Wednesday, September 21, 2022

Grindstone 100 2022

 Unfinished Business 

 

I just finished the Grindstone 100 miler this past weekend. My second hundred of the year, having run Massanutten in May. This was my third running of Grindstone and was supposed to be my last. It was supposed to be my best. I made a plan earlier this year to start running the races on my “bucket list” and stop repeating the same races. But Grindstone was at the top of my bucket list because I felt like I had unfinished business on this course.

 

The last time I ran Grindstone was in 2015, I was forty years old and arguably in the best shape I have ever been in. I had a really good run that year except for two epic bonks that I was somehow able to pull myself out of and still finish strong. I finished 6th overall that year in 22:45, but have carried around a lot of “what-ifs” ever since.

 

What-ifs can get heavy after a while. I felt like the time had come to put these things to rest and stop carrying them with me. So I made a plan to train hard and told all my running buddies that I was going to crush it at Grindstone in the Fall. All that was left was to follow through, train, plan and execute the plan on race day. No problem.

 

But…

 

Life is messy and unpredictable and excuses are easier to make than 5 am runs. Don’t get me wrong, I put some work in. But I didn’t do what I had set out to do. Speed work was pitiful (I hate ovals), hill repeats only happened by accident when they happened to be part of my favorite routes. Any running coach in the world would have cursed me out and walked away from the train wreck that passes for structure in my life.

 

Training

 

In summary, I ran pretty okay this summer. I got some good long runs in with friends, and was able to get 50 miles per week consistently for almost 2 months straight (that's a lot of miles for me). My buddy Josh kept making me feel like a slacker by logging way more miles than me every week.  But then I got overly eager during my peak week and skipped a rest day and ended up tweaking my knee a little, so I backed off early and settled into a three and half week taper. No problem, it's always better to be rested than injured. 

 

 

Race Days

 

Grindstone is great because it’s local for me and there isn’t a long drive involved to get there, it's only about an hour and forty five minutes from my house to the start. But, Grindstone is tough because it starts at 6 pm. What the hell Clark? Like every race, this is just one of the challenges, and it’s fair because everyone has to do it. Also, no matter how fast you run you will run all night long at Grindstone. So bring extra batteries for your headlamp. 

 

But what do you do all day on friday waiting for the race to start? Well, I got up and went into work to take care of a few things. A few things turned into several things and next thing you know I am not leaving town until after 11 am. Ughhh.  My plan had been to get up to the race early and set up my tent and maybe catch a short nap or two during the day. That didn’t happen. Oh well, at least I got to relax and eat before the race. It was a pretty chill afternoon.  I hung out with friends who were either running, crewing, pacing, volunteering or some combination of those things. We talked about race strategy and lied about being calm and ready to run.

 

When it was time to go I lined up right up front with Sean Pope from NC, why not I figured, and when we took off I didn’t have to worry about passing a bunch of people on the single track right away like I did last time. I ran a little hard for a mile and then settled into a comfortable pace and let other people work their way around me if they needed to. Almost immediately my stomach was giving me trouble and I had to duck into the woods three miles in. I only bring up such details because it was the theme of my entire night. 

Elliot’s Knob

 

By the time we were hard into the first good climb I had already been into the woods twice. I was sweating like a … like a person who sweats a lot, and I was having trouble pushing hard on the climb. I’m not talking about running up Elliot’s Knob, no, I am a hiker. But I had to keep slowing down and slowing down because I felt like I was burning up and had no power in my legs. People were passing me left and right and I was starting to worry that something was wrong with me. Was I sick? Did I have a fever? Did Ross give me COVID?

 

When I finally got to the top I was feeling really discouraged, not even 10 miles into my redemption run at Grindstone and I was done. At the top I stopped for yet another bathroom break and enjoyed the cool night air. It was fully dark now and I just decided to settle down and cruise down the backside of Elliots and see if I could cool down and settle my stomach. 

 

Relaxing helped a ton. I slowly got into the descent, and even though I was still burning up it felt okay to run. I got down into the aid station and asked Horton how Josh was running and he said he was just up in front of me, so I filled up my pack and headed out into the night for the next big climb.

 

Crawford

 

Crawford mountain sucks. But I was ready for that suck. The last time I ran/hiked this climb with Amy Ruseki and she imparted on me all the wisdom anyone needs to know to conquer Crawford. The steep side, the side we climb on the outbound (first) half of Grindstone, is punctuated with five false summits. Amy told me they are called the five sisters (but she preferred bitches) of Crawford. Each of these false summits has a small downhill on the other side of a very steep (hands on knees) climb. These false summits (or bitches) can really break you down mentally if you aren’t ready for them. But the climb is very short in comparison to other parts of Grindstone, maybe two and a half miles until you reach some easy ridge running and then a very long, very gradual, somewhat rocky descent. I had found my rhythm now and I was crushing this downhill. At the bottom of the hill is a beautiful flat trail that meanders around a little hollow for a mile or so, and then you cross the road and get to Dowell’s Draft Aid Station.

 

Dowell’s is the first place to see your crew and the Aid Station is bustling. It can be surreal, but I kind of expected it. I had run through the dark quiet forest alone with my thoughts for the last hour, and all of the sudden I stepped out of a trail head into a latino dance party in the mountains! Frank Gonzales and his volunteers had to be a huge pick up for any runner getting there feeling low. 

 

My crew was there, and so was Josh. Alexis, my wonderful wife, and our friend Scott were crewing me along with three of our five kids. They took good care of me. I was able to eat so I did. I filled up with water. I was going through some water out there. I drank some soda and hit the trail again before the temptation to stay and hang out took hold.

 

Hankey and Lookout

 

Josh left with me out of Dowell’s Draft and ran behind me for the next fourteen miles or so. He was stressing me out a little, I could tell that he was uptight and not running relaxed. It was Josh’s first 100 and even though he had trained like a champ he seemed so unsure of himself. I encouraged him to pass me and to go run his own pace, but he insisted that he was where he needed to be. 

 

The three or four mile climb out of Dowell’s is a gradual, mostly runnable incline up to the top of Mount Hankey. I ran and hiked at a pretty good pace for me, but having trained so much with Josh I knew he could have been crushing this climb. I felt like I was holding him back. After a few miles I was able to get him talking and relax a little. We passed the miles to Lookout Mountain aid station smoothly and I was enjoying myself again.

 

The CATS had a great aid station at Lookout, it's always nice to come out of the dark into a well lit lively aid station. I filled my hydration bladder again and took a grilled cheese for the road. Josh and I left together and I ate most of that sandwich before donating the rest to the squirrels. The rocky six miles down to North River Gap flew by. I was feeling pretty good and my legs were happy to hop from rock to rock. We passed a few people in this section, including Sean Cate who was running amazingly reserved for such a fast guy. 

 

When I got to NRG it was like pulling into a little town in the middle of the woods. So many lights and cars and people everywhere that it was a little overwhelming. Sam Price and company were all eager to help, and Alexis and Scott and our kids were there. Knowing so many people is nice, but it also makes it hard to focus on what needs to happen, Fueling and Problem Solving. I ate some food, and swapped headlamps, and filled my pack, but was feeling a little flustered when I left. Did I forget something? 

