From: "Medinger, John (MEDI)" Subject: Wasatch and hobgoblins (long) Date: Thu, 24 Sep 1998 15:19:49 -0700 "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson Herewith, my first person account of the 1998 running of the Wasatch Front 100. Executive Summary: I started, I passed Errol, I finished 86th in 31:24:35. For those who are tired of reading longwinded stories replete with "I" disease, hit now. For those who want an extended version of what transpired in the mountains of Mormon country, read on. Long-winded version: I really like this race. I cannot explain why, since it has a lot of elements that I usually don't like. Rocks. More rocks. Altitude. Exposure. Big hills. More rocks. It is hard and it is totally unrelenting. But, somehow, I like it anyhow. This year's race was remarkable in its replication of my run here in 1996. OK, it is the same race and the same course, but usually each attempt takes on its own personality. This one was virtually a carbon copy for me. Going into the race I thought that I might be able to shave some time off my 1996 time of 31:35:06. After all, in 1996 it seemed that I ran really conservatively for the first 40 or 50 miles and then had a good night and stayed pretty strong until about mile 85 when I ran out of gas. So, my thinking was that I might make up a little time at the beginning and again at the end, but I was worried that I wouldn't run as well all night as I did last time. Well, actually, strike that. I wasn't really worried about much of anything. My approach to the race was to go out and have some fun, enjoy the mountains and the company of good friends on the trail, and take whatever the day might bring. But, being numerically inclined, I couldn't help but do some arithmetic along the way. I shouldn't have bothered. At virtually every check point I was within a very few minutes of my 1996 splits. At one point, pacer supreme and crew dog Kap'n Kirk Boisserée said, "we're gonna put you in charge of the railroads if you keep this up." The climb up and over Chinscraper (mile 5) seemed a little quicker than last time and I crested the summit (on all fours the last 50 yards) with Larry Gassan, who was out trying to break 24 huors. Larry quickly scampered off ahead and by the time I got to Grobben's Corner (mile 9.5) I was only 3 or 4 minutes ahead of 1996 pace. Laura Vaughan and I trotted down the road into Francis Peaks together. She stopped to nurse baby Emma and I never saw her again. I ran a lot of the first 20 miles with Fred Riemer, who had finished this race 12 times before. Fred is a pretty capable runner who is determined to enjoy himself. Every year he takes a longish nap or two and finishes within 10 or 15 minutes of the 36-hour cutoff. But running with him, it would seem he's capable of running closer to 30 hours if it mattered. "Hey, I paid for 36 hours and I'm gonna get my money's worth," he told me at one point. I left Fred behind somewhere between Bountiful B and Sessions and ran by myself for a while. It developed into a cool, partly cloudy day. At times it looked threatening, at others it looked like it might clear. The temperature warmed to maybe the lower 60s by noon but no more as we were up at 8000 to 9000 feet most of the morning. A little ways prior to Swallow Rocks ("man, you mean you guys actually swallow rocks?" I asked upon arriving. They didn't get the humor and deadpanned back, "no, it's named after birds that nest here"), I caught up with a group that included Stan Jensen. This was Stan's fifth 100 of the summer. He had aggravated the tendon injury that caused him to drop at Leadville and would soon be out of this race, too. At Big Mountain, my crew had grown from just Kap'n Kirk to include both Rosemary (who had flown in to Salt Lake on Saturday morning) and Suzanne Williams (who had been there all along but drew airport pickup duty). Laura Farrell, the Vermont 100 race director who was crewing for Dot Helling, was there, too and was very encouraging. Suzanne was to pace me from Big Mountain to Upper Big Water, a very nice gesture since she was risking further injury to a knee that had been giving her problems and had kept her from starting the race herself. As we left Big Mountain, the skies had darkened considerably and the wind started to pick up. Climbing the ridge out of the check point, the wind really began blowing hard and soon it started hailing. Oh boy. Lightening was all around us, but near as I can tell, never got closer than about "six-Mississippi". I was happy that I