Subject: 1999 WF 100 -- Runner's Report Date: Fri, 24 Sep 1999 10:13:25 -0400 From: "Holdaway, Jeff" WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR CAN MAKE (1999 WASATCH FRONT 100 MILE ENDURANCE RUN) By Jeff Holdaway Last September, as I painfully shuffled to the finish line of the 1998 Wasatch Front 100 in a time of 35 hours and 18 minutes, my initial reaction was "never again." After a day or two of slowly regaining use of my lower extremities, my thinking evolved to "I bet I can do better." Now, a year later, after improving my time and position by 8 ½ hours and 119 places, respectively, I'm looking ahead to next year with hopes of going after the "big boys". The 1998 Wasatch run was a true test of my emotional, mental and physical limits. Sorely under trained, I battled the cutoff times the entire race and had to dig deep to finish under 36 hours. Following a recovery period, I resolved to get more serious about my conditioning effort. In particular, I decided to focus on putting in regular long weekend runs. Beginning in January, I began including a 30+ mile run into my schedule every 2-3 weeks (several in the form of 50k races). In early June, I ran the Old Dominion 100, finishing relatively strong in a time of 23:14. My average mileage through much of the year ranged between 40-70 miles/week, about double of what I ran in 1998. In July and August, I was able to travel twice to Utah and put in several training runs on the Wasatch course. In total, I covered the entire trail twice in training, including 3 runs in excess of 40 miles each. With this stronger fitness foundation, I hoped I was ready. I flew into Utah from Virginia on Wednesday of race week. Picking up my rental car, I immediately drove to the top of Francis Peak and proceeded to go on a brisk 9-mile hike along the course. As a "flatlander", I hoped my 3-day effort of altitude acclimation would help, at least marginally. Thursday, I again drove up to the course, this time at Big Mountain, and hiked another 6-8 miles. On Friday, my wife, Karen and I met my father, Grant and brother-in-law Jay at Sugarhouse Park for the race orientation. Dad and I would be running, with Jay and Karen acting as crew. Dad, at 68, would be perhaps the oldest finisher ever, if he could make it the full 100 miles. At the orientation, I met a local runner, John Bendixen, who graciously agreed to pace me the final 25 miles. I was thrilled to have a companion during the tough nighttime section from Brighton to Sundance. After "carbo-loading" in Salt Lake we drove up to the Layton Fairfield Inn for the night. The hotel was only 15 minutes from the race start and gave us an extra 30 minutes in the morning. As usual, I slept miserably, but managed about four hours of fitful sleep, twice my total from 1998. I took this extra rest as a good omen. Arriving at the East Mountain Park start about 4:45 A.M., Dad and I checked our equipment, waved goodbye to our crew of Jay and Karen and prepared for the "Go" signal. Unlike last year, Dad and I were going to run separately. My goal for the day was a 27:30 finish. Dad was shooting for 33:20. The race has a new beginning with four miles of rolling terrain between 4800 and 5200 feet before the first major climb, culminating with the "infamous" Chinscraper at Mile 9.4. The change in the start is helpful as it strings out the pack before the climb, avoiding the trail backups that occurred last year. Cresting Chinscraper, the course reverts to rolling terrain, at this point between 8500 and 9200 feet, for about 5 ½ miles before starting the 3.6 mile descent on a gravel road into the Francis Peak Aid Station. My pre-race objective was to arrive into Francis Peak at 9:25 A.M. Despite deliberate attempts to hold back on the pace, I arrived at 9:10 A.M. I was disappointed that Karen was no where in sight. Pushing aside momentary thoughts of an automobile accident, (the 8-mile gravel road to the station is treacherous in spots) I quickly re-filled my two bottles with Power Ade, grabbed some carbohydrates and left the station at 9:13. I assumed I would see Karen at the next major station, Big Mountain, at Mile 39. The sections from Francis Peak to Big Mountain went relatively smoothly. The major climbs up to the Bountiful Aid Station (Mile 23.9 - 10:23 A.M.) and shortly after Sessions Lift-Off (Mile 28.1 - 11:19 A.M.) were tough but manageable. I always seem to do well on the up hills and managed to pass several runners during this stretch. The day was absolutely gorgeous, sunny with temperatures in the 70s throughout the late morning and early afternoon. Nearing Swallow Rocks (Mile 34.8 - 1:02 P.M.), I said a small prayer of thanks that the hailstorm of 1998 would not be repeated again this year. Nearing Big Mountain, I eagerly awaited the sight of Karen. After nearly nine hours of running, I was looking forward to a change of shirts (I was still wearing a black, long-sleeve variety from the start), my sunglasses and some specialized items from my personal food stock. Rolling into Big Mountain at 1:59 P.M., I was 45 minutes ahead of my pace. Unfortunately, Karen was nowhere in sight. 