Western States Endurance Run - Part 4 (to the bitter end!)

My pacer, Jess, exiting the river and ready to get to work!

Despite having been "on duty" for over 24 hours now, Jess was raring to go.  I didn’t want to give away any time here so I quickly let her know that in the interest of keeping our hard earned time buffer, I was altering our original plan of doing a clothing and shoe change on the other side of the river.  After our plunge, we would immediately head up the trail soaking wet and keep motoring.  
 

The river crossing was actually a whole heck of a lot of fun!  The width of the American River is spanned by a cable manned by volunteers every few feet of its lengths.  These volunteers have been standing in the waters of the American River for hours, helping each and every runner to cross the water safely and without mishap.  Earlier in the day, the crossing is a welcome dip in cooling waters and a respite from the brutal heat.  For those of us on the slower end of the runner spectrum, we could be facing a much colder ordeal depending upon the night time temps, hence my original plan to change clothes on the other side.  One of the few benefits of a super hot race day?  The night time temps were balmy and I didn’t have to worry about getting cold.
            

Jess and I gamely plunged into the waters after being strapped into life vests and decorated with glow stick necklaces (the better for rescue crews to find you should you end up losing your footing and being swept downstream).  The volunteers here were AWESOME!  They had painstakingly submerged glow sticks on the various underwater boulders and troughs that awaited us.  It was like an aquatic game of Twister.  Right foot on green glow light, left foot on blue, etc, etc.  All accompanied by patient instructions that they were willing to repeat endlessly to brain fogged runners.  I took the time to submerge myself up to my chest and enjoyed the feel of the cold waters on my tired body.  I was so very grateful to be washing some of the past 78 miles and nearly 24 hours of trail dust, dirt and sweat away as well.

Jess and I exited the far side, let the drop bag workers there know we wouldn’t be stopping for our drop bag and headed on out.  Jess was my whip cracking crew member.  She meant business and there was going to be no room for anything but success on her watch.  She was totally committed to working me as hard as she could.  A month earlier, Jess had come out from San Francisco the weekend of the training runs to preview the course with me.  How awesome was that!?!?!  She was familiar with her section and knew what lay ahead for us. 

I had ditched my headlamp just before entering the river and had been traveling for the past couple of miles using a small handheld light.  Thankfully, it wasn't long before the skies began to ever so gradually brighten.  Hallelujah!  What a welcome sight!  

The cutoff between Green Gate (mile 79.8) and Auburn Lake Trail aid station (mile 85.2) is one of the most aggressive of the entire course.  Luckily, I had painstakingly analyzed all the cutoffs in advance of the race and I knew this was a section of trail that would demand a lot of me and had the potential to be a game ender. 

Even pushing me as hard as she possibly could, that 30 minute buffer we had enjoyed at Rucky Chucky soon dwindled bit by bit.  We made it in and out of Auburn Lakes Trail with 19 minutes to spare.  Still better than my 4 minute nail biter at Devil's Thumb, but my 30 minute cushion was deflating way too quickly.  Jess needed to carry me along through to Hwy 49 at the 93.5 mile mark, that meant roughly 16 miles of trail on her shift.  

The climb up to Hwy 49 at roughly mile 93 of the race.  (Travel direction is from right to left.)

At one point, I remember realizing that the effort Jess was having me put forth would have to continue for 5 more hours to get me to the finish, and I knew I couldn’t sustain this level without crashing badly.  I expressed this to Jess and she adjusted on the fly.  We settled upon a game of “Let’s Make a Deal”.  It went like this “Run 100 strides and I’ll let you walk for 30.”  “Run 50 strides and I’ll let you walk 15.”  Ad infinitum.  This went on for mile after mile.  At some points, I would lead, at others Jess would be out in front and try to pull me along by sheer will.  She did it.  She kept me moving at the faster and faster pace that was needed to keep that buffer where it was and handed me off once again to Jenn at Hwy 49 (mile 93.5) some 18 minutes before the cutoff at 8:42 am.

We were close, oh so close, but nothing was sure yet.  I was so very tired by this point.  I had given a lot of extra effort over those miles with Jess and the drain was cumulative.  We let Jenn know about the “Let’s Make A Deal” strategy that had worked so well for Jess.  Jenn was all smiles and positivity once again, as always.  We left Hwy 49 with aid station volunteers literally yelling at me to “Get out of here!” (it was actually a little unsettling).   I had less than 7 miles to go.  I was supremely happy to be so close, but also incredibly worn out.  

