Western States 100
2013 Race Report
Prologue: We run ultramarathons for many reasons. We love
the adventure. We need the stress relief. We enjoy the solitude, and/or the
camaraderie. But at its heart the lure of the ultra is simpler than these
things. The essence of the ultra is the opportunity to test ourselves. We run 100km
or 100 miles because we know that no matter how strong we are, the trail will
test our limits. If we prepare adequately and have a sensible plan, there is a
decent chance that we will be able to pass to the test. And then again, maybe
not. We don’t know. Uncertainty gives the test value. No-one wakes up knowing
that they will be able to run 100 miles that day. Maybe they will, maybe they won’t.
Let’s lace up our shoes and find out.
I’ve been running ultras for three years, and marathons for
a few years before that. But I’d never run 100 miles. On June 29-30 2013, not
only did I have a chance to test myself over that distance, but due to one slip
of paper among many being pulled out of a barrel, I had the chance to do that
at the oldest of them all, the Western States Endurance Run. Running across the
Sierra Nevada mountains from Squaw Valley to Auburn, Western States is the race
that everyone wants to run. It was an exciting prospect, but also a source of
anxiety. Could I run 100 miles in under 30 hours? I really didn’t know. But I
wanted to find out, and I wanted to find out at States.
Before the race: Three weeks before the race, I was feeling
really confident. As I’ve noted elsewhere on this blog, I’d had a great block
of training in the heat and humidity of a Hong Kong summer, in which it was
hard to get really big mileage (maxed out at about 70 miles a week over the
last month), but each mile required huge effort in the tropical heat. I’d been
out with running partners that I considered benchmarks, and I measured up well.
I spent 10 and a half hours on Lantau Island on the hottest and most humid day
of the year, which almost killed me, but didn’t. I figured if I could survive
that, I could survive anything.
To give my body time to recover from all this training I cut
back on my miles during the three weeks before the race. I hoped this would
energize me. Instead, I struggled. I felt that I should be gaining energy but
instead I just felt tired. My calves kept twitching, a reminder that they are
susceptible to cramp. I got weird pains in my knees when I did run, and an
irritation behind my right shin, and I worried that these would fell me before
100 miles was up. And after resisting illness for four months, each member of
my family came down with something different, and I worried that I would show
up on race day with a heavy cold or nauseous stomach.
It was great getting to the US a few days before the event,
but my foreboding continued. I met with the awesome ladies from Folsom Trail
Runners who would be my crew and pacers, and had a good couple of days at Squaw
Valley, exploring Lake Tahoe. However, my family and I were jetlagged all week,
and I averaged about four hours sleep each night. What kind of preparation was
that for spending 30 hours on the trail?
The crew (minus Michelle) is ready for action!
Nice and relaxed with the family the night before the start
Start to Red Star Ridge (Mile 16; 8.35am; 211th
place): I tossed and turned on the final night, and woke before my alarm which
was set to 3am. I was staying right in the village so I was immediately in the
throng of runners. I met my crew of Chrissy, Kristina, and Charito (who would
pace me, along with Michelle); they successfully buoyed my spirits. It was
fairly cool at 50°F (10°C), but we all knew the heat was coming. Mainly, I
couldn’t believe that I was at the start line, and that, after six months of
preparation, I was about to start the long journey to Auburn. I’d managed to
eat two huge bowls of oatmeal so was feeling nicely full. I saw some friends
and we wished each other well. Time to run.
The gun went off at 5am, and we ran about half a mile, until
the climb started. One of the many famous components to States is that you do
the biggest climb in the first 3.5 miles of the course, up through the Squaw
Valley ski field. My plan was to take it easy, not worry about placing in the
field, and mainly conserve energy. But as I powerhiked, I noticed that most of
the field had passed me, and I couldn’t help giving a little more effort. I
wanted to be in the middle of the field, not at the tail end, so I gave an
extra push. I passed my friend Alex Tunik, also from Hong Kong, and we nervously wished each other luck. Up and up we went, occasionally turning around to take in the
magnificent views of dawn over Lake Tahoe. Wow. Then, after about an hour, I
made it to the top of the mountain, and went over the hill into the Granite
Chief Wilderness. In terms of views, this was probably my favorite section of
the course, not spectacular like the mountain peaks of the European Alps or New
Zealand (where I’ve run other races), but just really rugged and remote. Long,
sweeping hillsides stacked on top of each other for as far as the eye can see.
