Date: Tue, 7 Oct 1997 10:32:54 -0600 From: Alex Feldman Subject: AC100 race report (long) Well, here it is - way too long, but still incomplete, and not even proofread - but I want to get it done with. Hope you like it. My First 100 After I hurt my knee, one week before my first ultra, the White River 50 in 1994, I decided that it would be at least a few years before I would run a 100. The knee improved a bit, and other injuries came and went, and then I failed in an attempt to do a 2:37 marathon, and I decided the time had come. That was in May, and all that was left was to choose a race and, oh yes, train for it. Choosing a race was pretty easy - many of them were closed by then, and I wanted one where I could get some support help, and have a few months to prepare. That pretty much narrowed it to Superior and Angeles Crest, and since I had volunteered the year before at the AC and thought I could probably get better support there, the choice was made. I got my ducks in a row, buying the airline ticket and arranging local logistics. One friend put me up Thursday and Friday nights, and gave me a ride to the start. He and everyone else who got involved had no previous experience with ultras, and he kicked himself for not bringing a camera to Wrightwood (the start). Some students at Harvey Mudd College, where I had spent my sabbatical the previous year, agreed quite enthusiastically to the crew and pacing duties. So with everything prepared, I set myself out for a summer of long hard running. As I recovered from my marathon, I borrowed a mountain bike, loaded up two gallons of water and rode up to Aldape Summit, about 8 miles from town on the ridge that caps our wonderful foothills. The bike didn't have much air in the tires, but it didn't have a pump, either, and I didn't pass a gas station on the way so I just went my merry way on soft tires. No problem climbing the 2000' to the summit and stashing the water for future runs, but on the way down the soft front tire slid out from under me and I landed in the road with a big thud. Groin and hip, I was out for almost a month and then I had to build up my mileage again. What a great start. But the summer progressed, and things went OK. I ran the White River 50 in July, and got lost, but ran pretty well. Good training. I did a hilly 24-28 miler almost every weekend, and even engaged in a little speedwork with some of the fast runners around here. Best of all, the knee was under control and other injuries seemed to be as well - I was experiencing problems with my right heel and achilles tendon, but it was sporadic and I didn't think it would amount to anything. As the date approached, I double-checked the logistics. Shahriar, my friend who was putting me up for the two nights and taking me to the start, forgot exactly what he had promised, but assured me he would do whatever he had said. I took mercy on him and didn't expand his job. Joey, my contact and organizer among the students told me she had lined up seven or eight people, but had no access to a car. I changed my rental reservation to a minivan. Finally the day came, and I packed up my things and headed out Thursday night so I would be able to make it to the weigh-in on Friday. When I arrived at the airport, I got the first bit of bad news - no minivan. Well, I didn't want to get all in a huff, if there weren't any then there weren't any, and they gave me a big LeSabre for about half the price. I decided it was probably for the better, since (being a college professor myself), I more or less expected that the 7-8 number originally bandied about might shrink. Slept well on Thursday, and I was up in the mountains Friday morning. I really had no experience with such an extended pre-race activity period - I'm much more used to where you show up an hour ahead of the start. It was OK, but it would have been a lot better had I known more people there. Really, I think just taking a day off from work was salutary in itself, even if I didn't feel like a full participant in the festivities. I did see a couple of people I knew at the trail briefing. Joe Franko, Duke Bartoo, and Jay Hodde were all there, as was Hal Winton (of course). I saw Wendell Robison but didn't get a chance to say hi to him. The briefing itself included a non-mandatory slide show which I watched, and yet again, despite the best and earnest efforts of the presenters, I got nothing out of this kind of trail description and route-finding information. It all comes down to following the trail markings, no matter what they say in the meeting. I got lost at WHite River in part because there were some stray streamers (from a different, earlier event) off the trail, and even though I knew I was in the wrong place, they were simply mesmerizing. Fortunately, nothing like that was to happen this time, though I did spend some time off the trail. Annoying as that was, I don't look forward to the day when all participants are issued special sunglasses with a heads-up display that maps the course for you as you go. Another product for our sponsors. Ordinarily I don't bother with the pasta dinners before the race, because I think a more stool-free diet leading up to the race works better for me, and besides, I'm not sure about all this carbo-load stuff, anyway. I mean, in a marathon, sure - 2000 vs. 2200 stored calories of glycogen could make all the difference. But in a 100 miler? That's a drop in the bucket. But I decided to hang out anyway, and sat with another runner who didn't seem to know too many people there, Willis McCarthy, who was there with his crew/pacer, Mike. We chatted, and I found out that Will was going for 24 hrs. I wasn't sure I was that sharp, but it was nice to know who the 24 hour people were just in case I decided I wanted to tag along. I knew that Duke Bartoo was also going for 24, so I thought I might try linking up with him as well. After dinner I drove