Crewing for Western States 100
Once you get sucked into the ultrarunning vortex, you end up spending a lot of time with your friends at such events. This last weekend was no exception...it was the 32nd running of the Western States 100, which goes from Squaw Valley (site of the 1960 Olympics) to Auburn, CA. This is the oldest 100 miler, I suppose the equivalent of the Boston Marathon for the ultrarunning community. Entry is limited to those who've run qualifying races, and further contested through a lottery.
This year, I had two friends who made it into the lottery: Bill Graney and Mark Giebel. Bill is relatively new to ultrarunning, having only gotten involved over the past couple years, but he's a natural. Maybe 5'8" or 5'9", and 150 lbs. He'd run 2 100 mile races last year, and finished in under 24 hours for each. He's 44, my age. Mark, on the other hand is not the typical ultrarunner specimen. He's 6'4", was 207 lbs. at the start. He's 59. On the other hand, he's climbed the tallest peaks on 4 of 7 continents, has been doing ultras for years, and has been a ski patrol volunteer for decades.
The race starts at 5a.m., and Mark and Bill both felt good. I trained a lot with Mark this spring, and he was physically & mentally ready. After sending them off, we went and loaded up the cars, then drove a loooong way around to get to the first stop (lots of mountain roads). Bill was doing great. In fact, he ultimately finished in 26:17, despite a sore ankle which kept him from running much downhill. But Mark, whose crew I was part of, was working. I'm going to tell you about Mark's day.
You don't get to meet your runner until mile 24. This year, the first part of the course was covered by a LOT of snow. Mark told me later that it was snow, ice, mud, streams running sideways off the hill, down the trail as if you were walking upstream, and, oh yeah, a little dry dirt. When he got into mile 24, in about 6.5 hours, he was already looking disoriented, and felt tanked. Keep in mind that this is over the Sierras, with altitudes over 8000 ft.
His wife Patty and I thought immediately that it was altitude. He'd been taking all of his fluids, calories, and electrolytes, so he was good there. We gave him a solution of rehydration salts that usually picks you right up, but that had no effect. We sent him on to the next station, 5 miles on, and hiked across a shortcut so we could meet him there. He walked out of the station, and we encouraged him to do some walking so he could recover a bit.
The problem with altitude sickness is you don't recover too fast. The cure is to get down off the mountain and rest. Unfortunately, if you're doing a 100 mile race, you don't get options to do either. He came into the Bald Mountain station at mile 28.9 and still looked rough. We put on some dry shoes and socks, and got some more liquids down him. It had taken him about 1:45 to cover 5 miles, which is pretty slow for Mark. But by the time he got out of the station, he was smiling a bit, and was goofing off when he ran out, so we felt like he might be improving.
After that, you have to head off to a spot called Michigan Bluff (mile 55) and wait for word. At each station, we'd have a backpack full of stuff that we'd carry with us...hot soup, food, clothes...anything he might want. Next we heard, he'd reached the Last Chance aid station a little before 5:00pm. That meant his pace was picking back up, and we were all very happy.
But then we stopped getting updates, and we started to scratch our heads. After a delay, we found that at the next station, Devil's Thumb, he'd made it through at 6:33pm, only 12 minutes ahead of the cutoff. There are two gnarly canyons in that stretch, and at the next station, El Dorado, he'd made it through at 8:25pm, with only 5 minutes to spare. As we waited there at Michigan Bluff, we watched the minutes ticking toward the 9:30pm cutoff. The station takes up most of a little block with fantastic views of a wide canyon, but the runners come down a blind corner after a 2.9 mile climb. We'd yell out his name as the minutes ticked, until, finally, the aid station captain yelled out "9:30!". Dang.
Mark had come through this section 6 years ago covered in salt from the extreme heat. As the station was closed, we were then free to go out and look for him...there were 7 of us up there! As we headed out and down the trail, we saw the last couple runners coming through, missing by minutes. We met Mark maybe a 1/4 mile out. He was just having a tough day. He told us after leaving us at Bald Mountain, he'd thrown up 8 times, which will basically ruin your electrolyte balance...it's hard to rebuild while you're running, and he had to keep moving.
