From: jeff.holdaway@marriott.com Date: Thu, 22 Oct 98 11:07:32 -0500 Subject: WF 100 Runner's Report A MOST EXCELLENT ADVENTURE BY JEFFREY HOLDAWAY SEPTEMBER 1998 PROLOGUE I glanced nervously at my watch. 2:10 P.M. It was now more than 33 hours since the race director had given the "ready, go" yell to start the race. In a word, I was wasted. My knees and quadriceps were complaining loudly as I navigated yet another of seemingly countless downhill sections. My feet were fairly screaming as the rocky trail hammered my feet with meat mallet effect. Over an hour ago I had left the Mill Canyon Aid Station, located at mile mark 87.8. My next objective was Cascade Springs at mile 92.7, the last Station prior to the finish line in the little town of Midway, Utah. Shuffling along I recalled the course description which noted that the final 1.1 miles into Cascade Springs was a rough dirt road leading up hill to the Checkpoint. For some time I had been traveling on what appeared to be a two-rut trail and hoped this passed for a "road." Surely I had gone five miles or more. But, where was Cascade Springs? My life line for the past 15 miles had been a runner from Washington State, Doug Nast, who had been wonderful company through this miserable portion of the course. But we had separated a mile back and I was running solo again. Finally, turning a corner on the trail I stared in frustration. Before me was a knee-deep river, some 15 feet wide that had to be crossed. Beyond that, was the infamous dirt road leading to Cascade Springs. I was still a mile away and the clock was ticking. After traveling this far, the possibility of not finishing by the 36-hour cutoff was emotionally draining. Trudging across the river and up the road in my now water logged shoes, I ruefully thought, "to think I paid money for this!" IT ALL BEGIN WITH A TELEPHONE CALL My naive entry into the world of ultra running began about ten months ago when my father called from Utah and mentioned his interest in a mountain race held each September in the mountains east of Salt Lake City. The Wasatch Front 100, Dad indicated, was an ultra marathon that focused on tough terrain and conditions. The race is considered one of the most difficult 100 mile runs in the United States. Dad, at 67, figured the toughness of the course played well to his strength of endurance rather than speed. Fortuitously, I had begun running again about a year earlier, after nearly 15 years of semi-inactivity. While my longest race to date had been a 10 miler, I readily agreed to join Dad on this fall outing. Throughout the next several months, Dad and I communicated frequently, comparing notes and training tips. Meanwhile, I logged on to the Internet and realized that a whole subculture of ultra runners existed. Numerous articles had been posted electronically describing the "how to's" of long distant running. Moreover, a few runners who had run the WF 100 wrote articles on the race. This was clearly the case where ignorance was bliss and knowledge was frightening. The more I read, the more anxious I became. This was going to be one TOUGH race! During the Spring and Summer I continued my training, running three races (10K - 42:52; 10 Mile - 1:12:58; and ½ Marathon - 1:42:30) and several long training runs. In hopes of getting a sense of being on my feet for an extended period of time I did one 50 mile training run (10:50) and one 60 miler (12:10). Both long runs were at low elevations and on flat courses; however, I assumed that due to their faster pace, they would be comparable to a slower effort on mountain trails. Big mistake. Lesson #1 - Mountain trail running bears little resemblance to running on flat roads or bike paths. Finally the day of reckoning approached. Unfortunately, a couple of weeks before I planned to fly to Salt Lake, I was faced with a last minute business trip to Barcelona, Spain. My meetings in Spain were to take place on the Monday (Labor Day) prior to the WF 100. So, rather than flying west to Salt Lake, I ended up traveling east to Spain. Wrapping up my meetings in Barcelona, I flew directly to Utah, a trip that took over 16 hours and covered eight time zones. Talk about major jet lag. Arriving in Utah on Tuesday evening prior to the Saturday race start, I realized I had little time to acclimate to the higher elevation. Nonetheless, on Wednesday morning I drove up to the race start in Layton and ran the first four miles of the course - all up hill. Turning around and heading back to the car, I knew I might be in big trouble come Saturday.. On Thursday, my wife, Karen arrived. She was to be Dad's and my official "crew" for the race. She would meet us at several of the designated aid stations, provide us with food, water, and clothing changes. During the race, I quickly realized that her emotional support was by far the most important contribution she made. Karen was wonderful throughout. I couldn't have done it without her. On Friday, Karen and I drove to the various aid stations so that she would be familiar with the roads. That afternoon we met Dad at Sugarhouse Park for the pre-race weigh in and orientation. I tipped the scales, with shoes, at 146 lbs. All told there were 202 runners signed up. It was clear in looking around the pre-race meeting, who were the true veterans and who were the "newbies" -- hint: look at the feet. Following the orientation meeting, we went quickly to a local Italian restaurant for some "carbo loading" and then headed to the Salt Lake Marriott where we finalized our supply packs and then went to bed about 8:00 P.M. Dad, in the adjacent room, went to sleep