back to Claremont and met my crew. I had at least vague memories of all of them from my year spent there. Harvey Mudd is a pretty small college, with fewer than 600 students (although quite a bit bigger than it was when I was a student there myself, 20 years ago) so even if you are on the edge of things, as I was, you at least get a look at almost everybody. In fact we were down from 7 or 8 to 4, but it was 4 very enthusiastic people. In a dorm room, I explained the situation and what I wanted as best I could, but since I was such a beginner at this myself, the basic strategy session was a bit confused. What was clear was that three of them could pace me, if they wanted to. One to come in at Chilao (52.8 miles), one at Shortcut (59.5) and one at Chantry (74.6). I didn't realize how eager they were to pace, or I would have suggested that they look for other runners at Chantry, since there was nothing much for a crew to do after that except take photos at the finish line. I don't know if they would have gone for that or not, but there is always next year. One way or another, we arranged where we would first meet (either Three Points (42.72), or Chilao), depending on how fast I was running. I left them with all my supplies, and the car, and I went off to bed. The next morning Shahriar and I got a late start, but there was no traffic coming into Wrightwood so there was no problem. My number was 96, and I thought about pinning it on upside down, since you don't get a chance to do that often and one should always answer when opportunity knocks. I decided against it since some observant but sleepy volunteer might notice that the number was upside down, but not realize that it read the same either way, and panic. It's not nice to wage psychological warfare on the volunteers, so I pinned on the number the old boring way. Armed with a long-sleeved shirt, one 28 oz.\ hand bottle, a flashlight, a whistle and some toilet paper I lined up near the back of the pack for the start. The start was a start, ultra style: the horn blew and we all walked out of town in a hurry. I was carrying a pretty flimsy flashlight for the early portion, leaving my good one with the crew, and at one point very early, I went off trail, but I only lost a couple of minutes. Over the course of the day, I went off trail about six or seven times, and probably lost half an hour. But early on, you couldn't miss for long, you just go up. In fact, I don't think I have ever been quite as unsure about what pace to begin with as I was here. My first ever ultra, the White River 50 in 1994, my knee had just become a problem for the first time, and in that one I just figured to go out fast so I'd get a good day's exercise if I did have to drop. I think there is a lot of tension in setting the pace for a 100 - obviously, you don't want to go out too fast. But I didn't have much experience running in the dark, and what I did have told me that I wasn't very good at it. Dave Ferguson, who got me into running these things in the first place (his first 100 was Western States, 1980. Entry fee was $10.00, he claims) made a prediction of my time at half-way, which he did not show me until after the race. He predicted that I would go out fast and hit halfway in about 10 hours, because I would be afraid of the dark. I must admit it was tempting, but in the end I went mostly with how I felt, with half an eye on the 24 hr. splits in the race brochure. Twenty four hours -- the big enchilada, for a non-elite like me. I knew this was a tough race to do 24 hrs. in, and they must know it too. The AC offers a second chance, I mean "Second Sunrise" buckle if you manage it in 25 hrs., 47 minutes. I felt like I ought to be able to complete the course in that time, although for the life of me I didn't then, and I don't now, know why I thought that. I guess I was just looking at the relative position that my name usually appears in a finisher list, but I know that's silly. First off, I haven't run enough races to get any sort of good data, and second, This was a 100, a totally new experience for me, and one with a great deal of downhill and difficult trail, which are real obstacles for me. I'm fairly big (6', 180 lbs.) and clumsy (I usually finish a race covered with dirt from spills I take) and have that bad knee I talk about so much... whose idea was it to make the AC my first 100, anyway? I knew the 25, 50, and 75 mile splits for a 24 hr. finish that were published in the race brochure, and kept them in mind throughout, but as I said, for the most part I ran and walked at whatever speed was comfortable. At the outset, comfortable meant a bit faster than the 24 hr. pace. This could be deadly, I thought, having gone out too fast in many races. But I knew the best way to preserve my knee was to use the brakes on the downhills as little as possible, and in some places that meant move fast. But at the start we were just walking up a hill, and I was still moving past people fairly quickly. With my weak flashlight, I eventually moved into a gap between other runners, and promptly walked off the trail. No more than two minutes gone, but I would have to be careful. In fact, I timed that early climb remarkably well. The sky was just beginning to lighten as I crested the hill and the trail became runnable. The elite runners would have a distinct advantage later, when they only had to run for a portion of the night, but the slower people were benefiting now. I watched the waning crescent moon rise into oblivion, knowing that it would be no help at all tomorrow, rising at most an hour before dawn and casting precious little light anyway. Well, I had a long day ahead of me before I would have to worry about that. I was still passing people, but much more slowly, and some of them came back on me when I stopped for my first pee. It was definitely a good race, urine-wise, probably my best ever. At least six