From Hwy 49 on, it’s a race to the finish with no real cutoffs in between.  All I had to do was make it to the Placer HS track by 11 am.    That meant 1 hour and 57 minutes to cover 6.7 miles.  Sounds easy enough when you put it that way.  Heck, that’s like a 17.5 min/mile pace and I can normally power walk at 15 min/mile.  But the math’s not that simple.  My legs have 90+ miles on them and we’re not talking about a nice flat stroll around the neighborhood.  In between me and the finish line are 6.7 miles of trails with some significant climbs thrown in for ha-has.

 

Beautiful meadows after Hwy 49 crossing

We had a one mile climb out of the Hwy 49 aid station that just about did me in, even though it was only about 300' of elevation gain.  After this climb, the trail opens out onto a beautiful grassland area dotted with stately, wide-canopied oak trees.  It’s a meadow criss-crossed by horse trails and with open views in all directions.  Best of all, it’s relatively flat and very runnable (well, for somebody that hasn’t already covered 94+ miles).  I did my best, honest, I did, but there came a time or two where poor Jenn was beseeching me to run a few more steps and I basically replied with a firm “No” and carried out my own little mutiny.  Rather pathetic on my part, but I can’t change history.

Jenn was a trooper and stayed upbeat no matter what.  I have a very vivid memory of her pointing out a flower on the side of the trail and commenting on its beauty in an effort to boost my spirits.  It didn’t quite work the way she had hoped (I really couldn't care less about flowers right then), but the heartfelt sincerity of her efforts was what made me smile.

No Hands Bridge over the American River.  Roughly mile 97.

OK, so Jenn, with her ball and chain in tow, gets me to the No Hands Bridge (mile 96.8).  Here we are met by a jubilant Jimbo and Jess jumping up and down and going on and on about how awesome I was and that I was going to do it!  Jimbo’s summation comment to me “Just a 5k to go and ANYBODY can do a 5k”.  I had to laugh at his optimism as a 5k was sounding pretty daunting right about that time.

The final miles.  These last climbs felt like an assault on Everest by this point.  Direction of travel is from right to left.  This map represents miles 97 to 100 of the course.

Jenn and I trucked on through the No Hands aid station without stopping.  We had work to do (and hopefully a finish to celebrate).  The last 3 miles of Western States are not to be underestimated.  Just to make sure that those who cross the finish line are truly worthy, they throw in an 800’ climb at mile 98 up to Robie Point.  No way around it - it sucked.  Absolutely.  Sucked. 

I was cutting it close once again.  I know that both Jenn and I were constantly doing the math.  To have come this far and lose it in the last few miles?  It was a real possibility.  I just had nothing left, and that climb up to Robie Point loomed larger than life.  Aid station workers were walking back down the trail to exhort the last runners to give it their all.  They were offering buckets of cold water to cool you off, refills on liquids, words of encouragement…anything they could do to help get you there in time.

Climbing up from Robie Point.  Less than a mile to go now, but I'm toast!  Jenn on the right, beckoning me on.  Tammy on the left, chattering and cheering and coaxing me ever forward.

We finally made it to Robie Point.  Only 1.2 miles to go, but it was still uphill!  The trail dumps you out onto pavement and the last mile is a climb through the streets of Auburn to the Placer High School track.  I was out of it at this point.  I know that now.  A runner friend, Tammy Massie, came out to meet me and joined us.  My husband, Paul, who hadn’t seen me since the start, walked back from the high school track to meet me at Robie Point.  Residents of Auburn, race staff and volunteers were all along the last few blocks, urging us on with every step.  It was an entourage of support and positive words, but I was so very spent.  I remember constantly asking everybody around me for directions.  “Where do I go?”,  “How much further?”, “Which way do I turn?”, “Where’s the white bridge?” No matter how many times they answered my questions, I couldn’t retain any of it and would repeat my litany of questions over and over again.

Entering the track for the final 300 yards!

Finally, finally, the white bridge came into view and I knew where to go.  A turn to the left and the gates to the track open before you.  I wanted to run the entire track.  All of it.  I knew I only had minutes to spare.  This was my celebration!  The track near the finish was lined with clapping and yelling spectators on both sides.  I frantically scanned the crowds hoping I would spot our daughters, but couldn’t really make sense of any of it...the culmination of months of hard work and hundreds of training miles...the hard work of my crew...the support of my family...the countless hours put in by race volunteers to give each and every single runner the best chance possible of reaching that finish line...I was one of the lucky ones who was going to make it!   

The final loop around the track.

