Subject: a day (and a half) at Wasatch Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2000 10:35:11 -0700 From: "Medinger, John (MEDI)" Herewith, a report on the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run, held last weekend in Utah. Executive summary: It was fun. It was beautiful. It was challenging, no, strike that, it was hard. It went reasonably well for about 65 miles. Then it got ugly. Then it got very ugly. Then it got stupefying, Bataan death march, lurching, staggering, crying-for-yo'-mama-in-the-middle-of-the-night ugly. That went on for several more hours and then I finished (110th out of 125 finishers and 187 starters). A "PW" by more than three hours. Long winded version follows. Subject to your bandwidth and tolerance for "I" disease, you may wish to hit "delete" here. It was warm at the start and I was immediately concerned that the weather forecast might somehow be dreadfully wrong. To give credit where it is due, though, the forecasters did (for once) get it right. The day was perfect for running, save for a 15-20 mph headwind that we were exposed to on the ridge tops. It was fair, a few high cirrus clouds, and the temperature at the 8000-9000 foot level, where most of the first half of the course is found, probably didn't exceed 65F. I had the remnants of a (highly publicized) head cold at the start. The dull achy feeling that often accompanies a cold was gone, but I was still stuffed up. It turned out to be only a minor bother. Other than that, I felt pretty good. I had no real physical maladies, and actually slept pretty well the night before. Of course, at 5 a.m. it was still dark. I rode over to the start with Laura Vaughan and Betsy Nye, but did not get a chance to see Ann Trason, Mike Topper, or Bob Longwell to wish them well, and the way things turned out, I never saw them the entire time. The Kaysville start offers a 3.6-mile stretch of fairly easy trail before heading up to the ridge top on the way to Chinscraper. I got caught near the front of a very large conga line that was going a little bit slower than I wanted, but decided just to chill and not to push past. We passed the old start in 49 minutes -- 7 minutes slower than last year -- and I then "excused me" a little bit to get past the folks at the front of the line and pushed off up the hill. For virtually all of the first climb, I was by myself and yet somehow when I got to Chinscraper, where it would be useful to be by yourself, I had caught up to another conga line. Climbing this very steep (you have to use your hands) but short hill is irritating under any circumstance; having to do it while interrupting the rhythm of the climb to wait for the person ahead of you is downright annoying. Once at the top, I took a breather to let the pack go on ahead. The next three miles is on a very badly overgrown trail that really more resembles a path that three goats once crossed than an actual trail. I knew that I would be very slow on this section and didn't want to have to deal with people scrambling to get by me. I cruised down the road to Francis Peaks, the first check point (mile 18.6, 7500 feet elevation), and was right on the schedule I had laid out for a 31-32 hour finish that I thought a reasonable goal (my previous two finishes were 31:24 and 31:35). Crew dogs extraordinaire Errol "Rocket" Jones and Kathy Hamilton were there to greet me, give me a sandwich and send me off up the trail. Mike Lavelle was leaving just as I was and I spent virtually all of the next section with him, crossing through the beaver ponds and through the aspen groves and on up the big climb to Bountiful "B" check point (23.8 miles, 8160 feet). This is my favorite section of the first half of the course and Mike and I had fun going through there. Again, right on time. The next section over to Sessions Lift-off was uneventful save for the sporadic gunfire in the distance. Deer hunting season is but a week away and I guess the local hunters can't help but go shoot at something until it officially arrives. This is somewhat disconcerting, but I figured that with my gait and my Eric Clifton designed "Tropical John" shorts, I was about the last one out there that might be mistaken for a deer. As I climbed up to Sessions Summit (mile 29.4, 9120 feet) with Lynn Yarnall and Janine Duplessis, we were rapidly approached from behind by two teenagers on motorized dirt bikes. They stopped just short of running us over. I whirled and told them in a vicious tone of voice to "go play with your toys somewhere else." Surprisingly, they complied. The long stretch over to Swallow Rocks aid station (mile 34.8, 8320 feet) is cataloged at 6.6 miles, but always seems very much longer. I did a reasonable job with the rough trail and got to Swallow Rocks still more or less on my predicted pace. From there to Big Mountain Pass is little more than an hour and the last 20 minutes is all downhill. Rosemary had flown in Saturday morning and was with Errol and Kathy at Big Mountain (mile 39.2, 7420 feet). It is now 3:45 p.m., again, pretty much right on schedule. Runners are allowed pacers from this point on, and I was very happy to have the Rocket's company on this next stretch, which is mostly open grasslands with some extremely rocky footing and is my least favorite part of the entire 100 (+ +??) miles. We played leapfrog in here with Linda McFadden who was running her fourth 100-miler of the summer and was being paced by Catra Corbett. Steady moving got us to Lamb's Canyon (mile 53, 6100 feet) just before dark. We hiked out of the aid station with Ann Grove and her pacer Jerry Bloom. Ann was having stomach problems but had bounced back, the first of several such recoveries she would perform during the race. The climb up and over Bear Ass Pass (mile 56.7, 8130 feet) created the