Western States

My Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run Experience

In December of last year, I learned that I got into the original 100-mile foot race via lottery. I had two tickets in the lottery, which meant that I had less than a 3.5% chance of getting drawn. With my name on the entrants list, summer and spring plans were in place.

This was the first race that I actually trained for. I bought two-time Western States champion, Hal Koerner’s book and followed his training plan almost verbatim. The plan was twenty weeks which gave me January and part of February to take it easy, work on some nagging niggles, and do some extra strength training. In addition to Hal’s book, I also used some of the ideas from the Roche’s Happy Runner. The training plan kept me focused and gave me weekly goals to shoot for. It was nice to not have to think about what or how I was going to run and just follow the plan.

Since I have more responsibilities than just running and recovering, most of my days started with a 4:00AM alarm so that I could get my miles in before the kids were up and before school. Tarah was also training for a marathon at this time and making use of our treadmill, so this meant a lot of cold, dark runs.

Training was going swimmingly until April when I ended up with plantar fasciitis, at least that’s what I self-diagnosed. With a change in work footwear and a night splint, it seemed to mostly dissipate and was able to keep running. At the end of April, I raced a flat 50K (3:49) before hitting the meat of my training plan. Big weekends had me feeling fit and ready to roll.

May and early June were pretty uneventful with lots of miles and most Saturdays at our local state park so that I could get in trail miles. One weekend, I headed to Fort Collins to meet my volunteer requirement and met Kyle, a sponsored athlete who had three top-ten finishes at Western States (he got his fourth this year). We were able to run about 13 miles together after our volunteer shift and this gave me the confidence to really go hard at Western. That night I knocked out another 17 miles when the family went to bed.

Two weeks out and on my last long run, I slipped with a couple of miles to go and strained my right quad. It didn’t bother me for the end of my run, but the next day it was painful so I shut down my training. I knew I had the fitness and that we were going to be hiking quite a bit during our trip out to Squaw Valley. I ran few times and hiked a bunch carrying either Bryce or Acadia during our travels.

When we got to Squaw Valley on the Thursday before the race, we caught up with friends and took in the spectacle that is “Statesmas.” I did a short run Friday morning then cheered Tarah on in her 6K uphill challenge. I then finalized drop bags to access dry socks, fuel, extra bottles, headgear changes, and headlamps before getting briefed and enjoying some super expensive pizza for dinner.

I went to bed with an alarm set for 3:45AM so that I could be ready to run at 5:00AM. Of course I didn’t sleep very well, but I woke up rested and ready to start the run that had controlled a good portion of my life for six months.

Going into the race I had three tiered goals. My A Goal was to run twenty hours. My B Goal was to run sub-24 and earn a silver belt buckle. My C Goal was to finish.

The race starts with a monster climb to the top of the ski resort – 2,550 feet in four and a half miles. In addition to the hill, we also had to contend with miles of hard packed snow. After about an hour, I hit the top of the escarpment and started cruising in the snowy high country. When I topped out I was surrounded by a pack of elite female runners, but as the course leveled out, most of them put the hammer down and didn’t seem them until the next day at awards.

cruisin' some early miles

As I ran conservatively on the snow, I knew that my A Goal was likely off the table, but that was fine. I was feeling good and moving smoothly. I buzzed through the first couple of aid stations and decided not to change my shoes at mile 15.8. My first little hiccup occurred about 22 miles in when I needed to go to the bathroom. I pulled off the trail and found a spot to take care of business. I ended up losing a bit of time and was getting frustrated with being passed while I was at a stand still. Once I was back on the trail, I cruised into the first major aid station at Duncan Canyon a couple of miles down the trail.

Crossing Duncan Creek

Thanks to the volunteers, I was in and out of the Duncan super quick and ready for a descent and little dip in Duncan Creek before climbing up to Robinson Flat where I would get to see Tarah and the kids for the first time. The creek was a little deeper than I expected, but I made it across and climbed pretty steadily to an amazing aid station. I changed out my socks and hat, and grabbed some extra water bottles for the rest of the canyons. After having my physical needs addressed I ran down the road to see the family and give some quick hugs and kisses.

fresh sock and hat - ready for some hugs

love at 50K

Unbeknownst to me at the time, this is where my race came undone. With my heart full from seeing my family and the downhill nature of the course I ran every step of the next ~16 miles to the Middle Fork American River before the climb to Devil’s Thumb. Thanks to beta from a friend I took my time cooling off in the river before slogging up the climb to the next aid station. My enthusiasm in this section and the subsequent descent to El Dorado Creek would end up being my demise as I blew out my quads barreling downhill.

