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 |
 |
| 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!!!
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