Subject: Western States 03 report From: "Blue, John" Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2003 15:06:10 -0700 My wife, Bendan, and I drove to Squaw Valley Friday morning (6/27), and I made it through the check-in and medical check without incident. The air was crackling hot in that Sierra summer way and even just sitting around I found it hard to keep hydrated. After the pre-race briefing, we went to our hotel in Tahoe City and then wandered around looking for a place to eat. Walking up a long, steep driveway, I could feel the effects of the elevation and I couldn't help worrying about those first several, all up-hill, miles of the racecourse. I always have trouble sleeping before a race and this time was no exception. We set the alarm (three actually) and managed to drop off to sleep by 9:00 PM. Almost as soon as I was deeply asleep, we woke up and I was thrashing around trying to figure out which alarm was ringing. Then I heard Bendan talking on the phone and I noticed it was only 10:15. Our car was making a clicking noise (the electric locks) and someone called the front desk who called us to let us know. It was all down hill from there, with motorcycles coming and going (there was a BMW motorcycle convention at the same time), drunken arguments in the stairwell, sketchy air conditioning, etc. At last 3:00 AM came and we runners got the motorcyclists back when we emerged from our rooms to pack-up our cars and shout greetings to each other across the parking lot. The starting area at Squaw Valley was a mad scene with hundreds of nervous runners and nervous crew milling around. At last, the shotgun blast sounded the start and everyone ran out the gate and onto the hill. I jogged for a while to get out the race jitters and then settled into a brisk hiking pace. As sunlight began to better illuminate the hill, I looked around for familiar faces. There was Ethan Veneklasen, who I'd met at the training camp, and the annoying French woman I'd met at the hotel, who now encouraged me to hurry it up the hill (this is two miles into a 100 mile race). Down the hill from me were Rena Schuman and Eric Ianocone and I slowed a bit to let them catch up. My left hip was hurting already, and when I mentioned it, Eric said he'd noticed I wasn't fully planting my left heel. Great! I now had something else to think about for the next 98 miles. Once we got running down the other side of the mountain, I lost track of my teammates for many hours. While we runners trudged up the hill, Bendan sped off to meet Tom Estes in Foresthill and then to meet me again at Robinson Flat (24.6 miles). The first 40 miles or so of the course were new to me (mostly because it was under snow while I was training), and it was beautiful to see. All around are the peaks of the Sierras, and the granite trails are lined with alpine flowers, wild herbs and gnarled bristle cone pines. I was in a very good mood when I ran into Robinson Flat. I had started the day running slowly, but by the time I'd reached Robinson flat, I was a half- hour faster than 24-hour pace and feeling fine. I weighed in at the medical check and was told I should be drinking a little more water, mostly to store up for the coming heat of the day. Bendan and Tom had a chair for me and I changed socks and had a snack. As I ate, Rena jogged through, apparently looking for her crew. I trotted out of Robinson Flat and into some of the most beautiful trails of the race. As I wound my way around Mt. Baldy, I couldn't help thinking I was on the top of the world. As it warmed up, all the aches and pains I'd been feeling earlier in the day disappeared. Unfortunately, my right foot (above the arch) began to ache in an alarming way. It hurt pretty badly, but I could still run on it. Bendan and Tom were waiting for me at Dusty Corners (38 miles) when I arrived, almost an hour ahead of 24-hour pace. They slathered me up with sunscreen and sent me on my way. I made my way to Last Chance (43.3 miles) and at the medical check I weighed in at 146 lbs--4 lbs heavier than my initial weight. Clearly, I had been hydrating well. >From Last Chance, I ran down, down, down to the bottom of the canyon and then began the long, steep climb up to Devil's Thumb (47.8). This was the first time I'd felt the effects of the heat and I started to regret not taking a quick dip in the creek before starting the climb. At last, I made it to the top and weighed exactly the same as at Last Chance. I left Devils Thumb feeling pretty good and enjoyed the steep descent into El Dorado Canyon. I jogged over the creek, thinking again of a quick swim but decided against it for fear of losing too much time. At the El Dorado Canyon aid station (52.9 miles), I was grilled by the paramedic who said I looked great. I didn't feel great. I felt incredibly hot. I downed a couple of cups of GU20 and water and ate some fruit. As I was set to leave, I took a tiny sip of Coke and my stomach knotted immediately. I started walking out of the aid station and made it 15-feet or so before I was down on my hands and knees, barfing like a cheerleader on prom night. The