The Crew Point of View (Part One)

Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run

We arrived in lake Tahoe a few days before the race.  Early enough to attend all of the crew and runner briefings, the panel discussion with former champions, and to make the four mile hike up to Emigrant Pass for the annual flag raising.  I enjoyed the briefings and course descriptions, but having crewed Alexis at Hellgate I had a pretty good idea what to expect.  I wished that the rest of our crew could have been there for that, but they didn't arrive until later that evening.  They would just have to trust me.  The driving directions from Aid Station to Aid Station were extremely detailed and very helpful.  A thorough crew at WS will drive over 200 miles, that is twice as much distance as those sissy runners have to cover.

I first began to worry about how hard this race was going to be on the runners when we hiked up to Emigrant Pass on Thursday.  It was a four mile hike, mostly on a gravel road, and it took about an hour and 20 minutes.  We climbed from 6000 ft to 8750 ft, and for the first time ever I noticed the effects of altitude.  It was hard to breath whenever I tried to run, and my fingers were a little swollen.  After about 20 minutes at that altitude the swelling went away, and we lingered up there for a few hours in the hopes that she would acclimate a little.

That was on Thursday when the temperature was in the mid-80s, and I ended up getting sun burnt.  The temperature continued to climb as the week went on, with forecasted highs of 102 on Saturday and 106 on Sunday.  The heat was on everyones mind.  I knew my runner could handle the heat better than a lot of people, but hot is hot.

We had the chance to meet several wonderful people, as well as see a few folks we already knew, while hanging out in the Olympic Village in Squaw Valley.  There is such a feeling of community among Ultra Runners that you feel like no one is really a stranger, I guess because we're all a little crazy.  We saw David Horton who was encouraging, and Lee Conner who we had both met at MMTR last November. We met a couple from North Carolina who used to live in Lynchburg, as well as a bunch of other runners, pacers, and crews who were all there to test themselves against the mountains.

On race morning everyone gathered at the start line in Squaw Valley before the sun can up.  It was a rather subdued atmosphere, there was a solemn sense of reverence for the task at hand.  With the Mountains of the Sierra Nevada's looming in the background, we all stood around watching the start clock tick down toward 0, going over race 'plans' and reassuring our runners.

Then the race started.  And nearly 400 runners trotted off into the darkness of the mountains.

After taking some photos of the Race Start and Squaw valley, which we knew we may never come back to, the crews all dispersed.  Although we all know that it is the runners who have to get from Squaw to Auburn, every crew knows that they can not fail to support their runner to the best of their ability.  It was almost too quiet as 400 anxious crews abandoned Squaw Valley for their gear-packed cars and began the long drive around the mountains.

We were very fortunate to have my sister Sue, my brother Scott, and my (favorite) nephew Eli come along and help us crew for this race.  I have heard several times that crewing is as hard or harder than actually running an Ultra, although I know that is not true, make no mistake about how hard crewing can actually be. It can be a challenge Physically, Mentally, and Emotionally.  You have to be awake for a long time, hike heavy gear in and out of aid stations, think for your runner, force them to do things they may not want to do, and watch them break down physically and mentally throughout the race, encouraging them to continue no matter how bad they look.  Crewing is NOT for the faint of heart.

We split into two teams when we reached the town of Foresthill, Scott and Sue headed to the Robinson Flat Aid Station at mile 29.7 on the course, and Eli and I headed to Duncan Canyon at mile 23.5, the first place any runner would see their crew.

After driving 35 miles on the crookedest mountain road I have ever had the privilege of driving, averaging about 18 mph with an 'imminent death' kind of cliff on one side of the car the whole time, we finally reached Duncan Canyon.  (There may or may not have been some car-sickness on this drive, I promised Eli that I would never tell.)  We parked, gathered the gear we thought we would need, and hiked a nice trail in to meet the Western States trail, not quite a half mile from the road.  And we waited.

And we waited.

