My Goal
Run 100 miles in less than 30 hours.
Folsom Lake is pretty low tide. When a bunch of us got lost, it involved an unexpected run down the lake bed.
My Fears
Can I even do this? Will my body hold up? I don’t have the lateral meniscus in my left knee, so maybe my knee will simply give out. And my feet… I got pretty bad plantar fasciitis a few years ago (walking with a cane for weeks), so maybe my heels will hurt unbearably. I did a race in August and had to call 911 afterwards because I had too little water and too much caffeine from the gels. And, sheesh, I’m 60. Am I mad?! No, don’t answer that.
An innocent the day before and the pre-run course talk
My Team
Six awesome women helped me get through this. Kim Freitas and Michele Santilhano had agreed to be my long distance pacers. Kim and I ran 24 miles through the night and Michele brought me through the last 22 killer miles. Moselle Hindle is the world’s best crew chief! We met when I crewed at badwater last year and she’s done plenty of other support crew adventures, so she’s a pro. She sat me down and talked me through the race plan I’d written up so it was actually usable. And she recruited the other crew members: Emily Strauss, Sarah Burdge, and Jenny Belser. Jenny added herself to the pacer list by running with me from Cool to Auburn, Sarah took photos of us all, and Emily cooked a crew breakfast of eggs and bacon in the Beals Point parking lot.
Only about half the aid stations allowed crew access, but when they did, there was my crew helping out and cheering me on. My team was incredible! I simply could not have succeeded without them. Nope, no way.
The 3am crew support and the crew chief!
My Checklist
No point doing an epic mega-adventure without these elements!
The start and the overall
At the start line at 5am, I felt great. Let me get going! Raring to go. When we finally got the signal, I just laughed with pleasure at the prospect of the adventure ahead. I knew it would be fun. Off I went into the darkness. Plenty of companions at first.
Pitch dark and cool temps at start as I drop my bags for the four drop locations
The run itself went well. I just ran. Nothing fancy. Just kept running and running and running... Even figured out a run-walk for the hilly bits. You see, ultrarunners often don’t run uphills, but walking was so deadening, I started doing a combo walk-run that moved me nicely up and over most hills.
These long runs are weird. You run and run, the trails seem endless, and suddenly there’s an aid station, and your smiling cheerful team is there handing you a prepared bottle and a gel packet. And then back to solitude. Kim tells me I was cheerful and relaxed all through the 8 dark hours we ran together. Really? It’s all blurred in my memory.
One more thing: Time had no shape. I started in the dark and then the sun came up. I kept running and eventually, the darkness dropped down around me again. It was dark a long long time. And I was still running. Eventually, the sun came up again. And I was still running. It’s disorienting. Like jetlag.
Some pics from early in the run: at the 11-mile mark and somewhere else chatting with Emily during the day, don't ask me where...
And now for some vignettes..
My first panic moment
It’s dark and I’m lost. At least I might be, I don’t know but I keep running. I’ve only been running an hour or maybe not even that much. Those two guys ahead of me have disappeared and there are no lights behind me. I had plenty of company a moment ago and now I’m all alone. Soft winding trails twist left right left again. I keep running. How could I have missed a turn marker? I was careful. But there aren’t any more orange ribbons anywhere. I keep running. On and on. How far back did I go wrong? Jeez, it’s only 45 minutes into this race and I’ve screwed this up. My race is already ruined. I keep running. My flashlight beam flicks across the trail, left right forward. Easy dirt to run on, few roots and stones. I keep running. Wait, hey, there’s a ribbon up there on that bush. Big sigh. I’m okay. I keep running.
Over a hump and suddenly lights and noise and people. Jarring. The first aid station. Hooray! One down, 19 to go. Moselle hands me a bottle, an energy gel, and a packet of carb+protein powder. The next aid station doesn’t permit crew access so I have to carry the powder myself. I want to stay on top of my fuel and water. I read research about the difference between finishers and DNFs (did not finish) at Western States 100: eat and drink as much as you can in the first two-thirds. I’d screwed up a couple of my prep events (even calling 911 one time!) so I wanted to be obsessive here. If I follow my plan (300cals/hour), I’ll be okay.
Odds and ends
It was strange how some miles were tough and some were easy. It wasn’t just the uphills vs the flats. Or the dark vs the light. I don’t know why some worked better. But, boy was it nice!
I changed my shoes at 55 miles but didn't pay attention to needing larger shoes, so got those blisters. Here I am sitting down changing sox and shoes.
Pacers
I had awesome pacers. And a bonus pacer! Kim had agreed to run 24 miles in the dark with me from Auburn to the start and Michele had signed on to run the last 22 miles with me. Jenny was a delightful surprise. At the start of my second loop at Cool, she asked if I wanted her to come with me to Auburn. Wow, that’d be great. She donned her clothes and was ready when I finished the loop, which was a fun fast loop because I put high energy crazy music on and flew down and up around the 8 miles. Jenny and I took off down to the river on a smooth gentle downhill trail, a trail I’d run in August on a training run. After the river, darkness enveloped us and it kept me cheerful not to be alone in the dark. As we ran, we could see lights a mile or two ahead. The trail stayed on the same level along the canyon for miles before rising up into town. It was a bit disheartening to see the lights so far ahead. But we kept running. And got to Auburn eventually.