first real problem of the run. I have had a sporadic problem with a neuroma on my right big toe. I guess that the steady climbing up to the pass set it off. This caused a electric shooting pain into my big toe on virtually every push-off. Fortunately, Ann Grove, who is a physical therapist, was at Elbow Fork when I came off the trail and she suggested a cross-friction massage technique. At the Upper Big Water aid station (mile 61.5, 7660 feet), I gave it a try and darned if it didn't work! The things you learn out there. Kathy Hamilton would take over the pacing duties from Big Water on. We left at about 11:30 p.m. in good spirits and still more-or-less on schedule. Things went reasonably well until about Desolation Lake (mile 66.8, 9170 feet); on the trail above Dog Lake we heard a lone coyote howl, fairly nearby, either at the nearly-full moon or searching for its mate. Very cool. The coyote howls were interspersed by the hollow echoing sounds of someone puking in the distance. From various published reports, this stretch seemed to be a very popular place to puke. Soon thereafter things began to unravel. I was simply running out of gas and my blood sugar levels were asymptotically approaching zero. This is a fairly familiar feeling and I knew I needed to eat. When I got to Desolation Lake, the single most remote aid station on the entire course (water and food are brought in by horseback), they had precious little in the way of variety. I tried a PBJ on stale white bread (this is, after all, Utah) but could only get about two bites down before a gag reflex prevented me from attempting to down any more. I got some GU down, the first of many many, and shuffled up the trail to Red Lovers Ridge (9900 feet) and over to Scott's Pass (72 miles, 9475 feet). This was one of my really low spots, fighting the altitude, fatigue, and those wonderful 2-in-the-morning blues. The trek to Scott's Pass seemed to take forever, and our spirits were further reduced upon getting there when we learned that Ann Trason had dropped out there (hours earlier) with nausea problems. Again not much luck with solid food at Scott's Pass. More GU and down the trail to the Sleepy Hollow trailhead, where Rosemary and Errol were waiting. I didn't feel like running much but Errol encouraged me to give it a try and take advantage of 1.6 miles of downhill pavement into Brighton. So, we shuffled along, gradually picking up speed on the way down, threatening to make it look like we were actually running at the bottom. At Brighton (mile 75.4, 8790 feet), I was pretty much done for. My normal strategy here is to eat something in the parking lot and avoid the aid station, which is stationed inside the (warm and comfortable) ski lodge, altogether. Brighton is a black hole: once people get inside, many of them never leave. This time, I knew that the strategy would not work. The toughest climb on the course was staring me in the face, and I knew that I needed some real food if I was to get it done. It was approaching 24 hours since the race had started, and I was but three-quarters done. I managed to eat some soup and some instant mashed potatoes; the potatoes tasted pretty good actually, but only had 160 calories and there was only one package to be had. More GU. I knew if I really analyzed the situation, how I felt, where I was, and what I still had to do, I would quit. I really didn't want to quit. Been there, done that, too many times. So, I just didn't allow myself to think about it. I focused on little things: try to get another spoonful of mashed potatoes down, switch flashlights, five more minutes and we have to leave. I hardly remember actually leaving. We had set a time to go and when it got to that time, we just got up and left. We left Brighton and started the long slow trudge up to Point Supreme at the top of Catherine's Pass (mile 78.2, 10,450 feet). One advantage of the late hour of our arrival into Brighton was that we started to get some light in the eastern sky and actually got to the top of the pass just as we turned our flashlights off for the night. I had never seen this piece of real estate before in the daylight and it was achingly beautiful in the soft early pre-dawn twilight. Was it worth the slow arrival time? Ascribing to the glass-is-half-full theory, I will give you only: "possibly". Inspired by the amazing view before us, Kathy mentioned the Bernard DeVoto quote, oft used in the Western States program: "What they had done, what they had seen, heard, felt, feared - the places, the sounds, the colors, the cold, the darkness, the emptiness, the bleakness, the beauty. 'Til they died, this stream of memory would set them apart, if imperceptibly from anyone but themselves, from everyone else. For they had crossed the mountains." Still amazingly lucid despite the 25.5 hours of travail, I pointed out that this was actually written about Lewis and Clark, and the quote actually ended "for they had crossed the continent, and returned once again" but that Western States had bastardized it to suit the crossing of the Sierras. Like a lot of folks, Kathy thought it was written about the Donner party. I then countered with Wallace Stegner's "primitive Eden" quote, and pointed out that it was better anyway because Stegner grew up in Salt Lake and was talking about a spot in the Wasatch Range when he wrote it. "Now and then nature produces a combination of land, water, sky, space, trees, animals, flowers, distances, and weather so perfect it looks like the hatching of a romantic fantasy. Every time we go out into the wilderness, we are looking for that perfect, primitive Eden. This time, we have found it." It was a goosebump filled moment. Other than the eventual finish (yes, I am getting to that, but wanted you, dear reader, to have the full effect of the