had some concerns going into this that given Wayne's time goal, I'd have a bit of trouble keeping up with his pace. How can I be of any help if I can't run as fast as he does? Well, we'll just have to wait and see how things go. I got all of my gear ready and planned how I would keep myself fueled and attend to my own needs without taking any time away from Wayne. I carried a heavier vest, rather than hand held bottles so I had my hands free to help with things at the aid stations and I wouldn't need to take the time to refill my water as often. This worked well. I also had room to carry some extra supplies of food for me and a first aid kit, which came in handy. I had envisioned needing to have my own quick-reach supplies if I had any blister or foot issues.

Wayne was a bit later than expected coming to Foresthill. Pacers are actually allowed to meet the runners a few miles before this check point so when I realized he was having a bit of trouble and running late, I ran down to the earlier aid station to meet him. He was surprised to see me here. We had a 1 mile walk up a steep road and I used the time to assess how he was and do a systems check. Eating? Yes, some. Feet ok? Yes. Drinking fluids? Yes. Weight up or down? Up 4 pounds. Taking salt? Once in a while. Peeing? Yup. OK, need to keep an eye on his hydration and salt intake. Looks like he'll need reminders to keep eating. He complained of a pain in the right calf which was bothering him for the last stretch and had reduced him to a slower shuffle. Hmmmm. Need to keep an eye on that, too.

When we got to Foresthill his crew had a chair and all his stuff spread out and we grabbed what he needed and headed out as quickly as possible. After a fast weigh-in at the medical check off we went for a downhill 20 miles to the river crossing. Wayne was in a conversant mood and time seemed to pass faster for him. Soon it became dark and we had to use our head lamps. Initially he wanted me to run ahead of him, but eventually his pace and desire to run diminished such that he was more comfortable going in front. This helped me to better light the trail ahead of him with my hand held light, as well has my head lamp.

The trail undulated up and down and I had not only the splits between each aid station, but also the elevation profiles so he knew what to expect for terrain. We trotted along the flats, and most of the downhills and walked the ups. It was still warm and could have been a very pleasant run for Wayne if he didn't already have 60 miles on his legs. We occasionally came across a twisted stick in the middle of the dimly lit trail and more than once I thought it might me a snake. But, not. Eventually I dubbed these sticks, "Not Snakes" as is, "be careful, there's a 'not snake!'" hehe. I think I thought it was more funny than Wayne did.

However, eventually I was able to keep him quite amused with a talent I've been cultivating for years and one that I demonstrated throughout the remainder of our run together. The broccoli salad from the day before gave me gas. Lots of gas. And after "breaking the ice" about farting around friends, I made Wayne giggle every time I warned "uh oh!" brief pause, then PFTTTTTP! Sometimes it was staccato with each foot strike. Often Wayne joined in. Even later when he was too tired to carry on any conversation, we could still make each other laugh every time we farted. We were quite a pair. One to be avoided, for sure.

Aid station after aid station I made sure Wayne grabbed some food, filled his bottles and I monitored his weight changes. Between aid stations I kept track of the time and told him how much longer we would be until the next aid, that it was time to take a Gu, that he should consider taking salt. How are your feet? Are you feeling cold? PFFFFTT, giggle.

When we reached the river crossing the scene was surreal. There were enough generators to light up the river, plus aid stations on both sides. There were volunteers in wet suits in the river to help us cross as we held unto the cable strung over the water. Glow sticks in the water lit the way to the least deep spots with better footing and we picked our way over the rocks in water up to our butts. Tiki lamps made for a festive atmosphere and I think there was loud music. Once on the other side we refueled and then headed up the hill to Green Gate. Wayne was beginning to slow down even more and his right calf and knee where becoming more uncomfortable, especially on the downhill sections. But, he kept putting one foot in front of the other and up the hill we climbed to the next aid station. More refueling and onto some of the better running of the course where it's less rocky and hilly.

Unfortunately for Wayne, as it got later and later he got more and more like burnt toast. He walked 90% of this section to the next aid station at Auburn Lakes Trail. Once at the ALT aid station he needed to sit down and attend to some blisters. He literally fell into a chair and I had volunteers bring him a blanket, broth and hot coffee while I took off his shoes and socks. We got his drop bag and with the help of my own first aid kit I drained his blisters and covered them with mole skin, socks and dry shoes. He took a hand full of Advil and I put his arm warmers on him. When I pulled him up out of the chair he was shivering and barely able to stand. Eventually he hobbled, tottered and slowly started moving again. He could barely balance to stand or walk and his calf was starting to seize up. I turned my attention briefly to filling my water bladder and getting some food to take with me when I saw Wayne out of the corner of my eye, lurching towards the bon fire and circle of chairs some volunteers were huddled around. I knew if he sat by the fire and got comfortable he'd likely never get out on the trail again. "WAYNE, GET AWAY FROM THE FIRE!!" I shouted loud enough to make everyone stop what they were doing and look up. Wayne lurched back onto the trail and I followed him out of the aid station at something that resembled a slow walk.

Within a few minutes he had to stop due to cramping in his right calf. I tried to massage it for him but it reduced him to yelping in pain so I helped him get in a position to stretch it. Eventually this didn't seem to be helping much either so he decided to just try to keep moving. The next 30 minutes or so was a very low point. It was very dark, very cold and we were moving very, very slowly. I cautiously tried to keep his spirits up with encouraging words about our progress so far. I saw the searchlights way off in the distance indicating the finish line. Luckily we were way ahead of the cut off times and I played up this fact as well as the fact that he was still making "relentless forward progress." Eventually the sky started to lighten a little and we could see outlines of the hills. Lucky for me, I never felt sleepy or exhausted running through the night.

