While I would love to drop every miniscule detail regarding this run, I understand that the attention span of most nowadays has decreased significantly, and people may, or may not, be interested in details such as sock color, shoe grit, annoying wildlife, etc. Therefore, I will try to par this story to the most relevant and exciting parts as best I can, while still giving a complete picture. I also have divided it into 3 parts so as to pace myself in writing (pun intended), and because there were three major parts as I saw it broken down due to weather, time of day, and terrain.
The first thing I have to describe is the fact that the night before any significant run or competition is usually among my worst nights of sleep in my life, both in quality and duration. Before I did the Ironman in 2006, I think I got about 3 hours of sleep. Before I did the Stone Cat Trail Ale 50-miler in Ipswich, Mass., I got about 2-3 hours. This has happened with nearly every event over a marathon since I was 17. It's just something in my biology that rise my anxiety and adrenaline over my desire to sleep. Friday night (the night before the race) was no different. Although Erin and I retired at a respectable 10:00 PM to lie down and try to fall asleep, it simply did not work for me. My best guess is that I fell asleep sometime between 1:30-2:00 AM, because 1:30 AM is the last time I remember reading on my watch. Wake-up time for the race was 4:10 AM.
Luckily, Erin and I were fortunate enough (through her awesome planning) to have a hotel room a mere 5-minute walk from the starting line, which allowed me to wake up so close to the 5 AM start. So, once up, I crammed down a Peanut Butter and jelly and a granola bar to get some calories in me, and we headed over there.
The nice thing about Western States is that, due to trail restrictions, the race field is limited to generally less than 400 people. This, plus the general remoteness in Squaw Valley, means that the starting line is not the throng of people in the tens of thousands that one can typically see at popular marathons and endurance competitions these days. This was good, as on race morning, runners also had to pick up bib numbers at the last-second prior to the start.
Erin and I sat in the Olympic Lodge at Squaw Valley, simply waiting for a little more than 5 minutes before the start to head out and wait for the gun to go off. Nervousness was definitely evident on my face as we awaited the start.
The gun went off at precisely 5:00 AM, and the race was ON... sort of. For those unfamiliar with the course, the first 3.5 miles to the Escarpment aid station is an approximately 2,500 foot climb up the black diamond ski slopes of Squaw Valley. For those not looking to break land speed records, this results in a simple strategic approach to the first few miles: speed walking. It makes little sense to jog up these hills, which would expend a greater amount of energy for little, if any benefit. So, for me and about half of the 400 person field, walking was the name of the game.
This did not mean that the first few miles were easy by any means, oh no. While weather at the Western States has been notoriously hot, the "great" weather of this years (with highs in the 70's) was not necessarily true of the first 30 miles of the race. The climb up to the Escarpment was calm for only about the first 10 minutes. This was quickly followed by the first of many 30-plus mile per hour gusts, kicking up dirt and forcing all of the runners to crouch. The winding roads were by themselves an omen of the course to come (seeing the route a mile ahead of you, and usually at an elevation above yours), but when we got to the top, the wind was unbelievably harsh, and a dense fog (or low-lying clouds, since at this point we were above 8,000 feet in elevation) restricted sight in some areas to only about 25-50 meters or less. The Escarpment was simply a scramble over, get to the top, and instead of enjoying the views like most do in the race (it is said you can see the entire set of mountains of the course from Squaw to Auburn in years past), it was simply keep trucking through the fog.
Descending through from the Escarpment aid station (mile 3.5) to the Lyons Ridge aid station (mile 10.5) was a mixed bag. It was wet throughout, and a freezing rain had descended upon the course, and upon all of us amazingly fortunate runners. It felt good to finally start running a bit, but the course was saturated in a lot of places from the rains, creating some impromptu stream crossings, which only served to slow your speed to cross (so as not to break ankles in slipping) or get shoes overly wet. Like most runners, I began to settle into my own groove of running the downhills and flats, and fast-walking the uphills, in order to pace myself and conserve energy for the long day ahead.