 
Finally, after 100+ miles of battling cutoffs, of losing hope, of struggling against it all, I had made it onto the track and was taking my victory lap.  My official finish time: 29:54:40.  Just 5 minutes and 20 seconds before the 30 hour cutoff.  It was an incredible journey!

And we have a finisher!

Jenn particularly likes this pic cause it shows the medic's hand holding me up by my left arm.

So happy to call this buckle my very own.

As soon as you finish, they engrave the buckle with your name and present it to you at the awards ceremony a few hours later.  I wish mine could have read: "Rachel DuBois and friends" 

These feet deserve some TLC.

Pacer Jess recovering from it all with a Coke and a smile.

Western States Endurance Run - Part 3 (to the Rucky Chucky)

Having just barely made the Devil's Thumb cutoff, I knew there was no way I could continue on without taking a few minutes to regroup.  My angel had left me with a pile of food, some gloriously refreshing iced lemonade and with a beautifully inviting port-a-john just 10 feet in front of me.  It was heaven.  I sipped and munched and caught my breath.  After a few moments, I unsteadily got to my feet and toddled on over to the port-a-john.  I came out a new woman!  It was like my telephone booth super hero transformation point.  I swear there was a cape on my shoulders when I exited ;-)

As I had collected myself and refueled, my mind started functioning again.  I still had many challenges to face if I was going to succeed.  First off, I was so far behind schedule that I was going to be in darkness well before I had planned.  I pawed through my hydration vest to try and find my emergency light source, but came up empty.  It wasn’t in there!  Oh no!  As Karen checked in on me one last time before sending me on my way, I mentioned my concern about darkness to her.  She pondered my dilemma for a moment.  Her face immediately brightened as she recalled having recently purchased a tiny handheld light that was most likely still in her car.  Luckily, her car was parked just a couple hundred feet away and Karen went off to retrieve it while I was doing my port-a-john metamorphosis. 

So now with a light in my pack, my body refueled and my supplies restocked, Karen prodded and urged me to get going.  She looked me over one last time and said “I’m ok if you DNF’d because you didn’t make the cutoff up the hill, but I’m not ok with you DNF’ing because you sat on this stump too long.  Get going.”  I asked her how I could return her light to her and she replied that she would get it back from me at the finish line.  What a great answer!  (As a backup though, I took her business card and stuffed it in my pack ;-)

As I departed Devil’s Thumb, I did so in the company of the sweeps.  These are the folks that volunteer to “sweep” the course.  It was a 3 person team - a doctor, an EMT and a super upbeat and perky ultra-runner out to enjoy the day.  They clear the course of the marker ribbons and offer their help to the hapless runners who have lost all hope and have fallen behind the cutoffs.  Yup, I was THE last runner out of Devil’s Thumb.  I glanced back over my shoulder as I hit the trail and saw the “Riders of the Apocalypse”.  These are the horse mounted final sweeps.  They come behind the foot sweeps and are the grim reapers for any runner.  I certainly didn’t want to get any closer to them.

I continued to nibble on food as I chit-chatted with the sweeps.  After a mile or two of purposeful progress, we started to come upon the walking dead.  These were the poor runners who were in worse shape than me.  Walking with a pronounced tilt, or limping, or the glassy eyed stares that come with sheer exhaustion and depletion.  While I enjoyed the company of the sweeps, I was very happy to hand their attentions over to these other race participants and start creeping my way up through the ranks.

The climb to Michigan Bluff.  (Direction of travel is from right to left)

After Devil’s Thumb, the next major checkpoint is Michigan Bluff at mile 55.7.  Surprise, surprise, it’s at the top of a climb!  Go figure.  Feeling revived, I had no problem making progress along the trails.  I still wasn’t speedy by any stretch, but I was consistent.

Entering El Dorado Creek aid station at mile 52.9 just before Michigan Bluff was rather surreal.  There were a half dozen plastic chairs lined up on the left side of the trail immediately before the aid station tents. In each of these sat a half dead looking human.  Some leaning back with eyes closed, others hunched over with elbows on knees, others just vacantly staring into space.  Dusk was falling and the aid station was cheerfully lit with lights galore, but the party was obviously over for these folks.  I only grabbed a drink on my way through, crossed the creek and began the climb. 

It wasn’t long before I came upon another runner, but he was heading downhill towards me.  I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, but as he neared, he turned to the side of the trail and spewed forth a liquid fountain of vomit.  Obviously, in addition to throwing up the entire contents of his stomach, he was also throwing in the towel on the ascent up Michigan Bluff and returning to the safety of the aid station.  There were many runners in similar predicaments.  I think folks took in food and drink at El Dorado Creek aid station hoping it would revive them, but their bodies rejected the donations. 

