Mt. Hood PCT 50 Miler - Mike Bouscaren The 3rd annual Mt. Hood PCT 50 miler (also a 50k) was held on Saturday, August 11th, 2001. This was my 4th such event, after the Bull Run 50, Garden State 50, and the Catalina 100k. I scoured the ultra calendars to find a fitting combination of novelties - heat, mild altitude (I'm a flatlander from Boston) and great scenery. This is a super run for anyone looking for a low key, very well managed trail 50 miler. Credit Mike Burke, RD, and Scott Diamond, webmaster (great pictures and maps) for a thoroughly professional set up. Training in the summer was a first for me, as I wanted to experience heat acclimatization. Also for the first time, I used marathons as a training device for the long run, participating in the Sherwood, RI marathon in May (flat and fast, but high entry fee and poor aid stations) and the Nipmuck, CT trail marathon in June (every bit as challenging as advertised). At the end of June I also ran 32 miles in Craftsbury, VT in 80-degree heat for my final long run. In all of these I felt progressively increasing degrees of nausea towards the end, probably a result of less hydration than needed. I used Succeed! caps, replacing the simpler salt tabs I'd used previously, and switched from UltraFuel and Endurox to Accelerade, which I highly recommend. This combination served me well at Mt. Hood, and while then I drank still more (24 to 40 oz every 10 miles), I'd attribute the nausea at least in Vermont to the heady fumes of insect repellent and cow shit from the farms nearby; no such problem in the pristine surroundings of Mt. Hood! My notable discoveries from the Mt. Hood PCT 50 miler are that imagination and focus create their own reality, and that rocks do jump. More to follow. I flew Boston/Portland Thursday to check out the course and the conditions, in order to develop a game plan. Like many East coast provincials, I hadn't realized the famous Pacific Coast Trail (the Western counterpart to our Appalachian Trail) stretches 2,650 miles from California to Washington's Cascade mountains, and is described as one of the premier hiking destinations in the world. I stayed in the town of Government Camp, which caters to the summer skiers on Mt. Hood - I imagined the skiers and boarders murmuring, "Hey, What's up with that dude in the short pants and running shoes?" as I went about my planning for the run. It was 49 degrees Friday morning and over 90 by mid-afternoon, with the forecast being the same for Saturday. I went to the start near Timothy Lake early, to see if I'd need a flashlight for the optional 5:30 start (6:30 was the regular start but sure to be hotter). Yep, need a flashlight (deep, dark woods) for the first half hour anyway. I drove up to the halfway point at Timberline Lodge, altitude 6,000 feet, and sniffed the thinner air. No problem, maybe. Next a huge huckleberry pancake breakfast, then back to the room to develop the final game plan. I'd use one drop bag at mile 25 with a change of socks, shirt, 3 packs of Gu, and 3 bottles with Accelerade powder in measures for 10 miles, 5 miles, and 10 miles, to match the aid station locations where I could use their water and put the mix into my Camelback as needed. For the first 25 miles, I had similar Gu and 2 bottles (Camelback had a 24 oz. mix at the start) carried in the rear webbing. People say you should get 50% of your nutrition from liquid and 50% from solids. As the temperature rose into the 90's, I made a final, realistic estimate of my expected elapsed time: 11 hours would be my goal. Bull Run, my first ultra was 10:42, Garden State, the other 50 miler, was 9:42, but I figured with the heat and possible altitude issues, I'd better scale back expectations in the interest of avoiding the dreaded bonk DNF. As it turned out, I finished in 10:55. with nearly even 25 mile splits. With the result being so close to my expectations, it was confirmed to me that detailed picturing of the event beforehand goes a long way to ensure a successful outcome. In past runs I'd done all the legwork and proper tapering, only to find during the run that my logistics were not nearly so well thought out, leading to a sub-optimal result (not enough food or liquid, or worse, foot problems). It's well worth the effort to plan for what lies ahead, allow for a little slack time, and never underestimate the challenge. Six of us made the early start (43 would start an hour later), and with little fanfare, Mike Burke sent us off at 5:30. The first 19 miles were straightforward - hold yourself back a little, drink and pee a lot, conserve. Beyond the Barlow Pass aid station at mile 19, the trail climbs 2,000 feet to the turnaround on Mt. Hood at Timberline. Having seen pictures of the sand field on the event website, I looked forward to getting above the tree line and into the open - a perfect day for the beach! Walking up through the sand field and savoring the sweet smell and purple beauty of the wildflowers (lupine), I was passed by Pierce Cornelius, call it mile 24, or nearly half way. Later, I found that Pierce had bettered my finish time by 45 minutes, and that he's only 70 years old (I'm 54). Way to go, Pierce! Another goal I'd set was I'd try really hard not to hit the deck during the run. At Bull Run, I'd bitten the dirt 6-8 times, and in the Nipmuck the rocks sent me down 10-12 times (in the Nipmuck you'll see people wearing hand/wrist protectors, which I'd not seen before in a trail run). Unlike hockey players who