In these first hours, my fuel strategy was simple: one GU packet (approx. 100 calories) per hour, chased down by one bottle of water and one bottle of "GU Brew" (GU's version of Gatorade) between aid stations. At the Escarpment and Lyons Ridge aid stations, I also grabbed some watermelon and cantaloupe for good measure, just to get some more calories and water in me. In addition, I was starting to use "S-caps", a small pill that contained sodium and potassium, but one that I had rarely used prior to the race.
Leaving Lyons Ridge, I still felt relatively good, and felt glad that I had already gotten through 10% of the race, but that's when hail and freezing rain began to really make an appearance. For the next 20 miles (about 4 hours or so), we got to experience the exact opposite of the Western States race's infamously extreme hot weather. We were still looking at winds of 10 mph, with gusts of 20 mph or so, but now it was accompanied by rain, and periods of pea-sized hail that pelted us. Tree cover in these areas was sparse, so relief from these conditions was pretty much obsolete. What was further, most of the trees were so inundated with rains, that when the winds shook them, it would be like standing under a sprinkler, and we would get even more wet.
The aid stations at Red Star Ridge (mile 16) and Duncan Canyon (mile 23.8) proved just how incredible the Western States Run is, not just in runners' accomplishment, but also as a testament to the true community aspect of ultrarunning. Volunteers in these areas were camped out in these terrible conditions from the night before, cheering on runners, and were completely dedicated to refueling and helping runners any way they could through the aid stations. It definitely helps me to get an extra shot of adrenaline and confidence when I saw such dedicated support throughout the course (as it was this way at every aid station). When spectators saw that I had "US ARMY" on my t-shirt, I kept getting asked to do push-ups or sit-ups.... after once or twice, I had to decline further requests, as already at these miles dropping to do push-ups was getting me out of rhythm.
I pulled into the Robinson Flat aid station (mile 29.7) at 11:39 AM. This was the first weigh-in/med check, where they would check our weight and vitals. My weight was 208.4, which was terrific given how much weight can fluctuate throughout the race. Unfortunately, although Erin, Jackson, and Michelle were supposed to meet me at Robinson Flat, they had been unable to beat the traffic with the other people (a shuttle was required for spectators and crew), so they couldn't make it. Luckily, my back-up drop bags paid off, as I was able to change out my wet shirt and socks for a dry pair, and I left the aid station feeling slightly rejuvenated with clean, dry attire. Unfortunately, I headed out right into freezing rain again, so the feeling of relief was short-lived. Thus ended my first third of the race, and began my second third.
The first thing I have to describe is the fact that the night before any significant run or competition is usually among my worst nights of sleep in my life, both in quality and duration. Before I did the Ironman in 2006, I think I got about 3 hours of sleep. Before I did the Stone Cat Trail Ale 50-miler in Ipswich, Mass., I got about 2-3 hours. This has happened with nearly every event over a marathon since I was 17. It's just something in my biology that rise my anxiety and adrenaline over my desire to sleep. Friday night (the night before the race) was no different. Although Erin and I retired at a respectable 10:00 PM to lie down and try to fall asleep, it simply did not work for me. My best guess is that I fell asleep sometime between 1:30-2:00 AM, because 1:30 AM is the last time I remember reading on my watch. Wake-up time for the race was 4:10 AM.
Luckily, Erin and I were fortunate enough (through her awesome planning) to have a hotel room a mere 5-minute walk from the starting line, which allowed me to wake up so close to the 5 AM start. So, once up, I crammed down a Peanut Butter and jelly and a granola bar to get some calories in me, and we headed over there.
The nice thing about Western States is that, due to trail restrictions, the race field is limited to generally less than 400 people. This, plus the general remoteness in Squaw Valley, means that the starting line is not the throng of people in the tens of thousands that one can typically see at popular marathons and endurance competitions these days. This was good, as on race morning, runners also had to pick up bib numbers at the last-second prior to the start.