0 for 2. This wasn't good, I thought. Visions of a car in some canyon ravine again came to mind. Surely Karen knew I was ahead of schedule. Unless something was seriously wrong, she should have been there. Not knowing what else to do I weighed in, grabbed some food, filled my bottles and pushed on. The section from Big Mountain to Alexander Ridge (Mile 47.3 - 3:53 P.M.) and then to Lambs Canyon (Mile 53) were during the heat of the day and my cold-weather shirt didn't help matters. Fearing the effects of the high-altitude sun on my pale white body, I was nervous about taking it off. Moreover, I had planned to change to my Camelback at Big Mountain to carry more fluid for the long eight-mile stretch to Alexander Ridge. Unable to make the switch, I hoped the two 22oz bottles would be enough. As it was, I ran low and started to dehydrate slightly before refilling at Alexander Ridge. As I approached Lambs Canyon, I began to consider my options should Karen not be there. I had elected not to use any drop bags assuming that I could pick up from my crew the various items I would need during the race. With the evening approaching I knew I could not run through the night without additional clothing and a flashlight, both of which were with Karen. I also dealt with the guilt of continuing this rather self-absorbed activity, not knowing if Karen was lying in some hospital. What to do. What to do. Finally, I determined (or rationalized) that if something had happened, the race directors would be contacted and they would let me know. My conscience satisfied, I plotted my strategy for begging, borrowing or buying additional clothing and a flashlight from some runner who dropped or was overly prepared. The race was going too well. I couldn't just stop. I rounded the final bend into Lambs Canyon and my heart leapt. There sat Karen, literally in the middle of the trail. She was bound and determined not to miss me! Quickly she explained. Yes, she had missed me at Francis Peak by seven minutes. The drive up the canyon had taken far longer than planned. She had no idea what happened at Big Mountain. She and Jay were there in plenty of time but somehow didn't see me when I arrived ahead of schedule. At this point it didn't matter. She was safe and I could surely continue. My arrival into Lambs Canyon was at 5:11 P.M. I was over an hour ahead of my pre-race pace and more than 5 hours ahead of 1998. The feet were still blister free and I was looking forward to the coming evening and nighttime run. Departing Lambs Canyon, the next 8.6 miles to Upper Big Water included the longest stretch of paved roads - in total, almost 5 miles. Unfortunately the paved section, plus two miles of the trail were all up hill so it was difficult to make fast progress. The uphill trail to Bear Bottom Pass was where I hit my first bad patch. I struggled to the top of the ridge, stopping twice for a brief rest, something I never had to do in 1998. I reassured myself that this drop in energy would pass -- I hoped. Fortunately, it did and I was able to push into Upper Big Water (Mile 61.6) at 7:46 P.M., still an hour ahead of schedule. An old friend, Marianne Ward, joined Karen at Upper Big Water. Changing into my warm clothing, and eating some hot noodle soup, I got a little chatty, until Karen literally pushed me out of my comfortable chair. Thirteen minutes -- my longest down time during the race. My objective had been to bring my aggregate aid-station time to below an hour. Although in the end, my total time was closer to 70 minutes, it constituted a vast improvement over 1998's 3 hours and 20 minutes. The trail from Upper Big Water to Desolation Lake is one of the nicest sections of the course. For the first three miles, the trail is soft dirt and rock free. Enjoying the gradual darkness, I left my light off until it was almost pitch dark. With no moon and far from the city lights, the stars were brilliant in the mountain air. This is why I run 100s, I thought. My contemplative mood was broken as I neared Desolation Lake. Earlier in August, while running this section, I rounded a corner to see a very large moose, just off the trail, no more than 15 yards ahead. Racking my brain for the Mutual of Omaha's Animal Kingdom episode on moose, I recalled two facts: (1) moose have poor eyesight and (2) moose are very unpredictable. Slowing down I resorted to Plan A: Make lots of noise (bad eyes, good hearing, I hoped). I was right on the hearing. She definitely took notice. Rather than running off, her ears flattened and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It was then that I noticed her little calf in some brush equidistant between the two of us. Plan B: Look for a tree. Slowly I backed away and bushwhacked a large semi-circle around her, until finally she, with calf in tow, trotted off. Now retracing this section during the night, I couldn't remember Marlin Perkins' comment concerning moose sleeping habits. Fortunately, I had no large-game encounters. The race section past Desolation Lake (Mile 66.8 -- 9:34 P.M.), over Scotts Peak (Mile 70.6 - 10:44 P.M.) went relatively well. I managed to pass a few runners, principally by blowing through each of the Aid Stations in less than a minute or two. The final two miles into Brighton were on paved roads and here I hit my second bad patch. The clock was nearing midnight and I seemed to