And a nice, descending single track that takes you back to the 6000 feet that
you started at over the course of the next seven miles or so.
Going up the first hill (I'm in the blue shirt!)
Looking back at Lake Tahoe in the dawn light as we climb the Escarpment
Granite Chief Wilderness
More wilderness
Hiking the hills (Credit: Facchino Photography)
In this section I initially got a little stuck in one of the
famous conga lines, but I had decided previously that I would not fight against
it, and instead would just wait until the track widened. This saw me go a
little slower than I wanted for an hour or so after the top of the mountain,
but at the same time was a useful exercise in forcing myself to slow down and
conserve energy. I started talking to people around me and met some great
people. All in all, I was in a very good state, feeling like I was running at a
sustainable pace. At this stage I was using a bottle with Hammer Perpetuem
every two hours or so, a GU every hour, and supplementing with water from my
hydropack. I also tried to graze the aid station tables, particularly for fruit
(bananas, oranges, melon). Because of the heat I didn’t plan any splits for the
early stations, but was pleased that I was not too far off 24 hour pace. At
this stage I was fantasizing that despite the heat, I had a 24 hour finish (and
the magical silver buckle) within me.
Red Star Ridge (Credit: Facchino Photography)
The only slightly worrying thing about Red Star Ridge was that
I weighed in somewhat below my starting weight. In general, over the last 20
years, I have consistently weighed about 175-180 lb (79-82 kg), which sits
somewhat skinnily on my 6’3” frame. Over six months of training, I lost about 10
pounds, and weighed in the day before the race at 166 lb. At Red Star Ridge, I
came in at 160 lb. That was just over the 3% loss that they think is acceptable
before dehydration becomes a factor. I had been drinking frequently and had
peed a couple of times so didn’t think that was a worry for me; but I would
have conversations with a number of medics before the day was out!
Red Star Ridge to Robinson Flat (Mile 29.7; 11.57am; 224th
place): I pulled into Red Star Ridge around 8.30am and it was already starting
to get warm. I had a drop bag there and changed out of my long sleeve
Icebreaker (merino wool) top and into a short sleeve running T. This section of
the course took us along canyon ridges some more before our first canyon
crossing at Duncan Canyon, with a long descent and equally-long ascent. It
started getting very hot and I put on my “safari” hat; a cap with a neck flap.
I looked ridiculous but it did a fantastic job all day of reflecting the heat
away from my neck and face. I did the long hike out of the canyon with a couple
of other guys, keeping a good pace, and got to Robinson Flat just after
12.00pm. I’d run 30 miles in 7 hours, which was about where I was hoping to be.
24 hours was starting to recede from possibility but I wasn’t that far away.
More importantly, I felt strong and had the psychological benefit of meeting my
crew here for the first time. I hadn’t realized the value of positive
encouragement but it was tremendously helpful (“you’re looking great!”) and after
getting some hummus and pita bread as a respite from GUs and Perpetuem, I was
ready to go. I told them I hoped to get to Foresthill, at 62 miles, in about 8
hours more.
It's starting to get hot, but I have the hat that's up to the task! (Credit: Gary Wang)
Robinson Flat to Last Chance (Mile 43.8; 2.55pm; 213th
place): Coming out of Robinson Flat we climbed Little Bald Hill and then began
the long descent to Swinging Bridge, through a number of defunct gold-mining
towns. By now it was early afternoon and temperatures felt like they were
climbing above 100°F (35°C). But I was still feeling really good. I wasn’t
pushing it, but I was running consistently and slowly passing people. I’d
trained on a lot of descents in Hong Kong so I had confidence in my quads to
endure the thrashing but still wanted to make sure I didn’t blow them out
before the big hills to follow. During this section I passed Andre Blumberg,
who I’d met in training for the event. Andre is doing the Grand Slam of 100s
this summer and I knew he was not wanting to push it too hard during States.
When I passed him he said he was happy that he was on 27 hour pace – this
surprised me because I felt like I was still within range of 24 hours (though
in reality I was consistently slipping further behind). He also said he was
taking it easy in the heat. At this stage I wasn’t really feeling the heat too
badly so I pushed. I retrospect I probably should have run with Andre for a
while. I thought about that a lot as I was sitting halfway up Devil’s Thumb.
