A gathering of my thoughts on this year’s Western States run in Northern California My Western States 100 mile run, so where do I start? I am notoriously bad at race reports and usually shy away from them but since my pacer wrote most of the second half of this race report, I thought why not.
As some of you might know my son was born on the Friday before I flew out to California and thanks to a very supportive wife, I was on that plane. While I joke about the cost of my run, I would never ever have been on the start line without the overwhelming support and understanding of my wife and chief motivator. It is never easy living with me, but it can’t have been easy living without me while I was off doing what she does best, running!
So first of all, what is the Western States 100 mile run? The Run is conducted along the Western States Trail starting at Squaw Valley, California, and ending in Auburn, California, a total of 100 miles. The trail ascends from the Squaw Valley floor (elevation 6,200 feet) to Emigrant Pass (elevation 8,750 feet), a climb of 2,550 vertical feet in the first 4½ miles. From the pass, following the original trails used by the gold and silver miners of the 1850’s, runners travel west, climbing another 15,540 feet and descending 22,970 feet before reaching Auburn (www.ws100.com).
That brief description does not do the trail or the race justice. This year (2011) was the 38th running of the race which started out as an endurance horse race, the Tevis cup 100. In 1974 Gordy Ainsleigh joined the horses on the start line and the Western states trail run was born. It is some of the most majestic scenery I have ever seen while running anywhere in the world to date. At one stage I actually stopped running to admire the view out over a valley. Well either stop to look or it was look (while running) and trip up.
The road to Northern California is a long and arduous route itself. First you have to do a qualifying run. Mine was the Portumna 100k last year. Picked as it was the perfect distance with a lovely course for what I wanted. Which was a fast and flat course with a lot of support and it was cheap too as that is a huge factor when the main event is a Trans Atlantic air fare away (https://sites.google.com/a/sebfitness.com/sebfitness/events/portumna-marathon).
Portumna is listed on one of the US sites used as a bench mark for qualifying races. This is hugely important. The times for the distances change so check the site for next years qualifying races and standards. This can vary from year to year.
Then you apply for the lottery. If you get in, which for me last year was approximately 1800 people for 219 slots (rumour has it anyway). There is an elite field and five time loser policy and 5 places for a fund raising raffle along with one slot to each running club who man an aid station. The park service has the race limited to 379 runners in total (off the top of my head) to protect the trail and considering that there is quiet a lot of single track trail, the restricted numbers make sense.
After you get in you have to do trail volunteer work which is maintaining the western states trail. So you have to give back to the race and trail. The 5 slot raffle raised 20000 this year (ballpark figure from an official) for buying equipment such as snow ploughs and chainsaws. I myself used the exemption and volunteered at the Connemara 100 miler (https://www.connemara100.com/). They are very serious about giving back and if you don’t, your start number is gone. No questions and no "dog ate my form". I e mailed a scanned copy of the form filled out by the Connemara 100 director and then posted the original just to be sure. Aside from giving back it gave me a lot of insight into different aspects of a 100 miler and helped me realise what a huge undertaking the distance is. I also got to see and talk to a number of runners and crews who each had a very different outlook and race plan. Volunteering at an Ultra marathon gave me an ‘education’ in logistics that I was lacking as someone who had just taken part as a runner. Just because you’re a runner you should never underestimate the amount of effort everyone else puts into your ‘experience’. So thank them for it and maybe volunteer yourself every once in awhile.
I asked a local runner about their options and there seems to be no side door for locals. The running clubs have only one slot for a manned aid station that is hiked into a lot of places, on ridge tops and manned by at least 20 people not counting medical and timing and rescue and officials. And they are there nearly two days before they pack up all the supplies and rubbish and generators!!!
So after making it through the qualifying race, the lottery and the volunteer work, I now had my start number. So off the aeroplane I get and head to the car rental desk to drive the hour and half up the road or freeway to Squaw Valley. Upon arrival the hotel receptionist in this sleepy ski town informs me to remove all the food and food wrappers from the car so at to prevent bears attacking the car. Needless to say I had read that there were bears in the Sierra Nevada mountains but I didn’t expect to have to confront them in the car park. Lo and behold later that night on my way to the lobby to get some fluids, what did I see? A bear attacking the rubbish bin. While he looked huge to me I was informed he was just a yearling and when I saw the speed at which he ran and climbed a tree, I gulped. I could neither run that fast or climb that well but I could play dead really well. So now I started wondering what was going to happen when I left the lovely 4 star car park and headed off in to the little (in no way) bear’s hills.
