From owner-ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU Fri Sep 19 15:36:20 1997 Date: Fri, 19 Sep 1997 15:34:58 -0700 From: stanj (Stan Jensen) To: ius-l@american.edu, ultra@caligari.dartmouth.edu Subject: WF100 report - finally (XP) "100 Miles of Heaven and Hell" That's what's etched on the black stone finisher's plaque that sits on my desk. It also says "Stan Jensen 83rd Place 33:42:24 1997", and has the route, aid stations and profile. Every time I look at it I'm reminded of the good (and not-so-good) times and I know I'll be back next year. BACKGROUND I'd finished Angeles Crest ('95) and Western States ('96), plus paced the last 50 miles of Wasatch (last year) and run most of the course in July with Ron Perkins' group, so I felt I was fairly ready. Not enough training, not enough mileage, etc., but I knew I could do it. What else could I try? Hmm, how about no crew or pacer? After all, there are 240+ volunteers, 17 aid stations and 180 starters (many with pacers). So, I turned down two golden pacers (one ended up winning a 100-miler and the other ended up pacing the 2nd place finisher) and my sister as crew. I ended up in 83rd place with 7 drop bags full of dirty clothes and trash. I arrived in Salt Lake City on Wednesday afternoon and went to the local REI to buy Gu, Clif bars, batteries, etc. Had a nice meal and went to bed early. Slept in Thursday, ate a big breakfast and drove up to the start. Walked the trail far enough to get a sense of what we'd be covering on Saturday, then did some more shopping, ate lunch, had a beer by the pool and read a book. Basically relaxed. After dinner, I did a preliminary layout of my drop bags and again turned in early. Friday morning I made some last minute changes to the bags, then made sure they all had nice duct tape labels. I picked up Errol Jones and we reached Sugarhouse Park around noon, got weighed, and picked up our bib numbers and T-shirts. No medical check, no wrist bracelet. After we set out our drop bags, I drove Errol back to his place and got lunch. I went back to the park and hung around, socializing until the briefing at 4pm. It lasted about 30 minutes (including prize drawings) and was short and sweet. Had dinner with fellow runners Joanie Mork, Kathy Welch and John Mark and made it to bed by 9pm. RACE DAY Left my rental car downtown and boarded the bus by 4am. Reached the start about 45 minutes later, watered the bushes and wished friends good luck. It was warm enough that I left my Tyvek jacket in my fanny pack. We started pretty much on time and the long line of runners jogged and walked up the single-track contour trail. I settled in behind a group of three women who seemed to be locals and one was running Wasatch as her first 100. My theory was that these three would take it easy at the beginning and as we repeatedly got passed by gung-ho guys, I felt I'd made the right choice. Someone had told me "gaining an extra 40 seconds at the start will cost you 40 minutes at the finish" and I kept that in mind. I was glad I'd brought a flashlight, which came in handy for the first 75-90 minutes as we often went through small, wooded canyons with lots of roots and rocks to trip upon. It didn't seem like too tough of a climb and the elevation (5000-9000') wasn't bothering me, so I just kept climbing, drinking and taking photos with the first of four disposable cameras. We finally reached the infamous Chinscraper (mile 5.5) and I was disappointed. It was over in a minute, even if you do have to scramble up for maybe 50' using your hands. Another four miles of easy trails and we reach RD John Grobben's truck (mile 9.4) and refill with water. About a mile further we pass the white radar domes (aka Paul Bunyon's Golf Balls) and then start the long descent on the road to the first aid station, Francis Peak (mile 14.6 at 9:06). There was a crowd here, since there is crew access, but I got my drop bag, left my flashlight, took a Gu and the second camera, then drank and ate at the table. I'd made it in just over four hours, which put me a bit ahead of my plan to match my runner's splits from last year (she finished in 33:38), so I was pleased. I was drinkin', peein', and doin' OK. I try to let Kathy and John go, because I know they're shooting for the sub-30 mark. We pass some bow-hunters and I hope my outfit is suitably visible and non-deerlike. We leave the dirt road and run on a poorly maintained single-track trail which suddenly turns into an endless climb which brings us to Bountiful "B", aka Skyline (mile 20.0 at 10:34). No drop bag, but several friendly faces (Kap'n Kirk) and I'm still doing well, so I push on. Not much memorable on this stretch. I remember looking back periodically and seeing the white radar domes in the distance and marveling that we had come so far in such a short amount of time. Down another stretch of dirt road and into Sessions (mile 24.8 at 11:36). Another nice aid station, but one where the volunteer says "5 miles to the next one" and the race packets all say 6.8 miles. What can you do? Soon after you leave here, you climb the aptly named Lung Sucker Hill and then meander along the ridgeline, heading south. I perked up, because I was almost to the point (near Mill Creek) where we'd come on a training run and from there I would be on familiar trail. Sure enough, there was the rock where I'd shared water with Wolfie back in July and now I knew what lay ahead for the next 7 miles: down, up, repeat. Around another ridge and a blue tarp is spotted in the distance: Swallow Rocks (mile 31.6 at 1:35). >From here the trail follows a rocky road along the ridge, up and down, then takes off on a single-track contour trail that goes through some pretty aspen groves and