Last Chance to Michigan Bluff (Mile 55.7; 7.31pm; 242nd
place): I had always felt that this section would be the toughest. It was the
hottest part of the day, and I was about to undertake a rapid descent to
Swinging Bridge and then climb up to Devil’s Thumb, and then another rapid
cycle through El Dorado Canyon. Still, going down to Swinging Bridge I felt
strong, and passed a few people on the run down. At the bottom I toyed with the
idea of going down to the river but didn’t feel too hot so kept on the path and
then stopped at a little waterfall that cuts across the trail. Here I doused
myself in icy water and tried to cool down. I also took a GU in preparation for
the energy I would need climbing out of the canyon. Big mistake.
As soon I started on the 1700 ‘ (500 m) climb, for the first
time all day I felt really sluggish. This climb was hard! I thought I would
come right, but the further I went the worse I felt. I stopped, I drank,
nothing seemed to really help. I cursed my friend, Steve Lukey, who had first
told me about States. Then I started feeling REALLY bad. I stopped again, but
before I knew it I was hunched over on the side of the trail bringing the GU
back up. Ugh. I’d felt nauseous before in ultras (OK, I’ve felt nauseous in
pretty much every ultra!), but I’d never actually vomited before. I felt like
crawling into a hole and going to sleep. I sat on the side of the trail and a
bunch of runners came past. They asked if I was OK and I lied (“I’m fine”). I
sat for about 10 minutes, then decided that the race was not going to finish
itself, and slowly trudged up the remaining distance to the Devil’s Thumb aid
station. I had the very real feeling that the wheels were starting to fall off
my Western States fantasy.
I weighed in at Devil’s Thumb at 158 lb. That was a little
scary; it has been many, many years since I weighed that little. I was still
feeling very nauseous and asked if I could sit there. They said I could. They
brought me some crackers and Sprite for my stomach, and I sat there hoping I
could keep them down. A medic with a very intense stare came over to ask how I
was doing. This time I didn’t lie. I was weak and feeling very ill, and I
really didn’t know how I was going to get going. But as I sat there, I slowly
began to feel a little more normal. The medic came back and suggested that I
get going. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’ll stay here a few more minutes.” “No,” he
said, “you need to be going. Sitting here isn’t going to get to you closer to
Auburn, and the blood is going to start pooling in your legs.” It was tough
love, but it was necessary. I didn’t really want to go, but I took some more
crackers, had a salt tablet, and filled my bottle with electrolytes (no more
Perpetuem for me – I’d also thrown up some of that and had no desire to take it
again), and headed down the trail.
Satisfaction with being on the move again was short-lived,
however. I was walking from the aid station when my legs started cramping. The
most violent cramps occurred simultaneously in my calves, tightening them and
so raising my heel so strongly that I could do nothing but lose my balance and
fall over on the trail. Lying there it was not just my ego that was bruised –
my calves continued to cramp and I struggled to reach my toes to stretch them
out. In those moments I just had no idea how I was going to walk to the nearest
aid station, let along run more than 50 miles to the finish. But after an
agonizing minute or so I managed to stretch out, and made it back to my feet
just in time for two people to come down the trail. One of them turned out to
be a medic, Jeff, walking 30 miles from Robinson Flat to Foresthill, looking for
cases that needed his attention. I was certainly one. Jeff helped me make sure
that I was feeling OK, then started walking with me towards El Dorado canyon.
Then, something surprising happened. In his company, after
my challenges of climbing Devil’s Thumb and cramping uncontrollably, in only a
few minutes I started feeling well enough to start a shuffle. Jeff was pleased by
this progress and gave me considerable encouragement to keep it going at a
slow, sustainable pace. Over the next hour I kept up a mix of shuffling and
walking, but it was still very hot and I could feel the heat sapping all my
strength. Still, it was pleasing to be moving forward.
