Jump
20 hours into the Western States Endurance Run chills reverberated through my body and I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck as my feet encountered the oh so familiar trail between Main Bar and Quarry Rd. Its a five mile section of sweet flowing singletrack I'd run dozens of times. In the same way hearing an old song evokes memories from your past, the familiar dirt evoked flashbacks from fun, fast, training runs and the faces of friends filled my thoughts. Hey, do you mind if I put some music on for a bit?, I asked my pacer. Sure man, its your race, do what you need to do., Paulo responded. With a quick thumb press the intro to "Jump" by Van Halen filled my head. The fatigue left my legs as the music made them forget the 88 miles behind them and reprogrammed them to instead focus on the 5 miles ahead. My double digit pace quickly dropped to single digits as my stride lengthened and my cadence quickened. Every headlamp in the distance was like a yellow light I was trying to speed through. For those next few miles I ran fearless. They were perhaps the purest miles of the entire day and the most memorable. I left all my worries on the trail and started having fun again. It was a far cry from how'd I felt going into the race.
The days leading into the race I was filled with an uncharacteristic amount of nervousness and trepidation. After all, this wasn't my first rodeo - I've run big races and slept like a baby the night before. But this wasn't just any rodeo - this was Western States - arguably the most prestigious, well known, and famous (or infamous depending on you ask) hundo out there. As such, is it also one of the hardest to get into. Its like the lyric from Eminem’s "Lose Yourself" - If you had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment, would you capture it or just let it slip? Yeah, so mayyyyybeeee that had a little to do with my apprehensiveness, that and a couple of other things.
First and foremost was the fact that this particular moment could very well be once in lifetime. I'd waited patiently six years through the lottery process - obtaining a qualifier each year - before finally being selected to run on June 23rd 2018, two months shy of my 40th birthday. Who knows how much longer it would be for a second shot! Health is not guaranteed as I found out this training cycle when I was robbed of over a month of training due to a bout of plantar fasciitis. The PF comes in a strong second to factors I can attribute to the fears leading up to race day. At the peak of my PF, the pain severely impacted my ability to run, and the running I was able to do significantly altered my natural gait as I was favoring my left foot. I remember coming back from a routine 8 mile (unrelated to Eminem) out and back jaunt on the Santago truck trail and limping back to my car. By the time I was home I couldn't put any weight on my foot and the pain was throbbing. The next morning it'd gotten worse and that’s when I had a freak out moment and started calling every podiatrist in the OC looking for a same-day appointment. Exactly one week from that day, and after a cortisone shot and sleeping in a night splint, I limped through the Boston Marathon because, well, its the Boston marathon. That decision probably wasn't conducive to any type of recovery plan in preparation for WS, but hey, I'm not perfect and more than once I have lost sight of longer term goals in pursuit of short term fulfillment. In hindsight, that was a stupid, stupid risk.
Fortunately, after some trial and error and spending a lot of $$ I worked out how to manage the pain through taping, new shoes, and regular massage. I cautiously started pouring on the miles again, but I had a genuine and justifiable concern that the PF could flare up again and negatively impact my race.
One thing is clear from my prior race experience - I do not fare well in the heat. (a bout in the grand canyon during a R2R2R adventure and a few hard miles of Badwater Salton Sea come to mind) So, in third place on Bill's wall of pre-race fears and anxieties we have the triple digit weather forecast. Although I was fully cognizant of my weakness in this area and inundated with Instagram sauna selfies from all the WSER entrants I was following - I didn't elect to actually hit the sauna until exactly 11 days before race day when it was pretty much guaranteed to be hot as frack . I guess I was optimistically holding out for a fair-weather year - yet another illustration of my imperfect decision making before race day. (Writing this I'm starting to have more appreciation for coaching. Perhaps there is something to all that talk about structure and accountability after all.)
As I'm in the sauna day after day in 160 degree temps trying to make it past the 30 min mark I witnessed the weather forecast gradually increase and as fate would have it - the hottest day of the year thus far was forecasted to occur on exactly June 23rd - race day. As my friend said to me: You wanted to run Western States you're getting friggin’ Western States!