Erin and I sat in the Olympic Lodge at Squaw Valley, simply waiting for a little more than 5 minutes before the start to head out and wait for the gun to go off. Nervousness was definitely evident on my face as we awaited the start.
 | ||
| Hooray for 2 hours of sleep and 100 miles to go before I can rest. |
 |
| I decided to take this picture at the start to commemorate all of my "excitement". |
This did not mean that the first few miles were easy by any means, oh no. While weather at the Western States has been notoriously hot, the "great" weather of this years (with highs in the 70's) was not necessarily true of the first 30 miles of the race. The climb up to the Escarpment was calm for only about the first 10 minutes. This was quickly followed by the first of many 30-plus mile per hour gusts, kicking up dirt and forcing all of the runners to crouch. The winding roads were by themselves an omen of the course to come (seeing the route a mile ahead of you, and usually at an elevation above yours), but when we got to the top, the wind was unbelievably harsh, and a dense fog (or low-lying clouds, since at this point we were above 8,000 feet in elevation) restricted sight in some areas to only about 25-50 meters or less. The Escarpment was simply a scramble over, get to the top, and instead of enjoying the views like most do in the race (it is said you can see the entire set of mountains of the course from Squaw to Auburn in years past), it was simply keep trucking through the fog.
Descending through from the Escarpment aid station (mile 3.5) to the Lyons Ridge aid station (mile 10.5) was a mixed bag. It was wet throughout, and a freezing rain had descended upon the course, and upon all of us amazingly fortunate runners. It felt good to finally start running a bit, but the course was saturated in a lot of places from the rains, creating some impromptu stream crossings, which only served to slow your speed to cross (so as not to break ankles in slipping) or get shoes overly wet. Like most runners, I began to settle into my own groove of running the downhills and flats, and fast-walking the uphills, in order to pace myself and conserve energy for the long day ahead.
 |
| Hiking up Cougar Rock along Lyons Ridge. Note the super-scenic fog. |
In these first hours, my fuel strategy was simple: one GU packet (approx. 100 calories) per hour, chased down by one bottle of water and one bottle of "GU Brew" (GU's version of Gatorade) between aid stations. At the Escarpment and Lyons Ridge aid stations, I also grabbed some watermelon and cantaloupe for good measure, just to get some more calories and water in me. In addition, I was starting to use "S-caps", a small pill that contained sodium and potassium, but one that I had rarely used prior to the race.
Leaving Lyons Ridge, I still felt relatively good, and felt glad that I had already gotten through 10% of the race, but that's when hail and freezing rain began to really make an appearance. For the next 20 miles (about 4 hours or so), we got to experience the exact opposite of the Western States race's infamously extreme hot weather. We were still looking at winds of 10 mph, with gusts of 20 mph or so, but now it was accompanied by rain, and periods of pea-sized hail that pelted us. Tree cover in these areas was sparse, so relief from these conditions was pretty much obsolete. What was further, most of the trees were so inundated with rains, that when the winds shook them, it would be like standing under a sprinkler, and we would get even more wet.
The aid stations at Red Star Ridge (mile 16) and Duncan Canyon (mile 23.8) proved just how incredible the Western States Run is, not just in runners' accomplishment, but also as a testament to the true community aspect of ultrarunning. Volunteers in these areas were camped out in these terrible conditions from the night before, cheering on runners, and were completely dedicated to refueling and helping runners any way they could through the aid stations. It definitely helps me to get an extra shot of adrenaline and confidence when I saw such dedicated support throughout the course (as it was this way at every aid station). When spectators saw that I had "US ARMY" on my t-shirt, I kept getting asked to do push-ups or sit-ups.... after once or twice, I had to decline further requests, as already at these miles dropping to do push-ups was getting me out of rhythm.
 |
| Wet, and loving it. |
I pulled into the Robinson Flat aid station (mile 29.7) at 11:39 AM. This was the first weigh-in/med check, where they would check our weight and vitals. My weight was 208.4, which was terrific given how much weight can fluctuate throughout the race. Unfortunately, although Erin, Jackson, and Michelle were supposed to meet me at Robinson Flat, they had been unable to beat the traffic with the other people (a shuttle was required for spectators and crew), so they couldn't make it. Luckily, my back-up drop bags paid off, as I was able to change out my wet shirt and socks for a dry pair, and I left the aid station feeling slightly rejuvenated with clean, dry attire. Unfortunately, I headed out right into freezing rain again, so the feeling of relief was short-lived. Thus ended my first third of the race, and began my second third.
People wonder why runners run marathons, but at least you get to be done in less than four hours, go home, shower, and sleep in your own bed :).
ReplyDeleteI can't believe you actually did pushups for people knowing how many miles you had left!