However, I started to feel that I was overheating again as I
approached the bottom of El Dorado canyon. At the aid station right at the bottom
of the canyon I went down to the river and slipped into its icy waters. As I
sat there Andre came to the aid station. I walked back up from the river to see
him – he looked fantastic, really strong and full of energy. I, on the other
hand, started to feel sick and faint and I was dreading what I knew was going
to be a long haul up out of the canyon – not as steep as Devil’s Thumb but a
longer hike. Andre was keen to get going and wanted me to go with him. I said
no, I needed time to get some more food in my stomach and I didn’t want to
start the climb until I was feeling OK. So off he went, and down I stayed at
the aid station, and I was pretty sure that would be the last I would see of
him until the finish (which was true, but not in the way I expected). I waited
another 5-10 mins and then felt a little better so got going. As I started
hiking up I felt some strength return and tucked in behind another runner who
was also feeling the effects of the day and the heat, and the two of us made
good progress up the hill. In fact, by the time we were halfway up, we were
hiking strongly, my cramps and nausea had disappeared, and I was starting to
feel like a different person. At the top of the climb I started running the
very short distance to the aid station at Michigan Bluff; maybe I had some
fight left. The pleasant surprise for me was that my crew, who I had assumed I
wouldn’t see until Foresthill, made it to Michigan Bluff. So, earlier than I
expected, I was able to change everything (shirt, shorts, socks, shoes). It was
about 7.30pm, the day was cooling down, and I’d made it to 55 miles. Things
were starting to look up.
Michigan Bluff to Foresthill (Mile 62; 9.06pm; 212th
place): This short passage was the end of my time alone (since I would pick up
my first pacer, Michelle, at Foresthill), and the start of cooler nighttime
temperatures. In the happy confusion of having my crew appear at Michigan Bluff
I had neglected to take the back up light that I intended to carry in case it
got dark in Volcano canyon. I realized my mistake about 3-4 mins out from the
aid station, but figured it would take me about an hour to get through the
canyon to Bath Road, and that there should still be sufficient light at 8.30pm.
The first part of the trail after Michigan Bluff was uphill, but I seemed to be
hiking stronger than those around me, and when I got to the top I started
running at a good pace. This was the first sign to me that despite my trials
around Devil’s Thumb, I was going to be able to come back. Volcano Canyon is
relatively gentle after the other canyons that the runners have already been
through, and going through at dusk with a growing sense that I had reserves of
energy to be tapped, I really enjoyed this section. The descent into the canyon
was not too steep, and my quads were holding up fairly well from the day’s work
(possibly aided by the stomach problems, which saw me descend some of the
earlier canyons fairly slowly). I powerhiked up the other side to Bath Road aid
station, and was able to maintain a strong pace. I quickly went through the aid
station and then walked up the hill towards Foresthill, getting to the town
just after 9.00pm as it was starting to get fairly dark. Good timing with my
lack of light!
Foresthill to Green Gate (Mile 79.8; 2.02am; 178th
place): Foresthill was a huge milestone. I’ve run a number of 100km events
previously, and always been exhausted at the end. Foresthill was almost exactly
at 100km, so I had been worried that I would struggle after this point, heading
into the great unknown. In fact, I was feeling very good here. I made it in
just over 16 hours, which was the fastest I’d ever run 100km. Michelle, my
first pacer, met me before the aid station and guided me through it. I weighed
in at 160lb (not great, but consistent since my first weigh in about 12 hours
earlier, and I wasn’t losing more weight). I’d heard that the use of the
Foresthill School bathroom was somewhat luxurious, so I made sure I used the
facilities (and I concur with the advice!). Michelle then took me down the road
to our crew. It was great to see them but after changing all my gear at
Michigan Bluff there was relatively little to do besides grabbing some food and
making sure I had both primary and backup headlamps! With that all done,
Michelle and I set off.
Michelle and I ready to go at Foresthill
The next section is another icon Western States: Cal Street.
The trail initially goes steadily downhill for a couple of miles and then
undulates up and down for the next 16 miles, ending at the American River and
the famous river crossing (more on that soon). I’d never run with a pacer
before, since my other events have required runners to be self-sufficient. I
wasn’t quite sure if I wanted Michelle to take the lead, in order to help me
keep up a good pace, or go behind me so that I could push when I felt good but
also take it easier when I needed to back off. In the end it seemed easier to
take the latter approach, so I led and Michelle followed, offering
encouragement, information about the trail, and just making conversation to
keep my mind off all the work that my body was doing. We quickly felt good
about how we were going. I was able to maintain my good pace from the last
section, and started to pass increasing numbers of runners who were struggling
from the day’s trials. I was surprised by the heights of some of the hills; in
my mind Cal Street was for running but there were considerable periods of
uphill hiking. Still, having run over 60 miles, I was still going well when the
trail was flat or downhill. Looking at my pace, I was averaging 15 minute miles
in this section (and much of the rest of the race), which doesn’t sound very
fast but is only slightly slower than I was going at the start (13-14 min
miles). And thus is the ultramarathoning truism; it is not how much faster you
can go towards the end but how little you slow down. I didn’t slow down much in
the last 40 miles, and felt like I was running like the wind!