almost immediately. On the other hand, I tossed and turned and finally fell into a fitful slumber some time after 11:00 P.M. During the remainder of the night, I awoke every 20 minutes afraid we had overslept. Lesson #2 - Don't start a 100-mile race on 4 hours sleep! AND THEY'RE OFF! 2:55 A.M., I awoke and realized it was only five minutes until the alarm would go off. I decided to bag these remaining minutes in bed, got up and started getting dressed. At 3:45, I gave Karen a hug and Dad and I left to catch the bus, which would take us to Layton, 25 miles north, for the 5:00 A.M. race start. Arriving at Fernwood Park just east of Layton, I paced nervously for 15 minutes until, somewhat anticlimactically, the race director yelled, "ready, go!" Away we went. The first 5.6 miles of the race took us from 5120 ft to 9200 ft above sea level. With very few level places, this early section of the course is almost constantly uphill. In the pre-dawn darkness, the 200 runners formed an elongated centipede with their flashlights shining in the darkness. Dad and I quickly settled into an acceptable gait near the back of the pack. Having little experience with trail running, I wasn't sure if our pace was sufficient to stay ahead of the cutoffs. However, I took some comfort in the fact that there were several runners behind us. My hope was that they knew what was necessary to stay on track as we more or less maintained our pace up the mountain. Near the top of the first peak we encountered the infamous "chin scraper" portion of the course. The trail became so steep that we almost had to scale the top using our hands. As a fellow trained at sea level this first section felt like a two-hour workout on a stair master with a garbage bag over my head. Lesson #3 - Nothing substitutes for high altitude training. Once on top of the ridge, our pace quickened and we continued onward to the first aid station, Francis Peak, located at the 14.9 mile mark. Only 85 to go, I thought as Karen waived to us upon our approach to the station. We quickly attempted to refuel and check on the status of our feet (a major point of pain later in the race). We waved good-bye to Karen and said we would see her at the Big Mountain Aid Station, some 21 miles ahead. Leaving Francis Peak, we continued traveling along ridgelines, occasionally on dirt roads, but primarily on narrow, rocky trails. Before the race I had reduced the course description, aid station locations and cutoff times on small sheets of paper and then laminated them. Referring to them frequently, I noted with some satisfaction that the referenced elevation points kept us more or less at 9000 ft. However, rarely mentioned in the course description was the fact that in between the highlighted peaks or passes were repeated descents and ascents of 1000-2000 feet. Several times Dad and I commented that it would be a pretty easy course if we could only learn how to walk on air. Alas, no such luck. ALL WE NEED NOW IS BRIMSTONE As afternoon progressed we noted some ominous clouds approaching from the west. About 2:30 P.M., as we walked along one of the countless ridges at approximately the 30-mile mark, the storm hit with lightening strikes all around us. Not a great place to be during a major thunder storm. Unfortunately, we had no choice but to move forward. Just as the lightening began to abate, we were hit by 30 minutes of hail (up to ½ inch in diameter). Ouch! Both Dad and I pulled out little ponchos, which provided some protection. Several nearby runners had nothing to protect them and they suffered noticeably. Finally, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the wind kicked up to about 35 miles/hour and a driving rain began. The conditions were so absurd, I had to laugh. Gallows humor, I suppose. My one perverse note of comfort was that at least everyone else in the race was suffering a similar fate. (Only later did we learn that the storm was fairly isolated and only the last quarter of the runners got hit by inclement weather.) Lesson #4 - rain may fall on the just and the unjust, but not necessarily on the slow AND the fast. About an hour after the storm began, it ended as abruptly. We slowly dried out and struggled into Big Mountain, the 36-Mile checkpoint, to meet Karen and try and regroup. The storm and tough terrain had slowed us considerably. I observed that there were only a few runners still behind us and that two or three runners who had weathered the storm with us decided to drop out at this time. At Big Mountain we were required to submit to our first on-course weigh-in. Concerned that I might be dropping too much weight, I had downed liter after liter of fluid the first one third of the race. Stepping on the scale, the Station attendant looked in amazement -- 151 lbs! Admittedly, I had a couple of pounds of mud on my shoes, but I clearly was over the minimum. ONE TOUGH GUY As Dad and I left Big Water, I noted that we were just ahead of the final cutoff time for this portion of the race, but 72 minutes behind a 36-hour pace. The race organizers send to all runners estimated cutoff points for various finish times. The schedule we were following was ahead of the absolute cutoffs; however, it was well behind the time necessary to qualify as an "official finisher." (Note to race organizers: the cutoff estimates are too generous in the early going and tend to lull us "back of the packers" into a false sense of security.) The race officials stated they would not pull runners off the course if they fell behind the absolute cutoff, but they warned that such runners wouldn't be guarantee any aid beyond the