On my climb up to Devil’s Thumb, I started having some bladder issues not unlike what I experienced at Never Summer 100K last summer. I had a reoccurring urge to pee and would stop and relieve myself, but only pee a little amount. My urine was still light colored so I knew I wasn’t getting dehydrated but it was super frustrating to have to stop every few minutes to pee. I eventually made it up to the aid station and checked in with medical and they didn’t have any concerns or suggestions. I ate and drank some more then dropped down to El Dorado Creek and climbed up to Michigan Bluff where I would see the family again.

I passed quite a few runners on my way into Michigan Bluff and fed off of the energy of the crowd to keep my momentum going. I once again left the aid station with a full heart and prepared to keep rolling. I knew that I would see family again in about an hour at Foresthill and just kept running and walking as the course permitted.

Michigan Bluff aid station

I hit Foresthill at about an hour under 24-hour pace and was still feeling good. My 13:19 split is a 100K PR and didn’t really see why I couldn’t continue to keep moving smoothly. Upon getting out of town, I sat down and dumped my shoes out then kept moseying down the trail.

My pace was really beginning to fall off and my legs were aching as I continued to work my way closer to the finish. I took time at a couple of aid stations to try and massage my quads and roll them out using duct tape and water bottles, but it wasn’t very helpful. As I was doing the math in my head I knew that sub-24 was going to be unlikely, but I was hopeful I could bounce back.

On the section down to the Rucky Chucky River, I started chanting, “Get to the f-----g river,” and forced myself to move as quickly as possible. I wasn’t setting any speed records, but I was moving well enough to get back on track. At the river, I heard someone ask about sub-24 and a volunteer said if you power hike the ups and run the rollers it was still possible. I climbed into the raft and prepared to conquer the final 22 miles.

Still hanging on to a sliver of hope for a sub-24

on the far side

On the far side of the river, I changed socks for the last time and grabbed my music. The next section was a solid climb on a dirt road and I “ran” the entire two miles to the top; I was on a mission. Unfortunately that mission was quickly derailed at the Green Gate aid station at the top of the climb.  I had my only sub-par experience with volunteers at this aid station, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I had water and fuel in my pack so I didn’t really need much, but not a single volunteer acknowledged me at the aid station and I ended up leaving the aid station with twenty miles to go and just barely on 24 hour pace with a bad attitude.

I knew the final push of the race broken into very manageable chunks by numerous aid stations and just tried to focus on getting to each aid station with the tiny steps that my legs were allowing me to take. The uphill sections were still my best sections, but unfortunately the majority of the remaining course was downhill which was excruciatingly painful with blown quads.

To help understand what I mean by blown quads, do a wall sit to exhaustion (a couple of minutes) then instead of sliding to the ground or standing back up, stay in that position for a few hours. That is what my final hours felt like.

Despite my physical discomfort and the agony of continually being passed by runners and their pacers, I knew that I had plenty of time to finish and ultimately that’s what I came to California to do. As my pace slowed, I cursed Gordy and his lame horse, but I kept moving forward.

After the race, a friend asked what kept me going. Part of it was my desire to complete an audacious task, but mostly it was the fact that I knew others were watching. I didn’t want to let anyone else down. Although Acadia and Bryce are too young to understand now, they won’t always be and I want them to know that their dad didn’t give up. As a teacher, I always ask my students to do things that they think are difficult and to keep trying to find a solution or complete a task; I couldn’t do that in the future if I DNFed just because my race wasn’t going how thought it should. That said, I totally understand now how and why “racers” as opposed to “runners” DNF; those miles at the end were horrible. If I came to an event to race (not to run or to finish, to race) and was reduced to a shuffle and couldn’t achieve the goal that I set out to accomplish I would call it a day and start preparing for another event.