 

Little Bald Climb

 

Leaving NRG I was alone, but on very familiar territory. The first two miles of this seven mile climb takes runners up and over Grindstone Mountain. The race’s namesake is not a huge mountain, but it is a very steep climb. I was beginning to feel that overheating and lack of power from the Elliot’s climb again. “Get it together,” I told myself. This climb will make or break your race. I tried to climb well, but had to keep taking breaks as I felt like my body temperature was spiking way out of control. And then the bathroom issues started again. This time with nausea.

 

Josh passed me two or three miles into this climb and I wouldn’t see him again until he passed me in the out and back near the turnaround. “Just hold it together until you get to the top,” I said. But everytime I would try to push a little I would overheat, and now that was bringing on strong nausea.

This entire climb was a cycle of hike, heave, rest, repeat.

 

I eventually got to the top and started the slog of shame down the fireroad to the aid station. I took off my hat at the top of the hill and hung it in a tree because I felt like it was helping to overheat me. When I got to the aid station I was excited to see Todd and Katie Hacker. Katie gave me some soup and coke. I remember that Todd Hacker was bundled up and freezing and that seemed so weird to me because I was burning up. After a short break and refilled pack I headed off down the fireroad towards Reddish Knob.

 

Reddish and the Turnaround

 

This section should be the easy part of the race. I trained intentionally to be able to run these gentle grade roads from Little Bald aid station to the Turnaround. But nausea and the inability to regulate my body temperature kept me hiking everything that wasn’t explicitly downhill. I was getting more and more disappointed with myself. 

 

I was caught (I was kneeling on the edge of the road trying not to puke) by Sean Pope and his friend David on this road. They were quitting, and heading straight to the turnaround to catch a ride. This sounded fantastic. But it also sounded awful. Sean was in fifth place when his headlamp died. He had basically quit at the last aid station and was hiking out to get to a ride. I told him that he should not quit, that he could hike with me until the sun came up because I had a good light and then he could go run his race. He didn’t take me up on my offer.

 

We hiked together for almost an hour, and Sean was in such good spirits that he helped raise my mood. Also, watching such a good runner quit helped solidify my determination to get this done. We parted ways at the turn to the Reddish Knob summit. This is an out-and-back that they didn’t need to do since they were out of the race. I hiked hard up the road to the summit and felt such powerful nausea that I stopped at the top and sat down and made myself throw up, just a little, there wasn’t much of anything left in my stomach at this point.

 

After the Reddish Knob summit the turnaround aid station was three and a half miles of easy downhill running. Even with such easy terrain, I stopped and dry heaved a few times through here. Sean Cate passed me, heading back towards the finish and told me I had two miles to the turnaround. This was a bit of a wake up call. Fourteen miles ago I was running with him, now he was four miles ahead of me. “Get it together,” I told myself. Soon after that I passed Josh and another runner. Josh looked awful, but he was still two miles ahead of me. I pushed a little and felt sick. I backed off and pushed again when my stomach let me.

 

At the turnaround I drank coke, got water in my pack and left hiking. These were the easy roads I wanted to be running. I hiked, and I felt better. I was now passing people with more frequency since I was inbound and they were heading to the turnaround. How many of them were going to pass me? 

 

“You can do this,” I said. I made myself a deal to run everything that was flat or downhill, nausea be damned. I had a few more bathroom issues before making it back to Little Bald Aid Station. Passing people I knew and exchanging “Good Jobs” felt good. More coke and a refilled pack, I was drinking so much water and sweating so profusely all night long. Back up the fireroad to the trailhead that would be the seven mile downhill back to North RIver Gap. I grabbed my hat off the tree branch where I had left it.

 

I didn’t feel great, but I was alive with a new determination. I moved well down the Chestnut Ridge trail and passed a few people. Then I overheated and they passed me back. Damnit! Then I could run again after a forty five second sit down on a rock. I talked to myself a lot on this section, trying to convince myself that I could keep this up for forty more miles.

 

North River Gap (Inbound)

 

I passed Josh a mile before the aid station, he looked exactly how I felt. Which wasn’t good. We lamented briefly how much it sucked to be sabotaged by our stomaches. Then I ran on because I wasn’t feeling pukey.

 

At the aid station I got a towel filled with ice and draped it over my shoulders, as I sat beside Kevin Kreh who was wrapped in a blanket and shivering. I still have no idea why I was getting so hot out there. I told my crew that I was done with solid food. I drank cherry coke and chocolate milk at NRG, let the ice cool me down until Horton yelled at me to leave, and took my wonderful wife Alexis and left heading towards Lookout Mountain.

 

This section is basically a six mile climb in this direction, but with the exception of overheating I didn’t feel terrible and I think we made okay time. We got up to the aid station and went through pretty quickly. It was nice having Alexis as company, talking was distracting from all the garbage in my head. When you have to give up on your goals in the middle of a race it gets really easy to just keep giving up and stop pushing at all. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I knew that the day I had come here to claim wasn’t happening, but I was determined to make the best of the day that I had.

 

So we left Lookout Mountain and I was starting to feel more of an obligation to run than I had all night. We talked about how hot it was going to get and I pushed on to try to cover as many miles as I could before the sun made my heat issue untenable. After we crested Hankey I leaned into the downhill and just went with it, letting Gravity drive. Maybe I was too proud to stop and walk in the company of other runners in the light of day. Maybe I knew she would tell me to suck it up, because I have told her the same at many races. Maybe I was learning something new about myself. Either way, I ran down to Dowell’s even though I wanted to stop and complain and I wanted to make myself throw up. But I didn’t. I just ran. And Alexis ran behind me and told me stories. And then we got to the aid station.

 

At Dowell’s Brenton and Cooter gave me apple juice, which I drank, and my kids were there to keep refilling my coke cup. Frank offered me a shot of Fireball which I turned down. And I left with Scott pacing me, feeling pretty good considering, but heading straight for Crawford.

 

Crawford Mountain and Elliott's Knob (inbound)

 

I tried to prepare Scott (or maybe me) for what was coming by talking about what this side of the mountain should be like. We ran through the flat trail (Chimney Hollow trail?) and then started the long climb up the “easy” side of Crawford Mountain. This climb took a lot longer than the run down it did the night before.  Eventually we made it up to the flat ridge trail on the top and I told Scott all about the five sisters of Crawford. Holy Shit! Those steep sections are steep. It doesn’t seem fair that a trail is so steep it is neither fun to run down it or hike up it. Bomb down trying not to completly destroy your quads. Hit the flat and slow to a hike. Bomb down the next one, repeat.

 

I was somehow feeling pretty good when we finally came off the backside (frontside?) of Crawford and made it to the Aid Station. Alexis was waiting with  the kids and they had chocolate milk and cherry coke for me. We filled my pack with water and off we went to conquer Elliot’s Knob, the last big climb.

 

Ignoring the nausea seemed to be working, and I felt stronger and stronger as we climbed and climbed up the technical rocky side of Elliot’s. Near the top the incline gets more gradual and I started running more and more. As I passed people it only motivated me more to keep pushing hard. Somehow by not running hard through the night I ended up with 12 miles to go feeling like I had legs to utilize. 