We were blessed with a nearly full moon that night and I was able to navigate the first mile or so of the ascent by moonlight quite easily.  I came upon Gary once again, and he seemed to be experiencing a dip in his energy.  I talked and walked with him for a while, but he kept urging me to go ahead.  He finally kinda lost his patience with me and said to me with a completely different tone in his voice that it was urgent that I continue on or I was going to miss the cutoff.  He felt that we were cutting it that close.  Up until this point, I thought I was doing much better on time and had gained a bit of leeway since my near race ending experience at Devil’s Thumb, but Gary’s urgings made me nervous and I forged on ahead.  His parting words to me were “Go get that buckle!” 

As we ducked under full tree canopy, it became pitch black.  I fiddled through my pack to find the light Karen had given me and then spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to turn the blasted thing on!  It was a tiny little key chain style LED.  It wasn’t much of a light source, but it was definitely enough to get me to the top. 

Around this time I started to meet pacers and med crew personnel descending the hill.  They were looking for their runners or responding to reports of runners in distress and heading down the hill to meet them.

As I crested the final bit of the climb, the trail opens out to a rutted dirt road and a figure loomed out of the darkness and called my name from beside the trail.  It was Quatro Hubbard, one of Gary’s crew members.  I knew he was anxiously awaiting Gary’s arrival and I let him know Gary was right behind me.  A few steps later, I again heard my name called out and was greeted by one of my own crew members, Jess, who was ready to come to my rescue.  My crew had been biting their fingernails for the past hour worried that I was out on the trails in complete darkness with no light.  All our plans had me arriving at Michigan Bluff well before dark, so my regular light sources were in my Michigan Bluff drop bag and with my crew.

I quickly laid out the details of how things were going to Jess and she let my crew know I was finally “coming in”.  Jenn was to pick me up at this point, so Jess called ahead and told her to get ready to go.  There was no time to spare.  Michigan Bluff is a long aid station and requires some transit time.  

Jenn, my "uber perky pacer"

Jenn was our team’s official cheerleader.  Always optimistic and upbeat, always positive – one of the many reasons why I was delighted to have her on my crew.  She was ready to spring into action.  My crew took care of my hydration, gear and refueling needs within a matter of minutes and we were on our way.  Me with a full strength headlamp that I had nicknamed “The Mothership” as I could easily land planes with its output, Jenn with her ever present smile and positive chatter.  It was perfect.  We boogied on down the trail with Foresthill (mile 62) in our sights and 8 minutes on the Michigan Bluff cutoff (which felt infinitely better than 4 minutes).

Jenn did a great job of pacing me through here.  I had told my crew that once I reached the point where a pacer could join me, I would be handing off all math calculation responsibilities to them.  I would rely on them entirely to assess my pace and figure out what we needed to do to deliver me to that Auburn finish line in time.

Between Michigan Bluff and Foresthill (a distance of less than 7 miles), Jenn managed to eke out more of a safety net for me.  We entered Foresthill 17 minutes ahead of the cutoff!  It felt great to finally be gaining some time.  I knew I couldn’t relax though, as the cutoffs get more and more challenging as the race continues.

Jimbo, my crew chief, and I at the pre-race runner meeting.

We were in and out of Foresthill (mile 62) in no time.  Now I had Jimbo at my side as my pacers rotated positions.  Jimbo is now a local to WS.  He knows the trails, he knows many of the volunteers, he knows how the aid stations work, he knows ultra-running.  In addition to having his lengthy list of ultra-running accomplishments (including 100 milers) he had also crewed and paced at many ultras, a la Badwater.  He was the perfect man for the job as my crew chief and I was happy to give his talents a place to shine.  He was so excited for me to be at WS and it showed in everything he did.  As we clicked off the miles, he was constantly assessing my hydration and fueling, giving me a heads up on the details of the course ahead and keeping a vigilant eye on my effort levels to try and leave me some reserves.  He wanted to get me to the Rucky Chucky River Crossing (mile 78) with the lofty goal of a 30 minute buffer against the cutoffs and he totally delivered. 

As we neared Rucky Chucky, I finally began to believe that maybe I could finish this thing.  A 30 minute buffer felt absolutely decadent!  I knew the river crossing would cut into that buffer and as always in ultras, when you cross a river, there’s invariably an uphill on the other side.  In this case, a 1.8 mile mile long, 800’ high ascent up to Green Gate. 