events, all significant, lasting right through 75 miles. At one point I was with a small group that followed another runner off-trail, but we were back within a minute. The first leg of the race was pretty uneventful, running through a burn area (pretty stinky, among other things), and spending a few minutes talking to Jay Hodde, but not really spending much time with other runners. The problem with my right heel was bothering me, but I told myself that it would go away as I warmed up, and if it slowed me down a bit early, so much the better. Amazingly, Pollyanna was right about this one. I have no idea what this problem is, but so far, it has not really affected me. The scenery was better elsewhere on the course, especially with all the burns along here. If I want to see burned forests, it isn't necessary for me to leave Idaho. It was almost 7:00 when I rolled into the first aid station, Inspiration Point (9.3 miles). That was not a drop bag location, so I filled up my bottle with water, drank some more water in the station, and took a handful of pretzels to eat on the trail. Every one of my drop bags had a baggie of CLIP (Karl King's latest potion) and a small bottle of pills including a salt cap (again, one of KK's) and some vitamins. My Chilao (52.8 miles) bag had a headlamp in it, just in case something went wrong with my crew, and the Sam Merrill (89.25 miles) bag had some spare batteries, although they wouldn't fit the headlamp, just the light I intended to carry. I intended to do the run primarily on CLIP and Succeed!Amino, with a little bit of solid food thrown in, but there was a fundamental disconnect there, since I was only carrying the one 28 oz. water bottle with me - I would only be replenishing a portion of the calories that I was consuming. In fact, I thought I could handle this, since I think I had trained my body pretty well over the course of the summer to burn fat (and maybe some muscle, too), but it would definitely drop my weight and I knew I would have a problem there. I work up a sweat picking up the telephone, and I'm always down in weight substantially after training. The weigh-ins were going to be interesting. After Inspiration Point it was only 4.5 miles to the next station at Vincent Gap, mostly downhill, and it was about 7:40 when I came in. As we headed down the hill into the station, we could see the station and hear the drummers. I was told later that the drummers were part of the Tarahumara entourage, and I was not far behind one of their runners at this point (I know because I passed him a little later on the way up Baden-Powell), but the drummers performed for everybody, at least if you were coming into an aid station while they were there. I'm not a real aficionado of the bongos, but I appreciated this immensely. Anyone can plug in a boombox or crank up a car stereo, but live entertainment is something else entirely. There was energy flowing off those drums, and I sucked it all up to store for later. At the aid station, my drop bag was nowhere to be found. No CLIP, no salt until Islip Saddle (25.9 miles). Bummer. I piled the salt on some potatoes and ate them, filled my bottle with water (actually, throughout the course of the race, I never filled my own bottle with anything - I always had an aid station volunteer do it, or my crew or pacer do it. But I'm exercising poetic license) and downed a few cups of water and walked out with another handful of pretzels. A few words in defense of pretzels: I have heard these low or no fat sources of sodium and carbohydrate denigrated as being inadequate, but as a supplement, I think they're great. And if you have trouble drinking, a mouthful of them on the way out of the aid station will get that water bottle to your lips real fast. Ask the vedors at Yankee Stadium - you push the dry, and the wet will follow. What followed was the famous climb up Baden-Powell, 2500 ft. in 3.77 miles, according to the brochure. I found it rather fun, and did it in almost exactly an hour. I passed one of the Tarahumara on this stretch, and another one someplace else, I don't remember where. For what it's worth, both the guys I passed were wearing Nikes. The group that included the winner, and the one that Rick Fisher hung out with, had sandals, but they also had matching nifty blue Telmex warm-up suits. The others were in, as far as I could tell, traditional dress except for the Nikes. After cresting, there was some beautiful trail to run, almost level and not very rocky, in the cool clear air up near 9000'. Randy Wojno ran along with me on this stretch, and eventually passed me in here, but we saw each other several times before the end of the race. We both agreed we could run on stuff like that forever, but it didn't last forever and eventually we found ourselves on the long downhill that terminated at Islip Saddle, where the drummers met us again. I weighed in two pounds light, which was good enough for me. If I could lose only two pounds in each of the next two 25 mile legs, I would certainly be pleased. After that I went to the aid table, and found they had no drop bags at this station, not just a problem with mine. So still no CLIP, no salt cap. Well, they had stuff at the aid table and I loaded up on salty food and water, and went my merry way. I was tending to something just before I got out, though, and I heard "good job, Alex" from behind me. I spun around and it was Martha Swatt, who was crewing for Wendell. She walked away quickly, not giving me a chance to visit and dawdle. Good form. I did have a chance to visit with her at the finish, which was good. Randy left the station shortly before I did, and shortly after Sherry Kay Johns passed me, powering up Mount Williamson as if it were an anthill. We spoke for a minute or two, and with her PR on the course being 22:39, I didn't expect to see her again. For the most part, I didn't. One problem with a hundred