must look UP to avoid getting decked, trail runners have to look DOWN to avoid getting decked. This presents a conflict to one inspired by the magnificent beauty of Mt. Hood in its snow-covered, 11,239 foot majesty, when, in hour two of the run, as you finally see it from out of the woods, pow! one of those rocks underfoot trips you by the toe and you stumble. But I did not fall! So now I took this as a warning, like the boxer who catches an unseen jab from his opponent: stay focused and look down! I stayed vertical until mile 30, where at a road crossing (one of the very few) I became distracted by some day hikers and went down. But I had to call on my imaginary rules judge, because I did manage a fingertip save as I approached horizontal, not even making palm contact on the ground and thus not actually falling: "No knockdown, only a slip," said he, "Knockdowns are full palm contact, minimum." (diving shoulder separations, wrenched knee rolls, and face plants need no ruling from the referee - you're down, no question !). At the turnaround, I spent a few extra minutes washing the dust off my feet and toes, and found going down through the sand field was quite a bit of fun. The day was perfectly clear, with Mt. Hood's unmatched beauty over my left shoulder and the sound of gushing water from the snow melt making the entire scene come alive. Then back into the woods, which were hotter and dustier than when I came up. When I reached the Wapinitia Pass/Hwy 26 aid station at mile 35.5, it was still hotter and I sensed the dread bonk creeping into me, but I was still vertical! I spent a couple extra minutes on watermelon, bananas, cantaloupe, pretzels and ice water (great aid stations and terrific volunteers - thanks again!) and pumped more S! and ibuprofen before resolving to persevere more deliberately. 14 miles to go. Just walk a little more and drink, drink, drink to chase that bonk away. Then back to the jog/shuffle to pick up speed and pow! those rocks had singled out my middle toe on the right foot for their target. Like the fighter whose eye has been closed by repeated blows, unable to see the jabs thrown at his weakness, I, too, knew the rocks resolved to knock me down with shots to that same toe. For it hurts there and as you try to protect it from your adversary, you become even more vulnerable to his punishment. Another people distraction behind me and POW! the rocks launched me forward where to avoid a mouthful of trail dirt I made the full contact hand save - it's an OFFICIAL KNOCKDOWN. No doubt about it. Bummer, man, but go on. So rocks DO jump. This is in the context of Lord Byron's pronouncement, "Truth is stranger than fiction," he who swam the Hellespont with his club foot. Byron knew. In the 9th or 10th hour of this ultra run with the temperature in the 90's, I too, became aware of the fine line between truth and fiction. Conclusively, I determined that truth comes out of a strong imagination, while fiction mostly is what we think we perceive when we're not really trying to think. Consider the OREGON GAZE. This is a phenomenon observed by exhausted ultra runners who pass day hikers on the PCT. The hiker, appearing fresh and hearty, makes eye contact with the ultra runner - DEEP eye contact - as if to confirm an already decided upon fiction. So in the question posed, "Are you all right?" the hiker betrays his fictional perception that the ultra runner is NOT all right. The truth? "Of course I'm all right can't you see I came all the way across the country after training in the heat all summer just to run in this and there's no bonk and I can smell the barn already and I should be the one asking YOU are YOU all right since you're asking me such a lame question!" Sometimes truth and fiction get switched around: consider the town near Mt. Hood called Zigzag, or the tag line I saw there under a motel's No Vacancy sign saying "Sorry, dude." The fictional aspect around Mt. Hood is palpable: possibly the wild beauty of the place creates an overlay of idealism. So a fictional view is often more typical than a truthful one; after all, people fear pain, and truth is often painful. So, too, there was truthful pain in my right middle toe: those rocks for sure jump, else why would I go down for an eight count on the PCT to begin with? With 3 miles to go, the trail was more rocky and dusty than ever. Since I'd put more cold water into my hat than into my stomach, I was also dry mouthed and out of water. This is the GOOD PART, that moment all ultra runners of all abilities look forward to: how are you going to dig a little deeper to keep yourself going? I screamed silently: "You didn't come ALL THE WAY OUT HERE TO WALK, did you? Get yourself in gear or forever regret it!" So my shuffle resumed, and soon someone says it's only 20 minutes to the road, and I keep pushing forward. Then I'm out of the woods and 1/4 mile from that wonderful "Finish" banner. The beautiful people who have run to completion cheer and clap my approach, and then there's no more running. End. I'm so happy and so grateful. Every ultra run has its special gift for the participant. In the final quarter of the event you get a close up and personal view of what's real and what matters, and that's the point of doing it. You should try this, the Mt. Hood PCT 50 Miler. When you've finished, you'll get the best tasting hot soup ever. Only keep an eye out for that biggest rock of all, the mountain - 'cause you never know what rocks might do ...