stated final cutoff times. About the time of the storm, Dad's left knee and both shins began to ache considerably. The frequent, steep and rocky downhills were particularly problematic. Dad was pretty stoic but it was clear as the race continued, he was in increasing pain. The section from Big Mountain to Lambs Canyon (Miles 36-51) had several severe downhill sections. With each one, Dad's suffering increased. It was clear the pain to his left knee and lower legs was intense. We had no choice to slow our pace on the downhills, which normally is where runners speed up to recover time lost on the many up hill climbs. When we finally reached Lambs Canyon, shortly before 11:00 P.M., it was apparent that Dad would not be able to continue much further. While his physical pain was evident, I sensed the emotional strain was even greater as he contemplated the possibility of not reaching a goal he had spent so many months to achieve. Nonetheless, he wasn't ready to give up yet. After a quick weigh-in, 148 lbs (still two over from the pre-race number) we resupplied, received a "go get em" from Karen, and off we went. Departing from Lambs Canyon Aid Station, we were still an hour behind the 36-hour pace. I knew we were in trouble, time wise. From the beginning our plan was to run together so long as we were on schedule. As we began to slip behind our pace, I decided to continue with Dad as long as we were reasonably close, thinking that we could make up the time later on the course. (I didn't realize at the time that the last quarter of the race is by far the most difficult.) Fortunately, the first 4 miles out of Lambs Canyon were largely up hill and on well-managed trails. The uphills and smooth trails were much easier on Dad's legs and we were able to make good progress. Unfortunately, at mile 55 disaster struck. We began a series of difficult down hill sections and Dad's knee finally gave out. Amazingly, he had traveled more than 25 miles on a knee that was causing him extreme pain, but it was clear he was now going to have a difficult time just making it 1.5 miles to the Mill Creek Road where transportation was available. Continuing the race for him was impossible. It was now 1:00 A.M. Dad and I had a quick caucus and he encouraged me to take off and try and make up the lost time. I was concerned about his ability to make it off the mountain, but he assured me that he could do it by going slowly. With some reluctance I took off for the Upper Big Water Aid Station some 4.5 miles away where I hoped to meet Karen and describe where she could pick up Dad. Lesson #5 - Sometimes truly heroic deeds are in the back of the pack. Traveling downhill, I reached the Mill Creek Canyon Road about 1:25 A.M. and started the run up the paved road (the only extended paved-road portion of the course before the final 2 miles in Midway) to the Aid Station some 3 miles ahead. As I neared the Station, Karen came up from behind and paused. I quickly explained the situation. We determined that Dad probably wasn't down to the road yet so she continued to the Aid Station where she prepared for my arrival. When I reported in at 2:18 A.M., I told the race directors that Dad was dropping out. As I left the Station and continued on, Karen went down to pick up Dad and return back to the Station so that he could report directly to the race staff and they could confirm his safety. LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS, OH MY! Leaving Big Water at 2:43 A.M., I knew I was facing some significant challenges. Despite my push up Mill Creek Canyon, I was still 43 minutes beyond the 36-hour pace and nearly 40 minutes behind the nearest remaining runner. (In fact, four of the five closest runners eventually dropped from the race.) To compound matters I was now running alone - most racers run with a pacer the last half of the race - and I had never been on the course before. As I navigated along looking for the ribbons marking the trails, my mind turned to the wildlife of the west. I kept thinking of the increased population of mountain lions and the isolated but well-reported attacks on humans. While it seems rather silly now, it was clearly a concern at 3:00 A.M. with no one around for miles. Ironically, as the night progressed and I began to tire, my thoughts of cougars took a 180-degree turn. What a wonderful rationale for dropping out, I thought. Just think how cool it would be to show the claw marks to my work colleagues. No one would look askance at my not finishing with that kind of excuse!, I concluded. Alas, no cougars. Not even a porcupine. Lesson #6 - Sleep deprivation does funny things to your mental process. At around 5:30 A.M., to my relief, I finally began catching up to a few of the back-of-the-pack runners. As I mentioned earlier, some of these individuals ended up dropping out, but at the time I felt like I was gaining ground. My times in and out of the interim aid stations supported this notion. Shortly before 7:30 A.M. I trotted into Brighton Ski Resort, the only in-door Aid Station, and saw Karen's ever upbeat, although somewhat bedraggled face. She gave me a quick report on Dad, who was in the back of the pick-up sleeping. I weighed in at 146 lbs, my starting weight. I tried to hurry my stay in the Station but still lost 24 minutes as I tried to retape portions of my hammered feet. Lesson #6 - Downtime at aid stations can add up. The key to fast times is to KEEP MOVING! Leaving Brighton at 7:56 A.M., I noted I was now 26 minutes behind the 36-hour pace. My push through the night had gained me only about 17 minutes; however, with more runners now around