had Suzanne as a pacer and not John Demorest on this section, as JD would have freaked with the lightening. Something to joke about at mile 40. It got cold; here it was, three o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm putting on a jacket and gloves. Fortunately, it only hailed for about 10 minutes and then it turned to rain. After about another 20 minutes the rain stopped and sure enough, 10 minutes later, the sun was out again as if nothing had ever happened. We finally got down to Alexander Springs, always a happy event for me as the two or three miles prior to this point has some truly butt-ugly nasty rocky downhills, which most of you who have read this far know is not my favorite kind of terrain. Usually this section of trail is warm or even hot as it is late afternoon and it is also much lower in elevation, dropping as low as 6000 feet. This year, it was downright pleasant: sunny and mid-60s. Reaching Lambs Canyon, more or less the halfway point at just shy of 14 hours, I figured there wasn't much point in shooting for sub-30 and so became content to just do what I could without much concern for time, other than not wanting to waste any. I had been eating sandwiches to this point (four so far) and had been pounding down a bottle of Endurance Formula Metabolol (the orange julius flavored stuff) at each check point. My basic strategy was to concentrate on eating and drinking during the first half, so that I might have something left for the second half. Given that it was cool, hydration wasn't much of a problem and I was up a pound at Lambs. I tried mashed potatoes (fresh from Denny's -- a gourmet feast, what?) for the first time ever here and it took me virtually no time to put down an entire pint. I'll do more in the future. My crew reported that Errol had left here almost 2 hours ahead but that he didn't look too good (not a good sign) and wasn't able to eat anything at Lambs (even worse). I still felt strong at this point and was looking forward to the climb up Bear Ass Pass. It's a tough climb, made somewhat easier by the more gentle (but much longer) new trail, but it is a real pretty part of the course. Up and up, through the aspens. Surprisingly, it was getting dark, even though it wasn't even 8 p.m. yet. In a forest that heavily wooded and on a north facing slope, we had to turn our lights on before we got to the top. As had happened earlier in the day in a couple of spots, on the steep uphill near the top I struggled a little with the altitude. In 1996 I had no trouble at all with the altitude and didn't even notice it except near the top of Catherine's Pass (10,480 feet). This year, it definitely bothered me some on the steeper climbs the entire way. Suzanne kept telling me to breathe deep ("the gathering gloom" being my response) as I was panting near the top (and, for those who might be wondering, it wasn't from following Suzanne. She was following me.) Down the other side on a pretty clean trail, the first clean downhill in 40 miles and now it was dark. I had kind of hoped to get through this stretch in the daylight. Oh well. At Elbow Fork, Kirk and Rosemary met me with yet another sandwich and a bottle of Mt. Dew. It was now about 9 p.m. and the Mt. Dew represented my first caffeine hit of the day. This trick, getting a big slug of caffeine just at dark, has seemed to work very well for me in the past as I have never suffered from sleepiness once I get past the first hour or so of darkness. The long hike up Mill Creek Canyon to Upper Big Water went by quickly. Tom O'Connell drove by saying that Janis was about a half hour behind me and feeling good. I got down about three-quarters of my last turkey sandwich before starting to gag on it. But, still eating solid food at 16 hours was a first for me. As I got to Upper Big Water (mile 59.6), Kirk reported that Errol left just 20 minutes ago and was looking truly miserable. In his inimitable style, the Rocket had once again gone out too fast and now the wheels were coming off. I had made up more than an hour on him in 9 miles. I got down my first thermos of ramen, changed into some warmer clothes (but not tights) and left the check point 28 minutes behind the Rocket. Time to chase him down. Kirk, who had taken over for Suzanne as pacer, was saying that we'd get him before Brighton (mile 73.7), but I was thinking "no, Desolation Lake" (mile 65.1) Still feeling strong, I hammered the long uphill over the ridge to Dog Lake, passing about five or six folks along the way. Another long climb