Back in December I carelessly looked at the Western States Endurance Run website expecting, like four times before, to see my name left off the lottery winners. Instead, in the least ideal year for it to happen, my name appeared on the list and my spot booked. Six months later, sore and tired from completing Ironman and Comrades within the past 8 weeks, I toed the line looking to complete my 2nd 100 after failing in the last 3 attempts. Knowing that WS is typical of snow early and intense heat later, I prayed for cooler weather.
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| Breakfast pre-race |
Temperatures at the start were cold. Halfway up the climb, the wind picked up and the hail started. After summiting the mountain, we thought it would abate but instead it only intensified. Here is where runners usually encounter snow fields and loose footing. We lucked out with clear trails but exchanged footing for ripping weather. As we slipped through the woods the rain came with cold winds. At times, it alternated with hail. Soaked to the bone, most runners were very under prepared for the weather – hands were frozen, shoes wet, and body heat lost. My hands hurt pretty bad and I had to run with my hands in my armpits on flat stretches. Myles, my new-found friend, wasn’t as lucky. His hands were bleach white and he couldn’t squeeze his water bottles. It was ironic; I had hoped for heat not to be a factor and it wasn’t. I did not, however, specify and the cold could have been a problem.
When I met my crew (Sarah and Michael) at 23.5 miles, there wasn’t much they could do for me. The aid stations were stocked well and there was no point in changing shoes or my shirt in the pouring rain. I bid them well and moved on down the trail. The running in the first third of the race was quite fair. There were lots of undulating trails so walking early and often wasn’t a problem like it was in my previous races. Myles and I used each other to pace after pee breaks and aid stations as well as just to chat about anything and everything to keep our minds free from the course. Amazingly, we were right on “projected” 24-hour pace a lot of the time. It was a lot like having a pacer the whole way. Myles was unreal at hiking, so whenever we hit a hill, we walked and yet gained on people.
After mile 35, the rain finally ceased. For almost 7 hours we had been soaking wet and it was nice to break up the chill. Myles and I hit a dirt road and enjoyed the feeling of warmth again. During this stretch I experienced my first struggle. My right quad was tight and my left ankle aching as if I had just finished Comrades. It was here that I thought my race would start to deteriorate due to the recovery from the other races. I slowed the pace a bit entering Dusty Corner (38 mi) and met my crew for the second time. My shoes and shirt were changed and I departed feeling clean and dry for the first time in a day.
Every year, runners vamp about the canyons at WS100. A series of 3 long descents followed by 3 difficult climbs makes up the course from about 43-62 miles. Temperatures can soar past 105 degrees at the bottoms and by the time runners climb the hour and half out, they are exhausted, dehydrated and demoralized by the thought of repeating the feat…twice more. But this year, we were blessed. Just as the snow was gone, the horrid heat traditionally marking the canyons was absent. Temps rose as we descended and stifling air lingered on each climb but one could only imagine what 35-40 more degrees would have meant at that point in the race. Honestly, with my history in the heat and with my level of training, I am convinced that had it been normally hot, I would have failed to complete the race. Instead, the canyons, though difficult, did not prove to be any harder than most of the rest of the course. As we bombed down the first one to Deadwood, I grew tired of the switchbacks and my legs and body ached. After a few choice swear words for the trail, we finally hit the creek at the bottom. Immediately Myles went to the front and within 2 minutes we had passed all those who had descended ahead of us. He flew up this section! I scrambled behind him, content to let him lead and haul me up the climb. We attained Devil’s Thumb ahead of pace, which was shocking because in the videos of the race, most people look like death here!
At this point I didn’t think I could handle another canyon. Being a Michigan State guy, I soon found the runner with us was from Illinois, and Myles was a Penn State grad. I jumped into the lead of our Big Ten group and took us down the slightly less steep canyon. Myles did not feel good this section and our talking minimized. Near the bottom we met some aid station people hiking up the trail who told us we were “nearly there.” We weren’t. 10 minutes more is a long way when you are sick of bombing downhill on tired legs. We crossed 50 miles in 10:30, a solid but not reckless pace. The bottom was welcomed but Myles took his revenge on the next climb. His pace up to Michigan Bluff was inhumane. There was no way Illinois and I could go with him and we had to settle for watching him disappear up the mountain. It all came back together at the aid station and Myles and I reconnected for the monotonous walk up Bath Road.
Tim Twietmeyer has won this race 5 times. Even more impressively, he has run under 24 hours 25 times! There is no one who is more Mr. Western States. Myles, being from New York, had no pacer and signed up. Who should answer the call but Austin Twietmeyer, Tim’s son. Tim met us at several points along the course, and Austin was there at the base of Bath Road. Sarah met us here too and after meeting Tim in person, we blasted into Foresthill at 62 miles (100K) on the ultimate high. I picked up Michael as my pacer and we got out of there.
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| Feeling good at 100K |
Rucky Chucky River Crossing is a spectacle. About 100m across, the ice-cold river is not easy to cross. Sitting below Class 6 rapids, the river bottom is very rocky and makes for a slow crossing. A large cable is stretched from each side with about 10 volunteers in the water holding the rope tight. I worked my way across just behind Michael. The chilling water came up to mid belly icing everything from the chest down. It took about 3 minutes to cross and when I finally reached the other side, I sat on large rocks, frozen, until my crew could change me out of my clothes. After eating, we began the long, steep hike up to Green Gate, taking nearly an hour to go from the river near side to the gate (about 1.7 miles). I wasn’t sure my running would resume. The next 10 miles were a blur of remote aid stations lost in the deep woods. My pace was the best I could manage but certainly slowed as the body began its steady breakdown. Michael led the way and alternated tripping on rocks and roots with slipping on small holes on the edge of the trail. We plugged on.
With 10 miles to go, I was doing as good as could be expected. Sarah met us at the Hwy. 49 crossing, about 6.7 miles to go and the last real crew point. We started the climb out of the aid station and I got a small rock in my shoe. When I sat on the side of the trail to remove it, Myles went zooming by. I was glad to see him again as I wondered if he had succumbed to the 100 miler but apparently he was strong. Michael roused me up from the ground and encouraged me to go after Myles. Having run the hills with him for 55+ miles, I knew I would never see him again. His pace was too strong on hills. But Michael and I hustled whenever we could, which was very little. Anything more than a flat path or slight slant downhill was a walk. Everything else hurt too much.
At No Hands Bridge, we were in the home stretch of about 3 miles to go. Far above on the hill were the lights of Robie Point and the end of the trail. We hustled along the road and got inspired to run a little bit. It hurt to run, but from this point in, we knew that there would be no blow up. We even caught a few people between brief bouts of running and more hiking. The last part was the steepest but many aid station people had hiked down to welcome us. No one took aid as it was just about 10 more minutes to the finish line. We hiked up the last long hill and hit the road. A series of downhill rollers slapped me in the face but I ran them anyway, content to bring on the pain. People passed me anyway but I didn’t care. We crossed the white bridge and entered the track with 300m left to roll. As two people raced in, I moved into lane 2 and let them go, wanting the finishing straightaway all to myself. I crossed the 100.2 miles in 23:14:51, good for 114th place, the first guy from Michigan, and lucky to be standing.
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| Myles and Justin at the awards |
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| The Silver Buckle |
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