It took a long time to get to Duncan Canyon, so we were anxious to see Alexis come in, and the longer we waited the hotter it got, and the more anxious we got.  It was a mixed bag at Duncan Canyon, some runners looked fresh and strong, some already looked tired and sore, but everyone looked hot.  When Alexis finally got there, she looked worse than I had hoped.  She was flushed and hot looking, with only 1/4 of the race done.  She handed me a camera as Eli forced her to eat tums and S-tabs.  "I filled up the memory stick," she said.  "I need you to get me another one and get this back to me."

"Drink this Gatorade."

"I need that camera back," she said.  "I need the distraction."

"You need to run," I said.  "I will see what I can do."

As she ran off down the trail, I knew what I would do.  I stuck that camera in a bag and tried to forget about it.  Eli and I packed up our gear and headed back to the car.  It was a quiet car ride to the Dusty Corners Aid Station where we would see her next at mile 40.  She was now headed to Sue and Scott at Robinson Flat.  The Day was getting hotter, and she was out of our hands for a while.  I think that Eli had not expected her to look that rough, I know that I hadn't.  It was too early and she was running too conservatively to be in bad shape.  We were both worried.

We had heard that shade was almost non-existent at Dusty Corners, and after hiking a little over 1/2 mile from the car we found that to be an understatement.  Crews were piled on top of each other around the base of tall trees that offered too-slim of shadows to do any good.  We found a place to set up near another group of crews, and Eli wondered off with the camera to capture some images of Western States.  We knew we had at least 2 hours to wait, maybe 3.

What little shade there was moved around fast as the sun travelled across the sky.  We met some great people and the time passed relatively quickly.  Eli had moved up the trail a ways, in search of shady spots, and spotted Alexis first.  I grabbed our gear and we headed downhill towards the aid station.  She went through the food table (not getting enough), and wandered over to us.

She looked good here.  Way better than she had at Duncan Canyon.  She was talking like she was having fun, and she increased her cushion on the time cut-off by at least 30 minutes.  Maybe because we were relieved to see our runner come back to life, but for some reason Eli and I did not do a good job of crewing her here.  I got her to drink some Gatorade and maybe take some S-tabs, but we let her tell us what was enough, and that was a mistake.  We had socks and shoes for her, but other than asking her we didn't bother to check.  She looked good, and we were happy, and off she ran.

Our next stop was meeting up with the rest of the crew at Michigan Bluff, mile 55.  We had been completely cut off from communicating with anyone, since this side of the course was down in a valley surrounded by tall imposing peaks.  There was absolutely no cell service, and there were so many crews over there that the smoke signals kept getting mixed up.  So we were heading back to civilization now, checking our phones after every hairpin turn.

When we finally got back to Foresthill, I had several messages from the other crew, so I called them right away.  They were at Michigan Bluff waiting for the shuttle to the aid station, so they decided to wait for us, and we all got there and collected our gear and headed down to the aid station together.  The shuttle was slow, and the line was long, so we decided to hike on down, making the trip from car to AS about a mile each way.

All of the Aid Stations at Western States were great, but Michigan Bluff was like a carnival.  Except there was no Ferris Wheel, maybe I should suggest that for next year.  There were hundreds of crew members hanging out, there was a hamburger stand (set up as a fund-raiser for the local swim team), and dozens and dozens of volunteers and medical workers.  We found a spot and set up next to Horton and his crew who was relaxing in nice camp chairs (something that we needed and didn't have).  We spread a blanket, sorted gear, tried to get comfortable, and began to wait.

After we settled in for the wait, we tried to do the math and figure out when she should be arriving at this Aid Station.  When she was later than our most hopeful projection Scott started checking on line to see when she hit the last AS.  When she finally arrived it was later than we hoped, and she had bad news.  Her feet had begun bothering her several miles back.

The podiatrist at the aid station took a look and said that she was experiencing trench-foot from running in wet shoes for so long.  They said that she could finish but it would be painful, so we dried her up the best we could, and sent her hobbling out on her way.  With the exception of bad feet, she was in good spirits and said that she felt good everywhere else.  So we packed up and headed to Foresthill Aid Station where my duties as a pacer would begin.

To Be Continued...

-Todd