out of Dog Lake and I was still pushing the pace. Finally, about 100 yards before the Desolation Lake aid station, there he was. "Bud! It's your worst nightmare!" I announced as he stepped aside to let us pass. "Bud, I'm totally f***ed up," he responded, dispiritedly. All of a sudden, instead of crowing, I was more concerned that he might not make it. After cruising through Western States and Vermont, Errol had struggled through Leadville (with me pacing him to an ugly 29:40 finish) and now his whole summer's efforts rested on getting through the next 35 miles. And he looked terrible, totally spent. I spent a little longer at Desolation Lake than I otherwise would have, telling his pacer, Dr. Bob (Kloepper) to get him to Brighton by whatever means necessary and maybe getting warm and even taking a nap would let him come back and finish the race. He had plenty of time. Leaving Errol behind, we headed up a really tough climb up to Red Lovers Ridge and Scotts Pass. I was now paying for the last 6 miles of exuberance and really struggling with both energy and the altitude, as we were nearing 10,000 feet. I had hammered this stretch in 1996 and knew intuitively that I was giving away some time here. For the first time all day, I started going to the well and also for the first time I started popping GU. I felt like I was bonking just a little and was determined to eat something at Scotts Pass. Once we finally got there, nothing that they had appealed to me much. I did eat one piece of very dry bread with jam on it and told Kirk, what the hell, let's just go. As I was leaving, Errol came staggering into the check point. Finally, after three hours of near-continuous climbing, some downhill to enjoy on a jeep road that leads to the pavement at Guardsmans Pass Road. I didn't run it well, but at least I was running. Rosemary was at the trail head and I was able to get rid of my pack for the 2.5 miles of mostly downhill pavement to Brighton. On the road down to Brighton, Kap'n Kirk was telling me about his various near death experiences (once with a collapsed lung, but mostly skiing stories). I was still lucid enough to point out that I was probably about to have one of my own, what with Catherine's Pass looming ahead. We passed two more runners heading into town. Brighton in the middle of the night is a surreal place. Some local guy, who had been banned from the race (and I thought only nOrm did that!) for being excessively rude to aid station folks, was running laps around town in a bizarre form of protest. After the pitch blackness of Red Lovers Ridge, the lights and activity felt very odd. But, at 3 a.m., even the crews looked a little like zombies. Rosemary was waiting with yet more ramen, and Errol's crew (Rick Spady and Hank Newell) were there and getting a little worried. After a brief respite, we climbed the stairs for the final weigh in (dead on) and left for the brutal climb up Catherine's. Catherine's Pass is about a 2000 foot vertical climb in a little over 2 miles. It is steep and rocky at the bottom, a little more gentle in the middle, and then another steep, long grind to the top. It would be a tough hill anywhere, but coming at mile 74-76, and at 3 o'clock in the morning, and going from 8400 feet to 10,480 feet of elevation, it is - to put it kindly - unique. Kirk convinced me (as if it took much convincing) to take it real easy and just get over it, saving some energy for the tough 24 miles that would still remain once we crested the summit. It seemed like I was just crawling, but I was holding my own with folks around me and actually picked up one or two places on the way up. Finally, after more than an hour and a quarter, we crested the summit. The summit here is totally weird in that it is very sandy at the top - almost beach like - after lots of rocks on the way up. Now, usually in this sport, when you grind your way up a really tough hill, you get a reward on the other side. Not so here. The downhill into Ant Knolls check point is very steep, very rocky, very loose, and entirely un-runnable in the dark. I had hoped that perhaps with the trail maintenance requirements that Wasatch imposes on its entrants, that some maintenance might have been done on this stretch. Not so. (Or if it had, it had since been remediated by Irv Nielsen, whose sole title in the Wasatch hierarchy is "Prince of Rocks".) So, OK, we walked. Getting some soup down at the next check point, I was then faced with "The Grunt", a short but very steep climb up to Ant Knolls Ridge. Again