miler is that it's hard to keep track of the order of events. By now I'm sure I spent some time running with Pete Palmer, but I'm just not sure where it was. He caught and passed me, although we did a little bit of back and forth before that. Pete is from Avon, Connecticut, right near where I attended high school, and it was good to feel my old roots tingling again. He had run his first 100 in Vermont this year, finishing in a little over 16 hours, so when he pressed on ahead of me, I let him go, wondering what he was doing behind me in the first place. In fact, there was only one person who passed me after the initial fuss and confusion at the beginning of the race and managed to stay there, and that was Sherry. But I do remember that the climb up Williamson was on the warm side, even though I had left Islip only a little after 10:00. I also don't remember much about the checkpoints between Islip and Chilao, except that Mike (Will McCarthy's crew and pacer) met me in every one, as I was apparantly running just a few minutes ahead of Will. We had both forgotten each other's names by that time, so as I came through he said "All right, Boise!!" or words to that effect, while I made myself look more tired than I actually was, so I wouldn't be called upon to summon the wind to pronounce his name. I was also getting all my drop bags now, so I could get at my salt and CLIP, although there were only three between Islip and Chilao. At one of the checkpoints, maybe Cloudburst (37.5 miles), Randy saw me with a an ibuprofin bottle, and asked for one. I told him it was salt. He looked at me and asked if I wouldn't like a little pepper with it, or maybe some garlic? How could I take it straight? "I'm tough", I said, "I run ultras". He smiled, in spite of himself... but I think he dropped out not long after that. Bad jokes showed up in vivid relief later in the run, at least for me. It was a couple of miles before Cloudburst that Jay Grobeson caught me for the first of what would be many times. He had run the race four or five times before and was trying for his first finish under 24 hrs. He had done Leadville under 24 already this year, and was pretty driven. I met a number of runners on the trail that day (I don't think I saw any other runners on Sunday), and there wasn't a single one of them with whom I wouldn't want to run with any time, any place. But Jay was the first among equals. Always in a good mood, always eager to help fellow runners, I consider Jay to be the living embodiment of ultrarunning at its best. Coming into Cloudburst, Jay told me what to expect and when, and he passed me, looking very good, and we climbed up the trail to Cloudburst, with the drummers encouraging us on. There was another runner with us at that point, but for the life of me I can't remember who it was. It may have been Dan Meyer, about whom more in a moment. I don't even remember if the other runner passed me or not, though I'm pretty sure I got out of the next aid station before he did. The stretch between Cloudburst and Three Points wasn't very far, but it was quite hot and kind of knocked the stuffings out of me. I did run into Dan Meyer on this stretch, and I figured out that he was the same Dan who ran along with me in the Silver State 50 in '95, my only DNF to date, where my knee gave out. Dan had tried to coax me along in that race, and it was great to see him again, although, sad to say, the tables turned and soon he began to feel bad and eventually dropped out. Someday we'll have to both finish a race. In fact, I may owe my finish in part to my continued insistence on taking it easy - I had been ahead of the 24 hr. pace published in the brochure all day, but when I got to Three Points I was more than 10 minutes behind it. I had no trouble making up the 10 minutes later, but not pushing myself when I didn't feel like it may have kept me in the race. My crew was, not unexpectedly, not at Three Points. They had been planning to leave Claremont at 1:00 and it wasn't quite 2:00 yet. I left my long sleeved shirt in my drop bag there (haven't gotten it back yet, but I'm hoping), got some ice in my mouth, my water bottle, and my hat, and off I went. several people closed in on me on the route up to Mt. Hillyer (49.1 miles), but only Ed Bogess passed me. The climb up to the checkpoint wasn't as debilitating as it might have been, and I was starting to feel better when I got to the checkpoint. Jay was there, and so was Ed, and I think both of them left ahead of me. Jay was hurting at this point, the worst I saw him over the course of the race. As I passed him on the short uphill out of Mt. Hillyer, he gave me a short description of the terrain before the next checkpoint, helpfully pointing out that it was about a mile between when you first spotted the campground and when you got to the checkpoint. I was feeling a lot better when I got to Chilao, and there was my crew, waiting for me. Wow, a real crew! First time I ever had one of those - I really felt like I was in the big leagues now. Almost as exciting as getting my first sled with steel runners. I weighed in down 3%, and got a short lecture from the meds. I'll drink, I'll eat I said, and I did. I had gotten some rocks in my shoes recently, so I decided to change socks, and treat myself to a fresh singlet for the second half of the run. I barked out instructions to my crew, asking them to bring me things, which they did, but we were pretty disorganized and I expect I spent at least 20 minutes there, although I made the most of it, drinking and eating constantly. Finally, after what I seemed an eternity, I got out of there with my first pacer, Darrin. We left the checkpoint hot on the heels of Marc Gallardo, who was being paced by his sister. We talked a bit, and I asked Marc if he was going to repeat his performance of last year, 23:0?, and he laughed and said no. He was a first time 100 runner