Our story
starts on a cold (well, probably not that cold) winter night in Hong Kong, in
December 2017. I was fast asleep. At some point, around 4am, I needed to use the bathroom. Because I’m addicted to my phone, I checked it for messages; sometimes
there is a NY Times headline about Trump that definitely needs my immediate
attention. On this night, there were a couple of texts from friends I had made
five years ago at a race; the Western States Endurance Run, a 100 mile race
through the Sierra Nevada mountains and canyons of Northern California. There
was also a text notifying me of a transaction against my credit card. Weird. I
look at the messages. From Charito: “Ummm sooo you’re in???” From Jenn:
“Congrats Will!!! I cheered loudly when I heard your name!” What the hell is
going on? Oh crap – they would both have been at the Western States Lottery
that happened overnight. The lottery they hold because they have 4909 people
wanting to run the race, held every year in June, and only 261 slots available.
The lottery where I had an 8.9% chance of getting drawn. The lottery that just
drew my name!!! My first thought: I’m in big trouble.
[If you’re
a glutton for punishment you can read my race report from 2013 here. Warning:
depicts vomiting and mild psychological trauma]
Why do 4909
people want to run this race, and is it worth the hype? It is, after all, just
a race on a bunch of trails like many others. The views are pretty good,
particularly in the first half of the race, but not as stunning as the Kepler
Challenge in New Zealand or the CCC (Cormayeur-Champex-Chamonix) around Mont
Blanc, both of which I’ve also done. The race is difficult, but not as tough as
the Northburn 100 miler I completed last year. There are lots of other great
events to do out there. The Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge, a 300km
sufferfest all over Hong Kong, finished with me running, hunched-over, to a post box, in front of a small group of maybe 10 people, but for some reason
Andre Blumberg doesn’t have 4909 people trying to enter it (yet).
Yet, there
is something very special about States. I’ve been there twice and there are a lot of reasons why people see it as one of the most important (and hyped) races on the ultra circuit. Maybe it is the history, as
the oldest 100 miler in North America, now in its 45th year. Pick up
any book on North American ultrarunning and you’ll find stories about Western
States. The trail itself is a historic monument, traversed by Native Americans
and then gold miners before anyone thought to race over it. The race is a de
facto national championship, attracting elite runners from the US and around
the world, freaks of nature who cover the difficult ground at ridiculous
speeds.
But mainly
it is the community. This race lets in 369 runners in total and has 1700
volunteers. At popular aid stations there is a waitlist to join, just to
squeeze icy water on hot runners and give them drinks and food and positive
vibes. There is a party in Squaw Valley for a couple of days before the start
and another one in Auburn at the end. And everyone involved, from runners to
volunteers to crew to pacers, want nothing more than for each of the 369
runners to get to the finish line. It is a massive love-in that makes it
impossible not to leave with a more positive view of the human species than you
had before you arrived. If we can pick each other up when we’re lying on the
trail on the climb up to Devil’s Thumb, we can solve all the other ills of our
society. You look around our world and wonder where we’re going, then you go to
Western States and see love and hope. OK, and pain and suffering. But that is
all self-induced so just get over yourself.
1. Preparation
Training
for the race had gone well. In February I completed the 300km Hong Kong Four
Trails Ultra Challenge (officially “survived” rather than “finished”), which
took me a little less than 72 hours. Originally that was to be my big challenge
of 2018 but then my lottery ticket was selected for States. Once you’re in
States, you don’t really have any choice but to go, so after HK4TUC I took a month off
and then got back into training. Unfortunately, life also got in the way which
saw me traveling to the US for work twice in the weeks leading up to States. This was not an optimal training strategy but I made it work, logging some
pretty good miles where I could (including a 50km run along Florida streets),
and just constantly fighting jetlag. My coach, Scotty Hawker, gave me a great
program to build up to the big event and I managed to max out at about 120km
per week.