the altitude reared its ugly head and for the first time all day, I was forced to stop a couple of times on the way up to regroup. Finally up on the ridge, the trail is fairly clean again except for one very annoying fact: it is not level. Even though the trail is but 18 inches wide, the right side is about 6 inches lower than the left. In the dark, where one's depth perception is already diminished, this is extremely difficult to adjust to. I ran where I could, and stumbled a few times. I passed another runner about halfway along the ridge and he too was complaining about the slope of the trail. Finally, I crested the ridge and ran along the top for a while. All of a sudden I started feeling stronger again. Maybe it was that dawn was approaching, maybe it was simply that there was finally a trail that I could run on after three hours of mostly hiking. We ran most of the downhill into Pole Line Pass check point, looking forward to seeing Rosemary and Suzanne and getting rid of some of the extraneous night gear. We finally arrived at Pole Line, and guess what? No crew. Oh well. It is just now dawn and when I check in, the radio guy comes out and says "number 48, your crew couldn't get here, they will be at Cascade Springs." Ate some great homemade soup, and asked about the leaders. "A new course record, 20:08," was the response. Wow. "Who was the first woman through here?" "Ann something or other," was the marginally informed response. "She was way ahead, and was really demanding." Ah yes, we've been there, we understand. We checked on Larry Gassan. He'd left Mill Canyon on about 28 hour pace. Oh well again. We said "hi" to Burgess Harmer from Reno (doing his sixth consecutive Grand Slam), who arrived just as we were leaving, and away we went. Shortly after the aid station, there is a long shallow climb that just seems endless. It is now daylight and the immense amphitheater that is Mill Canyon unfolds to our right. Halfway up the climb, the sun has just started to envelop the vast granite slab that is Mt. Timpanogos, across the canyon. We stop dead in the trail and enjoy the spectacle. Just as we did in virtually the same spot, two years earlier. There's that Emerson thing again. A right turn and finally we are headed down. Again, no reward. For the first quarter mile, the trail isn't that bad, then it takes on all of the quality of an avalanche chute. Big, loose, fist size rocks are everywhere and it gets steeper and steeper as we descend. A guy catches up to us - the first runner to catch me from behind since Bountiful B - and he is cursing the rocks, too. Reaching Mill Canyon check point (mile 87.8) we joke with the aid station folks about their lack of fried Spam topped with Cheezwhiz. Or even huevos con chorizo. Settle for a couple of slices of melon and head out with Kirk and the other runner, a guy from Arkansas. "This is way different from the Arkansas Traveller," he noted. No dispute from either of us. The three of us stay together for the next couple of miles and, to my amazement, the trail through this section (the "Bottoms") has been vastly improved. Two years ago, it was pretty much bushwhacking through waist high grass, but now it's almost a real trail and we are able to run much of it. The Arkansas guy eventually leaves us and I comment to Kirk, "that guy looks like he knows what he is doing." I find out after the race that it is Ray Bailey, who won the Arkansas Traveller in 1996 and who ran 22 hours at Wasatch last year. A little while later, Pam Reed comes flying by, saying, "I finally feel good." She had spent a couple of hours curled up in a sleeping bag at Scotts Pass. Finally, we reach the creek and wade across in the cool, knee deep water. This is the only water crossing in the race, and I did not need to change shoes or socks the entire 100 miles. A mile of steady uphill on a good dirt road awaits before the final check point. I send Kirk ahead to organize things and while I'm coming up the road, Rosemary comes down with the one thing I really needed from the crew at Pole Line: a pair of sunglasses. It is warming up now and I want to change into a singlet. But nobody can seem to find it in the gear bag. Muttering somewhat good-naturedly about "the crew from hell" I find it myself. I pound down another bottle of Metabolol, surprising even myself, and jettison my pack for the final 7.3 miles to the finish. Hank Newell, waiting for Errol, is there and I tell him to point out to the Rocket that I'm still eating, even at 92 miles. The last