last year, so he was sort of my hero-of-the-day, and it was nice to spend some trail time with him. It wasn't long before Darrin and I went past him, at a spot where he led us off trail, and I led us back on. A little later, we came upon Jay again and his pacer, Jennifer Henderson. the four of us ran together for a while. I had already learned that Darrin was a senior, majoring in Engineering, but now Jay and Jennifer found out that he and the rest of my crew were all students at Harvey Mudd College, and that I was an alumnus of the same. Amazingly, both of them had heard of the place, although having seen the students in action along the trail, they may have a slightly different idea about it than they first did. We met up with another runner, a fellow named Dave, who let us pass, but then found some steam and passed right by us again. I let them all go ahead and determined that I would probably make up some time on the next uphill. I could have talked with Jay and Jennifer for hours, but Dave had a fairly heavy foreign accent, and it required just a little too much concentration to try to figure out what he was saying. Darrin was surprised with the pace were running, but I was feeling better and vetter and wanted to make some hay (it was now about 5:00 pm) before it got dark. As we ran, I tried to figure out how to make the best use of a pacer, and to give instructions for the sequel that Darrin could pass along to the others. I had gotten no ice at Chilao, and made it clear that I still wanted lots of it, in my water bottle and maybe elsewhere as well. They weren't hot, and I don't think realized that I was. We made good progress, making up the time I lost at Chilao. Darrin took off a couple hundred yards before the checkpoint at Shortcut Saddle (59.3 miles) to try to get the crew organized. I definitely got my ice at Shortcut. At Shortcut I also ran into Southern California's most gregarious Race Director, Baz Hawley. Baz may have remembered me as a result of my having given him a kiss at the San Juan Trails 50K last March, a delivery contracted for by Suzi T. (and you still owe me, Suzi...). Baz was full of good hearted concern and help, and seemed quite happy when I told him I thought I could make it from here. I left Shortcut with my next pacer, Dave, and we headed down the long road from there. It was getting dark, but we were on a road and would be on one the rest of the way to the next checkpoint, at Newcomb's Saddle (68 miles). I was starting to get a little tired again, and a little sick of the experience - but it wasn't the 70 mile downer that Dave Ferguson had described. Dave, my pacer, sensed this, I think, and was very supportive. Every idea I got was "an excellent idea", and I did get an idea of what he was trying to do. I cosidered describing the sewer-gas streetlamp or the rain gauge from Brian O'Nolan's "Research Bureau" to see if Dave (another senior engineering major) would pronounce those excellent ideas as well, but I decided I was already abusing my pacers enough just trying to optimize the run, without going out of my way to be mean. >From Shortcut you there is a steep downhill followed by a steep uphill. It isn't a bad place for it to get dark, footing is easy. I passed Ed on this stretch, who was engaged in foot care, and did a good portion of the stretch with Jay (and Jennifer) and Will McCarthy, who finally caught me on the downhill, after being just behind me almost the whole way. It was on this stretch that Jay started really getting into the bad jokes - possibly a defense mechanism for the 70-85 mile blues? Anyway, I explained to him why all horses have an infinite number of legs (I won't repeat it here... you can find it in _A Random Walk in Science_, published by Academic Press), and he seemed to appreciate it, in context. On the uphill we came across a runner in trouble. He had a pacer with him, but he was vomiting and had diarrhea and just felt awful. More has been written about this encounter elsewhere, so I'll go into some of the darker thoughts crossing my mind at that moment. I stopped, but I definitely wanted to get going. After he told us there was nothing he wanted but water (and Dave gave him some) and the others suggested it would not be a good idea to put anything else in his stomach, I told Dave to stay with him until he was sure there was nothing else to do, but I kept walking. Jay and Jennifer lingered a little longer, and then started up behind me, and Dave caught me in a minute or two. I wanted to help, but if I couldn't get something useful done, I wanted to get going. I still wonder about this, and it has kept me up at night. Is my perspective healthy? That isn't clear, at least not to me. Well, back to the story - just like in real life. It may also have been part way up the climb to Newcombs that I passed two Virgina runners, Scott Mills pacing, I think, Joe Clapper? I said, "Oh you mean Scott 'don't call me Chris Scott' Mills", and he said he could have gone all night without hearing that. Oh well. After 60 miles, you're not responsible for what you say. At Newcomb's I mumbled something to the volunteers about the runner down the road, and failed to find John Davis, so I reloaded (with Dave's help) and got going. It was 7:40 when we left Newcomb's, dark and heading downhill on a trail into Chantry. I did have some hard candy at Newcomb's, my only solid food of the run that was not pretzels or potatoes. While I think that fueling on CLIP and Succeed!Amino worked quite well for the race, there were two downsides: I had to battle weight problems, and getting pulled, and now that the run is over, I haven't gotten all the weight back and I'm pretty sure what I'm missing is lean body mass - I still have plenty of fat rolling over my body. But anyway, the run from Newcomb's to Chantry was the first big test of running in the dark. Jay took a while to pass me, he may have