The next two days were spent in a haze of race briefings and medical studies and race check in. Not to forget the massive amount of carb loading I allowed myself. During my check in medical, I discovered my blood pressure was sky high (for me); due to my apprehension for what would be one of my longest runs to date.
Race morning crept upon me after a very sleepless night. Needless to say as a brand new shiny father, I hadn’t exactly gone much sleep in the lead up to the race. A very timely photo of my new son holding a good luck daddy card played havoc with my emotions. But there I was on the start line with what would be my new found and closest friends for the next two days. The ski slope was lit up by flood lights pitched at various angles on the slope, as sun rise was due for 05:30. And on the dot of 05:00 we were off. I jogged the 50m to the start of the slope and settled into my power walk up the ‘hill’. A half an hour later I stopped to gasp look down over the valley and admire Squaw Valley town from an aerial perspective. So onwards and upwards on this never ending hill till I hit snow. And when I mean I hit snow, I mean I hit it face first. Following little flags and foot prints for the next while gave me time to view a number of spectacular falls and slides. The warning we received about post holing was lost on a number of unfortunate racers in front of me. I met fearless John from Washington who threw himself at icy descents and a veteran of the race, Billy who I would meet off and on till dark came again. Billy shared some invaluable knowledge of the race course and while I may have looked like I was concentrating on breathing, which was quite difficult at the time, it was very well received. I met too many people to list and name here, so if we bumped shoulders, I hope you made it to the end intact, it was lovely to meet you.
So on the day went, after we left the snow field and as we approached midday, the temperature soared, which made running through patches of deep snow in roasting sunshine freaky. I ploughed on and on, eating just about everything in sight and washing it down with fluids by the pint (the USA is definitely not metric). Salt tablets and electrolytes were the name of the game. Some time around mile 50 I started to fade ever so slowly. But enough so that by the time I met Joe Cleary at mile 62, I was cooked and tired. Joe came down from Canada to crew for me and has run more marathons and 100 milers than I have had dinners, and I ain’t no spring chicken. This is the first chance I had to meet up with Joe and since I had planned a slower pace, I had planned to change into my night gear and get my lights. But I was so far ahead of myself and pretty tired, I made one of the largest mistakes of the race. I reckoned Joe had enough time to make it to Foresthill aid station and since it would be still light when I got there, that he should take the night gear and meet Dan, my soon to be pacer there.
Ok, below is Dan’s account of pacing me, my comments are in italics. Joe and Jess (who arrived with Dan and kept up her good humour throughout despite my grumpiness) were crewing but Dan joined me at Foresthill just in time to watch the wheels (all of them, one by one) fall off. What started off as quad pain became a torn tendon in my ankle and pissing blood at the finish line. But you have got to love the yanks, Doctor followed up on my lab results early this morning per E MAIL after I logged in four hours post race to see them. I call that race service!
My recollections of pacing Niall:
After a few e-mails back and forth, it looked I would be a good fit to pace Niall since his goal was to finish under 30 hours. I have run every part of the trail from Foresthill to the Auburn finish, so I hoped my knowledge could help in some way. The morning of the run, I got online and saw that Niall was off at a 24 hour pace, which frightened me a bit, but he mentioned that the latter part of these things is rough on him. Long story short, Niall arrived at Foresthill about 4 hours ahead of 30 hour pace, but I had been there to watch the leaders go through and was prepared to jump in with him.
When I finally saw number 295, I jumped out introduced myself and heading in to the aid station with him. Understanding that this is the largest aid station on the course, it was important to ensure that he got everything he needed, including being weighed. This was the first time that I got to hear his name butchered, but the attempt was a game one (O-cruel-ouch!). Niall grabbed a GU topped off the hydration pack and we were back out on to Foresthill Road. There was a lot of support on both sides of the road, which was appreciated, but what we were really looking for was the elusive Joe with the drop bag which had all my night gear, fresh clothes and lights. We finally realized that we either had to stop and go back or move on and the decision was to roll on down the California Street Trail.