I arrived
in Squaw Valley on Thursday morning, a little less than 48 hours before the
start of the race. Unfortunately, the main gift I brought from my family was a
cold my son had passed on to me the week before. I was pretty much better by
the time I got on the plane to fly to SFO (the day before), but still it
lingered, and when you’re running 100 miles you have enough to worry about
without sickness adding to your anxiety. I’d met up with my wonderful crew the
day before in Auburn (finish line); Charito, Jenn, Kristina, Chrissy, Lisa, and
Paul. We’d met in 2013, the first time I raced Western States; five years
later, we were getting the band back together. The crew would meet me several
times during the race to help me change gear, take on food, and generally raise
my spirits, and then Kristina and Jenn would run with me over the last 40 miles
as “pacers.” They came up to Squaw Valley on the Friday to hang out for the final race preparations and to be there for the start on Saturday morning.
I kept a
fairly low profile as I tried to get over my cold but had some fan-boy moments
when Ryan Sandes, the 2016 winner from South Africa, sat down at the table next
to me, and with fellow HK runner JP Santer and his friend Al, I managed to have a quick chat with him. Lots
of other people around were well-known within the niche group of runners we found
ourselves in. But before I knew it, it was Friday night, and I went to bed
early to make sure I got some sleep before the early wake up.
My
expectations for the race were uncertain. Five years earlier I’d completed the
race in 26 hours and 23 minutes. This gained me a bronze belt buckle, which
everyone finishing between 24 hours and 30 hours (the maximum time) received.
Completing the race under 24 hours gets you a shinier, silver buckle. I felt if
I had a perfect race I could sneak under 24 hours, but it would mean running
2.5 hours faster than last time, despite being 5 years older. Plus, my cold had
blunted my 24 hour ambitions. First and foremost, I just wanted to finish in
under 30 hours, and get my 2nd buckle. If 24 hours seemed on, I’d go
for it, but not at the expense of finishing.
2. Perspiration
My alarm
went at 3am but I was already awake. The race was starting at 5am. Quick
breakfast, make sure everything in my pack was organized, then out the door. As
I passed from the hotel into the cool morning air, I started running, just to
see how I was feeling and to help deal with nerves. My legs felt strong and I
bounced along the road. I took this as a good sign. On this morning, I was
feeling better than I had in at least 10 days. Maybe I recovered from the cold
just in time. I signed in, got my bib (#212), and found my crew along with
fellow runners JP and James. It was pretty dark but the sun was about to rise.
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| The "Before" picture: Excited and ready to run |
To set the
scene, the race starts at the bottom of the Squaw Valley ski area, and the
first thing the runners do is climb about 700m up through the ski field, up and
over the top and then down into the Granite Chief Wilderness. Maximum altitude
is about 2600m above sea-level, high enough that you can expect to feel the
effects of the thinner oxygen if you’re not altitude-adapted. Last time I’d
taken the hill slowly but then got stuck a succession of conga lines on the
narrow tracks of the Wilderness, so this time I was keen to be a little more
aggressive (hopefully without overdoing it – a fine line!).
We counted
down the last few seconds and then the shotgun fired and we were off, most of
us equal parts excitement and anxiety. I got into a good rhythm, with some
jogging where it was less steep and then hiking the steeper parts. As I looked
around I seemed to be successful in pushing myself higher up the field than at
the same time last year. About halfway up I noticed that I had caught up with
Fiona Hayvice, an elite New Zealand runner I’d met earlier in the week who got
5th last year. I figured I should try to keep behind Fiona, or else
I was going too fast. However, a little further up the hill I found myself
feeling good and going past her. I assumed she would pass me later.
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| At Cougar Rock, just past Lyon Ridge Aid Station |
After an
hour I crested the top of the escarpment, having climbed 700m over 6km from the
start. I turned around to soak in the magnificent view of sunrise over Lake
Tahoe, then started downhill towards the Wilderness. The next section was
single trail through pristine alpine back country, generally moving downhill
but with some short, sharp uphills. Since we were still relatively high the air
was noticeably thinner and so I tried to make sure I wasn’t pushing the pace
too much. Still, I arrived at the first checkpoint, Lyon Ridge, 15 minutes
faster than five years ago, right on 24 hour pace, at 2 hours 12 mins. I was in
108th place.