medics retrieved me from the trailside and I managed to get some ginger ale down. So often, I have heard other runners say, "After I threw up, I felt much better." I cannot say this. It was instead the beginning of a long, downward spiral. I hit the trail again, knowing that Bendan and Tom were waiting for me at Michigan Bluff (55.7 miles), the next aid station. Perhaps the lowest part of my race was on the hike up the hill to Michigan Bluff when I was passed by an older gentleman wearing a kilt and a white clown shirt with large polka dots. I managed to make it to Michigan Bluff still ahead of 24-hour pace, but wasted an hour sitting in a chair, sipping vegetable broth and trying to get my stomach to settle. While I sat there, Rena came in, sat for a minute, and left. After a while, I left Michigan Bluff-somewhat better but still not feeling well. Bob Fredenburg met me at Bath Road (60.6 miles) and we walked up the hill to Foresthill. I was very hot, nauseous and cranky at this point and if I'd had the energy, I'd have conked Bob on the head when he told me to start running when we hit Foresthill Road. "This is a run, you know!" The Foresthill School aid station (62 miles) is a major event. The aid station is about a half-acre is size and there were hundreds of people there. Lloyd Levine and Grant Carboni were waiting for runners out on Foresthill Road. Lloyd ran off in search of Bendan to get some more broth going and Grant tried to cheer me up and keep me moving. I weighed in at 142 lbs--4 lbs down from the last check. I was also too sick to keep moving. I sat in the shade and tried again to get food and liquids in me. Almost anything I tried would turn my stomach. Everyone was there, watching me, wondering if I would get out of the chair. Bendan and Tom had been joined by my two pacers (Grant Carboni and John Nichols) and the night-shift crew (Steve Storelli and Steve SoRelle). Lloyd Levine and Becky Johnson were there working the aid station. It was there I began hearing some news of other Buffalo Chips. Jen Pfiefer had dropped at Michigan Bluff. Brad Lael was still in, but way off pace. Erik Skaden had come through looking fine. Rena had come through and John Nichols said she looked "chipper." It was in Foresthill, sitting in that chair, that I had to sort out my goals and feelings about the race. I wasn't going to be able to run the race I'd planned. Aside from my stomach, I felt fine. I wanted to keep going but I knew if I couldn't eat and drink I was going to bonk. I also knew that nightfall was inevitable and there was a chance I would start to feel better once it began to cool off. This race is long enough that people can come back. I've heard that a million times. I decided to see if it was true. I also didn't want to disappoint my crew. There were a lot of people who'd sacrificed a lot of their time to help me through this. My new primary goal was to drink a cup of water. If I could do that I'd start again. I heaved myself out of the chair, walked over to the food table and drank a cup of water. It stayed in. I had the medic weigh me again and I was a pound heavier than when I'd come in. John Nichols and I then set off down Foresthill Road for the Dardenelles aid station (65.7 miles). We walked for a bit until I got my legs under me. My right foot hurt but the pain eased as I began moving again. It's pretty much all down hill to Dardenelles and I was jogging most of the way. On the way to Peachstone (70.7 miles), we were running solidly in the dark. Then came "The Bonk." I started having trouble with my footing and staying on the trail. If I'd had the energy I also would have begun to whine. Then the trail turned upward and as my heart rate climbed, the nausea returned. So, there I was bonking and retching in the dark. All I wanted to do was get to the river crossing so I could get a ride out. At Peachstone, I sat for another 25-minutes. I was shivering cold. The aid station crew wrapped me in a blanket and while John grazed at the buffet, I managed to choke down six saltine crackers. Off to my side were some other victims of the race. Three people were sacked out on cots and covered with blankets-some with IV tubes snaking out from under them. Gordy Ainsleigh came in and left. Another runner was hauled out on horseback as I was struggling again to get down some 7-Up and water. At some point, just because I was cold, I asked if I could have some hot water. They gave me a cup of hot water and I drank it right down. Then I drank another. I had John dump out the water in my hydration pack and fill it with warm water. Suddenly things began to feel more possible and we hit the trail again. On the way to Ford's Bar (73 miles), we caught up with a crowd of people and the two horses. This particular section was a narrow, single-track trail with a steep drop to the left. The ex-runner sitting on the front horse was puking with an astonishing vigor to the right of the trail. The safety patrol people were telling us to go ahead and pass to the left. The horses were very well trained and didn't spook at all as six of us squeezed past. (Although, they