We walked him back in, and gave him words of solace and encouragement, but as a runner, they're sometimes of little consolation, because we're a breed that's driven both to succeed and to finish. You immediately begin to dissect 'what went wrong.' In 1999, he'd made it to mile 62 and been forced to drop due to dehydration. This time, though, altitude seemed to be the clear culprit, and that' s something you just can't train against unless you live at altitude for an extended period of time.
After a ride back to the hotel and a good night's sleep, though, Mark was in good spirits. I think we impressed upon him that this was just a 'bad day,' and to a runner, that makes a difference. He felt fine physically, and we decided to head back to the finish to see the last runners come in at the running track on Placer High School. What a good decision.
Most of you have seen a marathon finish. Imagine the intenstity multiplied by 10, and you can begin to feel what it was like. There were easily more than a 1,000 people in the stands and on the infield. The questions "Where is he?" and "How far out are they?" are repeated over and over as the last hour started to tick off. One by one, the last few snuck through until there was only 5 minutes left. Mark was standing on the inside of the first lane cheering like crazy as one person after another shuffled, sprinted, or jogged through.
At 10:56, Helga Backhaus popped through the little gate at the far end of the track. You have to do 3/4 of a lap to get around to the finish, and the crowd started cheering. Helga had a huge bandage around her thigh, obviously struggling. She was also going for her 10th finish at WS100, a 1000-mile belt buckle in the balance. She'd start to run, then have to walk, down the back straightaway, around the far corner, the near corner, then the final 50 yards, where she broke into a run. She came under the arch with about 2 minutes to spare.
Mark was cheering as loud as anyone. "Did you see that! That was great!" he screamed. "She was right ahead of me, and she must have made up an hour on the last part of the course!" I don't think he'd have wanted to miss that for the world.
Which gets me to my point for today's post...you better enjoy what you're doing all the time, not just at the finish line. Sometimes you have crappy days, but that passes, and you do remember the adventure, the good times with your friends, and the way you feel knowing that you took part in something that says "Hey, life is happening, and I'm going to use it!"
My race is in 2 weeks, and both Mark and his wonderful wife Patty will be on my crew to help push me along. Wouldn't have it any other way!
This year, I had two friends who made it into the lottery: Bill Graney and Mark Giebel. Bill is relatively new to ultrarunning, having only gotten involved over the past couple years, but he's a natural. Maybe 5'8" or 5'9", and 150 lbs. He'd run 2 100 mile races last year, and finished in under 24 hours for each. He's 44, my age. Mark, on the other hand is not the typical ultrarunner specimen. He's 6'4", was 207 lbs. at the start. He's 59. On the other hand, he's climbed the tallest peaks on 4 of 7 continents, has been doing ultras for years, and has been a ski patrol volunteer for decades.
The race starts at 5a.m., and Mark and Bill both felt good. I trained a lot with Mark this spring, and he was physically & mentally ready. After sending them off, we went and loaded up the cars, then drove a loooong way around to get to the first stop (lots of mountain roads). Bill was doing great. In fact, he ultimately finished in 26:17, despite a sore ankle which kept him from running much downhill. But Mark, whose crew I was part of, was working. I'm going to tell you about Mark's day.
You don't get to meet your runner until mile 24. This year, the first part of the course was covered by a LOT of snow. Mark told me later that it was snow, ice, mud, streams running sideways off the hill, down the trail as if you were walking upstream, and, oh yeah, a little dry dirt. When he got into mile 24, in about 6.5 hours, he was already looking disoriented, and felt tanked. Keep in mind that this is over the Sierras, with altitudes over 8000 ft.
His wife Patty and I thought immediately that it was altitude. He'd been taking all of his fluids, calories, and electrolytes, so he was good there. We gave him a solution of rehydration salts that usually picks you right up, but that had no effect. We sent him on to the next station, 5 miles on, and hiked across a shortcut so we could meet him there. He walked out of the station, and we encouraged him to do some walking so he could recover a bit.