So in summary, in between an irritable fascia, a triple digit heat forecast, and the prospect of only getting one shot at this; I was pretty pent-up before the race. Friday evening, as I'm sitting around the table with my crew at Burger-Me, I tried to blend in with a fake grin as I watched everyone laughing and carrying on drinking beer and milkshakes. I just wasn't fully present or engaged, and my mind was adrift. That night I spent a ridiculous amount of time on obscenely trivial tasks - filling my iPod with more music, wavering between the decision to bring wired or wireless headphones, and frantically searching for a race belt through my duffel bags that I had already set aside with my race day gear earlier. (For the record I went with wired, chalk that up for at least ONE good decision before the race.)
Toeing the start line
The morning of the race I was up at 3:30 with my game face on. I thought to myself how comical it was how I have to drag myself out of bed by 7 to get to work but how on race day I'm up and wide awake at 3:30 AM on the dial. My crew and I journeyed to the start line where runner check-in was a breeze and we hid from the mildly chilly weather for the next 45 minutes inside. My dad made the drive up from Sac to see me off and was making his way through the resort to rendezvous with us. We found him next to the start line arch with a bright red blinking light. Clever dad! Go time was nearly here. After six lotteries, and six months of training I had at least accomplished 50% of my goals in that moment - I was toeing the start line!
Before I knew it I heard the shotgun blast and we are off and making our way up to the escarpment! It was a mix of slow jogging and hiking as I tried to stay conservative but also keeping in mind how much it would suck to be behind a conga line dropping down the singletrack from the top. Its not about pace its about space - and I need it to run enjoyably. I don't want to be on anyone's heels nor do I want anyone clipping my own. So I was hoping to settle into a place where runners were spread out a little bit. Upon cresting the escarpment I was happy about two things - first, my watch read exactly 1 hour! I love even numbers, and that's actually a little better of a time than I thought it would be after the first climb. Second, a familiar face came rolling up behind me and I had some company for the next section!
For the next couple of hours Annie and I chatted and caught up and talked about past races. When I was living in Truckee for the summer on the eve of my very first hundred miler five years ago, Annie was one of my training partners. So it was sort of appropriate to meet up again at the escarpment of the friggin’ WESTERN STATES 100 as accomplished runners now with both of us having several hundos under our belts. We lied to one another and BS'd about how we were both coming off injury and had no expectations for the race except to finish. But of course we both secretly pining for that sub 24 silver buckle of beauty.
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| Duncan Canyon Car Wash |
Pain Personified - “Get off the bus Gus”
About this point as I started climbing my way out of Duncan Canyon to Robinson Flat my plantar fasciitis started griping at me. It'd been in check up to this point - just a little discomfort in my heel and numbness in my fourth toe that I managed by scrunching my toes together at regular intervals to keep the blood circulating. But step after step of the climb the pain increased. I started to get angry. Its only mile 24! No flippin’ way, not on this day, and certainly not this early into the race., I thought to myself. Mentally I separated the pain in my left paw from the rest of my body and I even gave a name to it. Gus, you mother, shut the hell up and go back to sleep. I don't have the energy to deal with you today. I rolled into Robinson Flat determined. My fabulous crew was there with my coke and my BAC (bacon avocado cracker) queued up but I had other, more immediate priorities. Before I could think about caloric intake I had to handle Gus. I got my shoes and socks off and applied some Lekuotape to my foot - literally and figuratively taping Gus's mouth shut - and then threw on a fresh pair of socks. After that I chugged the coke and inhaled the BAC. I could tell my crew was a little concerned I spent so much time at that aid station after telling them in our crew briefing I would be in and out. But I put the fake grin back on that I'd rehearsed the night before and got moving again.Out of Robinson Flat there is a little uphill followed by 13 miles of downhill between Robinson Flat and Swinging Bridge (AKA the Western States Half marathon). I finally engaged the iPod and got the music going. I planned to listen to tunes from here on out until I picked up my first pacer at Foresthill. As I started to get into a flow on the downhill something amazing happened - Gus stopped misbehaving. I couldn't believe it. That made me really happy to not have to worry about him. The next several miles breezed by as I enjoyed some of the most runnable parts of the course. For the next two hours I just enjoyed running while mentally preparing for the three climbs ahead - Devil's Thumb, Michigan Bluff, and Volcano Canyon. For months I’d heard fabled stories about how the relentless heat and climbs of the canyons have eaten many a Western State runner alive spit and them out at Foresthill defeated and demoralized. I was looking forward to getting these climbs done. If I can come out of the canyons unscathed, I thought, I've got a good chance of reaching my Silver ambitions.