 

I ran well through the ridge section at the top of Elliot’s and noticed that my pacer Scott wasn’t with me anymore. Probably he had to go to the bathroom I told myself and pushed harder. I was going to make it a real job for him to catch up. When I finally came to the long descent down Elliot’s Knob I was running like a man possessed. I did something to my left foot on the gravel road, but told myself that we would worry about that when it was over. 

 

My feet were hurting with every step and nausea was hitting me off and on like the tide washing up on the beach. But with seven miles to go I was invested in this mad man’s gambit. Push hard for another hour. I made it to the aid station before Scott caught up and I just kept going. Pausing long enough to kiss Alexis and tell her I was good.

 

The last five miles were harder than I thought. There was a long gradual climb entering the Boy Scout land that I didn’t remember and I was able to run a lot less of it than I hoped. With about three miles to go I was running okay but I could feel the wheels getting loose and ready to fall off. Every turn I hoped for a familiar site or an indication that I was almost done, but the new reroute was foriegn enough to be disorienting. Finally I turned down the rocky trail that meant I had less than two miles to go and I pushed with everything I had left, but the tank was basically empty. Then I saw the lake and the dam and the grassy trail to the finish. 

 

I finished in 23 hours and 26 minutes. 15th place overall.

 

Not the race I hoped for, but the race I had.

 

Unfinished Business

 

I have thought about it a lot this week and decided that all of the things we can control are but a part of the whole. The things we can’t control are all part of the race. The weather. Life stress. Work deadlines. Health.  Packing the wrong headlamp. 

 

We go out and race for more than just a time on a clock. Sometimes we have a great day, the day where everything comes together and clicks into place for us. Sometimes we have the opposite of that day. Most days fall somewhere in between. But whatever day we have is the day we have. Unfinished business is just a weight we decide to carry around. Maybe I will have that perfect day the next time I run Grindstone, or maybe I will have the other kind of day. Maybe my perfect day will be at another race,

 

But maybe my perfect day is any day where I get to be with the people I love doing the thing that I enjoy. Suffering voluntarily with the like-minded lunatics of my tribe. Maybe we all need to enjoy the blisters and the views, the climbs as much as the descents. Maybe the bruised tendons are just as special as the buckles we take home. The stories. The victories and defeats. Maybe there is no Unfinished Business, or maybe there always is. I for one plan to keep going back for more abuse for as long as I can tolerate it and all the joy that I get with it. 

 

Run fun, run far, stay strong.

 

Todd

Monday, July 4, 2022

Western States 2022

Western States Endurance Run 100.2 miles

Palisades to Auburn, California

Saturday, June 25-Sunday, June 26, 2022


I've waited over a week to write this report and it wasn't coming naturally. I finally figured that if I didn't just sit down and make myself write the story down that time would distance me from my memories and it would no longer be pertinent.

I ran Western States in 2013 as my first 100 miler, in my inexperience and doubt I faultered my way to the finish line and vowed almost immediately to go back, stronger, more prepared and face the mountains as the best version of myself.

For nine consecutive years I qualified and put into the lottery. For eight years my name did not get drawn, but finally this past December, my number got drawn, I was going back.

It hasn't been the best or easiest season, injury has claimed a bit of my time, so much so that down to the final hours and minutes these injuries haunted my thoughts. 

However, in California, with my crew, settled into the condo with all of my gear around me I felt good. If anything I felt too calm, not nervous enough. I had accepted that likely my knees or my right calf or my left Achilles would cause me trouble at some point, I just had to hold them off as long as possible and not let them get me down physically or mentally when they became a problem. 

I felt mostly ready to tackle the distance, I was mostly comforted that even though in training I hadn't been able to do everything I had hoped to prepare that I had done all that I could safely do. Mostly. However, the Thursday before the race I had a very small hiccup hiking back to our car from Vikingsholm near Lake Tahoe. Our group of friends (the crew) and I had enjoyed this really beautiful, fun, wonderful day together and we were finishing it off by seeing some of Emerald Bay. I was alone, hiking the final stretch back to our cars when I just had this thought that it felt harder than it should to climb. I told myself I wasn't climbing well because I had put on too much weight and I wasn't light enough to hike well. It was just this small little thought, but it came on like a heavy thunderstorm and before I knew what was happening I mentally crashed so hard that it frightened me.  I tried to shake the negativity but it was prevailing. I made it to the car and we left to continue sightseeing. At the time I didn't tell anyone about it, but I had this string of thoughts that if I couldn't shake a small thought like that on a fun gathering how was I going to do well on Saturday?

I don't like the idea that I'm weak mentally, I like to think I'm aware of it, that I've been working on it, that I'm better than I used to be. I spent a lot of time this spring reading books on mental fortitude and brain training. I reread some of the best of what I had read in the days before the race and took notes on the plane to California. I want and wanted to be tough enough to take on the challenges as they showed up. 

Folks, it didn't happen.  I bent at the first signs of trouble and broke before sunset. Whatever race I wanted to have at Western States, I didn't have. This is the story of the one I did have full of honest mistakes and heart breaks.

Western States 2022

All of my stuff was laid out and readied the night before so when the 3:30 am alarm clock went off Saturday morning, I felt I had plenty of time to make it to the start without any need to rush. We were staying on the grounds of the race start so it would be a quick five minute walk over for the 5 am start. Todd made me oatmeal (two bags of Quaker Cinnamon) and some coffee as I got dressed. I had new shorts, a thin Patagonia t-shirt, arm sleeves, Feetures socks and my "75miles in" Altra Lone Peak 3s to start in. I chose my older blue Nathan pack so I could start with a bladder (1.5 liters) and a soft flask of Tailwind. Because it would be a few hours to see my crew I carried an uncrustable, some fruit snacks, raisins, candy and GU. I had between 6-700 calories but I also knew there would be food at aid stations. I wore a cooling Buff and a Nike hat. 

Walking over that morning I did finally feel a little nervous, I tried not to think about the full distance but instead focused on taking in the atmosphere of such a fun race start. There were so many people at the start. Amongst the crowd was my family and my crew of Todd, our children Bailey and Cooper, Scott Covey, the Kidd family (Don, Rosellyn, Zoey, and Edon), Steve and Terri Higgins, Bethany Williams,  and Jeremy Peterson. I got photos with my crew and we saw Josh (who was also running) and Gina Gilbert and James Decker and got photos with them. 

Before too long it was time to start and I said good-bye to the crew and walked to the starting line along with Josh. It was at this point that I realized I had forgotten my soft flask cup that I needed to use at aid stations as Western States was a cupless race. I worried briefly about not having it but Todd said he would get it to me at Duncan Canyon and I just hoped they would give me soda beforehand at the aid stations. 

The start of Western States is pretty incredible, that hadn't changed from my previous experiences there. I enjoyed starting out in a big group and seeing all of the support crews and fans straddling the sides of the climb for the first mile. By the time the crowd had thinned, Josh was gone and the sun was rising. There is no need to start States with a headlamp. There are ski lights on and the sun comes up fast. 

Climbing that first couple miles felt good enough, I didn't move fast, I mostly hiked but there were a few sections flat enough to jog so I did. I felt I was moving smoothly but I also was noticing I was nearer the back, sure there were people behind me but it seemed like most of the people hiked or ran more aggressively. 