The trail quickly leaves the small town of Foresthill and dives in to the forest. If you look at an elevation map you see that it is pretty much solid downhill from the top of a ridge all the way down to the shore of the American River. We took this time to get acquainted and caught up on the adventure up to this point. As I recall, one of the first things Niall said is, "We don’t have mountains like this in Ireland!" This was the first time that he commented on his quads being shot and running down single track for 16 miles was sure to give it quite a pounding, but much to his credit, we kept a steady pace through the various aid stations. Even at that stage, after 60+ miles, Niall would separate from me on the longer up hills and I would catch him when things leveled out. The weather was unseasonably mild, so we chatted a bit and made good progress down the hill. By the second aid station, it was getting dark and the frequency with which we caught toes on rocks was increasing, so I grabbed my headlamp and gave Niall my spare for the final trek to the river, Dan came prepared for everything. The farthest I have ever run is a 50k, so I had a contingency plan that I would get picked up at Green Gate and meet back up on Highway 49, about 13 miles later. Niall mentioned that he was most concerned about being on his own in the middle of the night, because he figured when that is when he would be experiencing the lowest lows and that I hadn’t a clue how well the trail was marked and if I could follow it having been running all day. So, we cut a deal, if guaranteed not to stop, I would stay with him the whole way. As we got close to the river, Niall made it clear that down hills were not treating him too well (there might have been a couple of choice words here and there), but we never stopped outside of the aid stations. What Dan is trying to say here is that I was very grumpy and using every swear word in my vocabulary and using them all in rotation.
Finally getting to the famous Rucky Chucky river crossing was a site to behold and true to form, Niall blew through the aid station and got help by a brigade of volunteers down the rocks to our raft. We got a quick cruise across the fast flowing American River and were to the far side in no time. The rafter was one slick pro with the oars, considering the very fast flow in the pitch black; he didn’t even seem to be exerting himself. At the far side there is another aid station with a triage unit that we took advantage of and for the first time I got to meet Joe, who hiked down in the dark over two miles to meet us there. Upon removing his shoes and socks, it was clear that Niall’s feet would need some treatment and the physio there got to work popping blisters, treating hot spots and getting him taped up. I grabbed some extra fuel from the snack table while Niall switched out shirts. Unfortunately the one he was looking for was in the car, so he ended up in a long sleeve fleece on what was relatively warm night. Not one to complain, he quickly saddled up and we began a quick, 2 mile hike up the steep fire road to Green Gate.
At Green Gate, we were greeted by the expected enthusiastic team of volunteers who topped us off and pointed us in the direction of the Auburn Lake Trails aid station. We were told to be alert for bears, cougars and a crazy old guy who lives in the woods (seriously). The old guy was easily identifiable by his shotgun, so we were told.T This part of the trail had its ups and downs. There were not too many noticeable hills or long drops, but it seemed to go on forever. I wasn’t too focused on the scenery, because my light was focused on the ground immediately behind Niall, so we just kept trudging along until we saw the Auburn Lakes Trails aid station. There is a steep little drop in the trail right before it levels off going in to the aid station and I could tell it was going to be rough on Niall, but he made it and we headed in to the station. At this point I was a little tired and not too focused on things. Niall asked how long it was until the finish from this point and I said, "Only 13 miles, that’s only a half marathon, you’ve got this!" He didn’t seem too encouraged and upon leaving the aid station was informed by one of the volunteers that it was actually 15 miles to the finish from here! Oops, I think that was my only major failure as a pace on the night, but Niall didn’t say a word, so we just kept going in search of Brown’s Ravine aid station. My not too pleased once again shows how diplomatic Dan is. I had at this stage believed I was closer to the finish and was wondering why nobody else seemed to know this. I finally believed the aid station volunteer as he had a signpost over his left shoulder confirming the 15 miles.