did manage to crap mountains of dung as this was going on, only adding to the surreal nature of the experience.) The trail gave way under my left foot just as I was getting ready to step back out to the front of the horses and I fell to the ground. The woman holding the horse helped me back up to the trail. That would be the only time I fell during the entire race. We reached Ford's Bar and I pulled up a chair again-this time to eat. Suddenly, I had an appetite and began to seriously tuck some food away, washing it down with warm, sweet tea. We left after a few minutes and I was looking forward to reaching the river crossing at Rucky Chucky. As we went, I was running more and more and feeling better and better. At Rucky Chucky (78 miles), the Steves were waiting and they did a superb job of looking after me. This is a Chips aid station and not to be missed. It's like a party with lights strung up everywhere and tiki torches set out into the water. It was here that Steve Storelli confessed to me that when he'd last seen me at Foresthill, he didn't think I'd finish. Now, he said, I looked like I would. In truth, I felt like a different person. After 45-minutes or so of sitting around eating, John and I set off for the river. The Steves followed us down to the river and wished us well. The water was cold but it was actually fun being in there and my legs and feet felt better for it. We didn't stop at the aid station just across the river and headed up the hill to where Bendan and Grant would be waiting for us at Greengate. My left achilles hurt whenever I walked uphill and I assumed I had a blister we could deal with when we reached Bendan and the first aid supplies. It was well after 2 AM when we walked into the Greengate aid station (79.8 miles). Bendan and Grant were pleasantly surprised to see us as they hadn't announced my crossing the river, or they'd missed the announcement, and this was the first they seen or heard anything of me since Foresthill, over six-hours before. I put on dry shoes and socks and picked up some extra clothing for the last leg of the run. I ate and drank some more while Grant pinned on the pacer's number. Grant was trying to reassure me about how easy we were going to take it as we prepared to leave. We left the aid station and immediately began to run. We'd gone for a few minutes before Grant commented, "We're really clipping along!" We were and it was great. For the first time in hours, I was running well. What they said was true. You can come back in this race. No one passed us in the last 20 miles of the race and I would estimate we passed at least 40 or 50 during this same stretch. We ran from Greengate to Auburn (20 miles), in the dark, in 4.5 hours! Grant was great during this section because he knew the trail even better than I did, telling me almost exactly what to expect as we went along. The pain in my left Achilles was extreme when I walked up hill so I began to run pretty much everything. We caught up with Rena at Brown's Bar (89.9 miles) and she was looking bleak. (We haven't had a chance to talk about it, but she looked like she was searching for a good reason to drop.) I was very happy to see her back on her feet as we took off down the trail for Highway 49 (93.5 miles). Along the way, it became light and I was glad to switch off my headlamp. At the Highway 49 crossing, Bendan and the Steves were there waiting for me. They joked I should run a 120 mile race because I was doing better the longer I went. I drank some hot water with sugar (they didn't have any tea!) and ate some peanut butter crackers. I didn't linger because I could smell the barn! At No Hands Bridge (96.8 miles) we stopped long enough for me to down two cups of Coke and we were off for Robie Point. I could see a few people ahead of us and I wanted to catch them before they made it up the hill (which we did). On the way up the hill, I was delighted to find Don Rush waiting to cheer me on. I filled him in on the race a little bit and we then blasted on up to Robie Point (98.9 miles). We didn't stop at all here because I could see even more runners to catch up the road. Many of the locals were out on their driveways cheering the runners on. More than one shouted in amazement that we were running up that hill. Grant would set little goals for me: "Run from this driveway to the light pole." I would do it and usually push myself a little more. Finally the school was there and we began the run around the track. I was surprised to hear the announcer calling Ethan Veneklasen's name. He was finishing just in front of me! I crossed the finish line and Tim Twietmeyer hung the finishers' medal around my neck and shook my hand. I was done! It's been more than a week since the race and the aches and pains are fading. What remains is not the amazement that I have done this great thing, but that so many people did so much to make this great thing possible. I couldn't have finished without the help and support of my wife and kids, all my crew, my training partners and fellow Buffalo Chips, the thousands of volunteers and all the well-wishers!