Rio del Lago 100 - 2003 By Nancy Warren All week I was so impatient. It was three long days of endless waiting. The Rio Del Lago was my first 100 and I felt ready. The alarm blasted in my ear at 2am Saturday morning. I was up. No nerves and no sign of stomach problems. I went through my morning ritual and I was out the door at 4am. After the RD went over a few rules, we headed outside for the 6am start. It was still dark and I didn't think to bring a flashlight. So I took my place in the back of the pack near someone that was smart enough to bring one. I gave my husband a kiss and started power walking down the trail. The trail turned to a rolling gravel road, and as the sun rose, it cast a spectacular view of the lake. I met up with a man, named Peter, from Oregon. He was running the Sierra Nevada and time passed quickly as we ran together. We were close to the back as most runners bolted from the get go. But, I had promised myself to be conservative, be smart. Peter stopped for a moment and I continued. I turned on my MP3 player and sang my way down the trail. A runner passed me and I felt a wave of anxiety but I knew I had another 90+ miles to cover and tried to keep my pace. The gravel road turned to horse trail and I found myself behind a caravan of runners. The pace was extremely slow and I felt anxious being in the back. They would jog on the flat, walk even the shortest uphill and cruz slowly on the downhill. Part of me wanted to pass and get moving down the trail but the other part told me to relax, be conservative. I had a long way to go. I decided to be smart and stay with the group. We came to an aid station and I didn't waste any time. I had a backpack full of replacement drink and snacks and while everyone was eating and refilling bottles I headed back down the trail. My goal was to make it to the Auburn Overlook by 11am. The first 23 miles went smoothly and I was right on my projected time. The Overlook is one of the main crew areas and I knew my Mom would be waiting. Seeing her makes it all worth while. The temperature was rising and Cardiac Hill was just around the corner. The switchbacks went on and on. I just kept power walking and found myself passing a few people. I ended up behind a man without a shirt. His back was beading with sweat and between the two of us I really couldn't tell who was breathing harder. I could see the pavement ahead and knew I was almost at the top. I crossed the street and continued on the shaded flume trail. A canal runs alongside the trail and I dipped my handkerchief a couple of times and draped it around my neck. I could see the aid station up ahead. A friend of mine was working the station and had promised me watermelon. I grabbed a piece. My face and neck were dripping with sweat and sticky watermelon. On my way out, I noticed a bucket of ice water and sponges and generously doused myself. It completely cooled me down. I made my way back along the canal and up to the street. I could see my Mom up ahead waving. It was a great feeling that she was there. She wrapped a wet towel around my neck, replaced my water bottles, gave me more food and a kiss and sent me over to the med- check. I had started at 116lbs and was only down a pound. The next section of the trail was single track and I was looking forward to it. After a few miles the horse trail turned to exposed fire road and the sun seemed to start pumping out the heat. The only vision I had was of the ice water and sponges at No Hands Bridge. Disappointment set in as I finally arrived and there wasn't a bucket in sight. I was hot and I knew I had that never-ending climb up k2. I started the hill with the intention of power walking each section, taking a 30-second break and continuing. It didn't go as planned. I'd been up k2 before but this time it was so much more work. Some portions of the incline were so steep that I lost my footing. It was long, false summit after false summit. My heart was racing. It was pounding so hard that I had to stop. I poured water on my head and waited for my pulse decrease. A man wearing orange shorts passed me. He was powering up and made it look incredibly easy. I got to the top and felt almost renewed. Almost. The hill turned flat and I knew it was just a short distance into Cool where my family would be waiting. I rounded the corner where the trail parallels the highway and I could see a cluster of people yelling. It was my husband, daughter, her friend, my Mom and sister. I was so excited to see everyone. It was only mile 30 but I knew the two most difficult climbs were over. The strap from my camelback had been rubbing a raw spot on my stomach and while my mom refilled my water bottles with ice, someone slapped a Band-Aid on my stomach and I headed out. This next section was the seven-mile Olmstead loop. As I made my way through the aid station some women I had met two weeks prior cheered me on. They had warned me about the heat during this part of the run. I jogged for awhile but slowly gave way to a walk. It was scorching. The ice in my hand-held bottle had already melted and I stopped to dig in my pack for another bottle with ice. I was passed by a man I met earlier in the run. He was slow but steady –his pace smooth. I tried to catch up with him but I just couldn't find the energy. The road ahead was depressing. It was a dry, desolate, brown nothing. My power walk turned to a simple walk. I felt myself overheating. I poured water on my head and just tried to make my way. I crossed the once full stream and headed up the Knickerbocker hill. My heart was pumping. I suddenly felt this wave of nausea. I hadn't experienced this before and I thought I was going to blow my groceries at that very moment. I found