Nearly two hours after leaving Green Gate, I finally rolled into Auburn Lakes aid station where I grabbed my final drop bag and picked up my second headlamp just to be safe. If all had gone flawlessly, I would have been in Auburn by this time and able to go to bed, but instead I still had 15 miles to cover and I knew it was going to take quite some time. With my backup light stowed it was time to keep moving forward.

The next aid station would bring me to within single digit miles of the track at Placer High, but that section was my slowest of the day and it seemed like I would never get there. I finally made it to Quarry Road and ate a quesadilla and hoped that I would rally with the sunrise nearing. The next section was a bit of a climb up a dirt road and I was able to power hike pretty well. I passed a couple of runners and their pacers and was thinking that I had turned a corner, 24 hours after I started. Unfortunately the road gave way to technical trail and I lost my momentum.

At the next aid station, I put some icy hot on my quads hoping to make the remaining miles a little less miserable, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. At this aid station, a spectator made a comment about being 95% finished, which had me feeling a bit of relief, but which wasn’t entirely true since we were at mile 94.3 of 100.2. I didn’t see the sign with exact mileage and lost a bit of mileage on my watch in the canyons so I didn’t realize until No Hands Bridge was taking forever to materialize that I was actually only 94% finished at Pointed Rocks aid station.

In the final miles, I ran/hiked backwards when the trail conditions allowed as that put much less stress on my quads, but most of the trail was too technical to make use of that strategy very often.

Eventually I made it to the fabled No Hands Bridge and three miles to go. I ate an Oreo and shuffled across the bridge and admired the beauty of the place that I was moving through.

Two miles later I was at the final aid station and it was a mile of pavement to the track and the finish line. I continued to make my best time on the ups and hurt the most on the downs. I passed a couple of runners near Robie Point, but was passed by 11 runners in the final mile down to the track.

I had imagined what it would be like to run the final meters on the track, ever since my name was drawn back in December, but it was nothing like that. I thought that I would run to just before the finish line then pick up Bryce and run across the line with Tarah and Acadia at my side. That did not happen. Acadia was in a funk and wouldn’t run and my hurt so much I couldn’t even jog. I managed a smile as I walked across the line, but I wasn’t as overcome with emotion as I was after my first few ultras.

I made it to Auburn

I accepted an ice-cold water bottle and my medal then shuffled to the medical tent to put my legs up and lay down for a bit. I was content, but sure that I was done with the distance and not really sure what the big deal about Western States was. I understood the history of the race and the recent über competitiveness of the field, but as a mid to back of the packer, I wasn’t overly impressed by the course or the event. I have been fortunate to run in some truly spectacular places around the US and Central America and I am not sure that the Western States Trail is one of those places. Save for Green Gate, the volunteers were awesome, but not any more so than the volunteers at other trail races. I’m sure this is a bit of sour grapes, as I didn’t have the race that I hoped for, but it seems that greatness of Western States is exaggerated.

laying in the shade

After some delicious breakfast, the longest, hottest awards ceremony ever, and some good conversations, we left Placer High and headed to the hotel. I watched some soccer ate some super tasty tacos and burritos and started researching Vermont 100.

Despite the relative suffering of the last 30 to 35 miles and my initial denouncement of the distance, I quickly realized that I need to run another hundred miler. I did not run to my potential. I know that I can run faster.

Stepping back, I know that my race actually went really well, especially for a distance debut. I did not have stomach issues. I did not have foot issues. The sleep monsters did not attack. I did not chafe. My gear was dialed.

In the future I will measure my training in hours instead of miles. This would allow me to focus on race specific training as opposed to pure fitness. I would have benefitted from more time hiking at 15% to 20% grade on the treadmill and hammering downhill repeats, but with daily and weekly mileage goals staring me in the face and a busy schedule, I couldn’t be bothered with too many slow miles. I will also use my plan as a guide as opposed to an end all be all. I like to run commute, join social runs, and take impromptu stroller runs, but I felt like I needed to follow my plan to a T, and I probably did for my first hundred.

Thank you, Tarah, for supporting my crazy ideas and letting me run for hours on end.

Thank you, Acadia and Bryce, for inspiring me to be my best and making me stronger by letting me push you the stroller, pull you in the bike trailer, and carry you in the backpack.

Thank you volunteers for making my and everyone else’s race possible.