The first part of the trail out of the previous aid station was pretty rough, not too steep down, but full of river rocks which were rough on Niall’s ankles, so we took it slow and crossed a couple of streams before settling back in to his steady pace. At this point there was not much talk outside of the occasional bad word after buckling an ankle or catching a toe on a root or rock. I am not exaggerating when I say that I must have seen Niall twist his ankle about a dozen times and each time he just kept moving forward. There was a point where he muttered about just stopping, but I kept on reassuring him that with his stellar first 60 miles, he had built a full 4 hour cushion against the 30 hour cut off. We were both trying to do the math in our head and before we knew it, but way before we got to the Brown’s Ravine aid station, we could hear music. We were both trying to do the math in Dan’s head as I had decided that it had been an hour or two since I had peed and I needed more fluids. This was an erratum as the actual problem was more likely to be the muscle breakdown compounded by the dehydration. Either way I upped my fluid intake massively. I am still surprised that I couldn’t do the math but realized I needed more fluids. It seemed like they switched songs every couple of minutes and we figured they must have been taking requests. After coming around a bend in the trail we could see the unmistakable glow of the aid station ahead. How they managed to bring out Christmas lights, a sound system and a whole bunch of other stuff to the middle of the woods is beyond me, but I am glad they did. With hours of darkness behind us I thought the lights looked psychedelic. There was another quick weigh in here and the station doctor pulled me aside to let me know that Niall wasn’t in trouble physically but that he seemed to be at a very low point and the best course of action was to get back out on the trail immediately, so that’s what we did.
The next part of the trail took a curving path down to the Quarry Road which runs next to the American River. It is rolling, but relatively smooth and a much appreciated respite from all the rock hopping we had been doing before. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Niall isn’t the rah rah, tell me how great everything is, kind of guy, so I decided that I would try to lead for a bit and see if I could gently pull him along. I tried to break the remaining 10 miles or so in to portions and to just get through each segment. Which worked very well. Off of the Quarry Road there is a moderate climb that goes on a ways, it doesn’t ever get too steep, but it goes on a while and is pretty much filled with ruts and isn’t remotely smooth. The gift you get for cresting the hills is a relatively smooth, pine needled covered trail to the highway 49 crossing. The officials blocked the road so that we could cross and as in all the aid stations, we got a lot of support from volunteers and spectators. Niall was finally able to switch in to a short sleeve shirt and he even got in a quick interview for a documentary being done on the run before we hit the climb out of Highway 49. Another not too long (1/2 mile) hill, but very rutted and rocky in sections. I told him to enjoy this because after a short trip through a meadow at the top we were taking the long descent to No Hands Bridge. Everything up to the meadow was pretty uneventful in preparation for 3 miles of suffering. Most of the trail down to the river is not too steep, but it is rarely flat and had to be hell for someone with shot quads. We passed a couple of people and got passed by one or two, but seemed to get No Hands Bridge in decent shape.
At No Hands Bridge, we just grabbed a couple of things, took a breath and headed out for the final climb. After you cross the bridge, it starts out relatively gentle with some rises followed by almost flat terrain, but it quickly starts getting steeper and even a little technical in places. The sun was already coming up, so we were thankful that most of the trail was covered with trees and heat wasn’t an issue. This was the point where eventual women’s winner Ellie Greenwood ran in to a bear, but she must have been asleep and back in her den by the time we came through. Several times we saw groups of runners out for a weekend run and they all stopped to let us get through and offered their congratulations and support. Which made me feel like a rock star! We finally got to the fire road which is the final portion of the climb before arriving at Robie Point, the last aid station. When we got there, I looked back and No Hands Bridge looked tiny, way down there across the river. I took a cup of coke and when I turned around, Niall and Joe were already hiking up the street, so I quickly caught up for the final stretch. The road eventually leveled off and we began to see people in this residential neighborhood out with morning cups of coffee. A group of boys on bikes rode up to us and asked for Niall’s name, then pedaled furiously up to a group of adults who gathered around the upcoming intersection. When we arrive they rang a big bell and welcomed us to Auburn. About a block later we came up to a woman who said that we only had a half hour to go. I was thinking to myself, there is no way it is going to take us a half hour to get to the finish from here and I was right. We made it to the White Bridge and finally began to congratulate Niall on a job well done. We could see the stadium and the growing number of people on the road. Joe took our packs and we made it through the gate for the lap of honor around the track to the finish line. I don’t know if I was choked up over the experience, exhausted or what, but I don’t think we shared many words. We just took in the sights and expressed our appreciation for all of the spectators cheering Niall to the finish line. I gave him a quick pat on the back and congratulated him on a job well done. Then I ran around the finish to take a couple of pictures.
