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!