Michelle and I ran together for five hours, and slowly we
ticked off the aid stations down Cal Street. She had such a positive attitude that
it really kept me feeling upbeat, particularly during the early part of the
evening when I was worried that the sleep demons would attack me. As I had
heard, we would approach the river and then it would recede, but eventually its
sounds got stronger and finally we could see the lights ahead that meant one
thing: the Rucky Chucky river crossing.
Crossing the American River (Credit: Facchino Photography)
The river crossing is a key moment at Western States for
many reasons. It occurs with just over 20 miles to go, so for the leaders it
represents a key marker. For the mid-pack runners, it means that you’re 80%
done; most of us would consider a 20 mile run to be a solid but routine
workout, and now you only need to get that done to finish. But more
importantly, it is a special event in a special race. The Middle Fork of the
American River is a serious river, sending vast quantities of water crashing
through the canyons that it has carved out over millennia. Not many
ultramarathons ford such imposing barriers. Western States has two methods; if
the water is high runners are ferried across in rafts, whereas when the water
is lower they wade across using a cable. Remarkably, standing along this cable
in freezing water are teams of volunteers, so that runners receive precise
instructions as to where to put each step. We reached the river in high
spirits. I weighed in again at 158lbs, having lost the two pounds that I put on
in Foresthill. However, whereas at Devil’s Thumb this indicated a meltdown by
my body, here I was full of energy, and managed to persuade the medics that I
was running strong and feeling great. They quickly agreed to let me on my way,
which was down to the crossing. The water was icy, and the waist-high crossing
saw me suddenly clarify which parts of my sensitive regions had been rubbing
over the previous 80 miles. But I was cracking jokes with (and thanking) all
the volunteers in the river and I got the sense that not all runners were in
such a positive frame of mind at 1.30am. We got across fairly quickly and then
powerhiked up the hill to Green Gate, where I would bid farewell to Michelle
and get Charito as my second pacer. Walking up the hill in wet socks I was
suddenly aware of some blisters on my right forefoot, and worried briefly that
the 1.5 miles to the next aid station would exacerbate them, but in the end
they were OK and in Green Gate my wonderful crew were there with fresh socks
and shoes. And a chair, oh yes, a chair. Sitting down was fantastic, but
temporary. I had 20 miles to run and I wanted that buckle.
Green Gate to Placer High School (Mile 100.2; 7.23am; 138th
place): Charito and I left Green Gate at about 2.00am, in what would pass for
the cool of the night. Other runners felt that the warm night was a major
challenge, but after a summer of heat training in Hong Kong I found it nice and
cool, and it continued to help my energy levels. At the back of my mind I liked
the idea of chasing Andre, who I had last seen at the bottom of El Dorado
Canyon but whom I felt I ought to be catching given my relatively strong pace.
(Little did I know that in fact Andre was chasing me. He’d seen me pass through
Michigan Bluff when he was changing shoes. He also felt good over the final 40
miles and had high hopes of catching me. In the end, we ran almost the same
pace stage after stage and I managed to beat him by 10 minutes!). So I was off
chasing ghosts, not so fast as to be unsustainable, but enough to keep pushing
as much as possible. Charito seemed to think that we were moving well, which
was encouraging, as was her encyclopedic knowledge of the trail (“OK, a short
rise here, then we’ll go through a series of winding corners.”) We started
passing people fairly regularly, and my energy showed no signs of dissipating.