The Canyons
After crossing the iconic Swinging Bridge I engaged the first climb to Devil's Thumb. Its at this point I started doing what a lot of people would not recommend a hundred mile runner to do - math. What's the half way point? What time do I need to be in to make sub 24? How much more climbing is left? I started pushing up the climb thinking I needed to make up time and overtaking runner after runner on the hike up. It was now heating up pretty good - the hottest it'd been to this point, and it didn't take long for my body to react. As I tried to maintain a strong power-hike I could feel my heart-rate racing, and my breathing increase. As much as I wanted to keep pushing to the top I paused and listened to my body. I've been here before and what happened when I kept pushing? It caught up with me and took me out like I was hit by a bus. So I immediately took it down a notch. I realized if I kept that pace, I risked heat exhaustion and it would rob of me of more time in the long run as opposed to just slowing down now. So I did, and humbly let all the runners I'd overtaken before go right back passed me. Eventually I crested the top and reached Devil's Thumb. 1 of 3 done! However, I was not in great shape. Although I'd taken it down a gear, I still had done a little damage I needed to recover from. I took a seat and got some fluids and tried to cool down. After a few minutes I decided its about time to get the motor going again. I hit the downhill with a slow jog as I tried to shake off the climb. I knew downhill is the cure for exhaustion. Downhill, and a really good friggin’ song. Queue Dave Matthews - "Lie in our Graves". When we're walking by the water, splish splash me and you takin a bath. The combination of good (appropriate) lyrics and good melody were just the metaphorical pull my engine needed to get going again and I cruised down to El Dorado creek feeling good despite the heat. |
| Feeling great coming into Michigan Bluff |
In our crew briefing I expressed a mild concern about timing getting from Michigan Bluff to Foresthill - I didn't want to miss them at Foresthill! The consensus was it'd be no problem, but I don't think anyone (including myself) expected I'd be in shape to be booking it at that point anyhow. However, on the day of reckoning, I was flyin' (relatively speaking)! I hit the downhill hard and ran most of the ups and made it to FH in 1hr 15 which was faster than my last training run on that section!
The canyons would not take this soul! Somehow I writhed and wiggled my way out of their jaws and landed at mile 62 of the Western States refreshed and re-energized and ready to tackle the remaining 38 and with the company of my pacers/friends.
Team Billy Goat
At Foresthill, not only was my crew all there, but they had secured a phenomenal spot in the shade and with a large "Team Billy Goat" flag flying. My first pacer, Bryan met me and asked how I was doing. I quickly recited I need bottles, a dry buff, and my Garmin. Bam! Everything was right there for laid out for me when I sat down. I truly had the A-Team for my crew! Like a well versed Nascar pit crew I fueled up and was out of there. Then, in what was one of the most memorable moments of the race, they ran me down Main st to the Cal Street turnoff where Bryan took the reins from there.
The Fab 5
When I was selected for the WS lottery I already had a pretty good idea who I would enlist to pace me. On my shortlist was Bryan. It was an easy call. Bryan is a friend whom I met through our mutual friend, Kevin, whom I had paced at Western States in 2012. Together, the three of us and a couple of other runners (namely Dan and Maggie) would meet up a couple of times a year for races. We’d run races in Missouri (Dogwood Canyon), here at home (UROC), Texas (Bandera) and we were all there to support Bryan during his inaugural hundo, the Bighorn 100, in Wyoming in 2016. Most recently we’d run together at the Back 40 ride and run in Arkansas. Informally, we referred to ourselves as the Fab 5. Akin to the Coconino Cowboys, sans the flare, speed, six-pack abs, and all the Insta stories. But we did share the same camaraderie, inside jokes, and zest for adventure. And also, beer. The next Fab 5”adventure is something I’ve grown to look forward to every year, and I was stoked we were all back together in Squaw!Getting to know Bryan there were two things he brought to the table (other than being a solid, experienced runner obviously): energy and positivity. These are the two ingredients I knew I’d want on my Western States pizza floating down to the river from Cal street. I knew I’d have a morale boost when I hit Foresthill from seeing everyone and I wanted to ride that momentum as long as possible. Bryan was just the oar I needed to keep that boat afloat!