spent extra time at Newcomb's giving them information about the runner in trouble, or he may have had a slow climb. But when he did pass me, it was going very fast on the downhill, as if it were daytime. This occured as we were going through a campground - the campers there were very supportive and friendly, but we were still among the first 20 runners to pass through, and it was still early. I felt sorry for some of the hikers out on the trail that day, but the campers here were in for a long night. Meanwhile Dave and I experimented with the best way for a pacer to help a runner in the dark. We finally settled on him running out in front, calling out to me when he passed a trail feature that might trip me up. It made for a fairly steady level of conversation, given the state of the trail, and it must have had some good effect because I didn't go down once. My autocratic treatment of my pacers reached a new high as I barked commands, faster! slower! in quick succession. Dave almost got into trouble as his headlamp began to dim, and due to a last minute mixup at Shortcut, he didn't have any spare batteries for it with him, but he made it allright. My knee began to bother me on this stretch, as well as my quads, and I wonder if it was a result at least partly of tightening up as I tried to run the trail in the dark. We made decent progress, however, and made it into Chantry well ahead of the 24 hour splits I was watching. I still felt good, and now I was really thinking 24 hours. If only I could move along at night. Chantry is the three-quarter point, the last medical check, and the last place for crew access before the finish. It was still pretty early in the race (about 9:00 pm) when we got there, but boy was it a busy place - lots of people talking to each other, and I think Jay had already left when I got there - so that left one runner, me, and a zillion others. I got weighed, and was down 5%. "Good!" I bluffed, but the annoyingly sensible woman staffing the check would have none of it. I explained (the truth) to her, that I always lost a lot of weight when I ran, and I wasn't at a danger level. I promised to eat and drink in the station, and almost told her to ask me a calculus problem to prove I was coherent, but thought better of it. I did eat and drink quite a bit in the station, and while I was at the table, grazing coke and pretzels, Stan Jensen came by to see if there was anything I needed. I had no idea at the time it was Stan Jensen, I didn't know what he looked like. And at the time, he didn't leave any particular impression on me. But when I read the testimonials from Booth, Cindy, and Matt, there was no question. My mind immediately returned to a very friendly, serene face that appeared and offered me aid, and when he saw that I was drinking and had a crew making preparations for me, melted into the background like that rarest and most skillful of waiters. Your talents are wasted as an engineer, Stan. Your calling is elsewhere. I stopped long enough at Chantry and drank enough there that I felt a chill as Joey, my new pacer, and I left the station walking. I decided not to put on my long sleeved shirt quite yet, since I was expecting a big climb to begin immediately. The climb was a mile or so in coming, but I warmed up before it came. Joey wasn't on the trail very long before the batteries burned out in her flashlight, so I jogged ahead while she changed batteries, which took a long time, long enough that I even waited for her for a minute. They're building electric cars, but we can't get a flashlight that will burn brightly for 12 hours. Shortly thereafter, my light burned out, so I switched lights with her while she replaced the batteries in mine. I suppose this is a good place to make a comment on muling. I am in favor of permitting muling, for one simple reason: it is difficult to enforce a ban on muling, and apparantly some people do cheat. Since the AC permits muling, I went for it. I would guess it bought me less than 5 minutes, although I could have gotten more out of it if I had tried to optimize things. During the first half of the course, with not only no pacer but no crew, I carried a 28 oz. hand bottle, a long sleeved polypro shirt tied around my waist (dropped at Three Points), a penlight (dropped at Vincint Gap), a whistle in a small pocket in my singlet, and a small packet of toilet paper in the key pocket in my shorts. For the second half, I no longer had the shirt (my pacer did) or the whistle (I changed singlets and forgot about it). Had I not had the pacer muling for me, I would have tied the shirt around my waist again, and carried a spare bulb for my flashlight in a pocket in my singlet. I would have left flashlights at several aid stops so I would be able to pick one up before dark, and I would have had fresh batteries at all subsequent stops, and used them whether my old ones were burnt out or not. I would also have sent both Succeed!Amino and CLIP ahead to every aid station so I would have a choice, instead of having my pacer carry some of it. Finally, I did drink my pacer's water as we approached some of the checkpoints - this is probably were I saved the most time (battery changes in aid stations would take me no time, a volunteer would likely do it for me), since it eliminated the need to drink as much in the checkpoint itself. In my opinion, muling sounds a lot worse than it really is, at least so far. And I appreciate it because it saved me a bit of money and meant I didn't half-use a bunch of batteries, which would annoy the environmentalist in me. Also, for what it's worth, my flashlight was a Peli-light, from Pelican Products. My high school totem was the pelican, so I couldn't resist buying it, but it seemed like a reasonable choice. The xenon bulb was pretty bright, and it ran for almost 6 hours on two C cells. Well, back to the run. We finally began the proper climb up