At the time I didn't stress this but maybe I should have. In my mind I just told myself that I had miles upon miles to make up that ground, however after making it to the escarpment at mile 4 you begin a long section of ridge running on somewhat narrow trail. It is beautiful surroundings but it's not great trail. It's wet from snow run off, even if most of the snow seems long gone and I had vowed not to let my feet get trashed again so early so I was more careful to avoid the wet. Avoiding the wet wasn't a problem but getting around the crowds of people who were now ahead of me was. Anyone who has started further back in a race than they should have will understand the frustration of trying to get around groups of slower moving traffic. 

I tried not to let this get me down but I felt I wasn't moving like I should and I wanted to move better before the heat of the day set in. I did the best I could to avoid the wet and get around the slower groups and not stress it but in retrospect I was getting irritated. I wasn't basking in the day like I swore to. 

I finally got frustrated enough that I started trying to go around people and was able to make up a little ground when I realized I didn't feel that great moving, I just felt more fatigued that I would have liked, I didn't know if this was because I was frustrated or the higher altitude but I took a minute to access. I gave myself a little pep talk where I told myself to calm down, that there was plenty of day left once we made it to lower elevation. 

I got to aid station one and there was this little billboard sign that each aid station has that says the aid station, the 24 hour pace, the 30 hour pace and the distance to the next aid station. If there was a first moment that really wrecked my day it was aid station one and it was this sign. I came in BEHIND 30 hour pace on a day I wanted to attempt sub 24. 

I immediately started to question everything, why was I going so slow, what was wrong, what did I need to do to speed up, was the sign correct, was I really fighting cut offs? I asked for ice in my bladder and went over to where there was soda. I told the volunteer that I forgot my soft flask cup, thankfully he reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a brand new soft cup that he told me I could take with me. I got a little coke, a piece of fruit and my vest pack bladder filled with water and ice. 

Leaving the aid station I was still stressed about the sign but I knew there had to be nearly 100 people still behind me. I tried to tell myself to just trust myself, my pace, how I run and race, but it wasn't really working. When a faster runner came up and started to pass me I asked him about the signs. He agreed that they were based on past runners and that they didn't mean we couldn't run 24 hours, but soon he ran on and I was still not convinced. 

I really did try to settle in, trust myself and run. The race climbs some from here and I just tried to take in the beauty around me. I heard someone behind me basking in the views as well and I began chatting with him, he was also from Virginia and we talked about the distinct difference in the mountain tops we were seeing and about the races back home. It was nice to have someone to talk to, we talked about ultra runners and races we both may know. We ran on a ways together including the next aid station where once again I was right at the 30 hr mark. 

At this point it was feeling warm and hard already, I got more ice and soda and tried to eat a lot of fruit and a GU. I was somewhat convinced that I was struggling with altitude and I told myself that I just needed to accept it and get to lower elevations safely and quickly. I left aid two excited that it was just a few more miles and I would get to see my crew. 

Between aid 2 and aid 3 there were beautiful views but the running felt harder than made sense, I felt really slow and became aware that I would be lucky to hit my 2013 split and not my goal for the day at Duncan Canyon. Then halfway into this section, I ran out of water. I reached back to feel a block of ice in my bladder but nothing was coming out.  So I sipped harder to only realize that the water surrounding the block of ice was gone. I would run, holding my hand on the bladder behind me in some desperate attempt to speed up the melting of the ice, I would run with my tube in my mouth and just suck on any water I could get out. I should not be out of water I thought, I was angry at the block of ice and so looking forward to seeing Todd and the crew at Duncan Canyon. 

I came into that aid station within a minute of my 2013 split. I realized that maybe my 2013 splits to here weren't that bad, at least for me. I was a little disappointed in myself in both the present for not being faster and for the past for not appreciating how well I may have actually done. I handed off my pack to get more water and went to Todd and the crew. There was a little sense of urgency but Todd told me I was doing fine, I felt good to be there and to see Todd and JP and the kids but I know I complained a bit about the signs and the running out of water. Todd took my trash and gave me some new candy and I was handed back my vest. I started to leave but came back and asked for sunglasses, Todd couldn't find mine so he gave me the white sunglasses crew got at the pre-race from Brazen Racing, I felt bad taking the crew sunglasses but it was really bright and exposed and I needed the shade. 

Leaving Duncan Canyon I did feel better mentally, I had gotten to complain a little and I had water again. I knew I was starting to descend from the higher elevations and hoped I would start to physically feel some better. And I did. I settled in to the day a little better, I reminded myself to enjoy the highs and lows, and I drank. I felt I was moving better and I started to catch and pass runners more naturally which gave me the feeling that I could trust my self and pace, that my day could come around. I reminded myself that there was time. 

I did get my feet wet through here through unavoidable water crossings but it was the first time all day and I wasn't stressed because I knew my crew had sock kits at every crew station. I met a runner here from California and we ran a long ways together, his pace was a little slower than I had been moving but I was starting to feel mentally on top of things and knew I could make a friend and be ok on time. We talked about races for a few miles until a few runners passed us including a female. I was running low on water  and moving slower than I knew I could and maybe should so I passed my friend and went along as another group passed. 

I didn't catch back up to the female but I saw her ahead. It was fun running a little faster because it finally felt good to do so and I knew we would be at Robinson soon. The only problem I had was that I had run out of water again, I was irritated that my bladder seemed so small and that I was now out of water a second time. 

Coming into Robinson is a big ordeal, you see people for a long time before you are at the aid station and even once you're at the aid station it can take a minute to find your crew. Thankfully Bethany saw me and alerted me to where the rest of the crew were.  I gave my pack to a race volunteer and went to my crew. I sat down and they had a blanket laid out with all of the things I could want. Bethany set to work changing my socks which was awesome. I felt I was getting hot spots on my big toes so I asked them to tape them, Steve and Bethany tried for a minute to get tape on the toes but I began to worry that the tape may irritate the toes more than help so I changed my mind. I drank the soda they had and tried to eat some of an uncrustable. I lamented about the running out of water and the frustrating pace signs and told them that I probably wasn't eating great but I didn't feel I was totally sucking at eating either. 

I did spend a few necessary minutes here but none of the time was wasted and it felt so good to get dry socks and see the crew. I remember lots of other crews being there like 'watching' me and I didn't love that feeling, I felt like an animal on display and I felt a little feral. 

I got up and said good bye to the crew and I felt about as good as I had felt all day. I have been to Robinson as crew, I have seen weary, exhausted runners here at barely a 50k, I didn't feel weary, I felt good! 

I left and I knew I had the descending of nearly a half marathon up ahead. I told myself I could be smart and I was finally feeling good and this was my time. 

Leaving Robinson you see crews and people for a ways and they cheered and told me I looked good and fresh and I wondered if they were talking to me or someone else and I turned to see no one behind me, and then some yelled my name. Strangers did this. It felt weird at first but I started to soak it up and I enjoyed it, I did feel good. I was at Western States!! Here I soaked this in, I'm glad I did, it was fun and made me feel special and capable and good to be a runner.

After a climb leaving the aid station area you begin descending. I knew that a runner could wreck their legs descending so I was careful to run easy enough to not stress the muscles but not to out on the breaks either. It was open and exposed through here but I started to see people I hadn't seen all day on the course ahead of me, I started to pick runners and catch them and then pick new runners. I made it a little game. And I drank. I don't know that I ate well here but I felt good. 

