From owner-ius-l@AMERICAN.EDU Wed Jul 2 11:09:01 1997 Date: Wed, 2 Jul 1997 08:36:21 +0100 To: ius-l@AMERICAN.EDU From: Pete Petri Subject: WS100-a first time pacers notes Cc: dead-runners-bay@saluki.Eng.Sun.COM, dimac@javanet.com Well, my first run at WS is over, as my pacing job for Santa Cruz's Bozena Maslanka went quite well. Since this was my first experience with pacing a runner or running during a 100, as you can imagine, this is quite long. The story is good though, as Bozena turned in an extremely gutsy performance, so check it out. Bozena was really hoping to run a sub-24, and Eric Robinson's pace chart had her at 26:00, so the end result was a bit of a suprise. Her crew (myself, my wife Carmen and help from friend Randy) was a bit challenged by that, but we all adjusted and made out fine. As for Bozena...;-) Our first look at her was at Robinson Flat, 30 miles in. We expected her between 11-11:30..she showed up at 12:25, just as I was starting to get majorly concerned. I talked to her for a minute, and all seemed OK, it's just that she was having a slow go at the uphills, and a little short of breath. Off she went, full of postitive energy, and bunches of us shouting encouragment after her. After doing some of the local sight seeing stuff, and taking a small nap, we headed to Michigan Bluff to see her in there and get a good calculation of time. Once again, the schedule had to be tossed. By 7:30, I started worrying that I blew it by not bringing my running gear down, and also thought of her need for a flashlight. She came in at 7:45, limping. The thing we never expected, a minor injury that would turn into a jackal nipping at her through the night...her ankle was bothering her, so we sat her down and Carmen rubbbed her down with Ben-Gay, while we shoved food and drink at her. Within a few minutes she was up, and Randy and I walked her out of the station. I was a little concerned, as her head didn't seem all there, and she acted very tired, but I was not going to let her quit, and I knew she had a lot of toughness left inside. On the way to Foresthill I suddenly realized that I forgot to give her a flashlight, and started beating myself up a little for being so dumb. I decided to vindicate myself by running down to Bath Rd (60 miles), and meeting her with a flashlight and running with her from there, which all seemed within the rules. I got down to Bath Road about 8:30, and waited for what I was sure would be a surly runner without a flashlight. She cam up a little before 9, so the darkness was just getting difficult, and off we went. At first it was easy to keep her busy. We talked all the way to Foresthill about her condition, what the run had been like so far, and what we had to do in Foresthill. In Foresthill(62 miles), Carmen had strategically set up a chair and supplies right next to the podiatry station, as we knew Bozena was also suffering from some bad blisters. 10 minutes of taping and loading and we were out of there, walking down the road to let her get used to all the second skin and tape, then starting to run once we hit the trail. At first she did quite well, and we seemed to pass through Dardanelles (65 miles) in no time, but the miles were starting to show their toll, and the stretch to Peachstone(70 miles) was a little long. She had already mentioned that she couldn't imagine running another 35+ miles, so I reminded her that we were running from station to station. I could tell she was very focused on this, and her only complaints about distance were always about how far the station was and when the hell was it going to appear. The stretch from Peachstone to the River Crossing was the hardest part of the night, and I think the part when we came the closest to loosing her. Her ankle was really starting to hurt, more than ever, and she was having problems with the tape on her toes. Even when we got that fixed, she soon could do no more than walk. On the way to Rucky Chuck she mentioned that she didn't think she was going to be able to walk another 22+ miles through the night in this condition, and wanted to get her ankle taped or get some Ben-Gay on it again. I felt a little helpless at this point,and could only offer encouragement and hopes for finding aid at the river. It turned into the golden goose, the goal to cure all that was ailing, and I just tried to do whatever I could to keep her moving. Finally, around 3AM, we made it to the river. I wolfed down a few sandwiches while she was weighing in, got her to eat some, then we headed to the crossing. Suddenly things changed. Crossing the river was fun and refreshing, and seemed to kick her back to life. Then, on the other side, she got her blisters re-done and had them tape up her ankle to reduce the mobility. It was clear that she had damaged the tendon on the front of her ankle, and the swelling was obvious, but renewed and refreshed, she was ready to get it on again. The tape didn't work...she complained of it feeling uncomfortable and her ankle still hurting, so at Green Gate she finally found someone with some Ben Gay. We rubbed a bunch in and headed out from there, and she was on the run again. For most of the stretch to Auburn Lake Trails she was able to run, and seemed quite well. Never during the night did she have any problems with her stomach..she ate enough to sustain herself, and I rarely had to remind her to drink; she remained above weight at all the medical checks. She also never really had to much of a problem with loosing her mental sharpness or falling asleep. In the end, it all came down to her ankle being the limiting factor. Such a shame, but she plugged on. We got into Auburn Lake Trails at 5:53 AM..the morning had come again, and the flashlights were packed away, having completed their all important job