Date: Fri, 7 Nov 1997 16:45:19 -0700 From: Alex Feldman Subject: White River 50m Before they raised the speed limits, it took about eight hours to drive from my house in Boise to the White River 50. Now with the faster speed limits, it takes about eight hours. My 83 Rabbit diesel is about as economical as a car can come, but I should probably start socking away a few of the dollars I'm saving by driving it to get something to replace it. Trouble is, I don't drive it very much, so I can't possibly save enough to buy a new car that way. I guess I'll have to drive it more, so I can save more, and get something to replace it. Those are the kinds of thoughts that make a strange kind of sense to you when the sun is hot and the stomach is churning. The more uncomfortable the experience, the more bizarre the logic. This got me to thinking about Douglas Adams' "Bistro Drive" for spaceships, and if putting a bunch of ultrarunners (or robots, or something) in an enclosed space, doing their thing, would create a kind of logic vortex, and thereby enable all sorts of modern and useful manufacturing processes and other economic miracles that would be simply be untenable in the normal scheme of things. If you want to try to make money off of this, be my guest. I won't sue for the patent, I'll even sign a release. I was still feeling pretty undertrained after the long layoff for my Achilles tendon, and there was no doubt that I was not as fast as I had been two years ago. Injuries give you an excuse to go easy in the training, and I always hate to see a good excuse (especially for sloth) go unused. But my injuries were under control, and even if they had limited my training, this was the first time I would go into the WR50 with no acute injuries. I told myself that I would feel good about anything under 9 hours, especially given the heat of the day. I knew I wanted to go faster than that, however. The drive up to the start was pretty uneventful, and they do seem to be making some slow progress on the construction up there. One thing they managed to do was remove the sign from the Buck Creek turnoff, the place I camped the last two years and intended to camp again this year. A primitive camping area without amenities (or fees), it has always had noisy crowds in places, but has also had its quiet areas, and it's very convenient to the start. Actually, it isn't quite right to say it has no amenities; it has an airstrip, but no potable water that I could find. John Motley would have approved. I pulled in and parked, and got out to stretch. There was one other car in the loop I had chosen, and as I walked past it I noticed a collection of running shoes and water bottles, and went over and introduced myself to Don and Linda, who had driven down from the Okanagan valley. We talked for awhile, and I gave them some sage advice about the trail, especially the suntop trail turnoff that I almost missed my first time out, and others have certainly missed, and then went off to set up my tent. The thing you worry about when you go on a trip like this, of course, is that you will forget something essential. One of your running shoes, for example. Or your shorts. And since I always manage to forget something, I generally hope that whatever I forget will not be essential. I got my wish. Tent poles are generally non-essential, and mine were safe and sound in my basement. With all the trees around the campsite I could have rigged something with sticks and spare shoelaces, or, since the only threat was from mosquitoes and not rain, I could just use the tent as a bivi-sack, which is what I did. It would have been more comfortable if it had just been a bit cooler out, but it was adequate. One other vehicle had pulled in to the loop that night, and whoever was in it was also going to the race. We were all up at the appointed hour, and headed out. I arrived at the Camp Sheppard parking lot (the start/finish) about an hour before the start, and checked in and began my final preparations. Since I had had stomach troubles in my last race six weeks previously, I decided I would put one or two bottles filled with (diluted) Energy Surge in each of my drop bags. I hadn't gotten sick from the stuff, and I thought it was worth a try. Salt tablets, ibuprofin, compeed, socks and a hat rounded out my drop bag items. After that I could get down to emptying my bowels, and meeting up with old friends -- two things that I've always been able to combine in the past. This trip was no exception. I met up with Mark Hartinger, my mentor of two years ago and we went off to the latrine together. It was a sign of my maturation -- two years ago, I had waited for the trail briefing, and didn't get a chance to relieve myself properly before the race. This time I put first things first, and missed most of the briefing. I did meet some new and old friends before and after the briefing, however. Larry from Bend was there (although he no longer lives in Bend), and Mark Bodamer, who had run last year and volunteered the year before. I guess Mark B. has a propensity to carry lots of stuff with him when he runs, and Mark H. was needling him about that a bit. I thought of my friend Bob Sulanke, who isn't a runner but believes in traveling light when hiking, and in particular believes everything you carry should have multiple uses. In that vein, one of his favorite navigational aids is an inflatable