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| Being helped by Elvis at Duncan Canyon Aid Station. Credit: Tonya Perme |
The next
couple of sections went pretty well. We remained above 2000m in altitude, and I
was able to run a good pace that was keeping me slightly in front of the 24
hour splits without using too much energy (or so I hoped). On the descent into
the Duncan Canyon aid station I stopped to pick up a gel packet that someone
else had inadvertently dropped and then Fiona came running past; I was actually
pretty relieved because I didn’t want to stay out in front of the strong
runners for too long! I rolled into the aid station about the same time as
James and was immediately helped by a volunteer dressed as Elvis Presley.
With so many people helping at the aid stations there was always someone who
would come up to you as you arrived to ask how they could help – filling
bottles, getting food, taking stuff out of your pack. And they all work hard to
raise your spirits so that when you leave the aid station you’re feeling on
Cloud 9. It is all pretty amazing and the secret to the Western States
mystique.
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| Starting to get warm on the descent to Duncan Canyon. Credit: Facchino Photography |
By now it was
starting to get hot and on my way down to the bottom of Duncan Canyon I felt I
was overheating. At the canyon bottom there was a stream that was deep enough
to dunk yourself in, and so, for the first of several times that day, I took off
my pack and underwent full immersion (except for my feet; trying not to get
them too wet in order to protect them from blisters). It was incredible – air
conditioning on maximum and when I started up the hill on the other side it
felt like my core temperature was significantly cooler. However, this good
feeling was temporary. The climb rising 400m took about 7km, and as it went on
and on I started to feel less than perky. In fact, my stomach was going south,
and I was starting to feel very nauseous. I attribute this more to the altitude
than the heat at this point, but I had to stop at several points on the climb
to let my stomach settle. However, I got to the next aid station, Robinson
Flat, in 6 hours and 53 mins, which was 7 minutes ahead of the 24 hour
schedule. This point marked about 30.3 miles, or 49km, and it was my first
chance to see my crew since the start. I’d cracked the top 100, and was in 98th
place.
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| Walking with James out of Robinson Flat Aid Station |
Paul was
waiting just ahead of the aid station to guide me to the team. There was a seat
for me for sit on (dangerous, but Lisa had been given the job of calling out
every minute that passed, so that I didn’t hang around too long!), an ice towel
to put over my head, cold drinks to imbibe. I needed to eat something so I took
an avocado and chicken tortilla wrap with me to munch on the next leg. Charito
and Kristina helped me to change my shoes and socks, trying to save my feet
from the worst excesses of the day. These were all small things but as a
combination it was great to get me moving again and in a good head-space. As I walked out of the checkpoint, munching
(somewhat gingerly) on my avocado wrap, I joined up with James who was being
crewed by our mutual friend Mark. James and I walked together for a
while, talking about the next section and how we’d try to manage the developing
heat and the canyons. Once we started running, my pace was slightly faster and
I found myself alone again but with several runners just ahead or behind.
From here
we started a long, 13 mile (21 km) descent to the canyons. Over this time the
course drops over 1000m, and as you descend the air gets easier to breathe but
it also gets hotter. We knew by the time we got to the bottom of Deadwood
Canyon (the first one), the temperature there would likely be over 40° C. We
also knew that our quads would be absolutely trashed by the constant downhill.
So the trick was to run smoothly and consistently so as to keep to the 24 hour
splits but not overdo it since there was still more than half the race to go.
For me,
this also marked a crucial part of the race. Five years previously, I had felt
pretty good through this downhill, but once I started climbing out of Deadwood
Canyon, going up the aptly-named Devil’s Thumb, the wheels fell off and I lost
over an hour as I vomited, cramped, lay by the side of the trail and generally
felt sorry for myself. My aim was to make it up Devil’s Thumb in one piece.
This time
things were looking better. I seemed to be running more within myself but even
so, I hit the bottom of the canyon an hour faster than last time. I took my
time and had another dip in the creek, which was again beautiful and it was
hard to get the motivation to get out of the water and start hiking up the hot,
steep, dusty trail. However once I got going I managed to keep a consistent
pace, and I got to the top rather uneventfully, so I gave myself a treat by
sitting at the aid station in order to drink some Coke and ginger ale and have
a popsicle. Again the aid station volunteers were incredibly warm (and not just
in ambient temperature!) and helpful. But they did throw me out before I could
get too comfortable.