Jimbo and I rolled into Rucky Chucky right at 4:30 am.  Here’s where Jimbo would hand me off to Jess as my next pacer and I would promptly make her plunge into a cold, boulder strewn river crossing in complete darkness.  Gotta love your pacers! 

Western States Endurance Run - Part 2 (to Devil's Thumb)

My next target was Miller’s Defeat at mile 34.4.  Once the climbs were behind me, I focused on steady, even pacing and tried to pick things up at every opportunity.  I felt like I was doing well here, despite the heat, but didn’t make up as much time as I had hoped.  Again, a very brief stop at Miller’s Defeat doing nothing more than topping off my fluids and trying to quickly find something on the tables that looked even the least bit appealing.  The official race splits show that I left Miller’s Defeat 9 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Not great, but livable.  Again, those blasted air-horns were sounding everywhere I turned. 

I tagged onto the end of a long, spread out line of 4 or 5 runners and headed out on the trail after quickly visiting the cooling stations to get wetted down.  We jogged out of the station at a nice little clip on a wide forest service road with a lovely gentle downhill.  Awesome! 

I was reveling in the feel of making good time when up ahead I saw a car approaching us.  I didn’t think much of it until I saw the car pull to the side of the road, roll down a window and beckon to the lead runner.  She bent to the car window and from several hundred feet back, I could see her body language as she listened attentively for a moment and then her shoulders visibly slumped.  Uh oh!  Not good.  She was turning around and heading back up the hill in my direction.  Shit!  Shit!  SHIT!  Obviously, we had made a wrong turn and this driver had just informed the lead runner that we were off trail. 

I quickly did an about face, frantically calculating numbers in my head and with a litany of curses filling my mind.  I yelled to the runners behind me to turn around and we all dutifully trudged back up the hill.  Leaving Miller’s Defeat, the WS trail takes a left turn off the forest service road.  We had missed it and proceeded almost a full mile down the hill in error.  As we all desperately tried to power hike back up the hill, a truck that was leaving the aid station pulled to a stop in front of me and a volunteer got out of the cab.  He stepped into the middle of the road in front of me.  He had sized up the situation and knew exactly what had happened.  He could see the obvious distress on my face and the tears brimming in my eyes and he just calmly and with a very strong voice said,  “Don’t let this end your race.  Put this behind you and KEEP GOING.  You can do this.”  I nodded my thanks as I really couldn’t bring myself to say anything in reply for fear of completely losing it. 

While still trudging back up the hill, we all heard the long blast of the final cutoff air horn.  The runner to my right nervously asked me if we were going to have our bracelets cut?  I said I didn’t think so as we had officially left the aid station before the cutoff, but there was no getting around it – we were screwed.  It was another several minutes before we finally reached that critical turn that we had missed.  It was barely 100 feet from the aid station.  We were all now, in effect, roughly 7 minutes over the cutoff as we returned to the trail. 

My mind was reeling.  Had I just cost myself my race?  Less than 35 miles completed and I was already going to be cut?  I had already been fighting the cutoffs before this disaster, how was I going to make up for the extra 2 miles I just tacked on to my race??  I tried not to think about it, but my mind was whirling.  I tried to channel that adrenaline into my legs and kept moving with a new sense of urgency.

The next aid station was Dusty Corners at mile 38 and my crew would be there waiting for me.  I had to fly!  I could no longer use my Garmin to calculate time and pace as I still didn’t know accurately how long my “detour” had been.  As a result, the accuracy of the numbers on my Garmin were no good other than to tell me what the time of day was.  Somehow, and I don’t know how, I did it.  I made it into Dusty Corners almost 13 minutes ahead of the cutoff.  Certainly not enough padding to give me any ease, but considering I had thrown in an extra two miles and effectively left the previous aid station 7 minutes after its cutoff I was elated.  My race wasn’t over yet!  I quickly let my crew know what had happened and headed out.

My next big hurdle would be the infamous Devil’s Thumb at mile 48.  Definitely the steepest climb of the entire 100 mile race.  1400+ feet of climb in less than a mile.  I had tackled this one during the training run and knew that from the crossing of Swinging Bridge at the base, it had taken me a solid hour to get to the top, and that was on much fresher legs.  I wanted to focus on giving myself as much padding as possible between now and the base of Devil’s Thumb. 