globe. When all is said and done, it may not be a whole lot of good at helping you to decide which fork in trail to take, but you could keep Cytomax in it, use it as a rain hat, use it to float across a particularly hazardous stream crossing, and a bunch of other things I'm too lazy to write down. Maybe this will start a trend. Of course I saw RD Chris Ralph, and Mark H. introduced me to Gene Traherne. One thing I noticed was that Steve Smucker and Jon Cave, who had finished 1-2 the previous two years, did not appear to be there, but I could have missed them. I was looking for several people I couldn't find. The start was, well, a start. No formal line, no gun (you know you're an ultrarunner if you have to ask, "what's a false start?") and off we went. I saw Don, and fell into line, and I would guess I had about 20 people in front of me when we started up the switchbacks. I was in no hurry at that point, and just shuffled up right behind whoever was in front of me. Sometimes my breathing would get to be a little too much for them, and they'd let me pass, but I stayed in the line for a while, maybe about a half hour. Eventually, though, I found myself running with one other person, Mike Miller. Mike had done several ironmen, and had just done over 100 miles in a 24 hour recently, but this was his first trail ultra. We ran together for about 2 hours, and I told him what I could about the trail and also warned him about missing the suntop trailhead. We got to the first checkpoint, a water-only stop after 10 miles and then continued on the 4 miles to the first full-service aid station, the only major out-and-back on the course. On that stretch I saw Mark H. over a mile ahead of me. I had thought of going out with Mark and running with him again, for old-times sake if nothing else. He was also undertrained, but I really wanted to try to finish strong and think a little about running a 100-miler. As it turned out, I think I would have done better all around if I had gone out with Mark, but I'll never really know. Also running near me on that first stretch (and afterwards) was Mark B., who let out his war whoop every time Rainier came into view. It was a clear day and so that happened fairly often. In the first aid station I had some water and one sachet of GU, and got two new bottles of Energy Surge. Mike took off a little later, saying I might catch him. In fact I think I almost did at one point much later, but he finished strong and I didn't see him again until the finish. Running back to the water only stop and then on down to the half-way point at the bottom of the first hill I ran with Mark B. for a while, but he zoomed away on the downhill, and also with another first-timer named Matt. I left Matt behind, but as I ran down the steep downhill I fell twice, and that slowed me down. It isn't that the scrapes and bruises you get from the fall really slow you down all that much, but they make me more cautious, and slower on a stretch like that. Matt caught up with me, along with Gene and Brian Van Oene. Brian had run the last two years, always finishing in about 8:45. He and I were sort of kindred spirits, having both gotten lost right near the end two years ago, and finishing fifth and sixth. I didn't recognize him. In my defense, he had shaved off his beard, but I was still a little embarrassed about that. By the time I got to the bottom of that hill, my stomach was doing somersaults. I really wanted it to just a pick a direction, up or down, and head for the nearest exit, but it wouldn't oblige. So I stayed with my drink but didn't eat any solid food, and went with water and coke, and a little salt. Gene and Brian took off pretty hard out of that aid station, and Matt and I followed. My legs were fine (they were fine all race) but my stomach was churning so at this point that I was afraid I would barely be able to run at all, but I advised Matt to stay with me until the suntop trailhead in about a mile. The trail had changed a bit, and instead of coming out of the woods at the end of the airstrip and circling around it, you came out before the end and were supposed to run along a gravel road to the end of the strip and then circle around. All I remembered was to turn right as I came out of the woods, but Matt called to me and said "I think you're going the wrong way". Great. The Native Guide. Good thing you were running with me, Matt. Anyway, a few minutes later we were on suntop trail, and I actually began to feel a little better inside. Maybe the lower altitude helped - the course varies from about 2 to 6 thousand feet, and we were at the low end of that. I live at less than 3 thousand, so there could have been a bit of that. The heat was beginning to be a factor now, as we had left the last aid station a little after 10, and it was certainly over 80F by now. By the way, since heat (and need for salt) and upset stomach seem to go together for me and some others, has anyone ever tried Alka-seltzer during an ultra? Any stories about the burp that ate New York? Anyway, I felt better and dropped Matt, and caught up with Gene and Brian, who had caught up with Mark B. They were having a conversation about how expensive running is, and I don't think they'd even mentioned the doctor bills. The three of us dropped Mark and went ahead to the next aid station, which was only about three miles from the one at the bottom of the