At the aid station at Miller's Defeat I looked at the food and none of it looked appealing, it was fruit and chips and cookies but nothing looked great, I did eat a few strawberries and an oreo but in hindsight maybe not enough. I got my bladder filled with water and the voluneteers asked if I wanted to get doused off. I said no, the woman helping to wet runners down looked at me like I was crazy, I told her I didn't want to get my feet wet and they didn't say anything but I could tell from their faces they didn't agree with my decision. Again, in hindsight this was a mistake but I was running from the memory of trashed feet at mile 40. I was more concerned about my feet than the heat. 

I left Miller's Defeat and though the road was open and exposed and it was full on hot now I ran well and I continued to pass more runners. By the time I got to Dusty Corners my Coros watch said, for the first time all day, that I was on pace for 24 hours. Now I know that doesn't account for slowing down but I know the last miles are easier than the first. I knew that I just needed to protect my feet and be smart and I could do the pace. At Dusty Corners Todd wanted to change my socks but my feet were dry, he seemed a little stressed and tried to get me to eat a bit, he told me not to rush so I sat in the chair they had for me and drank more cherry coke. They had my music that I was supposed to pick up here but they couldn't get it to work, so I told them I would pick it up at Michigan Bluff, Todd seemed concerned but I was not, I told him I was having a good day, things were coming together, I didn't need the music. I would be fine. 

I left and continued on running downhill, the day was sunny and warm but I had picked up an ISOCOOL towel from Duncan Canyon earlier and had switched it up with a cool new wet one at Robinson. The towel felt amazing and did keep cool. However, my crew tried to give me an ice bandana leaving Robinson, I didn't take it, Todd tried to give me one at Dusty Corners I didn't take it.  My crew tried to keep me cool and I wasn't smart enough to accept it because I was just so overly concerned about my sissy little feet to realize that I needed to stay cool. So I may not have stayed cool and guess what happens when you lose your cool?

Exhaustion. 

I don't remember Last Chance aid station now. Like at all. I just spent five minutes trying to remember anything about it and I don't remember it. The sheet of my official splits from the race say that I came into Last Chance in the best position I ever made it to. The name of the aid station reads like a warning and yet I don't remember anything at all about it. I know someone told me what was up ahead.  I know that I descended to the water after this aid station and the bridge and I passed by without getting in. I looked at the body of water, at the people in their cooling off and I remembered that I got in that water for like five minutes in 2013, up to my 3 ipods and I soaked there for minutes cooling off in 2013. But I ran on without stopping this time, I passed over the bridge and I started the climb to Devils Thumb. I knew the climb would be bad, it was the stuff of nightmares in 2013. I knew I just had to make it up and over. 

The climb was long, several miles, and I went slow. Over the few miles two people passed me but the being passed was spread out over a mile or so. I passed a runner and otherwise it was just the hot, slow, grueling climb that I remembered with a lot less people on it. I got to the aid station at the top and I knew I needed food and a little break but otherwise I felt ok.

I came in and a volunteer said "Good job, you're on pace for 25 hours! But you've got to go!" and I rather cockily thought but didn't say, "No, I am going sub 25!" Instead I told him I needed food and they offered me chicken broth and I said I was vegetarian and they said they had veggie broth, I got veggie broth and a popsicle and they took my vest to fill it with water and I asked to sit down and they told me I could but just for a minute but I needed to get out of there. And I got frustrated and thought, am I still chasing cut offs? Why am I being rushed out? I need to eat! But I didn't say it out loud, and my cup had broth in it so I didn't get coke, and I just royally messed up here. The same guy came over a minute later and told me I had to go so I dumped the broth to store the cup in my vest and I got up and I went to leave and I just felt really rushed and frustrated. 

I left and was headed down the trail when I tried to drink water and it didn't work. I tried again but nothing came out. I got really worried and a little irritated and I turned around and went back to the aid station where they started kind of yelling at me for coming back and I told them I couldn't get my water to work. Thankfully a different woman came over and started helping me. The tube to my bladder had come dislodged and wasn't connected. We took it out and I put it back together and tested it. This time it worked and I headed out again but by now I was wholly frustrated, I had been rushed out just to have my water not work and have to go back and I didn't get the time or the calories I needed. I know now that this was my big fail, that I needed to say I needed more but it's not in my nature to speak up for me but rather do as I'm told. I didn't just trust me and get what I needed. 

And so instead, I just left angry and frustrated. Did I pull food from my pack, yes, but I ate a pack of gummies, not enough. I got moving again and looked forward to the downhill from the cemetery because I had gotten mixed up here in 2013. In 2013 I thought I was going the wrong way and I had a low here. This time I knew I wouldn't get mixed up. But the trail was unfamiliar even though I thought that I remembered it, and that mixed me up a little. And then the oven got turned up, it at least felt so VERY HOT going down into El Dorado Creek. The air was so thick and heavy feeling even though everyone says it isn't humid. It felt like I was baking. My pack was moving all around and had started to make my back hurt where the tube inserts into the bladder. I kept putting my hand back there to protect my back and I was overall just unhappy with my pack choice. 

I came into El Dorado and it had taken me longer than 12 hours and my pace had slowed even though we were descending. I came in and let them get me a little wet because I was just so hot and I knew my crew would be at Michigan Bluff and would have a change of socks and shoes if needed. I know that I was out of it because I remember sitting down and a woman telling jokes but I can't remember a word of one of them. They gave me coke and I poured it in my cup and they said you could have drank from the can.  I remember being there a few minutes but not eating and then seeing Josh Gilbert who had been there when I came in and just thinking where did he come from. I remember seeing he got ice in his arm sleeves and then remember his leaving and just seeing his back moving away down the trail. I got ice in my arm sleeves too and then I left. 

I remember thinking I should just catch up to Josh and run with him to Michigan. Thinking that would be fun for us and our crews. But then he pulled out of sight and I was just walking. And I felt I wasn't walking straight. And time seems short here in my memory but the time between aid suggests otherwise. I don't know what happened. In retrospect the heat first and calories second got me most likely, maybe dehydration, maybe all of it. I know I got lightheaded and dizzy and it scared me and I sat down on the climb and I remember looking at my hands and they were white as clouds on both sides. My heart was pounding and I looked and my heart rate sitting was over 140 and it felt higher and I remember thinking "I am not okay." And there was a female runner, I think maybe she was French and her name began with a M and she was kind and told me I needed sugar and she gave me candy and told me she would stay with me, I begged her to go and she got my bib number and she said she would send help or my crew. And then other people passed me. And I sat down. And I moved so slowly and I decided that this was unsafe, that my day was done. 

Todd said he was surprised how slow and long it took me to get to Michigan Bluff and that I was much later getting there than they expected. I'm honestly surprised in hindsight I moved forward at all. The 2.8 miles, while a climb, took me over ninety minutes. I only moved forward for the help of my crew, I had absolutely no plans or desire to leave Michigan Bluff again if and when I got there. I was basically crawling and my heart rate was pounding. I remember the mosquitos were all over me and I didn't even try to swat them away. 