a small patch of shade under a bush and buckled over. As I leaned up, I spied the aid station and prayed for ice. The volunteer had a limited amount but she gladly filled my bottle. It was back to the pavement for more walking. A little shuffle here and there and more walking. I could see the start of the loop and was relieved to be back. It had taken me more than 2 hours to complete the seven miles. I was about 15 minutes behind my projected schedule. I jumped on the scale and had lost another pound but otherwise felt good. While my husband snapped pictures, my Mom wiped my legs and neck and my daughter filled my hat with ice. My Mom offered me some food but my desire to eat was gone. Nothing sounded even remotely good. I hadn't eaten in a while but surprisingly felt energetic, considering. Once off the desolate road, I found myself entering narrow single track. I couldn't have been happier. I passed a couple of runners and just kept running. I was making up time lost on the loop. After awhile, I realized I hadn't seen any ribbons. I felt panicky and wondered where the other runners were. I hadn't seen anyone else on the trail. I contemplated heading back but knew that I was headed in the right direction. When I arrived at the bridge, I was greeted with a huge smile from the volunteer checking in runners. It was a much- needed welcome. I grabbed a few slices of watermelon and was on my way. I walked for awhile along the gravel road. I caught up to another runner – a 16 year old running the 100. He had been battling nausea all day. He looked terrible but I told him he looked great and encouraged him to keep moving. I gave him a couple of pepto's and continued walking. My quads were getting sore and I was experiencing some pain in the balls of my feet. I was slowing on the downhill but knew in a few miles I would be at the Overlook and pick up my first pacer, Jimmy. As I came up off the trail, all I could see was my family and friends, even Auntie Jan and the new baby. Temporarily, I am renewed. I see Jimmy. He looks ready to go and I mean GO. I have a quick vision of the Tortoise and the Hare. I know which role I play. He is rushing me. We had talked prior to the race about not wasting time and I don't have any extra time to waste. I exchange water bottles and get my headlamp and flashlight. I feel sweaty and salty and probably smell but I hug and kiss everyone and we leave. We pick up the flume trail again. I should be running but I am walking. A little shuffle a lot of walk. I know Cardiac Hill is just around the corner and it's all downhill. Downhill and me are no longer friends. I could really make time here but it's too painful on my quads. Jimmy is like a race horse – fresh and fast. I tell him to run. I will catch up with him at the bottom. We run and walk – more walking than running. He tells me I'm doing great but I know different. I'm slowly getting more and more behind schedule. It's starts getting dark and I'm looking forward to the night cooling off but it never does. I feel sticky. Occasionally we hit a cold patch and it feels incredible. The down hills are excruciating. I am bordering a crawl down the rocks. I hobble, taking two steps for each rock. Jimmy is very patient. He keeps yelling things like, "good effort" and I get the "thumbs up." We talk about Western States. I tell him he's nuts. He knows my application is sitting home on the kitchen table, check all made out, stamped and ready to go. All I think about tossing it in the trash when I get home. We make our way up to the aid station. I hand over my water bottle and jump on the scale. It shows a weight loss of 7 pounds. I'm told I can't continue until I gain weight. I stare at Jimmy in total dismay. As Jimmy rushes to get me some soup and potatoes, I see the volunteers flipping through a folder. I sit and drink the broth and noodles and eat potato after potato after potato. I cannot possibly gag down another one. I get up and go back to the scale. I have gained one pound. The volunteers look at me for a moment. Jimmy tells them I am fine. They ask if I am lucid. I tell them I feel good, mentally. I'm not tired or sick. I just haven't consumed enough calories. Jimmy tosses me a handful of pretzels and we get the heck out of there. I move right along. I break off tiny pieces of pretzel about the size of a thumbtack and mix it in my mouth with a slug of water. It's like a thick paste and I can hardly get it down. We meet my Mom at the next aid station and I briefly tell her about my weight experience. She drove here just to bring me a shirt – one that I don't need but take anyway. It's after 10pm and I'm running behind. I have spent less than a minute at this station and I'm down the trail. Twin Rocks aid station takes forever. I am just poking along. My stomach is starting to growl. Jimmy offers me some Nutter Butters but I refuse. Peanut butter just doesn't sound good right now. I ask Jimmy over and over, "how much longer?" He keeps telling me about 15 minutes. It's a very long 15 minutes. I hear voices in the darkness and I pray it's the aid station. I am depleting. It's like the aid station that never was. The trail goes on and on. We round the corner and spot some lights. They don't have anything I am craving. I am in disbelief and feel like I will die. I shove more pretzels in my back pocket and keep moving. We have about four miles to cover before we make it back to the school where I pick up my next pacer, Sandra, Jimmy's wife. I make my way around the fence and into the light. Someone immediately grabs my bottle and my arm and leads me to the scale. I am just underweight by 2 pounds. It's now almost 1am. Sandra has been waiting for more than 2 hours taking care