experience an energy drain. A woman runner and her pacer passed me as I struggled down the dirt road. She was only the second runner in more than 30 miles who had passed me and it didn't sit well. Wallowing in a bit of self-pity, I turned off my flashlight and tried to continue by starlight. I could just make out the edge of the road. Somewhat surprisingly, this walk in near total darkness allowed me to regroup. By the time I hit the main road, ½ mile out of Brighton, I began to feel much better. I picked up the pace and trotted the rest of the way into the Aid Station. The scene at Brighton (Mile 75.5 -- 11:57 P.M.) was much different than the other checkpoints. It was the only indoor station, nice and warm, with people milling around in tight surroundings. I stepped on the scale for the last of the three medical weigh-ins and found I was 147 ½, only 1 ½ pounds under my start weight. With Karen cheerfully putting food in my face, I said hello to my newest best friend and midnight pacer, John Bendixen. John was ready to roll so, with a hug to Karen, we took off at 12:07 A.M. The course out of Brighton had a steep climb up to Catherine Pass and then to Point Supreme, the highest point of the race at 10,450 feet. Moving up the mountain, I struggled more than I had hoped but finally reached the top and started back down to Ant Knolls. Last year I left Brighton after 7:50 A.M. and thus had done this technically difficult section in daylight. Picking my way down the steep rocky trail to Ant Knolls was tricky and slow but with eight fewer hours on my feet, I felt much fresher this time around. The course from Ant Knolls (Mile 80.1 -- 1:47 A.M.) to Pole Line (83.3 - 2:56 A.M.) and then to Mill Canyon (88.9 - 4:51 A.M.) had several tough climbs. At times I felt like an old man, wheezing my way to the top of each ridge. However, John was terrific in pulling me through. While this was his first time at pacing, he instinctively knew the type of support I needed during my physical and mental highs and lows. Running a few steps behind me, he kept up a steady banter of positive conversation. He was constantly reassuring as I asked repeatedly for confirmation that we were still on the trail. Many thanks, John. As we neared the last Aid Station, Alpine Loop (Mile 93.6), I glanced at my watch. I was disappointed to see that the hour plus cushion on my 27:30 pace schedule had been completely lost and that I would need to push hard to break 28 hours. Somewhat depressed, I trotted into Alpine at 6:20 A.M., quickly refilled my water bottle, said goodbye to Karen and charged out, with John in tow. John kept encouraging me to run the rest of the way in. Feeling pretty beat up by this time, I ran all the flats and down hills but walked at the merest hint of an uphill. Fortunately, most of the final 6.5 miles was downhill and we made good time. The last 3.4 miles from Aspen Grove to Sundance seemed to never end. The course followed an unbelievably serpentine horse path with the trail leading away from the ski resort as often as it led towards it. The saving grace was the trail was soft and reasonably comfortable on my very unhappy feet. Finally we crossed a paved road, ran the final 400 yards of the trail and broke out in the open for the final 100 yards to the finish line. I clicked the button on my stopwatch and was pleased to see it read 2 hours and 47 minutes. Having run around the clock, it had started over again. I raised my arms in celebration noting that, with adding the first day's time, I had broken 28 hours and nearly hit my goal of 27:30. Just then the official timekeeper came up and congratulated me on my 26:47 finish! Puzzled, I responded that she must be mistaken as my watch showed 27:47. At this point Karen gently reminded me that there are only 24 hours in a day, not 25. Race Director, John Grobben, hearing the conversation, suggested that I try not to do math and run at the same time. I was too thrilled to be embarrassed. After a very chilly outdoor massage, we traveled to my parents home for a couple hours of rest and then returned to Alpine Loop to cheer in my father who was still on the trail and battling the clock to finish under 36 hours. Finally, at 3:20 P.M., Dad came limping into Alpine Loop (Mile 93.6). His knee was causing him extreme pain, but he gamely insisted on continuing. Karen decided on the spur of the moment to run in with him. I wished them well and jumped in the car to meet them at the finish. It was an emotional moment when Dad finally came through the trees and finished the race. He was completed spent and collapsed as he crossed the finish line. Although his time of 36:08 kept him from being listed as an official finisher, everyone there, especially his family, considered him the true winner of the day. Amazingly, he was out picking corn on his farm the next morning. Karen claims ultrarunning has become something of a jealous mistress. While still a newcomer to the sport, I've definitely grown attached to its charms. Fortunately, Karen is a good sport. Considering that it's my response to a mid-life crisis, she smiles and says, "at least it's cheaper than a sports car and safer than a new wife." I thank her for indulging me. See you all on the trails next year.