Date: Wed, 23 Sep 1998 17:55:38 -0400 From: Barry Craig Subject: Wasatch, As I Saw It "The Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run" Before I ever ran my first ultra or even my first marathon I dreamed of running Wasatch. It was two years ago this month while visiting family in Utah that I learned of the race. When I casually mentioned it, my sister-in-law, Sue, immediately became my cheerleader. Her words of, "I know you can do it" echoed in my head all through the run. My brain, of course, wasn't so sure and was constantly asking, "How many of these climbs can I do?" The answer turned out to be, "All of them." Sue was right. The adventure began with some ultra driving. Our first stop was Leadville, CO., a 28 hour drive. It wasn't the shortest route to Salt Lake City but it seemed to be the right place to stop. After two nights in Leadville we headed for Utah and family. First, though, we stopped in Midway, UT and got a good look at the finish line. Even though I might forget the 'why' it was important that I never lose sight of the 'where'. Now for the real reason I was able to finish the run. Their names are Marsha, Sue, Nancy, Mike, Scott, Robin, Chad, and Stan. The first seven are family by marriage and the last is family by running. My crew plus the timely appearance of Stan Jensen at two critical points in the race. Marsha was incredible again. Always upbeat and positive, handling me and directing the rest of the crew. Scott and Mike had hunted the mountains for years and gave we valuable information on the course ahead. They wouldn't let me out of an aid station until they were sure everything had been covered. Nancy was constantly concerned about what I needed, insisting that I eat more. Robin and Chad arrived late in the race to give me a much needed boost to the finish line. Sue, who crossed life's finish line a winner last December, paced me in my heart for the first 93 miles before Marsha took over to bring me home. Prior to the race I felt that if everything went my way I could finish around 30 hours. Everything did go my way and I finished in 34:47. Apparently I left just enough margin for error. Here is my perception of it. We assembled in East Layton, UT at the entrance to the Fernwood Picnic Grounds for the start. I was nervous but ready. My confidence wasn't what it had been at other 100 milers but I was ready. The only thing I did different was to wear an Aquifer hydration vest instead of my UD Elite RacePac. I didn't know how well it would work but when I crossed the finish line I still had it on. At 5AM someone did something and everyone started moving--up. The course starts with an altitude gain of 4100 feet in the first 5.5 miles. Marsha and I had hiked this part earlier in the week and I was content to fall in line and not push the pace. This section ends with a very steep scramble over loose rock called Chinscraper. We would reach a altitude of 9200 feet before the five mile descent to the Francis Peak aid station. I figured on 4 to 5 hours for the first 15 miles and my actual time was 4:34. I felt good and after a change of socks and some food I was on my way. The next 5 mile section caught me off guard. I had studied the maps and was aware that the copies of copies that they sent me didn't include all of the contour lines. But I missed the long steep climb in this section. I was confident of finishing it in an hour or less and it took me 1:40. Fortunately I had asked Scott and Nancy to meet me there and seeing them restored my confidence. I made up some time on the next 4.8 mile section. It was mostly rolling dirt road with none of the steep climbs and chest high weeds that characterized the last section. Another surprise to me was that I couldn't drink SUCCEED! Amino or eat my old standby turkey and cheese sandwiches. I don't know why. They just didn't sit well on my stomach. I then changed game plans and carried only water in the vest and a hand held bottle with (of all things) Gatorade. I switched my food to PBJ sandwiches, Hammer Gel, and soup. It must have worked. I apparently stayed well fueled and well hydrated enough early in the race because after 65 miles I couldn't run unless I minimized my food and liquid intake. The weather was cooler than it had been all week and so far none of the 100% chance of rain had materialized. At mile 25 came Lung Sucker Hill. So many people had told me how bad it was that I ended up thinking it wasn't so bad. After Lung Sucker there was a long traverse to the 32 mile aid station. During this section there was a tremendous thunder storm building over in the next canyon. I hoped it would stay there but it didn't. After cruising through the aid station and climbing up the ridge to an exposed area the storm hit. First sprinkles, then hail, then more rain and finally winds blowing up the canyon that I could almost lean into without falling down. I put on a garbage bag and let the lightning induced adrenaline rush carry me to the Big Mountain (36.3 miles) check point and my crew. A quick weigh-in, a change of socks and shoes and some soup and I was off to Lambs Canyon, the half way point. This section was a little more gentle and I picked up the pace while trying to very carefully measure out my available energy. At the Alexander Ridge aid station (44.8 miles) I was treated to some corn, cheese, potato