For the next 7-8 miles we chatted incessantly motoring right through Cal-1 and Cal-2 until I hit a little bit of a low heading into Cal-3. Bryan, if I don’t answer, its just because I’m a little tired right now., I politely warned him. He continued to chat away and I zoned out chiming in to answer a question here and there when the mood struck. About 10 steps from arriving at Cal-3 my right calf seized up and I let out an Ahhhhhhh! Bry took a look at me, and although a little frightened at the prospect of what was going on, stayed calm, cool and collected. I was facing downhill and could feel my calf about to ball up and cramp and was trying to stretch it out to avoid that from happening. Bry assessed the situation and quickly deduced I needed to turn the leg uphill to stretch it out and so I followed his suggestion. Crisis averted! Right there Bry earned his pacer gold star! If that calf would have cramped I would have had limped to the finish and that’s not how I envisioned rounding that final lap around the Placer High School track. I sat down for a sec to gather myself for the final push to the river. At that point my stomach had decided it was finally done with gels, and so it would be coke, primarily, to fuel me through the last two-tenths of the race. When we hit the near side of the river Bry was diligent and made sure I got salt and a little bit of solid food to calm my stomach. Its the little things like this a pacer can provide you that at mile 78, even a veteran runner may lose site of.
As an unexpected surprise, two of my crew, Clint and Becca, had made it there to greet me with my favorite red fuel can of caffeinated goodness .
Bry and I prepared for the river crossing. Excitement ensued. The cold water would swallow us chest deep at points but we were under the watchful guise of the volunteers guiding us step by precarious step.
At the far side of the river another unexpected surprise awaited. The rest of the crew! They had hiked four miles down to greet me with a dry pair of socks, shoes, tape, and anything else I might need.
What a luxury it was to have a dry pair of socks right there. My all-star crew helped get the shoes off, dry my feet, and tape up a few hot spots that I would have otherwise ignored until the finish. These few minutes, in hindsight, really helped to make that last push more enjoyable.
Together, we all made the 1.8 mile hike up to Green gate from the river. This is mile 78-80 of the course.
Upon reaching Green Gate I was ecstatic to see Paulo, my designated pacer from Green Gate to the finish. I jokingly said to Paulo I’ve got good news and bad news: the good news is I’m feeling great right now, the bad news is, I’m going to crush this section so I hope you can keep up.
Peruvian Thunder
Next on my shortlist was Paulo. Paulo and I have run a lot of miles together including some big races (UTMB and Badwater Salton Sea). Around mile 40-ish of the Badwater Salton Sea race we entered the aptly named “Hellhole Canyon” and endeavored on a 3,000 ft climb in triple digit exposed heat. The sun wore down on me, zapped my energy, and I slowed to a crawl with signs of heat exhaustion. Paulo got me in the shade to cool down and patiently waited as my core temp stabilized, kept me hydrated, and then got me moving again. He’s seen me at my grimmest moments and helped pull me through, so I trusted him to get me through to the finish no matter what state I was in for those last few miles from Green Gate to the finish.Fortunately, it wouldn’t get that bad this night. My spirits and my energy levels were unexpectedly sky high as we departed green gate together. We made quick work out of the next five miles of rollers; running the downs, jogging the flats, and hiking the ups. After leaving the ALT aid station, you know what happens next!