As it got almost light enough to see without our headlamps, something strange happened. Wayne started running. It was slow at first, but then he picked up the pace and ran faster and faster. By the time we turned off the head lamps and the "not snakes" were visible again we were flying down the trail and Wayne said he felt great! It was like someone turned on a light switch. We ran hard for more than 30 minutes and made it to the next aid station at mile 90. I knew Wayne would finish. Wayne knew he would finish. We grabbed supplies and moved on out. After a quick potty stop our farting sadly subsided quite a bit and we had little else to keep ourselves laughing. I noticed Wayne had developed a large bruise on the back of his right leg, in the area where his calf had been cramping. Obviously he had suffered a tear in the muscle. Yet, he just gutted it out and kept on moving.

Now it was day light and warming up but the last 10 miles must have seemed as long as the first 50 for Wayne. By walking the hills (and there were still a maddening number of them) shuffling the flats and downs we slowly made it down the trail. Even I was getting tired enough to find the time it took up to get from aid station to aid station was getting longer and longer. Would they never come? I tried to keep up the positive talk and idle chit chat to pass the time. Wayne had a harder and harder time chiming in. By the time we got to No Hands Bridge at mile 96.8, it was clear we were mostly walking it in. After a brief flat section we had a mile of switchbacks to climb up onto the last section of road then through town 1.3 miles to the finish line. The switchbacks were the final straw. Wayne kept moving but his ability to do anything else was dead. Even the occasional fart I mustered up didn't make him so much as crack a smile. I hiked up ahead to get an idea when we would reach to top and was almost as relieved as he was when the end was in sight.

Luckily I had warned him that after reaching the road it's still almost a mile of steep uphill before we go down to the high school track and the finish line. Although he was exhausted, he was resolved to just keep moving and we made it, finally, to the crest of the hill and Wayne started to run again. Less than 3 minutes later he could see the track and we went through the gate on the far end. I dropped back and let Wayne finish his race around the track with his family who had been waiting to meet him there. I walked across the field to watch him come under the finish line in 28 hours, 5 minutes and receive his medal from the race director. He looked elated! He also looked a little stunned and glazed over. I hope he remembers it all.

He's one tough runner, my friend Wayne. It was more than inspiring to watch him push through the lows, the pain and injury and keep moving forward until he finished what he had started. I hope that some day I can prove myself to be as tough.

Race Report McDonald Forest 50K

I think I recovered from the stomach flu and was in good form for the event. The weather couldn't have been more perfect. It was 50 degrees at the start and I doubt if it topped out over 65. It was overcast with a few sunny breaks. There had been a short rain shower over night but essentially no rain in the preceding week so the course was dry and in excellent condition. The elevation gain for the run is listed as 6600 feet. There were sections around little lakes, some old growth forest, some stream hopping and a lot of pretty vistas. One section sported a field of blooming delphiniums under the forest canopy, and another open area blooming fields of various wild flowers.

The course is very similar in character to what I'm used to running on my Fort-to-Sea trail at home. There was a 50/50 mix of packed gravel road and single track trail. About half of the trail was smooth and typical for this area and half was more technical and steep. Overall it was a nice mix and I felt well prepared. I never felt like it was beyond my abilities given the training I do.

That being said, after the worst of the course (the most steep and technical sections) I really slowed down on what should have been a long easy downhill cruise. I just couldn't run beyond a crawl. I'm sure it was because I wasn't eating enough. I still struggle with this. I just don't get hungry and I have trouble finding anything appealing. And they didn't have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which is something I can manage to eat when available. So, when I should have been able to make some good time, I just trudged along. And I got very chilled (even though the temps weren't cooling down) and began to shiver for a while. That's a typical sign for me that I need to be eating. Also what slows me down is a lot of plain old fashioned PAIN. My feet HURT!!! Every step was disturbingly painful. And there's nothing wrong with my feet. I think it's just glycogen depletion that manifests this way. I was religious about my salt intake but I also think I got behind on hydration and should have carried 2 rather than just one bottle between aid stations.

As usual, at the final aid station I forced down more food and fluids. The last 4.8 miles consisted of about 2 miles on a gravel road with a slow steady 800 foot climb that I powered up pretty fast. My feet quit hurting and by the time we hit the last section of single track I was able to fly. There were a number of women I passed on the road and I kept ahead of them on the last section of trail. I was able to really speed through the up and down of the trail and by the end I'm sure I was going at 7-8 min miles at as much of a full-out sprint as I could safely muster on the trail. And I felt REALLY GOOD! I made the final stretch in 51 minutes. Total time 6:51:31.

I find it really odd that I can do so well at the beginning of these ultras, tank so bad in the middle and consistently have a huge kick at the end. I'd like to eliminate the tanking part. I'm thinking I may try switching to using gels and see if that works better for me. I've never really been much a gel user, though I think I could be good at scheduling them in and then I wouldn't have to carry as much food that I never feel like eating. I had a baggy of high calorie granola in my hand for several hours and only opened it once and ate out of it. What a waste of effort and squandered potential for energy.