of her two-year-old the entire time and she looks exhausted. Mile 67 - 17 more miles than I had ever run. I hugged everyone and Sandra and I left. I meandered along from aid station to aid station. Sandra held up a good conversation, which seemed to motivate me every time she spoke. My quads were aching and the balls of my feet felt like someone was sticking pins in them. At the next couple of aid stations Sandra massaged my legs. She only let me sit for the briefest period. She was trying to keep me moving as quickly as possible as we were getting close to the next cut-off. Mile 73 was down the trail and up the rocky hill. With Sandra in the lead, I ran as fast as my body would take me. We powered up the hill and made it into the aid station with about 30 minutes to spare. All of my family members were in the car asleep except for my Mom. She stood in the darkness with this look of worry on her face. I gave her a kiss, refilled my bottle and left. Going downhill was painful. We walked across the pavement and continued on the flat, decomposed granite trail. I started to get really cold and could feel myself staggering across the trail. Sandra kept telling me the aid station was just up ahead. I checked my watch. I could see that I only had about 2 hours to cover the next 9 miles. I knew at my current pace there was no way I would make it back to the Bluff aid station by the cut-off and at that moment, I wanted to pull. I just couldn't fathom going another 20 miles. I told Sandra that it was probably time to stop. She was so rational. For every reason I wanted to quit, she had a reason for me to continue. My feet were so sore. We got the to the Willow Creek aid station at 5:45am. I was freezing. They had a fire burning and it was like a dream. One of the volunteers brought me a blanket and gloves and another volunteer gave me a cup of coffee and cream filled cookies. I told them my reason for wanting to drop. Then, one of the other volunteers said the RD was allowing another runner, who was 40 minutes behind cut-off, to continue. And, that's all I needed to hear. I took the borrowed gloves and we ran. I mean we actually ran. I was still very cold so Sandra called our crew and asked them to bring some warm clothes to the last aid station. The caffeine and sugar was like rocket fuel. Dawn was approaching as we wound our way to what we hoped was the turnaround. Then, out of nowhere, jumps my husband Greg. He was running towards us carrying a gym bag. He throws it open, expecting me to pull out a sweatshirt, but instead I start peeling off layers and shove them into the bag. He tells me I have to hurry. The expression on his face is reason enough for me to keep pushing. Sandra and I rush up the wooden stairs to the final aid station. All that is left are two men, a plastic table, an unlit lantern, and a few small, half-empty bowls of snacks. My vision of hot coffee was demolished. The volunteers tell me I have to go. Time is running out. The return trip to the Willow Creek aid station wasn't nearly as fast but we made good enough progress to have the fastest time split of all the runners. Sandra just kept moving and I followed. We finally reached the pavement and I could see the Bluffs. I looked up and saw my family at the edge of the cliff with arms waving in the air. It was the bit of inspiration that I needed. I shuffled along the road leading to the last switchback before we reached the aid station at mile 90. My Mom asked if I was O.K. as my look of despair was telling her otherwise. We had about a 20-minute cushion before cut- off and roughly 3 hours to make it the last 10 miles. I changed pacers, again, this time picking up my Mom. We didn't waste any time. Jimmy brought me a coffee. I took a few sips, hugged everyone, and moved towards the trail. Once we reached the horse trail my Mom started her superhuman power walk. She was moving on less than 2 hours sleep but she never complained. She pulled ahead looking back every few minutes to make sure I was still there. I was like a broken record repeating, "we're not going to make it." She just kept telling me that we would make it and to keep moving. The trail crisscrossed the bike path and finally took us into the campgrounds. I was totally confused as to where I was. It seemed like we were making endless loops. Out of the camp area, we made our way up a hill. I could see the levee. Anxiously, I glanced at my watch. It was nearing 11am. I knew with the levee in sight that it was just a short distance to the road leading to the back of the school and the finish. My Mom tried to get me to run but the effort I had remaining was being saved until the very end. The sun was out and it was heating up as we made our way over the gravel. We were almost to the end of the levee but there was no sign of the school. There was another levee and another. It was like a cruel joke – levee after levee. Up ahead I could see the orange cone. I was almost there. I told my Mom we would walk to the big tree and then run in. I could see a friend of mine running towards me. He ran with us for a few minutes until I dropped to a walk. I walked to the back of the school where the path bordered the fence that lead to the finish line. I could see my sister's son, Michael, running along the fence yelling, "Go Auntie." He was yelling and smiling. I told my Mom I had to run and she said, "GO!" Adrenaline took over and I just bolted. I could hear familiar voices cheering me on. I ran under the time clock and finished in a time of 29 hours and 22 minutes. It was a very rewarding experience that I could never have accomplished without the help of my pacers and crew. A Very special thanks to my husband and Mom for believing in me.