Don't milk it
As Eddie Van Halen and I dropped into Quarry Road at mile 90.5 after our late race energy surge I was very pleased with myself to find out I was well below sub-24 pace. It was basically in the bag!! I thought to myself I could hike it in at this point, the hard work was done. Ah, but Paulo did not share in my gloating sentiments. He quickly and sternly reprimanded me. Don't just milk the clock until 24 hours, this is Western States! Stop looking at your watch and just run as hard as you can - do your best!. He was right. This was Western States. How dissatisfied would I be reflecting on the race days, weeks, or months later, wondering how well I could have done if I'd really pushed the last 10 miles as opposed to hiking it in. After Paulo's speech it was head down and feet forward. There was still work to be done.Close the gap
Although the trail was familiar, and it evoked memories as before, the pixie dust that magically removed the fatigue from my legs was all used up and so it was a grind to click off mile after mile on the climb up to Cool and the Pointed Rocks aid station at mile 94. I was elated to run into my friend Annie again and see she was doing so well in the race after some early blister trouble last I saw her. Paulo was leading now and I grew a little perturbed though that he would hike so far ahead of me. Com'on dude, close the gap!, he kept saying. All the while I'm thinking I'm moving forward, and I think that's pretty commendable at this point, and how much time is closing a five second gap going to get me? In the end I was thankful for the pull, as it was time to put this race to rest.Silver O’ Clock
I focused on the back of his calves as we headed down the WST trail to No Hands bridge. Normally I would kill this downhill but with tired legs and the inability to make out the trail due to the dust we were kicking up I opted for a gentle stroll. With the just 3.5 miles to go there was no point in stopping there and we cruised right through and soon I could see the lights of the Robie aid station above us.At Robie Team Billy Goat was there ready to help me drive it home! The exhaustion would take a backseat to the budding excitement. Reality set it. We crested the last hill, crossed the white bridge, and there in front of me was the track. I dropped my bottles as the team scattered to get pics of the finish line. I took to the track and naturally went to the inside lane, as I would do for a standard track workout. I pumped my arms and seconds later I crossed the finish and finally earned that silver buckle. The journey that began six years ago to the day had finally come to its glorious end.
At the end I just sat there, surrounded by my wonderful friends, speechless, just absorbing the moment.
65
When I applied to enter the Western States Lottery for the sixth time, I was in Squaw Valley with my dad. We had just hiked Maggies Peaks, and were having a pizza at the Fireside Grill. My dad had just turned 65 years old. How appropriate is it that I submit my application at this place I thought.When I was selected to run, I had the option to request a specific bib number. I immediately thought of the number 65 in honor of my dad who is my ultimate fan and a constant source of inspiration to me personally in all walks of life.
So it was with a terrific, satisfying irony that when my friends showed me the results I had finished in 65th place. My dad, who was there for the finish and I had a great laugh when we saw the results.
What happens next?
My buddy Clint had set up a tent castle on the field and it was such a luxury to crash right away. A shower sounded divine but when I saw how far I’d have to walk across the field to get there compared to the how deceptively close Casa de Clint was, I chose the Casa de Clint.My mind passed out almost immediately but my body was still awake, aching. I couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t move either. So I just lied there drifting in and out of sleep.
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| Passed out at Moonrakers |
In return for dragging them to a chain mexican food restaurant under the guise of “celebrating”, the crew subsequently dragged me to the nearest brewery for a real celebration. With a full beer in front of me all of a sudden my body and mind coalesced and my head hit the table overcome with exhaustion. When I came to I learned that I was nearly kicked out of the brewery as they can’t have passed out patrons peppering the real estate. My friends spoke up thought and informed the waitress Oh he’s not drunk, he just ran a hundred miles. The waitress's disdain turned into admiration and I was allowed to stay. But the real mystery was, who drank my beer while I was out ?
Thanks
I am eternally grateful to all the support and encouragement I had along the way. So many of you offered advice for treating my PF. My coworkers covered more than one on-call weekend so that I could disappear into the mountains. Some of you listened to me whine quite a bit leading up to the race about my various ailments and disappointments. I am so grateful for this community. And to Team Billy Goat - you were the perfect crew a runner could have, anticipating my needs, showing up when I least expected to see you, and constantly with a coke a cola in hand! Every one of you contributed something to this experience that made it unique and unforgettable and I am sincerely thankful for that!#TeamBillyGoat
Bryan HayPaulo Medina
Kevin O’Toole & Courtney Edwards
Daniel Brockman & Teri Williams Brockman
Kelly Maggie Akyüz
Clint Welch &Rebecca Welch
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