climb up "the Wall" goes pretty smoothly except that Robert Solorio passes us, moving at a frighteningly fast clip. "Geez," I tell Kirk, "we're moving really well through this last stretch and all we're doing is getting passed." Once over the top, I try running again. After three or four minutes I need to walk. Try it again, and again need to stop. Finally, on the third try, it takes. Stunningly, I am able to run all the way down to Stringtown Road - perhaps 3 miles -- without stopping, going faster and faster as the running feels more normal. On the way down I start thinking that maybe we can beat 1996's time, even though we left the last check point five minutes after I did in 1996. There's nobody ahead in sight to try to catch and there doesn't appear to be anyone on my tail either. Gotta have something to shoot for. Hit the pavement for the last two miles and point out that I will have made it through this race twice without falling down or rolling an ankle. Minor miracles abound. Run much of the slightly uphill pavement, knowing it's almost over. A mile or so to go, Rosemary comes out to greet us and to run in with us. One little walking break three blocks from the finish, so that I will look "good" (definitely a relative term at this point) at the finish. Suzanne and her dog Frankie is waiting and we all go in together. The finish is upon us and I cross under the banner and am greeted by both John Grobben, the wonderfully low-key Race Director, and by the Prince of Rocks Himself, Irv Nielsen, who ribs me by muttering something about the course getting too easy. We are 11 minutes under the 1996 time, having made up 16 minutes in the last 7.3 miles. Epilogue We sit for a while at the finish and then Hank Newell drives up, reporting that Errol took a nap at Brighton and came back strong and should be at the finish in a little over an hour. Not being able to stay awake much longer, we decide not to wait. Checking into the motel, I appreciate little things greatly. Like no blisters. And no black toe nails. And only being marginally chafed. Like brushing my teeth after it feels like something crawled into my mouth and died about a week ago. But maybe the best part was calling Tony Rossmann and John Demorest and leaving messages (neither were home) that I finished and that Errol was still out there somewhere but should be in before too terribly much longer. Karl Meltzer of nearby Sandy, Utah, won the race in a course record time of 20:08. Larry Gassan ran 28:16. When asked afterwards what happened, his response was classic: "Wasatch happened." Burgess Harmer finished right behind me, in 31:40. Errol finished in 33:04 and completed the Grand Slam. Janice O'Grady faded a bit in the second but finished in 33:50; she was still sick at the awards ceremony. . Laura Vaughan finished in 34:51, only nine weeks to the day after giving birth to her second child, the second time in three years she has performed this wonder. Dot Helling, whom I didn't see all day, struggled but finished in 35:22. Fred Riemer, who never struggles, did his classic use-it-all, and finished in 35:44, looking as if he'd run only maybe 15 miles. It was his 13th finish. Only one other runner has done more. John Demorest, who often paces me in these things, was AWOL. Actually, he was at surfing camp, where it is reported that he was able to stand on the board for several milliseconds before pearling or otherwise falling into the drink. Ann Trason, completed her sweep of the Grand Slam races, and set a new women's course record of 22:27. Ann was doubly a winner as she also came home with a newly adopted Aussie shepherd puppy she found on a training run that was apparently abandoned near Bountiful B. The puppy's name, appropriately enough, is Wasatch. Full results are available at http://www.run100s.com/results/wf98.htm Final evidence supporting the "foolish consistency" theory: Mile 1996 1998 Francis Peaks 14.6 9:16 a.m. 9:11 a.m. Bountiful B 20.0 10:45 a.m. 10:45 a.m. Sessions 24.8 11:44 a.m. 11:48 a.m. Swallow Rocks 31.6 1:46 p.m. 1:49 p.m. Big Mountain 36.3 2:52 p.m. 2:55 p.m. Alexander Ridge 44.8 5:17 p.m. 5:23 p.m. Lambs Canyon 51.0 6:48 p.m. 6:53 p.m. Upper Big Water 59.6 9:58 p.m. 9:54 p.m. Desolation Lake 65.1 11:58 p.m. 11:51 p.m. Scotts Peak 69.3 1:25 a.m. 1:29 a.m. Brighton Lodge 73.7 2:49 a.m. 3:06 a.m. Ant Knolls 78.5 5:01 a.m. 5:18 a.m. Pole Line Pass 82.0 6:30 a.m. 6:45 a.m. Mill Canyon 87.8 8:43 a.m. 8:57 a.m. Cascade Springs 92.7 10:33 a.m. 10:35 a.m. Finish 100 12:35 p.m. 12:24 p.m.