chowder. I ate quickly with the idea of getting to Lambs Canyon by dark. The difficult thing about this part is that after spotting the aid station I still had three miles to go before I'd get to it. In spite of my feeling good and thinking I was moving well it was quite dark before I reached the half way point. It was the low point of the run. Sixteen hours to cover 50 miles. What in the world was I doing there. Just when I started asking myself the wrong questions there was my crew and Stan Jensen. He had to drop because of the same injury that knocked him out of the Slam. He told me I was doing ok and not to worry. He also advised my crew to meet me at Upper Big Water (59 miles). This wasn't part of my plan but I desperately wanted to see them there and I was afraid to ask them to do more. Stan had anticipated that and the first thing I heard from Marsha was, "We're meeting you at the next check point". Incredible, this ultra community, just incredible. I ate, changed shoes and socks, put on insulated tights and a warm shirt, wrapped my gortex around my waist and headed out again. A short stretch of road was followed by a difficult climb up Bare Ass Pass. Then a long downhill before three miles of road up to the Upper Big Water aid station. Even though I didn't stay long I was glad that Marsha and Mike were there. It made all the difference in the world. My next goal was to reach Brighton Lodge by sunrise. It was getting cold. My kind of weather. The next 20 miles involved a good bit of climb but it was fairly gentle on excellent trail. I moved quickly through the Desolation Lake (65.1) and Scotts peak (69.3) aid stations. I guess you could say it was still dark when I got to Brighton (73.7) but it was clear that the sun was coming up. I was very very tired. I ate while Marsha tended a blister on my right foot and changed my socks. This blister, though quite large by the end of the race was the only foot problem that I had and it never hindered my run. (My secret this time? No tape. Lots of Bag Balm. Frequent sock changes. Not much rain and no wet stream crossings up to this point.) Leaving Brighton I had a 45 minute lead on the cut off. I knew that the climb up to the highest point on the course (10,400) would eat up some of that. I really really didn't want to have to sprint to the finish line. I wanted at least two hours to do the last 8 miles. Had I been too conservative in the last 20 miles? As I approached the top of Catherine's Pass and began the long, steep, rocky descent to the Ant Knolls (78.5) aid station I remembered the words of Will Brown, "Fly, my friend." Tears come to my eyes as I realized I knew what to do. Not a quad trashing ankle breaking downhill pounding but instead a practiced consistent run. The kind that makes up lost time but doesn't put me out of the race. Ant Knolls surprised me. It came too early. The volunteer said," keep up the pace and you'll beat the final cut off by a hour. Just get over the next climb." I moved on and up. The next climb was called "The Grunt". It broke all of the rules of switch backs. They were the steepest switch backs I've ever seen. This was also the only climb that I stopped for a couple of seconds on. Not so much to get my breath or to rest but to get my mind together. There were still 20 miles to go. How much longer could I continue to do what I wasn't sure that I was capable of doing? After The Grunt there was a much longer climb. One of those irritating, "What's with this?" kind of climbs. After the Pole Line Pass aid station (82.0) there was a lot of downhill. Some good. Some, more like running down a rocky drainage. I was doing ok worried that the lack of food and water was going to catch up with me. I could sip water and still run. Food was out of the question. At the Mill Canyon aid station (87.8) I sat down. I just sat there and sipped on a Sprite for 5 minutes. I couldn't imagine running to the next aid station but I knew I had to. I again got up before I started asking myself the wrong questions. It was amazing, as soon as I started moving I started moving well. It was in this section before the last aid station that I learned the value of having a pacer. Three runners passed me. They were running faster than I wanted to go so I fell in behind them determined to keep up. And for the next 4 + miles I did. Finally we reached the Bottoms and the only wet stream crossing. (Incredibly refreshing.) Then after a mile of uphill dirt road I reached the aid station. There was Marsha running down to meet me. I ask her to pace me, to get me home. I had given myself a good cushion. I had 3:23 to cover the last 7.3 miles. Since Brighton I had made up an hour on the cut offs. Now, could I go on? Did I have anything left after having busted my butt for 20 miles? As I was asking myself the wrong questions I looked up to see Stan Jensen. He looked at me and said, "I know it's hard but you can do it." I almost lost it. I knew I could trust him. He told me I could take some time with my crew but I didn't. I had the Wall and then 5 miles of downhill to the highway and then two flat miles to the finish. A few miles earlier someone standing beside the trail told us that our dreams were going to come true. Mine did. What a privilege. Crossing the finish line with Marsha, a hand shake from the RD, and a chair. I wanted for nothing. Barry