brings you to a point where you can finally see civilization in the form of a paved road. Next you see the microwave towers and start down a steep, dusty set of switchbacks. They had a sign saying "Official Race Photo - 200 yards ahead" and another with 75 yards to go, just so you could comb your hair, etc. After saying "cheese", you cross the road and reach Big. Mountain (mile 36.3 at 2:43) for your first weight check. I stayed long enough (8 minutes) to eat a PBJ, take salt, swap cameras and try to get hydrated, since I'd been warned that the next two stretches were killers and I'd never run them before. Off again into unknown territory, which consisted of trails through small forests, with the heat of the afternoon to contend with. Joanie passed me here, which first depressed me, then worried me, because we'd both talked of a 33 hour pace, so one of us was going at the wrong pace. There were several stretches with fairly steep downhills, littered with rocks that made running an effort. As we headed toward the reservoir, Harriet (the local doing her first 100) and her pacer caught me. They were having so much fun that for a moment I was jealous and wished that I'd had a pacer (but only for a moment). Finally we reached Alexander Ridge (mile 44.8 at 5:10) and I was able to down a few Cokes. I was hurtin'. If ultras were like draw poker, I'd gladly discard the next section and run Sessions-Swallows again. Not given the choice, I headed out along a 4WD track that's heavily overgrown with thigh-high grass. It goes up a canyon forever, leaving you in the late afternoon sun with moderate humidity, wondering if it'll ever end. Finally, the ribbons make a right turn and you get to scramble along another poorly maintained trail until you cross the ridge and see Interstate 80 in the distance. You emerge on a dirt road which heads you temptingly toward the aid station, then cruelly makes a U-turn and sends you to the east. At least it's downhill. You know you're getting close 'cause the crews come down to meet their runners and after the creek crossing and one more climb, you arrive at Lamb's Canyon (mile 51.0 at 6:47). A second weight check (a tad light), chicken noodle soup, change of socks and shoes (1/2 size larger), new camera, and a long-sleeve shirt and flashlight for the fanny pack (17 minutes, but worth it). Walking up the paved road, eating a turkey and cheese sandwich, I thought back to the year before when I'd been the pacer and Joan had been eating her TCS. She'd looked so much worse that when I'd seen her at Big Mt. and I'd wondered what had happened. Now I knew and I realized that I probably looked a lot worse for wear than four hours earlier. On the bright side, I was now on the part of the course that I'd covered twice before, the sun was going down, and I was somehow close to a 30 hour pace AND within 30 minutes of Errol "Rocket" Jones. Petty, I know, but I was more motivated by the slim possibility of catching him than I was of getting a Cougar buckle. After about a mile on the paved road, I turned right, crossed the creek and started the long climb through the trees on that wonderfully soft trail. I was passed by a runner who wasn't carrying anything and was followed by a sub-teenage kid carrying a water pack. Clearly muling in action, but that was their choice. I caught up with Grizz Randall at the top of Bear Ass Pass, but since he's a Clydesdale, I let him go by on the descent. I'd made it to the top (barely :-) without my light, but turned it on for the descent, with all the rocks and roots. I reached the paved road at the bottom and switched to autopilot for the 3 mile journey up the canyon. It wasn't as cold as last year, but there were lots of cars in both directions, which was a nuisance. I finally put on a Tyvek jacket after an hour, just before reaching Upper Big Water (mile 59.6 at 9:53). I tried to eat soup and drink coffee, while putting on tights and a warm top and getting two new flashlights, but I could have used a crew here (or at least a campfire). Checking out 15 minutes later, I started the climb up through the forest. Here was the part where I was glad I didn't have a pacer. I couldn't see or hear another runner and as I crested the ridge and ran by Dog Lake, I was completely alone in the middle of the night in the mountains of Utah. I knew where I was, I wasn't worried about cougars, and I was in good shape, so I was able to really enjoy the moment. Going downhill from the lake and turning left on the trail, I encountered another solo runner, who was to become my pseudo-pacer for the rest of the race: Kerry Collings, from Midway (he was actually running toward his house). He'd finished four times before and was having a good day, so we decided to stick together and see how long we could stay on the 30 hour pace. As we climbed the trail, we smelled wood smoke and knew that we were close. Sure enough, over the rise and there was Desolation Lake (mile 65.1 at 12:07). RACE DAY +1 (I'm getting there) GrandSlammer Jay Hodde and his pacer Carolyn Erdman were there, but Kerry and I chugged our cocoas and took off up the switchbacks. We took turns leading along the trail and yakked about a variety of topics. Before I knew it, we were on the ridge road and I was reminded that, among other things, a pacer can really help the time pass quickly (or at least distract you). Next stop, Scott's Peak (mile 69.3 at 1:32). We were still on time, so we kept our stay brief (but I went back for thirds on those pink and white animal cookies) and headed down the rutted dirt road through the forest. By this time, we were also in sync with our peeing schedule, although he always managed to get the fluids going first. We passed the gate and