The only
problem was that I wasn’t eating enough. My stomach was again feeling nauseous
since it was so hot so I didn’t feel like eating; but it becomes a vicious
cycle where not eating makes you feel worse. I was getting calories through my
Tailwind drink but that wasn’t enough. As I set off from Devil’s Thumb it was
another long downhill (5 miles or 8km) to the bottom of El Dorado Canyon, and
then another climb up to the town of Michigan Bluff, where I’d see my crew.
This was the part where I hit rock bottom last time, so I was happy enough to
be moving smoothly. However, I didn’t feel great, and the downhill seemed to go
on and on forever. When I got to El Dorado I had another dunking in the stream
there, then was dilly-dallying around getting ice to keep cool and drinking
more Coke when JP strode up. The last time I’d seen him was the start line; I’d
started faster and had been 20 mins ahead at Robinson Flat, but since then JP
had hunted me down like the Terminator (since he’s Austrian, a valid
reference). He was looking good even though it turned out he dislocated a
finger in a fall near Duncan Canyon! It was the last I’d see him all day – he
invited me to come with him on the hike up to Michigan Bluff (in the exact
position where Andre Blumberg had done the same thing five years earlier), but
I declined in order to have a chance to get my stomach in line for the 600m
climb to come.
Whereas in
2013 this climb went better than I expected, and marked the beginning of a
resurgence, this time I struggled. I was feeling low and the climb went on and
on. Because I was earlier than last time, it was earlier in the afternoon and
the course was hotter. But mainly my lack of calories was affecting me – I was
bonking. I was very relieved to get to the top about an hour later. Despite the
fact that my strength was flagging, there were some good signs; I was here two
hours earlier than in 2013, and still ahead of the 24 hour splits by 5 minutes.
When Charito asked me what I had been eating, I said “Um, nothing really”, and
I got the stare from the crew chief that told me all I needed to know. I had a
few bites of another tortilla wrap (I seem to remember some negotiation with
the crew chief over how many bites), then got up and set off again.
From
Michigan Bluff the trail goes through forest then down through the fairly mild
Volcano Canyon. It sounds like it should be the worst but in fact it is the
easiest, going down 300m then coming back up 200m to the town of Foresthill. I
still wasn’t feeling great but I was moving reasonably well; to no-one’s
surprise I had my final dunk of the day in the creek at the bottom of the
canyon. The hike up to Foresthill Road took some time but my powerhike was
working well and so I didn’t lose much time. It was a relief to get to
Foresthill – I had lost about 10 minutes against 24 hour pace in that section,
which meant I was now slightly behind the suggested splits, but nothing to get
unduly worried about.
Foresthill
is a big psychological milestone. It marks 100km, a massive distance so you
feel you have achieved something significant. But you still have 60km (38
miles) to go. From here the running is generally easier – no big hills, just a
few small ones and then two near the finish that seem big but really are not
(it is just that you’re near exhaustion by then). Also, at this point, if you
want, you can have someone run with you as your “pacer.” Having a pacer is
fairly unknown in most other parts of the world and I am not used to using
them. However, most runners at States will use them and I found last time it
was a great boost to have company with you as you start running into the night.
It also made a nice contrast with HK4TUC – in that event I was alone for most
of three days and three nights, so another runner sharing the trail with me and
helping to motivate me was something I was looking forward to. The plan was for
Kristina to pace me from Foresthill (62 miles) to Green Gate (80 miles), then
Jenn would do Green Gate until the finish.