Mt. Wilson, and I might as well mention now that after Chantry, everything seemed to take longer than it should, I think because I was running in the dark. It really made the last part of the run rather frustrating, and may have been the biggest psychological challenge I faced throughout the run. But not long after we started up the switchbacks, we passed Jay for the last time. Joey caught him first, and when he found out who her runner was, he immediately began talking about horses with an infinite number of legs, thoroughly confusing her, I'm sure. He had also switched pacers, dropping Jennifer Henderson in favor of Mark Marcelli - Jay sure does attract some elite pacers. Mark had won the Superior 100 the week before, and judging from the way my legs felt one week after this run, I am amazed that he could go 25 miles after that. But I guess that's part of what makes Mark elite. I was a little disappointed that Jennifer was not there, since Joey was the memeber of my crew I thought most likely to do an ultra in the near future, and being female I thought she might get a kick out of meeting an elite female runner like Jennifer. But it wouldn't have made much of a difference at that point as we went by them fairly quickly and eventually came out on what must be Manzanita Ridge, with the lights of LA nearby and visible - that's a really nice view at night. From there the next thing we hit was the Mt. Wilson Toll Road. Although I've lived in the west for more than 12 years now, I don't think of toll roads as being curious artifacts of the last century. When I heard that we were running down a toll road, I thought of an active road that people were paying money to drive cars on. I could have looked at the map and seen that it was dirt, but I didn't. So when we got to this unimproved, overgrown, flat-mostly low grade boulderfield, I wondered how this could possibly be a toll road. I told Joey to look for streamers, and we found them, so we kept going, and going, and going... It was probably at this point that I really began to slow down, just not able to stretch it out down that nice grade. And I kept expecting Idlehour (83.8 miles) to pop out at any minute, and it didn't. I did see the glimmer of a flashlight below us, but a good way away, and I just couldn't make my now thoroughly trashed knee do anything. The quads weren't feeling real swell, either. It was at this point, coming down the road, that I opted not to take another ibuprofin. I had taken two ibuprofin already, one before Newcombe's and one before Chantry. I have heard the horror stories of kidney shutdown, and I felt like in the worst case, I was still likely to best 24 hrs., as it wasn't even midnight yet. I had taken at least half a dozen salt tablets, some vitamins, and maybe one caffiene pill at this point (maybe not). I took one more caffiene pill before the end of the race, and that was it. I might have run a lot faster if I had taken another ibuprofin around Idlehour. This is going to be a dilemma for me in the years to come, because I think this knee is here to stay. Finally we rounded a corner and Idlehour appeared rather abruptly in front of us. I had forgotten that Larry Gassen was running the station, and that it was the "toughlove" station of the run. Larry reminded me of himself with his presence, but the toughlove never came through. The station was very serene and the volunteers friendly - just like we had come to expect. I pointed this out to Larry later, and he replied that no one dropped at Idlehour. Well, I guess he has a point... Dave Eammons, take note? And here is another place for me to go off and comment. Dave reported that he brought a spare cache of batteries to give to runners who needed them at Millard (96 miles), but soon ran out and so began scavenging them from the drop bags of runners who had already been through, or wouldn't be coming through (the AC has very good radio communications between checkpoints). He was concerned about whether this was ethical. Well, who knows. But as far as I'm concerned it was the right thing to do, and it even has the possibility of a salutary side effect that Dave may not have thought of. If some runner feels, in something more than a matter of vague principle, that Dave's actions violated his privacy, or deprived him of his property, or aided his enemy, or something else, and if that runner gets mad and decides not to run any more of these things, well, in my opinion, GOOD. Thanks, Dave. Actually, it occurs to me that there is one thing the Idlehour folks might have done... maybe the extended time in getting there was not because I was so tight by then, because they moved the aid station so that it was mile further from both Chantry, and the next checkpoint, Sam Merrill (89 miles). It would have been tricky, but it was dark out, and it would explain why everything seemed to be taking so long. Hmmmmmm..... I can't complain too much, we did get out of Idlehour before midnight, but it still seemed like forever before we made it to Sam Merrill. On the Toll Road and some of the sequel, Joey was trying to lead me out, moving ahead and silently encouraging me to catch her. I didn't bite. I don't remember much about the leg to Sam Merrill, I think I was starting to get high on the idea of finishing. Most of my conversation was of the something like "how much further, do you think?", and most of Joey's was something like "I think we're doing great". I do remember that Joey's flashlight batteries burned out again. We did have a discussion about the resistivity of the bulb in the light, which belonged to Darrin, and I imagine he has replaced it by now. Somehow, I think the batteries in that light burned out 3 times between Chantry and the finish, but I don't remember precisely where. Towards the end she was worried about them going again before we finished, but I pointed out to her that at the end, we could run