The first aid station we came to was Auburn Lake Trails, which was at the top
of a small but steep rise. For some reason, as we approached it, I decided I
was going to run all the way up the rise. The vocal encouragement that we
received seemed (at least to me) to amplify in volume as I ran the whole way up
the rise; I suspect that at that time of night most people were walking up. 15
miles to go and it was only 3.40am; I had over 7 hours to do those miles and
finish in the required time. I’d been confident for a while that this was
actually going to happen but it was at ALT that I really started to believe. I
was actually going to run 100 miles, and do it at one of the most prestigious
events in ultramarathoning.
Charito and I continued making good progress through Brown’s
Bar, and down to the river below Highway 49. Charito was a very calming
presence, helping me break the remaining miles into manageable chunks and
encouraging me to keep up our pace. We continued to pass people, some of whom
were clearly struggling but determined to tough out a finish. I was pleased to come
across Marcus Warner of the website Ultra168, and shout out “love your work” as
I ran past. The last mile or so up to Highway 49, however, is a climb, and I
began to feel that the day was catching up with me. A runner and his pacer that
I’d passed caught up with Charito and I, and with only 6.5 miles left I was
beginning to struggle for motivation (pretty sure that I would finish and not
too worried about whether it was 26 or 27 hours). But still, it was good
crossing the highway and thanking the police for their traffic control. Then up
to the meadow at Cool, CA, and the long downhill to No Hands Bridge that
Charito promised me was the most wonderful downhill in all of trail running but
I feared, correctly, would be a challenge on my quads which were now pretty
well burnt out. We went past another friend, Jose Nicolas from Singapore; Jose
had dropped at 90 miles last year but now he was looking good and I was excited
for him that he was going to finish. Running downhill with the other runner
from the climb to the highway still right behind me, I suddenly just snapped; I
didn’t need this pressure and I was running too fast given the now dwindling
reserves of energy. I stopped, on the pretense of needing to pee (actually,
dehydration had set in and it was an unsuccessful attempt), and let him go
past. I took another GU (still doing one per hour, and vowing each would be my
last), and then I walked for a while to help it digest. Another runner and his
pacer overtook me. I was only about five miles from home but I was running on
empty. I was hurting all over my body. It was going to be a slog to finally get
to the finish.
We finally got to No Hands Bridge, which sits just below
Auburn. If you get there at night, it is lit up, but we were there about
6.30am, so the sun had risen. I ran down a small slope and stopped at the aid
station to grab a last top-up of water, but as my legs slowed I felt a little
dizzy and faint. My crew had shown up, and it was pretty clear to them and the
aid station volunteers that I was starting to crash. However, since I’d run 96
miles, everyone seemed OK with me taking it easy but keeping on going. I walked
across No Hands eating bananas and chatting with Chrissy, Kristina, and
Charito. I was ready for this day to be over but still had the climb to Robie
Point and the run through Auburn to come. Just as I was about to leave the
bridge I decided that I needed to touch the railing; I didn’t want to cross a
locale as significant as No Hands Bridge without having a tactile sensation of
it. I took a couple of steps over and slapped the railing. As I did so, I
didn’t notice that the bridge sloped down at the side, and I started to fall
towards a railing that suddenly seemed quite short and unlikely to support 6’3”
of tired runner. Charito let out an anxious cry and I managed to get my
balance. I had not run for over 24 hours just to fall into the river! Onward
and (literally) upward.
And, suddenly, I was still tired but I was running again.
Just after the bridge we passed one of the runners who had come past me before
No Hands, and then the runner who’d been breathing down my neck came into view
ahead. Charito told me that my wife Sasha had got up at 6am and driven herself
and our kids (Max, 9, and Alyssa, 6) on the wrong side of the road (Hong Kong
shows its British heritage by driving on the left) to Placer High School, and
they were waiting for us to finish. Suddenly I wanted to be with them. We ran
to the base of the hill and then started hiking up. Before too long, we started
meeting people who had come down from the top. We were climbing up to Robie
Point. Which is one mile from the finish. It was just after 7am. I had four
hours. I was going to finish States.
Not far to go (Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun)
Charito bringing a tired runner home (Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun)
Satisfyingly, the runner who had passed me stopped into the
Robie Point aid station but Charito and I went straight past. We continued
hiking up and then met Kristina at the top of the hill. The three of us started
running down, and I had enough energy in some final reserve to put in a pretty
solid pace through the streets. The benefit of not finishing in under 24 hours
was that at 7.15am plenty of people were up and cheering on the runners. A lot
of people were saying, with what seemed genuine feeling, “Congratulations.” I
was almost there. We continued running down, then up a small rise, then down again.