Gary and his signature Yoohoo and mango colored bikini bottoms (long story). - Photo by Sophie Speidel

It was in these next 10 miles that I fell into step with Gary Knipling.  70+ year old ultra-running legend from Virginia.  I had first met Gary less than a year ago at The Ring (a 70 mile loop of the Massanutten Mtns in VA).  Gary is one of those folks with a life force beyond belief.  Always exuberant, positive, and looking for the next big laugh to enjoy (many of them at his own expense).  He’s a super accomplished ultra-runner and I was so happy to finally catch up to him and get to spend some miles in his company.  
 

Swinging Bridge

In the final mile or two descent to The Swinging Bridge, I took a bit of a lead on Gary on the downhills.  I knew I would need as much time as possible to tackle Devil’s Thumb if I were to have any chance of beating the 7 pm cutoff at the top.  As soon as you cross Swinging Bridge, bam!  The climb begins in earnest.  Switchback after blasted switchback, it goes on forever.  It’s the kind of climb that has your heart rate soaring.  Mine was soon in the danger zone, but I couldn’t let up.  I was in effect, pushing my body to 10K race pace effort in the middle of a 100 miler, and I needed to keep it up for a full hour if I were to reach the top in time.

Elevation profile (travel direction from right to left)

Devil’s Thumb was definitely one of the turning points of my race.  After a half hour of climbing, I was so very done.  I felt light headed and my breath was coming in ragged gasps.  There was no way I was going to be able to continue like this.  As I glanced back down the steep hillside, I could see Gary calmly negotiating the climb as if he were walking in the park.  His hands were gently clasped behind his back, he had an upright posture and calm demeanor and he was making progress so smoothly and with what looked like an easy effort.  Amazing.  I, in contrast, was puffing and heaving and bent over gasping for air feeling on the verge of hurling at every step. 

The switchbacks are periodically decorated with lovely huge boulders just the perfect size for sitting and contemplating the world. At one of these points, I stopped and sat my ass down wallowing in my misery and ready to concede defeat.  I would never make it to the top in time!  I remember my mind wrestling with thoughts to try and motivate myself:  All the friends and family who were following my progress and cheering me on from afar would be so disappointed at my failure...I had never quit an event before, how could I possibly even consider doing so at Western States?…What about all the hours and miles and personal sacrifices I had put into my training?…Think of all the money our family had spent on this vacation to help me achieve this dream…Even the absurd concern over how much stupid race bling we had purchased at the WS store that I would now not be able to wear with pride but would have to shove into a corner of shame in some closet…I didn’t care.  I was done.

Right at this very moment, Gary trudged up to my stopping point and calmly asked me how I was doing.  I told him I was done.  I was dizzy and had no energy whatsoever and there was no way I could make it to the top in time.  He looked briefly up at the sky and then fixed his gaze on me and said “Come on, we’ll do it together.  We’re almost near the top.”  The rational part of my brain knew he was blatantly lying.  We weren’t “near the top”.  I had done this climb just a month ago at the training runs and we were maybe half way there.  Gary refused to believe my analysis and re-affirmed that we were at least two thirds of the way done if not three quarters.  “Come on.  Let’s just keep moving.”  The fuzzy part of my delirious mind so wanted to believe him.  How could I give up by sitting on my ass?  If I was going to DNF, let it at least be with an honest effort.  As Gary calmly turned back up the trail and proceeded on with his maddeningly solid progress, I joined him.  I still didn’t think either of us was going to make it, but I could at least try.  And with that, we continued on. 

The climb still went on forever, my heart still raced, my breath still came in ragged gasps, but I kept Gary’s figure in my vision and followed in his footsteps.  I kept looking at my watch and doing pointless, disheartening math, but I kept moving.  At last we reached a burned out hillside expanse which I gratefully recognized as my personal landmark that we were indeed “near the top”.  It gave me hope and it reinvigorated my steps, but it was still going to be close.

The burn section of the climb that means your near the top.  This pic was taken during the training runs.  There was no cloud cover on race day.

We heard the 10 minute warning air horn blast.  We soldiered on.  We finally, finally, finally crested that beautiful, brutal hill and the aid station loomed into view.  Hallelujah!!!  Thank you, Gary.  I owe you one.

The rock monolith that gave Devil's Thumb its name.

Gary and I were immediately met by volunteers anxious to hustle us in and out as quickly as possible.  You didn’t just have to arrive at the aid station in time, you had to LEAVE the aid station before the cutoff.  I arrived at 6:54 pm.  6 minutes before the cutoff.  I had to get some food and refill my water and get the heck out of there as quickly as possible.  I was adopted by my aid station angel, Karen.  My gait was unsteady, I couldn’t walk a straight line if you paid me, and I had that glassy look that exhaustion brings.  She quickly assessed my condition, grabbed me some resupplies and ushered me out of the aid station to deposit me on a stump some 5 feet the other side of the exit point.  I had made it with 4 minutes to spare!!!  