side by side on the roads, and my light would suffice. She may have objected to this because she want to pull me along right up to the finish. I don't remember much about Sam Merrill, except seeing the lights before we got there, and then picking up the spare batteries for my light. We were there at about 1:30, and while there was still plenty of time to make 24 hours, I was clearly slowing down a lot, and I didn't know what to do about it. Well, run, I guess. We proceeded down the trail to the Lowe Railway. We saw a flashlight on the railway bed as we approached it, so it appeared we were catching someone. We were about 2 minutes behind whoever it was at that point, and we just continued on rather methodically. Incidentally, that late in the run, that trail seems like an awfully steep uphill for a railway grade. The flashlight ahead of us disappeared as we made the infinite descent into the canyon that contains Millard Campground (96 miles). As we came closer, Joey went ahead to prepare the aid station for us, and immediately my flashlight began to dim. I ran faster. The poor thing had lasted more than 5 hours, so I had no complaint, and I got into the checkpoint with no difficulties. The hashers and others had placed some signs along the trail (ON-ON), and had gone to some effort to light them up, but I couldn't read much of them as I went by. Finally, I arrived at the checkpoint that was my stomping ground for about 18 hrs. last year. There were a few people there from last year, and one of them, Caz, walked up the hill out of the campground with us, after I had a few last swigs of water and Joey changed the batteries in my flashlight. Caz told us we were 3-4 minutes behind Sherry Kay Johns. I said she could have it, and I think Caz expected me to be more competitive. It was 3:20 when we left the checkpoint, and I felt confident that no matter how slow I finished, I would break 24 hrs., so beating Sherry wasn't much of a priority. Never mind whether it would have been possible - she finished 10 minutes ahead of me. I will admit, though, that as we approached Johnson's Field, I asked Joey to keep an eye out for a flashlight behind us - passing someone else is one thing, but getting passed yourself is quite another entirely. The last leg of the run was pretty uneventful, as we ran past JPL and then looked for signs of Johnson's Field. After more than an hour, the unmistakable finish banner came into view and I crossed the line in 23:28:07. I had done it. It may not have been the prettiest final segment of a run, but I'll take it. My crew, all of them, were at the finish. It was really heartwarming to have them there - I was surprised that there would be that much interest in the first place, giving up such a chunk of the weekend like that, but I was really touched by the personal stake they seemed to have in the run. The experience only improves when you can share it like that. Likewise, I shared a little with Hal Winton, who was at the finish, and smiling broadly. I embraced him, and said something to him - what it exactly it was I don't know, but something about how it couldn't have been better, and how wonderful it all was. Andy Morehead handed me a finishers T-shirt, and it was time to begin to digest the significance of what had just occurred. I had been on top of the world after my first marathon and 50 mile finishes, but those were 3 years ago, relatively early in my running career, both less than a year after my first race (a 10K - what else?). I am something of a veteran now, and less impressionable, but somehow I could not get my mind completely around the concept of having finished my first 100, the Angeles Crest, in under 24 hrs. The mental high not only lasted for days, it continued to increase in intensity even after the finish. I don't dare hope that I'll ever experience a high like this again, but it sure was nice while it lasted. I don't know how much of it came from my crew and pacers and all the other well-wishers that I saw over the course of the race, but I know I have a lot to give back. That's OK. If I go about it the right way, it'll make for many more memorable experiences in the future. When all is said and done, my head was in a haze at the finish. I am still kicking myself for not getting a photograph of myself with my crew, and I really didn't spend a very productive next few hours at the finish, cheering the occasional finisher after that. One problem was that I didn't see many finishers. Jay came in right after me and then disappeared (he had closed to within 2 minutes, so he did almost catch me), and Will showed up about 10 minutes later. After that, it was more than an hour before anyone crossed the line, then a small flurry of second sunrisers, and then another drought. I really wanted to congratulate everyone who finished, and was pleased to get to quite a few of them. I had to leave early to catch a flight back to Boise, which was a shame. On the other hand, I had to leave sometime. One thing I did get to do at the finish was introduce Joey to Jennifer, which was nice. We'll see if Joey runs in an ultra this next year. I have a lot more to say, but this is already way too long. Just one last thing - I'd like to explode some commonly propounded myths about running 100s. To wit: - To succeed in a 100, you have to feel fresh after 50. Rubbish. - You can't do it on sports drink and snacks alone, you have to eat "real food", what you normally eat. Utter rot. In fact, I would have loved some soup late in the race, but all that was available had meat in it. I did crave milk when I got home, though. - You should stick to a plan for hydration and electrolyte replacement. Great if you can do it, I suppose, but if your drop bag isn't there, you better be ready to run a couple more hours with no help. Next year? Maybe Wasatch. Anyone interested in pacing me? -- --alex alex@math.idbsu.edu Alex Feldman