Near the top I finally heard a familiar voice, it was Scott who I call Scovey and he asked me how I was. I remember just being so thankful to see him, because I was worried about how I was feeling and now I had someone who knew me if I passed out. He was chipper and asked me what was wrong, he told me we were almost at the aid station, he told me about my candy bearing French friend (not how he described her of course) telling the aid station "runner 110" needed help and they said they would send a safety runner in a little while when Scovey I believe overheard them and asked to go back for me. 

Scovey told me the whole crew was assembled and they were ready for me to change my socks and that they would get me all ready to go again. I didn't say anything. I knew I was done and just didn't feel like making the climb harder by arguing with Scovey. At the top Todd was there and he sounded a bit annoyed it had taken me so long. Scovey had me stop and take a picture at the Deadwood sign. I finally started to swat the mosquitos away but they had bitten me all up and down my arms and legs.

At the aid station I remember being whisked by the medical tent and the food tents and over to our little area with crew, as I got there there was a guy throwing up beside our area. I sat down and they gave me mashed potatoes and a quarter of an Impossible Burger Don has made. They started working on my my pack and I told them I wasn't taking that pack out with me again that it had beaten my back up and Todd said I had to take it because it had my bladder. I said I couldn't take it hitting my back anymore that I needed the other pack. They decided that I could get to Foresthill with just my soft flask bottle and they would have my other pack ready then. I ate the quarter of sandwich and they gave me another, they gave me lemonade and soda and about this time, if I wasn't already, I got really whiney. I complained that I couldn't keep going, I needed a pacer. I was dizzy and lightheaded and nauseous. Todd told me I needed to eat and drink. I tried. I ate the two quarters of sandwich. I ate some mashed potatoes. I drank the lemonade and then some coke. Todd told me I couldn't leave until I ate more calories, I told him I couldn't eat anymore I was going to get sick. He kept pushing food on me and I finally agreed to applesauce and I was eating it and he said I was going to eat another and then I got up from the chair, squatted and threw up a foot from my crew. 

And then I felt particularly done. At this point they had changed my socks and given me food and argued about the pack and the hydration and the food and I was being a pain in the ass because I was so damn sad. In my very depths I felt my good day was behind me, and I didn't wait nine years for a bad day. I had come into Michigan later than I had in 2013 with great feet and yet here I felt done. It was now pushing 8 pm and I all but refused to leave without a pacer and I really didn't want to leave at all.

I was afraid of how I was feeling and of going it alone. 

At this point I'm pretty sure my crew was afraid of me. I'm not proud of how I behaved and I wish like heck now that I could have realized I was making it worse on myself, but I didn't see it.  I just didn't care. I was done with this year's States. It had won. 

Todd agreed to come to Foresthill to get me out of there. 

Todd ran on to the car to get his pacer bib and a shirt but the cars weren't close by, and I sat there feeling sorry for myself. And I think the rest of the crew tried to get my right again but I was somewhere else by this point that I don't remember much of it which was probably meant as self protection at the time but probably just made me look more of the asshole. They gave me my music and I got up and started to walk away. And Jeremy came up and said encouraging words that he's the expert at getting sick and I would be ok, Steve and maybe Don said encouraging words, honestly I was out of it and don't remember the finer details. They were all doing their best job for me but I was not. The best that I could do for them was to leave, to keep going, and they should know that I did not at the very bottom of my heart want to leave and keep going but I felt that they would think it was their fault if I didn't keep moving. And so I got up to keep moving.

Bailey gave me a hug and said "No one's disappointed in you." Which was the saddest, possibly truest thing a 14 year old could say to their mother in that moment and it just made me feel like an even larger disappointment. 

I was already disappointed in me. I don't know how they could not have been.

At something like 8:03 I left Michigan Bluff, Todd wasn't with me yet but I could see him coming down the road. I was walking and knew he would catch me. But I started to run anyways. And he caught me and told me that I was going to come back. And I think I ran a hundred yards and then I had to get sick. So I squatted again and threw up over and over again, six or seven times, it was aggressive and scary and I had stress incontinence which I had never had before and that scared me even more. I told Todd and he said words but I felt in the moment that he didn't really care how serious this was. I know in retrospect he did but in the moment I felt about as worse as I have ever felt. I just wanted so badly to lie down, be very still and be done. 

I got up and turned my music on and walked a little more but I did feel a little better and soon Todd had me running. Loads and loads of people had passed me by this point but I was also around more people than I had been since the climb and the ridge at the start of the day. Todd kept saying I was running really well and that I could come back. All I could think about was being done. I never said it, but I never thought of anything but stopping at Foresthill.

It was dark by Bath Road. I had a headlamp they had given me at Michigan Bluff. I was quiet but I did run and I did hike and I did feel sick but I just moved forward. Bath road was full of people and messages written on the pavement, I kept looking for crew but I never saw anyone we knew. We got to Foresthill at 9:40, it was so late and so dark and I knew at this point that if I was lucky I could maybe make the finish but I didn't want to run until 11 am the next morning. 

I got a cheese quesadilla at the aid station at Foresthill. Then I walked with Todd over to our crew. I remember feeling out of it. Like I was drugged and not really myself. I remember thinking that the crew was just pulling in because the van had break lights on but also JP and Rosellyn making food on a little fire and Steve handing me warm soup. I was very disoriented. I remember Scovey being dressed to run and having a pacer bib on and thinking "These people still think I'm leaving." I drank a little soup but I just got in the worst spot emotionally of the entire race at this point. I didn't want to fail but I felt I had already failed. The failing was done, why should I go on?

I remember being nauseous and not wanting or being able to eat anything. Having the strong feeling that I needed to get up and throw up in the grass. I remember Todd telling me to sit back and listen to music. I say I remember these things because I think there's a lot that I don't remember. I couldn't find a song and I was flipping through songs when my apple watch notified me that my brother in law Jon was texting me. I remember it saying something about being awesome and thinking if he only knew. And at this point I started to cry softly (I think. Hope.) I don't know that I've ever felt a bigger failure. I just really hated a lot right then, hated that I had asked these people to come to California for me, hated that I wasn't tougher, hated that I knew I was responsible for all that was happening to me. Just wanting out. I sat there thinking about the sleep we could all get. But being too afraid to say I wanted out out loud. Bethany said something like, "you said you're only moving forward for us, that's ok, just use that as your why for now as long as you need it". 

I had 38 miles to go. It scared me to even think how I possibly could go that much further with how I was feeling. They had made Kraft Mac and Cheese I remember thinking if anything was going to save me it would be that which shows maybe some strand of positivity. I ate a little mac and cheese and I felt a wave of nausea. I can't do this, not today, I thought. 

And yet, somehow, I don't really even know how, I got up and I started to leave. The idea of my crew leaving me and going away and sending me on the California Trail was terrifying. I mean terrifying. Like the crazy person you think I am at this point I felt crazy, I had a nearly impossible time getting to that trail. I'm sure Todd felt I was impossible. 

I was nauseous but I was so afraid. These miles had been dark and painful in 2013 and again in 2017. I didn't want to do them, not tonight, not when I knew I was feeling so weak. I stopped and started, dry heaved and whined for a mile or more. Droves of people passed us with their pacers. Todd asked at least twice if I wanted to go back to Foresthill. Inside of my head I wanted so badly to plead with Todd to take me back to Foresthill. My pace dropped further. We weren't going to make it. I threw up again five or six times, all of the mac and cheese and soup and quesadillas. But then again after the throwing up I did feel better.