hill, but it included about a 3 thousand foot climb, so it took over an hour. Moreover, alot of the forest was missing. The clearcutters had been through, and taken a big chunk of our shade with them. The three of us got to the next aid station together, where I didn't eat anything but did put two hard candies in my pockets, just in case. I also started dousing myself there, and carrying water rather than Energy Surge so I could spray myself on the way up. Shortly thereafter, Gene stopped for a dump, and Brian and I went on together. The next leg takes you to the top of the second hill, and it was pretty uneventful. Brian and I chatted a bit on that stretch and the downhill road leg that followed, but mostly I was feeling pretty out of it. No problem with the legs, just out of it. At the top of the hill I got another dousing and some more Coke, and some ice for my hat, but I was really thinking about finishing right now. Not a great way to feel with a third of the run still left. The downhill stretch is along a road, so you can go fast at this point if you have something left, but we went down at a moderate pace. We had heard Mark B.'s war whoop several times on the way up, and if we had paid more attention to the Rainier views we could probably have figured out where he was just by counting, but all we knew was that he was back there somewhere. I thought Gene would come up behind us at any minute, since he looked pretty good when we left him, but there were no other runners visible in either direction. At the aid station at the bottom of the hill, Brian asked if there were any other runners close enough that he could chase them. I decided that he was too eager for my taste at that point, and I left the aid station a few seconds after him and never caught up. I was psyched out, since on the way down he had told me that he really liked the next stretch, and I really hate it. The leg in question is a scenic trail that runs along the White River. It would be a great place for a lesiurely stroll, but it has so many twists and turns, roots and rocks, and tiny uphills and downhills that it just isn't my idea of a good time after 40+ miles. I pressed ahead, just thinking about moving forward, when I saw another runner. It wasn't Brian, rather it was someone who had been ahead of us, and was having stomach problems. I didn't catch his name, he said he was alright (and he did get in fine, but later), so I just kept trundling ahead. After about 50 minutes (the leg is less than 7 miles) I saw some bicyclists going the other way, and asked them how far to the road. 3 miles, they said. Good God, I hoped that was wrong, though I definitely felt like I was going slowly, even though I still had the legs. I needed some incentive to move, and the race and the clock weren't enough. Shortly thereafter I got to another runner. This one was sitting on the trail, eyes closed and motionless. One volunteer was with him, another arrived just before I did, coming from the other direction with a water bottle. He sprayed the runner with water, but got no reaction. The fellow was comatose. "Should I send back more substantial help?" I asked - perhaps not the politest way to put the question, but that wasn't what I was thinking about. "Yes" came the reply, and I had my incentive. The next mile, or perhaps a bit less, went by at 7 minute pace. The search and rescue people were at the aid station, and one of them went down the trail in a hurry. The last aid station is almost a formality. With only two and a half miles left to go, most people could probably live without it. But since it's also the halfway aid station, it stays there for the duration of the run. The last leg was pretty uneventful, although I think it is a very pleasant portion of the race. Nicer trail than the previous leg, and a very wide open and pretty forest. I finished in 8:52:??, about 5 minutes behind Brian and more than ten minutes ahead of the next runner, who I think was Linda, whom I had met the night before. I was 8'th, and based on my expectations prior to the race, I should have been satisfied with my performance, but I wasn't. I had the legs to move faster, I had proved that in that one quick mile near the end. What I didn't have was the will - the flesh was willing, but the spirit was weak. Some of it may have had to do with the upset stomach, some of it may have had to do with the weak training base, but I felt, and still feel, bad about it. I suppose I'll feel less bad if it becomes a habit, but that hasn't happened yet. I guess the really discouraging thing is looking ahead. At 42 miles, Brian was looking to make a race out of it. I was looking forward to it ending. Can you spot the successful 100 miler in that picture? Two years ago I was ready to take on the world, or at least 100 miles, and now I'm beginning to question my own ability in that arena. And when you start questioning yourself... Still, the finish was like all finishes. It's always nice to finish an ultra. Mark H., Mike, and Brian were there, having finished 5'th, 6'th, and 7'th. So were some of the earlier finishers, but they looked less like they'd just run a race. Brian's friend Rod Hatfull won the race with a time under 8 hours, and also under 8 hours was the second place finisher, and fastest first timer, a fellow named Scott who I don't think I met. These first time ultrarunners are getting quicker