It was hard, but it definitely reminded me of why I volunteered to pace, to see what it takes to do something like this and try to help someone reach their goal of finishing. You learn a lot about yourself and the person you run with after sharing this sort of experience and I guess if I took one thing, it would be just keep moving forward. There may have been a point, maybe several, where Niall felt like throwing in the towel, but what I saw was someone (as well as many others on the trail), who would have to be dragged off the trail before they would quit. Many people would call someone doing a 100 mile run through the Sierras crazy, but this weekend there were hundreds, probably thousands; running, spectating, crewing, pacing, volunteering and just wanting to be a part of seeing what people can do when they put their minds to it. In this day and age, it is sometimes hard to find inspiration and motivation, but I got 12 hours of it that will stay with me for the rest of my life this past weekend and I would like to thank Niall and all the runners, volunteers and supporters for that.
Niall here again;
Anyway we had finished and the medical tent kept me prisoner for awhile. By the time I landed on the grass in the sunshine, Dan gave up his chair to me. I could have hugged him there and then. And I should have, as I never expressed my gratitude properly to both him and Jess. I was just too wiped. I grabbed my coveted bronze belt buckle and went to the hotel and slept. I woke that evening in time for some real food and last orders in the pub conveniently located next door to the hotel. One beer and I was fit for more sleep.
As some of you might know my son was born on the Friday before I flew out to California and thanks to a very supportive wife, I was on that plane. While I joke about the cost of my run, I would never ever have been on the start line without the overwhelming support and understanding of my wife and chief motivator. It is never easy living with me, but it can’t have been easy living without me while I was off doing what she does best, running!
So first of all, what is the Western States 100 mile run? The Run is conducted along the Western States Trail starting at Squaw Valley, California, and ending in Auburn, California, a total of 100 miles. The trail ascends from the Squaw Valley floor (elevation 6,200 feet) to Emigrant Pass (elevation 8,750 feet), a climb of 2,550 vertical feet in the first 4½ miles. From the pass, following the original trails used by the gold and silver miners of the 1850’s, runners travel west, climbing another 15,540 feet and descending 22,970 feet before reaching Auburn (www.ws100.com).
That brief description does not do the trail or the race justice. This year (2011) was the 38th running of the race which started out as an endurance horse race, the Tevis cup 100. In 1974 Gordy Ainsleigh joined the horses on the start line and the Western states trail run was born. It is some of the most majestic scenery I have ever seen while running anywhere in the world to date. At one stage I actually stopped running to admire the view out over a valley. Well either stop to look or it was look (while running) and trip up.
The road to Northern California is a long and arduous route itself. First you have to do a qualifying run. Mine was the Portumna 100k last year. Picked as it was the perfect distance with a lovely course for what I wanted. Which was a fast and flat course with a lot of support and it was cheap too as that is a huge factor when the main event is a Trans Atlantic air fare away (https://sites.google.com/a/sebfitness.com/sebfitness/events/portumna-marathon).
Portumna is listed on one of the US sites used as a bench mark for qualifying races. This is hugely important. The times for the distances change so check the site for next years qualifying races and standards. This can vary from year to year.
Then you apply for the lottery. If you get in, which for me last year was approximately 1800 people for 219 slots (rumour has it anyway). There is an elite field and five time loser policy and 5 places for a fund raising raffle along with one slot to each running club who man an aid station. The park service has the race limited to 379 runners in total (off the top of my head) to protect the trail and considering that there is quiet a lot of single track trail, the restricted numbers make sense.
After you get in you have to do trail volunteer work which is maintaining the western states trail. So you have to give back to the race and trail. The 5 slot raffle raised 20000 this year (ballpark figure from an official) for buying equipment such as snow ploughs and chainsaws. I myself used the exemption and volunteered at the Connemara 100 miler (https://www.connemara100.com/). They are very serious about giving back and if you don’t, your start number is gone. No questions and no "dog ate my form". I e mailed a scanned copy of the form filled out by the Connemara 100 director and then posted the original just to be sure. Aside from giving back it gave me a lot of insight into different aspects of a 100 miler and helped me realise what a huge undertaking the distance is. I also got to see and talk to a number of runners and crews who each had a very different outlook and race plan. Volunteering at an Ultra marathon gave me an ‘education’ in logistics that I was lacking as someone who had just taken part as a runner. Just because you’re a runner you should never underestimate the amount of effort everyone else puts into your ‘experience’. So thank them for it and maybe volunteer yourself every once in awhile.