Western States Endurance Run 2015 - Part 1 (to Robinson Flat)

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Through the first marathon, Western States was a happy thing.  This was the big dance for so many ultra runners and I had been lucky enough to have my lottery ticket picked back in December of 2014.  From the moment my “golden ticket” was drawn, I had embarked upon 6 months of focused training.  All the countless hours of training and preparation had brought me to that starting line in Squaw Valley, CA on June 27, 2015 with a boat load of energy and excitement.

At the start line the day before the race

Maddie helps me with drop bag preparations

I had traveled out to CA in May to attend the training camp runs and successfully previewed the last 70 miles of the course over a 3 day period.  Planning is my strength, and it has often times made up for my meager running talents, so I had planned the snot out of this thing.  Spreadsheets galore, drop bag check lists, exact calorie requirement calculations, laminated pocket size ETA and cutoff cheat sheets, first aid kits heavy on the foot doctoring supplies, contingency plan upon contingency plan…  

 I also had the support, energy and expertise  of an awesome crew and pacers that I would rely upon to help me successfully complete my journey.  Now all I had to do was run 100 miles through the Sierras of CA in less than 30 hours.

Our family had blocked out a 2 week California vacation centering around Western States.   It was nice to get the traveling completed several days in advance and enjoy a few days in San Francisco and at the coast before heading inland and upwards to Squaw Valley.  It was a great way to pass the taper.

Paul and I visiting the Point Bonita Lighthouse just north of San Francisco

Race activities began on Thursday and it was a whirlwind of check ins, runner meetings, crew discussions, drop bag finalization and of course shopping at the Western States store!  I’m not much of a shopper in my non-running life, but in a single outting  I successfully revamped my entire running wardrobe.  Anything I even half-heartedly glanced at ended up in our shopping basket thanks to my husband’s generosity and support ;-)

Drop bag staging point

My crew/pacers were all finally gathered together in Squaw Valley by Friday afternoon.  Jimbo was my local ace in the hole.  He had been living all things Western States for the last 6 years and had conveniently moved to the Auburn area from Raleigh, NC just a few years ago.  Jess, another NC transplant, had driven out from the Bay area to support me.   My dear friend from my AT thru-hiking days, Jenn, had flown in from Boulder, CO.  It had been a dozen years since we had seen one another, so this was a special treat.   While normally Paul is at these races to support and crew and sometimes even pace me, we had agreed in advance that he would be spending this particular race weekend wrangling our two daughters, which very well might have been more exhausting than running the 100.

Jess, me, Jenn, and Jimbo (my "J-Team").  The countdown clock is running.

There’s an amazing vibe in Squaw Valley that I’d never experienced at this level in any other ultra to date.  Most of my previous ultras were smaller, low key events.  Western is the equivalent of the Boston Marathon of ultra-running.  It has strict qualification requirements, it's the “dream” race for many ultra-runners, Western attracts elite level athletes from around the world, the field of participants is much larger than most other ultras, and the race and course have a rich and storied history as the oldest 100 miler in the world (first running was in 1974).  

The Western States Endurance Run is conducted along the Western States Trail starting at Squaw Valley, California (site of the 1960 Winter Olympics) and ending in the small town of Auburn, in the heart of California's historic gold country .  Most of the trail passes through remote and rugged territory.  Over its 100+ mile long length, participants climb a total of 18K vertical feet and descend an impressive 22.9K feet.

Race course profile.  (Travel direction is from right to left.)

Race morning came early, as it almost always does.  As Paul and I walked down the hotel corridor, I told him I felt like one of the Apollo astronauts going down the ramp to the shuttle and prepping for launch.  I knew that there were many runner friends who were living vicariously through me this weekend and I had a ton of family and friends that would be following along through the online live tracking feeds.

Paul and me just moments before the start

My crew were at the start line with coffees in hand ready to send me off into the wilds.  Last minute good wishes, words of advice and hugs all around.  Before we knew it, the starting shotgun was fired and we were on our way!

The race starts off with a 3 mile/2k’ climb up the escarpment.  Our family had done this climb in the days prior – by ski gondola!  The views are spectacular and runners enjoyed a breathtaking sunrise as we crested the escarpment.  It included a view all the way to Lake Tahoe in the distance behind us.  