The way it works, you can have only one pacer at a time and they cannot “mule” which means to carry stuff for you. They are only allowed to run. And talk. Which is great.
Jenny: my bonus pacer! And the Jenny-Kim handoff at Auburn Dam Overlook.
Panic moments
My second pacer, Kim, and I had a couple bad moments on our section. We’re running along smoothly and I caught a rock with my toe. I crashed forward abruptly landing with all my weight on my left knee, my bad knee (I am missing the lateral meniscus cartilege there). Is my race over?! Am I done?! I panicked for a few minutes, but the knee never actually gave me any trouble. It’s a little swollen still today, five days later, but I don’t care.
At the Dowdin’s Post aid station, we dropped my headlamp on the ground and it stopped working. Aacckkkk, without a bright light, I can’t run this race. Is my race over now?! But no: a guy at the aid station offered me a good light and then I jiggled the wires and it worked again. Whew!
My long distance buddies: Kim and pepperoni pizza kept me going for 24 miles. Michele and me head out for the last 22 miles.
Night running
What’s it like to run at night? It’s a blast. With a good headlamp or flashlight, it’s like running through your living room: Plenty of light ahead showing up every stone and root. There’s something very ten-year-old kid about running at night. So few people do it. It’s great fun to be out in the woods after midnight. In the early hours, you hear owls hooting deep in the woods. At dusk, I’ve sometimes heard coyotes across a canyon from me. If you turn your light off, the stars are so bright, it’s amazing. But if you turn your light off, it’s so pitch dark, it’s a little scary.
Ah, the eating thing
What do you eat for 29 hours? Well nothing, or as little as possible. You drink it all. That way you get your calories and hydrate all at once. My plan was 350 cals/hour. One bottle of water with 2 scoops (200 cals) of Sustained Energy or Perpetuem (from Hammer Nutrition) plus an E-Gel from Crank Sports (150 cals & 230mg sodium) every hour. I was fairly religious about it. Even so, I got a little behind by 4am. Ah well, we added an extra scoop of powder and I revived.
I tried to eat food from the aid stations, but nothing worked for me. At night, the aid stations offer soup and other hot foods. I could drink the soup broth but not the pasta and veggies in it. I grabbed a couple PBJ wedges and a couple potato chips but nothing worked. Then I found one food that suited me, at least for a while: pepperoni pizza. I could never be gluten-free!
My worst moment
When you get to the 78 mark, you turn around and run a 22-mile out and back: 11 miles each way. There’s an aid station at 4 miles and another at 11. I picked up my last pacer, Michele, at 3am at the 78-mile mark and we are wrapping this up. It takes an hour to run 4 miles. But then it takes 3 hours to run the next 7 miles. Slow as molasses. Last fragments of darkness, the rocky and steep Meat Grinder section, and overall tiredness, with some possible underfueling. Slow.
By the time I turn around at the 11-mile mark (89 miles total), it’s 7:03am! I’ve only got 3:57 to finish this race! But it’s just taken me 4 hours to do this 11-mile section. And I’m bound to be more tired now. My blisters are killing me and Meat Grinder must be done once more. I can’t do it in time. I just can’t. Tears start. I’m distraught.
Despair churns my stomach. My heart sinks. I’ve just spent almost a year preparing for this race and I’ve just run 89 miles of the damn thing. How can I not finish it in time?! I’ll let my team down. I’ll let myself down. I’ll let my public down!
Then a little voice deep inside whispers “No way! You can make this happen!!”
Okay, I will take one more caffeinated gel. And I will dig deep. Real deep. Goddamit, I’m going to pull this one off! I am I am! I start running, and keep running. Every uphill I walk 4 fast steps and run 4 pathetic steps. Still… Walk, run, walk, run. Meat Grinder suddenly rears up. I put my head down and charge it. Up and over, and more up and over. I keep running. I’ve got a rhythm going. I’m completely focused. I ignore the pain in my feet. I ignore everything. I just keep running. I know that the last stretch to the 96-mile aid station is an endless but gentle uphill, so if I can just get to that aid station with a cushion of time, I can force myself to finish in time. Christ, it’s tough to keep myself moving. Run baby run!
All endless trails come to an end sometime, and finally finally I crest the last hill and there’s my team! It’s 9am and I’ve shaved an hour off my outbound time! I’ve got 2 whole hours to run 4 miles. No problem. I can do that!! A wide margin of safety. I’m so happy and proud of myself and thrilled. Big grin. I’ve got this.
I hug my team, put on my headphones, and run away. I float above the ground for a mile or so with sheer euphoria! The last four miles are, yes, still endless, but I know I can cover them easily. A light heart. I feel happy and calm. Whew. I even sprint the last 100meters to the finish line! I’m so happy I jump up and down with glee after I cross the finish line.
AND turns out I’ll get a buckle. A buckle!?? I thought you had to finish in under 24 hours. But no, finishing in under 30 gets me a buckle too. I was amazed. And super-delighted!
Some details
Afterwards
Why did I do this? Why will I probably go long again?