And so we ran. And I turned my music on. And we passed runners and pacers and we moved and dropped the pace a little. We came in to Cal 1 and Todd gave me a grilled cheese and I was afraid to eat it. But he encouraged me to anyways, but I was afraid it would make me sick again, and he said I had to eat or I wouldn't make it. 

I was confused and nauseous and heartbroken. I would run. But then I would get nauseated and stop. The music would work but then the stomach would fight back harder. By Cal 2 I was like a zombie. I sat there and a gentleman asked how I was and Todd said I was a -3. The guy laughed and told some jokes. Another runner came in and sat down and the same guy asked how he was and the runner said 
"maybe 6" and I looked over at him like he was making fun of me. The aid station guy somehow talked me into getting up even though I really didn't want to. I dreamed of how my crew might come and rescue me here. I believe his name was Bill, as he sent me off he said "I'll see you at the track, I'll see you at Robie Point and then I'll see you again at the track." And I shook my head and he said "No, I promise, you can do it." And he gave me a fist bump. And I fist bumped him back and thought how dishonest that fist bump was on my part. I truly didn't think I would see him at Robie Point.

And yet, still somehow, I left. It took like forever to get to Cal 3. I was miserable. I was exhausted, I had nothing in me and I mean that on multiple levels. Finally at Cal 3 Todd gave me a tater tot and I ate it and he gave me another and another. He gave me coke and another tot. I knew I had to eat. A woman came over and asked about me and told me that when she is sick she likes ginger ale and saltines. She poured the ginger ale and stirred it to flatten it, she gave me saltines. I did the work of eating them. Another volunteer came over and asked if I would eat Tums. 

At that moment I would do anything. So I ate a pink tum and I left when they told me to.

And just some yards from the aid station I got nauseous again. Todd said I needed to keep moving. I started to run and then I stopped and started throwing up, it was pink tums and bile and tater tots and it was hard, it felt violent inside my body, once more I had the stress incontinence and then my whole body locked up in a cramp and I'm fairly sure I yelled out for help and Todd said he didn't know what he could do. I feel I writhed around a minute until the stomach stopped cramping. 

When I finally got up I was certain I was dead last and based on my pace I knew there was likely no question, I would be pulled at the river. I got more and more exhausted over the next few miles. I stopped listening to music. Todd did a lot of talking and I fought sleep for miles. I felt empty. He kept telling me how good I was going to feel when I got to the track. How proud I would be. How tough I was. He pulled me along. He told me he would carry me if he could and I believed him then and now. I knew it would probably be easier for him to carry me than convince me to carry myself of my own will which there seemed to be none left. I thought he was very soft and kind to me, this is how I knew I was in real trouble. He kept telling me that I needed to keep moving, that he knew I could finish but I had to keep moving forward or I wouldn't make it. 

At one point we had a miserable climb. At one point I thought I saw a snake but it was only a branch. At one point I heard a sound and turned to see an animal on the trail side and I stopped and just looked at it. It didn't look like a fox but I had never seen something quite like it before, I wondered if it was a cougar. These points are in a straight line anymore and I don't really remember them in any order.

Finally, I could hear the river. But I also knew it was still a ways to go to it. Todd said we had to keep moving because he was worried my pace wouldn't get me to Auburn. So I finally said the words I'd been too worried to say, I said I didn't think I could make it, that I needed to stop at Green Gate. I had tried, I had tried beyond my will and I was ready to be done. 

Todd got a bit upset with this, he had been soft and careful up this point but now he got angry and the more he talked the more his voice got upset. I don't remember what he said word for word but the gist was "What are you saying you're going to do? Stop at the river? No one stops at the river. You know you can make it if you make it to the river." I argued that my pace was too slow, I was too depleted and exhausted. He countered, "So what if you don't make it? Wouldn't you rather see how far you can go? Wouldn't you rather go 94 miles trying that to quit at the river and never know?"

This was really very hard. There was a part of me that did want to quit at the river. There was a part of me that believed fully that I would recover from not finishing. But there was a greater part of me, a thankful in that moment part of me that knew how I felt as a crew and pacer at the river when my runner quit without trying to go on. I had to accept that I may not make it but I had to ask myself if I wanted to risk going on or quit without trying. 

Thankfully we weren't at the river quite then, I had a moment to really consider the options at this point. Todd had given me a few honey stinger chews, I hadn't thrown up. I was exhausted but the crew would have caffeine. I knew it would get hot again when the sun came up. I knew that I might get pulled at 94 miles. 

In the end, I decided I would rather risk the feeling I would have of being pulled at mile 94 than risk the feeling I would have dropping at mile 78. I don't think I ever answered the questions Todd posed. I think I finally just came to terms with the fact that I had assembled a crew of people that I knew wouldn't let me do anything but try. 

It did change a little then. It did help that I wasn't nauseous. It did help that I would eat a gummy and wait a few minutes to eat anything else. It wasn't hot, it was the coolest part of the day. My body felt pretty good considering 78 miles so I felt I could possibly run more than I was. I knew that my stomach may turn again or any other number of things, so every mile was a mile further and nothing more. 

Coming into the river we didn't break stride but we just walked over to where they told us how to cross the river and what to expect and they donned us with glow stick necklaces. I'm always impressed by the volunteers in the river. This year particularly it was high and cold when I crossed. It wasn't easy, there were big rocks and it felt hard just like everything else, except that I could hear my friends calling across the river. I couldn't see them but I could hear their voices and I knew they were there for me and that made all the difference. 

There were a lot of them at the river, Scovey, Bethany, Steve, Bailey and Cooper. They said Terri and JP were at the aid station getting my gear ready and that the Kidd family was there too but stuck in their RV with a mountain lion outside. It was like nothing was abnormal to them, they didn't ask why it took me so long to get there. I had to use a rope and climb up from the river and then we started the 1.7 mile hike to the aid station. I knew I wanted dry clothes, I was cold (and gross). Scovey would leave Green Gate with me. There was a lot of chatter and I tried to lose myself in it, I was a little differently focused but the idea of leaving so close to the cut off was making me nervous. The river had awoken me a little but I still needed caffeine. They made plans for me and Todd said I was hiking well especially after the slow miles we had just had. I think the crew being there worked to get me moving a little better. 

I was also watching the pace. I truly didn't believe I could make the finish. But I felt I owed it to my crew that had just spent the night at the river to try. Todd informed Scovey that I had been doing well slowly eating candy. We got to Green Gate at 4:46. The sun was coming up. I got changed while the girls held up towels to hide me and the boys looked the other way. They were never anything but encouraging. Whatever they may have been thinking I never believed for a minute they did anything but believe I could do it. 

I forget the official cut off for Green Gate but we left behind it. We didn't take headlamps. The sun was all but up. I left my music because my apple watch was almost dead. They joked Scovey would sing to me. When we left Scovey was chatty and I feel I was probably a little bit scary. I was quiet. Todd told him I would listen well. I tried to listen well. Scovey laid out a plan, that we would shuffle the easy flats and downs, we would hike the ups. I would eat candy when he told me to. 