and quicker. After some drinking and recovery, I heard word come in about the runner who I had seen at about mile 46. The words "respiratory arrest" came over the radio, and Lynn O'Malley, co-RD with Chris Ralph and in charge of the finish, got visibly upset, and asked if there were any medical people there. "Mike Miller is a paramedic" I blurted out, and several people went looking for him. I didn't go looking for him, but I was the first to find him, in the shower. It turned out that the runner was able to walk out to the road, where they got him into an ambulance and took him to a nearby hospital. He was apparently OK, but had not been drinking(!) or eating over the course of the race, and I heard they had an IV in him. I don't feel like I really know what was going on, so I am not going to give this runner's name, but I will say that this was at least the second time that something like this had happened to him. I got into ultrarunning based on stories from "the old days" from Dave Ferguson, who ran in the early eighties before his hip sidelined him. Although we always color things as we remember them, I think I can say with some assurance that things are quite a bit different now than they were then. I shudder when I see people's eagerness to get the word out about ultrarunning, to have magazine articles published, to get the TV crews out. I really wonder who is being served by this, and as ultrarunning is perceived more and more as a mainstream activity, how much damage will be done. I realize full well that this is a very complex issue, but it is one that I think gets more discussion and even action than it does reflection. I don't want to play Canute here, but I think when an inexperienced runner damages himself, it is too easy to blame the runner and maybe the RD for what happened, but I hope we will look at what all of us do, and why that runner wanted to join us in the first place. One other runner had to drop out in pretty bad shape, but no ambulance or hospital was necessary. I saw quite a few more runners come in, including Matt, Mark B., and Gene. Gene had actually been barfing, Mark B was in the same good spirits at the end as he had started out with, and Matt seemed very pleased to have finished what I think was a first for him, too. While standing near the finish when one runner came in, I heard a loud whooping sound near me, and looked over to see a woman with a very small baby. I remember Mark B. mentioning a new child, so I asked the woman, "Are you Mark Bodamer's wife?" "Yes, how could you tell?", she asked. "The war whoop.", I replied. The cloud that I thought I sensed passing over her face might have meant she was thinking "Have to do something about that", or perhaps "God, this guy is rude". Oh well. I was right, wasn't I? I had a nice conversation with Mark H. over dinner, and did get to spend a moment with Chris. She seemed preoccupied, and no doubt the runners with medical problems contributed to that, but I wonder if the race, four years old now, has grown up a little faster than she had planned. Well, I've said enough on that subject already, I suppose. The WR50 is really a great race. I don't have enough experience to compare it with many others, but I don't care how it measures up to the others. They passed the acid test this year with medical problems, and I have always found it to be a wonderful experience. That certainly isn't changing. I had promised myself that I would not return the same old way along the interstate, but rather go through some of the Oregon back roads, but that was before I discovered my tent poles missing. I stopped in Yakima took my first pee since the race had ended (I had relieved myself several times during the run). Any concern I had that the urine might be a bit too yellow was immediately replaced with morbid fascination as I watched the dark brown fluid, without a hint of yellow, stream out of my organ and collect in the bowl of the urinal. Was I facing forward? Yes, that was OK. All that Coke I had drunk? Or just bits of kidney that had been shaken loose? Well, whatever it was, I decided that as far as my urinary tract through Monday morning was concerned, no pain was no problem, and I had no pain. I couldn't help but wonder, however, how the color of my other bodily fluids compared with what one ordinarily associates with them. After I got out of mosquito country I bedded down for the night, and since I had been mainlining water for the past few hours it should have surprised no one that I woke up a couple of hours later with that familiar urge. What followed was a scene worthy of the Marx Brothers (all right, maybe just the Little Rascals) as I tried, with the aid of a flashlight, but no receptacle for the fluid, to divine its color. I thought it was yellow, but I wasn't sure. The next time I was in a proper toilet in a truckstop and indeed the color was normal again. Home again and time to reflect. I'm something of a loner, more of one than I want to be. Running can accentuate that at times, since there often isn't anyone around who wants to run with me. But races -- organized endurance runs -- aren't lonely, even if you spend a good part of the race by yourself. I don't care if I never experience the rush of endorphins... in fact, the last thing I need is more of a reason to run. I think I would have to run very badly indeed for that ever to change.