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| Taking a break at Foresthill. Had left my hat at El Dorado so borrowed a more stylish one from Charito |
Kristina
and I left Foresthill at 7.21pm, which was 14 hours and 21 mins after starting
and about six minutes behind 24 hour pace. I was in 128th place; had
dropped a few places through the canyons but was pretty satisfied with how it
was going. Our plan was to try to get in front of the cutoffs to make a cushion
for ourselves, then we could relax a little. Even though I’d dropped time over
the last couple of aid stations I was fairly confident that I could catch up,
but I knew I didn’t have much margin for error. The first stage from the town
would take us along the Cal Street trail, down into a canyon and then along its side. It had been dark the last time I’d done this section but now it was still
light and I enjoyed the views of the river at the bottom of the canyon. We made
good progress, passing several other runners, and by the time we got to
Dardenelles (Cal-1), we were back on schedule, having caught up six minutes in
less than four miles. I felt great, we were running well, and we were about to
easily get ahead of the schedule for a silver buckle. I took a drink of Coke,
then ginger ale, then Kristina set off (with instructions to set a pace that I
would need to work hard to keep up with) and I followed. Only a few steps out
of the aid station, though, and I stopped. All was not well in the
gastrointestinal tract of this runner. At first I just felt bad, then I
realized everything was coming back up. And, to keep my 100% streak at Western
States intact, I vomited. This time it was just the soft drinks I’d consumed,
so it didn’t feel debilitating. But I certainly didn’t feel great. After a
minute or two we started walking and then a few minutes later began a slow jog.
We kept like that for the next section, a five mile (8km) section to Peachstone
(Cal-2). We didn’t do too badly because we reached Peachstone also on scheduled
pace. We spent a little time here as Kristina made me eat some boiled potatoes and
some more avocado wrap. From here we continued to Ford’s Bar (Cal-3) and then
Rucky Chucky, the famous river crossing. At this point the race crosses the
Middle Fork of the American River, where the river is controlled by a dam
upstream. Some years they put runners on boats but both years I’ve forwarded it
using a wire they string across the 30 metres or so. It is a welcome variation
from running since it comes at 78 miles, and the water is beautifully cool in
the evening air. We reached it just after 11pm, more than two hours ahead of
2013, and back on pace for a 24 hour finish. Kristina and I then hiked the two
miles up on the other side to the Green Gate aid station, where her work would
be done and I’d have 20 miles to go with Jenn guiding me home.
We got to
Green Gate at 11.45pm and in 122nd place; 5 hours and 14 mins to go
if we were to break our target time. In 2013 it took me about 5 hours and 20
mins to run this last 20 miles so the signs were optimistic, even if we still didn't have much margin for error. After
a short break to change shoes for the final time and munch down some more food
(OK, just a little), Jenn and I set off. This last section is relatively flat
except for a gradual but never-ending rise before Auburn Lakes Trail, then a
climb from Quarry Road up to Pointed Rocks, and then the final climb from No
Hands Bridge to Robie Point, where you enter the town of Auburn and have 1.3
miles left to complete the race. Each of these we navigated with relative ease
while never being able to let up on our constant forward motion. Having left
Green Gate about five minutes over schedule after our short break, we got to
Auburn Lake Trails one minute over, and then the next aid station at Quarry
Road, 90.7 miles completed, at 2.24am, one minute ahead of the scheduled time
for 24 hours. The aid station captain told us that we were right on the cusp,
and that we’d be OK if we were moving well but not to waste any time at aid
stations. We didn’t. I still felt fairly relaxed but it was frustrating that
after going so long and despite moving fairly well, we weren’t getting ahead of
the time targets. I didn’t want to be the person who finishes in 24 hours and 5
minutes, particularly since who knows whether I’d ever get a chance to run a
sub-24 time at States again. We started to hit a good rhythm, though, and were
passing more runners than were passing us. In fact, slightly earlier, just out
of the Auburn Lake Trails aid station, we’d come past a runner and pacer moving
slowly and I realized it was Fiona! I had a quick chat with her and it was
clear that her race was not panning out as she had wished – she wouldn’t make the
top 10 this year. But it was pretty inspirational that an elite runner was
still gutting it out to get the finish, even if that might be for the bronze
buckle. On the other hand, I selfishly figured if I was passing Fiona then my race wasn’t turning out too badly.