The problem with altitude sickness is you don't recover too fast. The cure is to get down off the mountain and rest. Unfortunately, if you're doing a 100 mile race, you don't get options to do either. He came into the Bald Mountain station at mile 28.9 and still looked rough. We put on some dry shoes and socks, and got some more liquids down him. It had taken him about 1:45 to cover 5 miles, which is pretty slow for Mark. But by the time he got out of the station, he was smiling a bit, and was goofing off when he ran out, so we felt like he might be improving.
After that, you have to head off to a spot called Michigan Bluff (mile 55) and wait for word. At each station, we'd have a backpack full of stuff that we'd carry with us...hot soup, food, clothes...anything he might want. Next we heard, he'd reached the Last Chance aid station a little before 5:00pm. That meant his pace was picking back up, and we were all very happy.
But then we stopped getting updates, and we started to scratch our heads. After a delay, we found that at the next station, Devil's Thumb, he'd made it through at 6:33pm, only 12 minutes ahead of the cutoff. There are two gnarly canyons in that stretch, and at the next station, El Dorado, he'd made it through at 8:25pm, with only 5 minutes to spare. As we waited there at Michigan Bluff, we watched the minutes ticking toward the 9:30pm cutoff. The station takes up most of a little block with fantastic views of a wide canyon, but the runners come down a blind corner after a 2.9 mile climb. We'd yell out his name as the minutes ticked, until, finally, the aid station captain yelled out "9:30!". Dang.
Mark had come through this section 6 years ago covered in salt from the extreme heat. As the station was closed, we were then free to go out and look for him...there were 7 of us up there! As we headed out and down the trail, we saw the last couple runners coming through, missing by minutes. We met Mark maybe a 1/4 mile out. He was just having a tough day. He told us after leaving us at Bald Mountain, he'd thrown up 8 times, which will basically ruin your electrolyte balance...it's hard to rebuild while you're running, and he had to keep moving.
We walked him back in, and gave him words of solace and encouragement, but as a runner, they're sometimes of little consolation, because we're a breed that's driven both to succeed and to finish. You immediately begin to dissect 'what went wrong.' In 1999, he'd made it to mile 62 and been forced to drop due to dehydration. This time, though, altitude seemed to be the clear culprit, and that' s something you just can't train against unless you live at altitude for an extended period of time.
After a ride back to the hotel and a good night's sleep, though, Mark was in good spirits. I think we impressed upon him that this was just a 'bad day,' and to a runner, that makes a difference. He felt fine physically, and we decided to head back to the finish to see the last runners come in at the running track on Placer High School. What a good decision.
Most of you have seen a marathon finish. Imagine the intenstity multiplied by 10, and you can begin to feel what it was like. There were easily more than a 1,000 people in the stands and on the infield. The questions "Where is he?" and "How far out are they?" are repeated over and over as the last hour started to tick off. One by one, the last few snuck through until there was only 5 minutes left. Mark was standing on the inside of the first lane cheering like crazy as one person after another shuffled, sprinted, or jogged through.
At 10:56, Helga Backhaus popped through the little gate at the far end of the track. You have to do 3/4 of a lap to get around to the finish, and the crowd started cheering. Helga had a huge bandage around her thigh, obviously struggling. She was also going for her 10th finish at WS100, a 1000-mile belt buckle in the balance. She'd start to run, then have to walk, down the back straightaway, around the far corner, the near corner, then the final 50 yards, where she broke into a run. She came under the arch with about 2 minutes to spare.
Mark was cheering as loud as anyone. "Did you see that! That was great!" he screamed. "She was right ahead of me, and she must have made up an hour on the last part of the course!" I don't think he'd have wanted to miss that for the world.
Which gets me to my point for today's post...you better enjoy what you're doing all the time, not just at the finish line. Sometimes you have crappy days, but that passes, and you do remember the adventure, the good times with your friends, and the way you feel knowing that you took part in something that says "Hey, life is happening, and I'm going to use it!"
My race is in 2 weeks, and both Mark and his wonderful wife Patty will be on my crew to help push me along. Wouldn't have it any other way!
posted by Greg Minter at 10:37 AM
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