Going Long

Between Saturday and Sunday, June 27-28, I ran the Western States 100 Mile Run. “Ran” may be a strong word here – I shuffled, walked, climbed, hobbled and generally maintained forward motion, but I’m not quite sure it was running. It was however, an amazing experience that I am sure I will remember for many years to come.

The Western States is a 100 mile run that starts in Squaw Valley, near Tahoe, CA and ends at Auburn, CA. On the way, it crosses the Sierra Mountains, numerous canyons, streams, and the American River. It boasts (or threatens…) just over 18,000 feet of elevation gain, and 23,000 feet of elevation loss. What some might call an Epic journey.

I arrived in San Francisco from Israel on Thursday the 25th, with the race scheduled to start Saturday, 5am. Due to severe lack of preparation, I had no expectations from the race – all I wanted to do was finish, and live to tell about it… I picked up Eric – my pacer and soon to be savior (more on that later) and we embarked on our trip. Friday was a leisurely day – we registered ourselves, got cool shwag and listened to the pre-race briefing, which didn’t tell us anything new, except that the course was ‘Super-fast’ after being well groomed in preparation for the race. The atmosphere was great – the place, the people, everyone seemed relaxed and happy to be there, ready for an adventure. The only thing people worried about was how hot it was going to be. The forecast was 95F (35C), tough conditions for such a race, where proper, long-term hydration is so important.

Pre-Race briefing, with the Sierras in the background (above)

(Saturday morning, 4:28 minutes to go…)

The shotgun went off on Saturday at 5am, and 400 people started up the ski slope at Squaw Valley. 30 or so were running, and everyone else walked. This was 2,500 feet of climbing in the first 3.5 miles, and no one but the elite runners could afford to waste so much energy so early in the race. It took me about 50 minutes to get up to the top. From the Escarpment, as it’s called, the course ran along the Lyon and Red Star Ridges for the next 7 miles. The views were breathtaking – we were surrounded by snow capped peaks, endless forests, I could see for miles and miles into the distance. Since it was early in the day and I was still fresh I was really enjoying myself, reminding myself how lucky I am to be able to experience nature this way.

Coming up one of the small climbs on the ridge

That being said, it wasn’t the downhill that was the issue. From the canyon, we had a 6 mile ascent into Robinson Flat – 6 miles which I had not remembered and was not expecting. I ran out of water and food, and was exhausted when I finally reached Robinson Flat – I had covered 30 miles in 6:50 hours. Eric was waiting for me at the top, excited that I had arrived. The first thing I said was “Holy Shit”, and the first thing he said was “Dude, you’re in the middle of f@$%^! nowhere…” I tried not to waste too much time at the station, and after drinking my protein mix and sitting down for 2-3 minutes I was off. I had 16 miles of downhill running into Deadwood Canyon.

Above & below, parts of the course

They say that the Western States really begins at mile 62, after the mountains. If you can get to Foresthill with your quads in tact and strong enough to run, you’ll have a great race. They forget to mention that in order to do that you need to have the quads of an Olympic Squat Weightlifter. The first 13 miles into Deadwood Canyon were not too steep, and I was having a good run, feeling strong. Then, suddenly, the ground just dropped. The grade became crazy, and that’s when I first felt my quads. They had been deceptively quiet until now, but could not shut up any longer. After crossing the stream at the bottom of Deadwood Canyon we had 1.7 miles and 1,500 feet to climb. It was brutal – I was taking small, baby steps and pausing between them, like mountain climbers. My legs couldn’t handle anything more. Finally, I reached the Devil’s Thumb aid station – I was 48 miles into the race, the time was 4:45pm. The temperatures had passed 100F, and numerous people weren’t looking too good at this point.

I pushed on and finally reached Michigan Bluff at mile 56 – 2 hours later. There was definitely a party going on, and it really lifted my spirit to run in. Hundreds of people were cheering the runners on. I stayed for about 10 minutes, got an update from Eric that many people had dropped out at this point, and kept going – I wanted to get to Foresthill before dark.

Remember the powder sand from early in the race? For a few hours I had felt like I had tiny rocks in my shoes. After taking them off and cleaning them, I discovered it was sand, it was causing blisters on the soles of my feet, and it was really hurting. Every step felt like I was running on a bed of small thumbtacks. The downhills were now especially fun – my quads were barely able to keep me upright, and the skin on the soles of my feet was slowly disengaging from the rest of the foot…

Taking a break at Foresthill

All that said, even though the pain at this point was beyond ignoring, I was still happy to be there. The thought of quitting never really crossed my mind, and I was still looking forward to the night run with Eric. I shuffled into Foresthill at 9pm, 16 hours after first setting out. I had a medic tape my feet, I ate, drank and then Eric and I were off. We had 16 miles until the Rucky Chucky River crossing, most of them gentle terrain, with just a few short steep hills.

Eric was awesome! He eased into a steady, sustainable pace that I could hold, and we just chatted away as the miles went by. Everything from work to family to bodily functions (very important in these races). We tried to associate each section of the course with a proper Michael Jackson song and as always, Eric kept a super-positive attitude which really helped. I perfected my ‘Ultra-Shuffle’ – the ability to not really run and yet not really walk – it took us 4:45 hours to reach Rucky Chucky, time that went by very quickly. The nighttime aid stations were amazing – decked out with Christmas lights, rock music at full volume, great food and volunteers that really went out of their way to help and encourage.

After the river crossing (pretty cool), we changed shoes and kept going. We held a good pace until Brown’s Bar at mile 90, which we reached right around sunrise. This was my second sunrise of the race, I was still on my feet (barely) and we had 10 miles to go. Coming out of Brown’s Bar, my legs gave out. I could barely shuffle at this point, and our pace slowed down. Eric was still pulling me along, and I probably would have gone much slower if it wasn’t for him. At Highway 49, 93.5 miles into the race, I collapsed into a chair. My quads were shot, the soles of my feet were burning, and I started shaking. After assessing my situation for a few seconds, I came to the only logical conclusion – not to sit down anymore!

Eric and I crossing the American River (it was chest deep in the middle)

So we didn’t. From mile 93.5 we walked to the finish line, with very short ‘shuffle’ bursts. I was in pain, but proud of myself. We knew we’d make it before the 30 hour cutoff, and if that was the case, it really didn’t matter how long it actually took.

I crossed the finish line on Sunday morning at 9:33am for a total running time of 28:33 hours. Only 60% of the starters would finish the race. Personally, I don’t know how I would have managed without Eric, who was the best pacer I could ever hope for.

Wow…finally got there!

After each of these big events, I am always thankful that I can actually experience them, enjoy them and keep coming back for more. Every race teaches me something new about myself and allows me to test my mental and physical resolve. It’s a great privilege which many people never get to experience.

We’ll see what the next adventure brings!

-E

PS – The Facchino Photograph company were having issues with their website, so I couldn’t get ‘legal’ pictures. As soon as they’re good to go, I’ll replace the relevant pics.