Then Kristina took off (OK, so I wasn’t running that fast!) to coordinate with
everyone at the finish, and shortly after we followed, making it to the
hallowed ground of the Placer High School track.
One more, and final, iconic location at Western States. Most
ultras finish on a dusty trail, or a carpark, or a field. States finishes on a
real track. You go into the high school and run 300 meters around the track to
the finish. Unless you are Brian Morrison (look it up), or you get there at
10.59am, if you get to the track then you get to finish States. And, if you’re
lucky, you get to celebrate with your family and friends. Charito and I made it
to the track and sure enough, Sasha and
the kids were there to join me for the celebratory finish. I had worried that I
would be crying my eyes out at the emotion but having my family there just made
me excited and happy. Down the back straight I suddenly yelled out, to no-one
in particular, “I’m on the track!” I really couldn’t believe it, after all the
hard work of the previous 26 hours. The great thing about Western States was
that there were a bunch of people around, and they all seemed to get it: “Hell
yeah, he’s on the track!” We ran around the track together, then Charito peeled
off to run down the pacers’ lane leaving the kids and I to make it down the
home stretch and under the finisher’s arch in 26 hours, 23 minutes, and 1
second, for 138th place, out of 388 who started and 277 who finished
within the 30 hour cutoff. I’d passed over 100 people since Michigan Bluff, and
from Foresthill had been passed by only a handful of other runners.
The kids and I are almost there. Charito is racing us behind the Roctane banner. (Credit: Tonya Perme)
Across the line! (Credit: Facchino Photography)
Max takes the glory. Alyssa looks after her Dad. (Credit: Facchino Photography)
I hugged Sasha and the kids, and then Chrissy, Kristina,
Charito, and Michelle. It had been a team effort, but we’d done it. I’d done
it. I had no idea if I could actually run that far, in the heat, up and down
steep hills. But I did. You really have no idea what you’re capable of until
you try it. The crazy thing is, despite vomiting and cramping that you would
think should derail such an endeavor, I had a really great day. I spent 90% of
the day feeling strong and in control. I dealt with the 10% where I felt
terrible. Of all the ultras I’ve run this was without a doubt the best executed
race that I’ve attempted. To do that on my first 100 miler, and at Western
States, is pretty unbelievable. That’s why this race report is so long. I’ve
written it for me, so that I remember this amazing day. Thanks for taking the
time to join me.
Buckles of greatness: with fellow Asians Jose Nicolas and Andre Blumberg (Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun)
Time to put those 8 lbs back on! Celebration meal.
Epilogue: Thanks
This was a solo pursuit made possible by a huge team of
people; thanks to all of them.
First, thanks so much to Chrissy, Kristina, Charito, and Michelle for all the help getting me to the finish line (and Jennifer for the moral support). It is possible that I would have made it on my own. But it would have been slower, and more importantly, it would not have been half the fun. All my previous races have been solo efforts. But crewing and pacing are big parts of the US ultra scene, and when I got accepted for States I wanted to experience that culture as much as possible. Accepting Chrissy’s kind offer of help was the best choice I could have made. Chrissy, you were a fantastic crew chief. Everyone kept my spirits up and made the whole day so great. I really owe everyone in the group so much.
Thanks too to Kevin Moore, of Optimum Performance Studio in Hong Kong, for working with me on my stride – 100 miles and my knees were fine!
Huge amounts of praise for Craig Thornley (race director) and the incredible team behind the legend that is Western States. The legend is alive and well. It is simply unbelievable how much passion goes into this event. It was such a privilege to be able to participate.
Finally, training for an ultra takes a tremendous amount of time, and I was very aware that this was time I wasn’t spending with my family. One needs a very understanding spouse, and I'm very lucky to have that! Then they all had to entertain themselves for 24 hours, and wait with me in a hot tent just so that I could get my buckle. Sasha and the kids provided such amazing support for me, and I'm just so grateful.
The following was supposed to have been read out by the Western States PA announcer but there were too many other people finishing with me:
“And so much love to my amazing family Sasha, Max, and
Alyssa -- without you I wouldn't have even made it to the start line! Now that
Daddy's finally had his midlife crisis, let's all go to Disneyland!”
And we did!