All smiles at the crest of Cougar Rock

This climb eventually brings you to the highest section of the entire course, Emigrant Pass, elevation 8,750’.  From there, we entered the Granite Chief Wilderness - truly a stunning section of trail.  The slopes on either side of us were covered in wildflower bouquets.  I couldn’t help but think how enjoyable it would be to come back to this area with a backpack on and experience it as a multi-day hike and really soak up its beauty.

Wildflower bouquets

Temps at the 6 am start were a toasty 70F and it wasn’t long before they began to climb with the rising sun.  Forecasts called for temps in the 90s with highs in the upper 90s and possible three digit temps in the canyons. 

I had purchased some cooling arm sleeves in the days prior to the race and broke one of the golden rules of racing – I tried something new on race day.  The arm sleeves were made of a special evaporative cooling fabric.  If you wet them, they get cold!  It was really impressive how quickly they dropped the temp of the skin on my arms.  Climbing the escarpment I had to fiddle with them quite a bit as they were too large for my scrawny biceps.  I ultimately scavenged some safety pins from my race bib and pinched in the fabric enough to get them to stay up.  They were the bomb! And it wasn’t long before I figured out a way to squeeze the bite valve on my hydration bladder hose to regularly douse them with water.  

 The first 20+ miles of the race were hugely enjoyable.  The scenery was stunning and all new to me as the beginning of the course had not been a part of the training camp preview runs.  Add in the great company of other upbeat, positive runners who were still feeling good and facing the day with optimism and you’ve got the beginnings of a magical day.

Coming into Duncan Canyon at mile 23.8 was my first chance to see my crew.  I was already beginning to feel a few hot spots on my feet and opted to pause here to address the issues before they escalated.  As I came into the aid station, I was all smiles and happiness.  My crew was anxiously awaiting me.  I let them know that I needed to do a 10 minute reset to take care of the feet.  They quickly settled me into a chair with the help of aid station volunteer angel, Lauren, and while Jimbo (brave man) addressed my foot issues, Jess and Jenn plied me with food and drink, switched me from my hydration vest to my HydraQuiver, and wrapped my neck in an ice filled Cool-It bandana.  I had come into Duncan Canyon 27 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Perfect!  

So happy to see familiar faces - Lauren, my aid station angel

My pit crew hard at work

 After having been seated for a while, the aid station captain came over to make sure I knew I was starting to get close to the cutoff.  We sped things up, I put on some fresh socks, donned my shoes and made it out of there with around 15 minutes to spare stopping briefly at the sponge down station to get my arm sleeves thoroughly soaked.  I was in good spirits and the foot fixes (fresh socks, preventative taping with rock tape and the application of a gel blister patch) worked wonders for me.

It was now approaching the heat of mid-day.   Year after year of wild fires had ravaged large sections of the course leaving many miles of barren, exposed trail that had no shade to offer.   Runners were starting to “feel the heat” and it was beginning to take its toll on many of us.  From Duncan Canyon aid station, we faced a short descent to Duncan Creek and then a long, exposed, dusty, four mile climb to Robinson Flat.  This was where I began to see the first signs of carnage.  

The climb to Robinson Flat.  (Travel direction is from right to left.)

All of the runners in my vicinity were facing the same time issues I was to make that next cutoff.  We couldn’t let up on that climb, or we risked not making it.  Some pushed too hard, and succumbed to dizziness, nausea and vomiting.  I tried to stay focused, keep a steady strong hiking pace and used my water bottle to wet my arm sleeves.  It was way tougher than I had ever expected, but I made it to the aid station with just 12 minutes to spare. 

The aid stations have a warning system for runners.  20 minutes before cutoff, they sound a short air horn blast.  10 minutes, a longer blast.  At cutoff, there is the final death knell – a long, drawn out air horn blast.  Robinson Flat was where my nightmare experience with the air horns began, and they would haunt me for many more miles.  I heard the first warning horn blast as I was approaching Robinson Flat.  I flew threw the aid station.  I never asked for my drop bag, I barely stopped to top off my fluids and I headed back out. 

Now I was on trail that I had covered during the very first day of the training runs.  Oddly enough, nothing looked familiar.  I felt disoriented and had a hard time recognizing the trail.  All I remembered from the training runs was the very pleasant and runable sections of trail leaving Robinson, so it was disheartening to face yet one more mile of climbing as I left the aid station.  As I struggled up this last bit of uphill, I heard yet another warning horn sounding behind me.  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.