me, I assumed I could pick up the necessary time over the last 27 miles. The sun was up and my spirits rose accordingly, if only momentarily. THE AGONY OF THE FEET Brighton Ski Lodge is situated at 8790 feet above sea level. From there the trail goes sharply upward for the next three miles to the high points of the race - Catherine Pass and Point Supreme at 10,240 and 10,450 feet respectively. As throughout the course, I did reasonably well on the ascent, passing several runners in the process. One runner I met, Doug Nast, became an on-again, off-again running companion for the next few hours. While I tended to do quite well on the uphills, he would blow past me on the downhills. We tended to leapfrog one another on the hills and run together on the infrequent flats. Doug was a great conversationalist, particularly when he began describing the hallucinations he was experiencing. I began feeling like a flower child of the 60s. Doug, thanks for distracting my from personal aches and pains. Up to this point, I had kept my feet in reasonably good shape with only two small blisters. Unfortunately the trail from Catherine Pass to Cascade Springs deteriorated quickly, becoming progressively more rocky, narrow and steep. On many of the downhill sections, the trail had eroded from water runoff to the point where the sides of the trail were on 45-degree angles and the bottom was filled with loose golf ball to softball size rocks. The constant pounding on the feet became almost unbearable and was exacerbated by my attempts to pick up the pace. One constant point of frustration was my seeming inability to gage pace and distance. Based on physical effort, I constantly would predict my time to the next aid station, only to underestimate the time by as much as 50 percent. This failure to gain ground as I passed the noon hour on Sunday gave rise to a growing panic that I would not finish within the 36-hour time limit. The stretch from Pole Line Pass Aid Station to Cascade Springs (Miles 82-92.7) was the most difficult as the trail seemed to last forever. Doug's description of fanciful creatures that turned into rock formations was a most helpful diversion during this period. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally reached Cascade Springs. Having forded a river 1.1 miles earlier my shoes weighed triple their weight but I didn't dare stop to change them. Moreover, my feet were so swollen, I was afraid if I took them off, I wouldn't be able to put them back on. So like all the other runners, I just slogged on. Lesson #7 - When necessary, the mind can block out a tremendous amount of pain. I left Cascade Springs at 2:40 P.M. With only 7.3 miles to go, I should have realized that I finally had a little time cushion. However, after being on my feet for nearly 34 hours, cogent thought was somewhat lacking and I remained convinced that I still might miss the final cutoff. After climbing the "wall", an extremely steep ½ mile hill immediately out of Cascade Springs, I took off running at what felt like a 7 mile/hour pace. Due to a traffic accident which closed the Canyon, Karen was not at Cascade Springs when I arrived and finally reached me a couple of miles down the gravel road towards Midway. She yelled that I clearly would make the cutoff, which fact finally sank into my fried brain. For the remainder of the descent down into Midway, I resorted to an out-of-shape training trick of running 5 minutes and walking 5 minutes. This approach allowed me to pass several runners toward the end. (I was a little concerned about breaching ultra running protocol. I wasn't sure if there was an unwritten rule that one shouldn't pass runners in the final two miles of a 100-mile race. But I figured, what the heck, if they didn't want to get passed they could always pick up their own pace. It was a race after all.) In fact, of the 13 runners I actually beat who finished under 36 hours, I probably passed 10 of them on the stretch between Cascade Springs and Midway. After an interminable period of time, I finally turned the last corner and saw the finish line. Nothing in my life ever looked so good. (Sorry Karen.) Sitting down in the little park, I carefully pulled off my shoes and glanced fearfully at my feet. The tape I had so carefully applied 36 hours earlier was pretty tattered but all 10 toes remained attached - a good sign. Looking around at some of the other runners who were attempting to walk on hamburger masquerading as feet, I felt pretty lucky. As I sat and tried to talk to Karen, and other family members, I realized how completely spent I was, both physically and emotionally. Despite the fatigue, it was one of the most enjoyable moments of my life. Shortly thereafter, the awards ceremony began with each of the finishers receiving a small plaque and a gaudy western belt buckle. I treasure them both. EPILOGUE As I sit here several days later writing this account, the pain of the race has already started to fade. Moreover, the wonderful memory of running 100 miles and pushing myself to the limit remains fresh in my mind. Running the Wasatch Front 100 was the most physically demanding activity I've ever engaged in by a factor or 10! At times the pain was unbelievable. Lesson #8 -- Was it worth it? Absolutely! The time spent with Dad during the race and in our telephone calls for months in advance were worth the experience even had I not finished. The fact that I was able to complete the course simply added to the enjoyment. Will I do it again? Call me crazy, but I'm already planning my attack for next year. Any one want to pace me to a sub-30 hour finish?