After
running the flats out of Quarry Road, and running a section where I remembered the sun rising in 2013 (but now was still pitch black at about 2.45am), we
started the long climb up to Highway 49 and then Pointed Rocks. This climb is
not very difficult but after 90+ miles it was certainly a challenge. By now
there was quite a group of runners, like me all chasing the 24 hour target. We
were a band of (mainly) brothers, willing each other on with competition only
against the course. Up we climbed, past the spot where
unbeknownst to us the race leader, Jim Walmsley, had stopped for precious
minutes since a mother bear was in the middle of the trail and her cubs were up
a tree next to it (no bear appeared for us). We crossed Highway 49
(unmistakable sign that we were back near civilization) and continued climbing
up to the Pointed Rocks aid station with its American flags all laid out to
welcome us in. We were now a full five minutes ahead of 24 hour pace – this seemed
like a luxury! We didn’t dawdle though, and after a quick drink we continued
on. Jenn wanted to text the crew, and suggested I go ahead since the next
section was a three mile downhill trail known locally as “The Luge.” Five years
ago I’d got to this point hitting empty, quads in pain, almost done and in no
real hurry. This time I had my skates on and as curiously sometimes happens,
found that my legs were in good condition despite everything they’d been
through over the previous 22.5 hours, and Good Lord I was able to actually run.
After a few minutes I turned and couldn’t see Jenn anywhere. Either she was
taking her time texting the others or I was going fast enough to drop her (it turned out she had been helping an injured pacer in order to let a runner continue on). In
the world of 100 milers it is socially appropriate to drop your pacer if you
can; on one hand I figured she wouldn’t be too far away but on the other I didn’t want to finish without
her in the group! But you can’t worry about your pacer when you’re only five
minutes ahead of the silver buckle. On and on I went, passing several
now-familiar runners, who quipped “Didn’t you have a pacer?” “She’s coming
soon” I confidently replied. Far from the destroyed quads of five years ago I
was enjoying it this time, though I was relieved when I heard and then saw some
traffic, which I knew meant that No Hands Bridge, the second-last aid station and 3.4
miles from the finish, was near.
I’d got to
No Hands last time in the dawn light at about 6.30am, but everyone said it is
nicer in the dark when it is lit up with fairy lights. This time I was there
just before 4am, and they were right. The clock showed I was now 10 minutes
ahead of schedule, consistently gaining time and starting to look safe for
silver. I stopped for 20 seconds to grab a last drink and then I was off. “Tell
my pacer I went this way” I told the aid station captain. Across the bridge,
making sure that unlike last time I didn’t almost fall off (I knew Charito
would be proud), and then started the final hill up to Robie Point. Initially
the trail goes up gently, and miracle of miracles I was running it. Where this
last burst of energy came from I’m not sure but I passed another runner who was
shuffling slowly up. A little further on I heard “Will!” from behind – Jenn had
caught up. I was really pleased. We ran a bit further and slowed to a walk as
the pitch got steeper. This last climb keeps going longer than it should and
near the top gets quite steep, which is the last thing your 98 mile legs want.
But you keep pushing yourself forward, still trying to do 24 hour math and
making sure you haven’t made a mistake and you’re not going to be a first
bronze buckle. Eventually you hit asphalt and then you see the last aid station
and you’re in among the houses. We bypassed the aid station (you’re only 1.3
miles from the finish), but another 400m or so is still uphill. Suddenly I was
done. Completely out of energy, nausea beginning to pick back up, and
adrenaline fading as the silver buckle seemed safe. I commented to Jenn that
five years ago I’d got to this point and was sad that my Western States
adventure was about to end, whereas today I just wanted to get to the finish
line. We kept walking up, really having to dig deep, and then we crested the
hill, and just on the other side saw Charito and Kristina. The four of us
started running down together, through the streets of Robie Point, with several
other runners ahead and behind us as we all headed to the track at Placer High
School. I was crawling along but starting to relax. Suddenly we were across
the bridge and we could hear Tropical John on the loudspeaker announcing the
runners as they were finishing, and then we were on the pathway that leads to
the track. I did a little jump (last remaining energy) and there I was, for the
second time in my life, running 300m on the Placer High track to bring my
Western States Endurance Run to an end. Chrissy was there videoing it (showing
me with a bit of a lean and very tired-looking frame); Jenn followed me round, and I crossed the finish line in 23 hours, 43 mins, 27 seconds. I
finished in 110th place; given that I’d been in 108th at
the first checkpoint I had been very consistent all day. Emotion washed over
me. Like any good kiwi male I didn’t actually cry but was overcome with emotion for
about 30 seconds. Once my emotions settled down I high fived my crew, found a seat for a minute or two to
just take it in, and then saw Al; “where’s JP?” I asked. Al told me he had just
finished 10 minutes earlier and was in the medical tent. And there he was!