ran slowly down the paved road into town. At last we climbed those steep steps and entered Brighton Lodge (mile 73.7 at 3:04) for our third weight check (no change). We reached a mutual decision that we weren't going to stay with the 30 hour pace, so we "relaxed" and refueled for a leisurely 17 minutes. Maybe the ominous clouds and lightning outside had something to do with our decision. This aid station is warm, has indoor plumbing, and looks like a war hospital, with bodies everywhere. We left as soon as we could. It's a long climb on this stretch and I asked Kerry to stop once so that I could empty my shoes of grit. There was a lot of sand and small stuff (I'd chosen to not wear my Trail Gators, stupid me), but after we continued, the feet still didn't feel great. Kerry's feet were bothering him, too, so our descent down the far side was comically slow. I'd forgotten to get my spare batteries from my last drop bag and my light died on the downhill. Kerry loaned me his backup and we stumbled into Ant Knolls (mile 78.5 at 5:46). These volunteers were a godsend. They had a campfire and brought us whatever we asked for and even gave me two AA batteries for the next stretch! Off we went up the switchbacks and along the ridge, finally putting away our lights for the second sunrise. As we went through a dusty section through the aspens, I was startled to see two bow hunters in camouflage clothing standing motionless. Yikes! Made my heart race. Down another stretch and past some shepherds' trailers and we'd made it to Pole Line Pass (mile 82.0 at 7:22). Joanie, looking ragged, and her pacer were there and they headed out as I left my warm night clothes and flashlights in the drop bag, grabbed the fourth camera and some Gu. Kerry surprised even himself by eating a link sausage with his Coke! GrandSlammer Frank Probst left with us and we slowly made the long ascent around the basin, past Forest Lake, and up to the last high spot (Point of Contention?) on the course. From here it was an easy run along the contour, through the aspens, with a nice view of the valley we'd be heading for. Soon enough the trail dropped to the right and we made another painful descent until we finally reached Mill Canyon (mile 87.8 at 9:42). The sun was up by now, we were back on a dirt road, heading downhill on sore feet, but at least we knew that we were heading for the last aid station and had about ten more miles. "Just do it" came to mind. When we turned off the road onto the trail, I was stunned to see that this year someone had taken a mower and cleared a path through the weeds so you could actually see where you were supposed to go. A big improvement! We kept moving through this less-than-scenic stretch and were surprised to be passed (at 29 hours!) by Dana Miller, course record-holder! So what if he had a back injury and had rested for 5+ hours at Brighton ... we rejoiced in our small triumph. We stopped at the first stream crossing to cool down, forded the creek a bit later, and walked up the road to Cascade Springs (mile 92.7 at 11:54). Kerry was met by his wife and kids while Jay's pacer, Carolyn, helped me change into my HURT T-shirt and get food and drink. Kerry and I and two lovely ladies slowly left the shade, rounded the turn and managed to climb The Wall, an insult to anyone who's come that far and has to face that. From there, we didn't do nearly enough running, but I could tell that Kerry's feet were worse than mine and he'd stayed with me when I'd had problems (and I didn't need to shave off a few minutes), so I walked with him. It sprinkled on us briefly and even dropped some small hail, so it wasn't that bad. After an endless set of turns, we finally reached the bottom and finally reached the paved road. We'd been joined by Kerry's son and another runner, Duane Nelson, so there were six of us marching along the road. The church finally came into view after zigzagging through town, and there we were: Midway (mile 100.0 at 2:42). WRAP-UP (I'm almost done, honest!) Runners continued to arrive for another two hours while I got a great massage and had the podiatrist tell me that I had run-of-the-mill blisters. Around 5pm, they had a banquet (sandwiches, salad, etc.) for everyone (a nice touch) and then we sat on the lawn for the awards. Rob Volkenand received the Spirit of the Wasatch award, thirteen runners joined the Crimson Cheetah Club (sub-24), all 13 GrandSlammers finished, and 118 runners were presented with their buckles and plaques. By 7:30 we were in a shuttle taking us back to downtown Salt Lake City, where I collected my car. I was in my room and in bed by 9:00, only 42 hours without sleep. I put on my T-shirt for the flight home and carried the plaque in my knapsack, hopeful that the scanner guards would make me explain the strange object, but no luck. Nobody asked me about the shirt or the buckle, nobody knew how I'd spent my weekend. Oh well, it would've been hard to explain and they'd probably consider me crazy. I did it for me and I was successful. And I want to do it again. It WAS fun. P.S. The following Saturday I "ran" the Cameron Park 50m in 9:45, just to see if I could. The best part was seeing Errol Jones' expression when he realized I was going to run it. Maybe someday I'll beat him in an ultra, but until then I'll count that moment as a small victory. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Stan Jensen, Systems Engineer for "SGI Direct" stanj@sgi.com Silicon Graphics Inc., M/S 120 Phone:(650)933-5822 P.O. Box 7311, 1401 No. Shoreline Blvd. FAX: (650)932-5822 Mt. View, CA 94039-7311 "I (heart) Tonks" "http://www.sgi.com" "http://reality.sgi.com/stanj" ------------------------------------------------------------------------