Subject: Undescribable joys at WS From: Mary Gorski Date: Wed, 3 Jul 2002 21:42:50 -0500 ******************* BEING A TRAIL BUDDY ******************* Non-ultra people have a curious idea about pacers -- they think that we are like the rabbits in a 10K or marathon, pulling the top runners to faster times. Perhaps pacers for the leaders have a such a role, but I think most of us at 100-milers, especially at the Western States 100, find that a good 62 mile jaunt through the Sierras is enough to tame even the fastest of runners. I think they should really classify most of us as "trail buddies" or something similar. Basically, we are the people who help to keep the runners awake through the night, keep their focus on the trail, and try to coax them into eating when they generally don't feel like it. We tell them they look great, regardless if they do or not. My stint as a pacer started in November of last year when my buddy Steve Young (no, not the football player) sent me an e-mail. I had just been roller skiing with his wife Dawn -- had seen him as well -- and so was surprised to get an e-mail only a short time later. He started out with "I wanted to talk to you but didn't know quite what to say... I wasn't sure how to tell you..." Of course I immediately thought the worst, called my husband over and had him come and read the e-mail with me. "I think that Steve and Dawn are breaking up," I said to my own Lil' Mister. "Come and read this, Steve sounds like he is going to confess something serious." Well, it was a confession, but the confession was about entering the Western States lottery. Evidently, the marriage was still intact. A sigh of relief from both me and the hubby, and then we looked at each other and said, "Oh my! Steve is going to give Western States a try!" Steve is an excellent runner and all-around athlete, but had only done one 50-miler before tossing his name in for Western. I did Western States last year; it was my second attempt but first finish. I loved the event, but I've never had an easy time in the Sierras (okay, of course no one has an EASY time, but I think you know what I mean). Stomach problems kept me company in both attempts. Asthma -- undiagnosed the first time and somewhat tamed the second time -- was also a WS partner of mine. I was looking forward to going back and giving it another try, but had some other things on my plate this year. I didn't toss my name into the lottery for 2002. But if Steve got in, I could still take part as a pacer! All the thrills of Western States without the full-body fatigue of a 100-mile run. I'd get to see the last 38 miles while I was still coherent. I could shop at the Western States store and get more shirts that I didn't need! I was psyched and kept my fingers crossed that his name would be pulled at the high school drawing. And so it was, and the race toward preparation was on. "Team Poopsie" was born ("Poopsie" was Dawn's nickname for her husband and unfortunately for him, once the rest of us heard it, it became our nickname for him as well -- being a good sport about it, he had "Team Poopsie" tee shirts made up for his crew). In the months before WS, Steve and I discussed shoes, hydration systems, foot taping, mileage, injuries, mileage again, hats and drop bags. Steve is a better runner than I am, but a 100-mile race is a daunting task for anyone. Having struggled through both of my own attempts, I didn't know if I was the best person to give advice. But hey you know what they say, as long as you sound confident people will generally believe what you say. [:)] We flew out to San Francisco with a few of the other Milwaukee-area runners and crew members. It took most of the day, but by the end of it we were in Squaw Valley and enjoying the beauty of the Sierras. It was Steve and Dawn's first time in the mountains -- any mountains -- making the view even more amazing. Like a good fireworks show, mountains can't really be expressed in a photo, they have to be experienced first-hand to be known -- much like Western States itself. I kept telling Steve, "You just can't visualize what a 2-3 mile climb or descent is like until you do it." I know that he believed me, but how can you really comprehend that which needs to be experienced? A few days later he was to get to know those canyons up close and personal and then he knew too. "You just wouldn't believe those canyons!" he said to us at the Michigan Bluff aid station. Just hours before he told us that he was feeling great -- some of the best running of his life. But then came the canyons. "I could tell Greg and Roy (friends back in Milwaukee) about these mountains but they just wouldn't be able to understand... they just wouldn't know how hard it is." Truer words could not have been spoken. In fact, if I remembered correctly, I had spoken them myself weeks earlier. At Forest Hill we met Steve again and I changed out of my crew hat and into my pacer hat. Poopsie and I were headed off to the woods together for the night while our spouses were off to Auburn to check into a hotel. Hmmmm... not sure if I worded that in the best way possible. Oh well. Having left the aid station at dusk last year, I was glad to run the first miles from Forest Hill with a little daylight. We had some gorgeous views before the sun finally called it a day. Steve was getting sore and tired but his attitude was good and we were able to mix some good running with the walking. But there were moments when that happy little attitude started to crack. Steve got a little down on himself when a few runners passed us in the night. I reassured him that he was having an incredible race for a first effort and that he would have a good finish. Most of the time he believed me but now and then his sore quads and achy feet got the best of him. We got to Rucky Chucky along with a few other Wisconsin runners and while Steve was tending to his feet I ran around with my disposable camera and clicked a few pictures of fellow Wisconsin runners Parker Rios and Lisa Conover. How nice of them to time their aid station stop with my need for a photo opportunity! And then up the hill we headed to meet our crew again at Green Gate. Dawn tended to her Poopsie while I chatted with Dave. "You should be proud of Dawn, she slept in a pile of dirt," he said. Dawn is a self-proclaimed "girlie girl" so this came as quite a surprise. It was only last year when she finally was able to pee in the woods -- sleeping in the dirt seemed like a big jump. But hey, her hubby jumped from his first 50-miler to Western States so big leaps run in the family. We're going to make an outdoors-woman out of her yet. But I digress. The sun rose for the second time during the race and Steve and I continued to plod on. The running breaks became less frequent but they were still there. There was a lot of fatigue, but Steve generally kept his spirits up. He really was doing great and it was such a treat for me to be a part of it. We saw Dave and Dawn for the last time at Highway 49 and then made the final push for home. Coming out on the road Steve had the same reaction as I did the year before, "Don't these damn hills ever end?" I assured him, as my own pacer had done last year, that the track was indeed flat and that he should enjoy it. At least a quarter mile of the run would definitely be runable. And so we reached that track, and Dawn came running to join us as we made the final loop and came to an end. Medical needs were tended to, drop bags were picked up and others were congratulated for their own efforts. "But they just won't be able to understand," said Steve again as we talked about sharing the good news of his finish with friends back home. And he's right, no one really understands Western States until he has given it a try himself (or herself of course!). And no one understands the joy of being a pacer -- a "trail buddy" -- until that person has given it a try as well. The joy of finishing your own race is incredible but the joy of helping someone else finish one is undescribable. Congrats to all the WS finishers, their crews and pacers! YAHOO!!!! -- Mary Gorski mgorski@execpc.com Milwaukee, WI