pace at which things were now moving), this moment was the highlight of my day-and-a-half in the Utah wilderness. The serendipity of reaching the summit at first light was soon shattered by the descent into Ant Knolls on the back side of Catherine's Pass. It is hard to describe how bad this section of trail is. It is precipitously steep and filled with bowling ball sized rocks. Every step is an accident waiting to happen. I found entirely unrunnable, even in the daylight. Kathy commented, not for the first time, on how unfair this course was. We passed through Ant Knolls aid station (mile 80.1, 9000 feet) quickly. This is another remote aid station with not much variety of food. Up "The Grunt", a short but very steep climb and on to a ridge top with a fairly gentle trail. Pole Line Pass aid station (mile 83.2, 8925 feet) arrived before I expected it, a very pleasant surprise. They were cooking breakfast and I tried to eat. I managed to get down some hash browns and a little scrambled egg. And then we left to negotiate the final serious climb of the run, up to Point Contention at 9500 feet. This stretch always seems like an eternity, moving slowly late in the race at high altitude, and this year was no exception. Eventually we started down to Mill Canyon, the top part of the trail strewn with rocks, giving way to a more easily negotiated downhill toward the bottom. At Mill Canyon (mile 88.9, 8300 feet) I ate a couple of slices of melon. I knew it contained precious few calories but at least it tasted good. About a mile after the aid station, the wheels came off for the final time. It was now noon and I was completely bonked, staggering down the trail like a punch-drunk fighter. Other runners occasionally passed by, drawn magnetically to the finish line. For the first time in the entire run, I started to whine. I don't like whining, I know it doesn't do any good. I was determined not to whine. But by now, I just couldn't help it. Poor Kathy was telling me all the good lies that a pacer will tell a spent runner. I was just coherent enough to recognize them all and told her that I knew she was lying through her teeth, but I appreciated the thought. The trail was actually substantially good through this section, but I could do nothing with it. More GU. For the first time in the entire run, I was doing the "never again" thing. I never actually said it out loud, but I was thinking it with a fierce passion. Rosemary and Wayne Kocher, who had dropped at Big Water, had walked up the trail from the final aid station to greet us. It turned out that they had walked the better part of a mile and I found it thoroughly discouraging to have to negotiate another 15 or 20 minutes of trail when I had hoped that they were no more than 100 yards from the aid station. I staggered into Alpine Loop (93.9 miles, 8060 feet) aid station and sat down. I managed to get a little Metabolol down and half a banana, but it looked like I was going to have to GU in from here. Even though it now started downhill, I was pretty much done running. There was a couple of feeble attempts at a shuffle, but I couldn't marshal the energy to sustain it. At the same time, I knew that I could walk in and finish with over an hour to spare before the 36-hour time limit, so there was precious little incentive to move faster. So, we hiked along and once past the old Aspen Grove finish (mile 96.8, 6850 feet), I started to get a little adrenaline going with the recognition that this ordeal would eventually find an end. It actually climbed a little out of Aspen Grove but I had been warned about this. What I had not been warned about was that the last mile of trail would once again become precipitous, rocky, and with a sharp drop-off to the right. I was glad I wasn't pushing to break some particular time or to hold off some other runner; in the condition I was in, this trail was potentially dangerous. Finally, we dropped down to a service road and some of the houses of the Sundance Resort, crossed the road and picked up a trail on the other side. After another couple of hundred yards, the trail pops out onto the bottom of the ski hill where the finish line is located. I gave Kathy a hug and ran down the last minute or so to the finish line, still being careful to look at my footing so as not to take a pratfall in front of everybody. Amazingly, I had negotiated the entire 100 miles without falling. In some ways it was the worst 100 I have finished. In others, it was the best. I hung on and gutted it out instead of quitting. In retrospect, I feel very good about that. It was, without a doubt, the hardest thing I have ever done. Epilogue. Upon finishing we went to the room and I got cleaned up. I was so depleted that I almost immediately went hypothermic. I crawled into bed and shivered, not stopping until I was able to get some hot chocolate down. I was so wasted I missed the awards ceremony and the opportunity to schmooze and see how everyone else did, something I regret very much. Two days later on, I am substantially OK. My feet are a mess, with several blisters and still swollen. Everything else is about what one would expect from yet another weekend of sporting excess. Complete results can be found at http://www.run100s.com/results/wf00.txt Ann Grove, Lynn Yarnall and Janine Duplessis, who I had been running with for much of the first 80 miles, all finished more than an hour in front of me, further testimony to how slowly I was going at the end. Laura Vaughan struggled too, but finished the race for the 10th time, the first woman to do so. "Wasatch Fred" Riemer, who has made an art form out of finishing at the very last minute, did so again in 35:55. It was his 15th finish. Also noteworthy were Mike Topper and Betsy Nye, both of whom had awesome performances. Aloha, Tropical John