flawlessly. We spent a few minutes stocking up, as I was starving again, then headed on out towards Browns ravine. Along the way, at about 87 miles, came the bummer of the day as we caught up to Ray Piva. It wasn't a pretty sight. Randy had told us earlier that Ray was having a knee problem, and had it taped up in Foresthill, but it was abvious that something much worse was going on. His walk was reduced to a hunched stumbling, and his pacer was way ahead of him. Checking in with him, he let us know that his back was gone, and all we could do was lay a friendly hand on him and wish him well. It appeared as though Ray's attempt to cover WS as it's first 70 +yr old was not to happen. We both asked his pacer to get back with him, and were both a little pissed at his lack of compassion for him...he seemed more concerned with himself than Ray, although I'm sure it was a long night for him. After we left him, we talked for a while about how it worked well for Bozena to have me following her the whole way, not pushing her by running ahead, but keeping up th encouragement from behind, where I was always able to keep an eye on her. The next thing we knew it was into Brown's Ravine (90 miles). Only 10 to go, but what a ten. The last 10 miles is where I learned about what it means to be a pacer, and why they are so valuable for some runners. I also learned about helplessness to a new level, but I also learned about pride for a friend like I never felt before. I was glad that we had run together quite a bit during the winter and spring, so I had some vague ideas of what this woman was made of and how far she was willing to go to reach her goal. Out of Browns's she really starting hurting, as her ankle was getting worse. The last dose of Ben Gay had worn off, and now running became more and more out of the question. The uphill to Hwy 49 just about took the last of the life out of her, and the more I checked my watch, the more I knew that time was beginnning to become a factor. I talked to her as much as I could, I cajoled her on to Hwy 49, where Carmen would be meeting us with ice cold Coke and her ol buddy Ben (Gay). It took a monumental effort on her part to keep going, but she never stopped. At Hwy 49 (93 miles), we dropped all the bags and flashlights and long sleeve shirts, let Carmen apply heavy doses of Ben Gay, chowed down some of those wonderful Choc Chip cookies, and headed out. It was 8:45 when we left the station...2:15 left to go 7 miles. Seemed easy enough, but I had only run 33 miles and felt fine..she was a hurtin kid. I had let her walk all the way into Hwy 49 with the promise that she would start doing some running once the terrain leveled off above Hwy 49, and this was the first time that I clued her into the fact that meeting the 30 hour cutoof might be tough. Above Hwy 49, she began trying to run again, and the toll on her ankle and all the miles was obvious. I could easily keep up with her by power walking, but she kept going. We barely stopped at Painted Rock, and kept pushing for No-Hands, which seemed to take forever to arrive. Every step brought a gasp of pain from her, as there was no relief for the ankle, and every turn in the trail brought her down a little more when the station didn't appear, but still we moved on. Finally at 9:50, we passed through No-Hands, and began the final brave struggle up the last of the hills. Several times she looked at me and said there was no way we were going to make it, but I wasn't going to let her quit, not now, and I knew she wouldn't. Maybe a lesser person would have packed it in at this point, but she kept moving, wincing with the pain in her ankle, practicaly to the point of tears at every step. This little lady reached down and pulled out everything she had inside and got herself to Roby Point, a little over a mile to go, and it was only 10:30. I think she finally started to feel like she was going to make it, and with the help of Randy we were able to get her to started jogging again at the top of the hill. Finally, she could hear the stadium, and we began the last downhill to the track. I was elated at this point, as I knew she did it, and I knew better than anyone what she had been through to make it. I cajoled any spectators that I saw to give her a big hand, to encourage her on, to acknowledge her awesomeness. The pride in me for my friend was swelling, and as we finally broke onto the track, her starting to literally sprint, I waved my arms as I heard her name called. On the last straightaway I started waving my arms, inducing the crowd to cheer more and more, louder and louder for my friend that I was so proud of, and she grabbed my hand so we could cross the line together, finally at the end of the long road that is called Western States. We were both all smiles and gladly accepted all the hearty congratulations from friends and family. 29 hours and 47+ minutes after it started, on a cool Saturday morning at Squaw Valley, her run was done, and she was ready, for once, to stop. I talked to her for a while after, as she was in the medical tent having her ankle looked after. It was majorly swollen, and the medic ordered her not to walk on it for several days. Other than that , she looked fine and healthy, so I left her to collect her fame, glory and buckle, while I was left with a burning image in my mind of what it takes to run this race, of what true guts are, and the desire to find a stinkin application for WS 98. Let the training begin! Pete ============================================================================ Pete Petri | The Crossing Press | (408)722-0711 X200 | HONK! If you're a friend crossing@cruzio.com | of Bill W's http://www.crossingpress.com/Pete/ | ============================================================================