After he passed me at El Dorado Creek, JP had stayed in front of me, but never
more than about 30 mins ahead; then, over the last couple of hours I caught up
but not quite enough. It would have been great to catch him on the track – I’ll
have to be faster next time!
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| Silver buckle time! |
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| Happiness and relief! |
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| The "After" picture |
3. Postscript
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| Calling home, under the watchful eye of the NZ flag |
I came in
among a large group all sneaking in under 24 hours, which was great. But to be
honest, while I was psychologically elated, I felt pretty nauseous (the
technical word in New Zealand English is “crook”) for the next few hours. It
was 5am, dawn was beginning to break, and I was completely buggered (another
technical term, used in its non-literal form). Chrissy had set up an amazing
tent city (complete with New Zealand flag) near the track so we all went over
to recover. First thing I did was call Sasha in Hong Kong and talk to her and
the kids. Then Chrissy had some chicken quesadilla made and had bought some
Bundaberg Ginger Beer (Aussie Aussie Aussie!) and had a paddling pool filled
with cold water for my feet. True luxury. Then it turned out in the next tent
she had a camping cot laid out for me to sleep. Truer luxury. I slept the sleep
of someone unexpectedly upgraded to Business Class at the gate.
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| With JP: Two happy Hong Kongers |
But after an hour or so the morning was hotting up and I awoke. We had to wait around until early afternoon because (1) that is when they award the buckles and I was going nowhere without mine and (2) I couldn’t check into my hotel until 2pm anyway. So I ate some breakfast without much joy but at least it made my tummy feel slightly better, and watched people come around the track, like Scotty Mills (for the 19th time), Nick Bassett (oldest ever finisher at 73 years old), and Austin Tweitmeyer (son of the legendary Tim who finished the race 25 times and won it 5 times). As the clock approached the deadline of 11am, 30 hours after the start, the crowd got bigger and more excited to welcome in each finisher. A bunch of people came around the track in the final 10 minutes and the final finisher was Manouch Shirvanioun, at 29 hours, 56 minutes, 55 seconds. Then, just after the clock strikes 11am, a few final runners come into the track. The crowd goes wild, cheering for these poor souls who ran 100.2 miles in slightly more than 30 hours, so they will receive no buckle and no place in history (at least this year). Hopefully the sound of the cheers will reverberate in their ears for some time to come.
Then the
buckle ceremony, in a tent protecting us from a day as hot as the one before; then
final hugs with my crew, then to the hotel, then a couple of hours lost as I
passed out on the bed, then a shower (yes, in that order), then a ridiculously
large American sandwich and fries that my still-recovering tummy could only
take about 25% of, then back to a much longer sleep, then JP and Al picked me
up at 7.30am for a ride to the airport, then a 13 hour flight back to Hong
Kong, then back to my family, who asked me the right first question: “Where’s
the buckle?”
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| Paul, Charito, Kristina, Will, Lisa, Chrissy, Jenn. Note the subtle way Paul and Jenn are showing off their buckles! |
Thanks to
my family for indulging my Western States obsession and not griping when I got
back in. Last time they all got to come for a California holiday; this time the
kids were at school and we’d just adopted a new cat. Of course, the bigger
problem having an ultramarathoner in your family is that person disappearing
off for long periods to “just go for a run” – I’m lucky to have a supportive
family who accept that this is good for Daddy’s mental health.
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| What it's all about: The Silver Buckle! |
To Coach
Scotty Hawker – thanks mate, it’s been a big year! Your help has been essential
in getting the most out of this old, gangly body. Two and a half hours faster
than five years ago is not bad going! And still keeping me healthy so that I
can turn up to the next start line. What’s next?
Yes, there
are lots of races out there, and none of them has a monopoly on drama and
celebration of the human spirit. But there is something a little bit special
about Western States. For me, a large part is the friends I’ve made over my two
trips, but it’s also everyone involved, and the trail itself. It calls to me,
and maybe I’ll answer the call again, one of these days.