Leaving Green Gate and headed to Auburn Lake Trails I was in a brain fog of sorts but over the next few miles the sun and the caffeine pills worked to make me more alert. Thankfully my physical body felt ok and I was able to run some. It was in this first section that I grew hungry and I took that as a good sign. It felt like forever to ALT though. 

By the time we got there I was so hungry. I remember I got a pancake and a breakfast burrito and I turned to look for a place to sit down because I just wanted to sit down so badly when a volunteer came up and looked me right in the eyes and said "You're two minutes over, you can do this but you have to go now."

This stranger looked sad for me, and serious. Scovey and I left with the pancake and burrito. I took a few bites of each and left the rest in the woods. Now that I was fully awake I became a little more aware of how close I was to not doing this thing. I asked Scovey what I needed to run. He did quick math and said basically a 15 minute pace, but he said the course was supposedly the smoothest it is the whole race over the next ten miles. I didn't know if I could but I wanted to run faster to make up the time and not just enough to make it but I wanted to bank ten minutes so I didn't have to sprint the streets of Auburn. I decided I did want to finish, and I didn't want to have to be stressing it in the last mile or two. 

Thankfully the next few miles were as easy as Scovey said they would be. We ran a bit and I was so so thankful how good my legs felt. 

We were coming into Quarry Road and I could hear loud music. As we got closer I could tell it was Paul Simon, my favorite, and not just any Paul Simon but Boy in the Bubble Simon. These are the days of miracle and wonder. Which is nothing if not a song about hope. If I had a high point in that race, it was coming into Quarry Road and hearing this song and seeing that I had picked up 17 minutes to the good in those 5 miles. 

We came into the aid station which was at the bottom of a hill and Scovey asked what I needed and I said I needed ice. He went to take my flask and get ice when a gentleman said to him "No, you can't get ice, Scott can you get ice?" And the sentence made no sense even to me since my pacer's name is Scott so I looked to see who he was talking to and it was Scott Jurek! And then I looked around and saw Hal Koerner and I got all fan girl giddy at this point and was so thrilled that these two WS champions were there to help us at the aid station. However, I was still scared about time so we headed back out quickly but not before Jurek warned us about the turns up ahead.

From Quarry Road to Pointed Rocks the day began to heat up. We still ran a bit but there was a long uphill on a service road that was exposed and I hiked a bit. I didn't remember any of this from my previous run. We ran down to the road crossing at Highway 49 I believe it is and then through a field as we ran on to Pointed Rocks. There was a loud cheering woman in the field, I would have sworn the aid station was closer, and she said there's margaritas at the aid station and then she said she was kidding. It was funny and just a bit bizarre. But I knew the crew would be there, which is almost as good as margaritas. I'm just kidding, my crew was way better than margaritas. 

Coming into the aid station, Scovey knew I would be trying to move through pretty quick so he turned and gave me a high five. We came in to this aid station and I have no idea how because it doesn't really make sense but we now had made up 50 minutes on the cut. I was starting to feel my muscles though, they were a little tight and crampy so I had my crew get my Tiger Balm and I put it on my quads. Then Steve who was leaving with me gave me a banana because of the crampiness but it just tasted like Tiger Balm which isn't a great snack. However, I did get the second half of the banana in.

Steve was all ready to go. They seemed happy that I had picked up the pace, Steve said they hadn't been waiting long at all when I came through. Leaving Pointed Rocks it was downhill through a field to a trail that was a little technical and full of people. I hadn't seen this many people all morning but it made me feel good because I finally, for the first time in hours and hours felt like I was in among the 29ers and could finish this thing.

Steve was maybe overly confident in me. When I picked him up he said that I could run a PR or at least break 29 hours but I would have had to run those 6 miles in like an hour. I didn't have a goal other than finishing at that point. And for the first 2 or so of the 6 miles it went well enough, I was running some and moving ok. He was good company and chatted away. However, by No Hands Bridge it was getting hot even though it was only 9:30 am.

Steve tried to get me to run between shade spots and and I did ok for about 3 minutes but then the heat came back to haunt me. I took to walking and then slower and slower walking. When we finally started the climb to Robie Point I was overheating and getting nauseous again. A runner and pacer who had been behind us caught back up and said that we were doing well and that we had it but we had to keep moving forward. I was surprised by just how badly the heat was kicking my butt at 9:45 in the morning.

We crawled along, Steve continued to remind me to drink and tell me stories and it mostly helped from keeping me with my own thoughts. I was distracted enough that I didn't worry until nearly Robie Point, and even then I knew I was close but it felt much harder than it should have. I told Steve at the aid station I was going to let them soak me.

And that I did. When we got to Robie Point it was uphill to the aid station and then more even after. But I stopped there and let them soak me, they used sponges and just saturated me. Once fully drenched I walked over to the table and looked at my watch, it was 10:15, I had 45 minutes to make it to the track. I asked for a whole can of coke for the road. They opened it and handed it to me. At this point Todd was there and he and Steve and I kept trucking upward and onward to Placer High. Rounding the corner out of the aid station I saw Bill from Ford's Bar and he remembered me! He gave me a big hug and told me he knew I would make it. 

Todd asked if I wanted to run and I told him I needed the coke and I had the time. On the road pieces of our crew assembled, I can't quite remember who was where and when but I know as we walked along we picked up one and then another and another, Bailey, Bethany, Edon, Don, JP, Cooper, Scovey, and all along the way there were cheering onlookers. At one spot there were kids and they sprayed us again with cool water. Near the school there was a deer and her fawn and a lot of people were excited about that. 

Finally, Todd pointed out a roof and said that it was the school and the field house. He asked if I wanted to run and by this point I felt I could again. So I ran. And there were more and more people and they were cheering and so encouraging. There was John and Michelle Anderson and Rosellyn and Terri. So many people. And then the finish line. 29:34:54.

When I crossed the finish line Brazen Racing handed me a special shirt for being part of the 29er club. I was happy I could stop moving forward for a while. I laid on the field. I fell asleep. 

A little later my name was called and I got to go up and get my second Western States buckle, this one is different because it has my name and the year inscribed on the back. 

Take Aways

Part of accepting the day is admitting my failures. I made a lot of mistakes. I made my day hard for myself and my crew. I hate thinking that I am the pain in the ass to crew that Todd always says that I am, but I most definitely was hard to crew, and I apologize to my crew. I am so thankful for each and every one of them, I'm thankful they put up with me, that they came to California with me and that they didn't quit on me even when I quit on me. I think I learned a bit, as corny as it sounds, about love and friendship. It pains me to think how tough I made their day. 

I wanted to be a better runner than I proved myself to be. As hard as my day was all I have thought about since is where I went wrong, what I could have done better what I need to do next. I had a painstakingly bad day. It sucks that the bad day was part of such a long journey, but I made it there and back again. My physical body held up well for the most part considering, and I feel so much better than I expected to post race. 

I should have done more hundreds before going back to States. I should take nutrition more seriously.  I wished I had been stronger physically but in hindsight it was my weaknesses mentally that cost me greatly. 

However, at the end of the day I have to remember that I did finish. I need to take what I can from that and move on.