I asked a local runner about their options and there seems to be no side door for locals. The running clubs have only one slot for a manned aid station that is hiked into a lot of places, on ridge tops and manned by at least 20 people not counting medical and timing and rescue and officials. And they are there nearly two days before they pack up all the supplies and rubbish and generators!!!
So after making it through the qualifying race, the lottery and the volunteer work, I now had my start number. So off the aeroplane I get and head to the car rental desk to drive the hour and half up the road or freeway to Squaw Valley. Upon arrival the hotel receptionist in this sleepy ski town informs me to remove all the food and food wrappers from the car so at to prevent bears attacking the car. Needless to say I had read that there were bears in the Sierra Nevada mountains but I didn’t expect to have to confront them in the car park. Lo and behold later that night on my way to the lobby to get some fluids, what did I see? A bear attacking the rubbish bin. While he looked huge to me I was informed he was just a yearling and when I saw the speed at which he ran and climbed a tree, I gulped. I could neither run that fast or climb that well but I could play dead really well. So now I started wondering what was going to happen when I left the lovely 4 star car park and headed off in to the little (in no way) bear’s hills.
The next two days were spent in a haze of race briefings and medical studies and race check in. Not to forget the massive amount of carb loading I allowed myself. During my check in medical, I discovered my blood pressure was sky high (for me); due to my apprehension for what would be one of my longest runs to date.
Race morning crept upon me after a very sleepless night. Needless to say as a brand new shiny father, I hadn’t exactly gone much sleep in the lead up to the race. A very timely photo of my new son holding a good luck daddy card played havoc with my emotions. But there I was on the start line with what would be my new found and closest friends for the next two days. The ski slope was lit up by flood lights pitched at various angles on the slope, as sun rise was due for 05:30. And on the dot of 05:00 we were off. I jogged the 50m to the start of the slope and settled into my power walk up the ‘hill’. A half an hour later I stopped to gasp look down over the valley and admire Squaw Valley town from an aerial perspective. So onwards and upwards on this never ending hill till I hit snow. And when I mean I hit snow, I mean I hit it face first. Following little flags and foot prints for the next while gave me time to view a number of spectacular falls and slides. The warning we received about post holing was lost on a number of unfortunate racers in front of me. I met fearless John from Washington who threw himself at icy descents and a veteran of the race, Billy who I would meet off and on till dark came again. Billy shared some invaluable knowledge of the race course and while I may have looked like I was concentrating on breathing, which was quite difficult at the time, it was very well received. I met too many people to list and name here, so if we bumped shoulders, I hope you made it to the end intact, it was lovely to meet you.
So on the day went, after we left the snow field and as we approached midday, the temperature soared, which made running through patches of deep snow in roasting sunshine freaky. I ploughed on and on, eating just about everything in sight and washing it down with fluids by the pint (the USA is definitely not metric). Salt tablets and electrolytes were the name of the game. Some time around mile 50 I started to fade ever so slowly. But enough so that by the time I met Joe Cleary at mile 62, I was cooked and tired. Joe came down from Canada to crew for me and has run more marathons and 100 milers than I have had dinners, and I ain’t no spring chicken. This is the first chance I had to meet up with Joe and since I had planned a slower pace, I had planned to change into my night gear and get my lights. But I was so far ahead of myself and pretty tired, I made one of the largest mistakes of the race. I reckoned Joe had enough time to make it to Foresthill aid station and since it would be still light when I got there, that he should take the night gear and meet Dan, my soon to be pacer there.
Ok, below is Dan’s account of pacing me, my comments are in italics. Joe and Jess (who arrived with Dan and kept up her good humour throughout despite my grumpiness) were crewing but Dan joined me at Foresthill just in time to watch the wheels (all of them, one by one) fall off. What started off as quad pain became a torn tendon in my ankle and pissing blood at the finish line. But you have got to love the yanks, Doctor followed up on my lab results early this morning per E MAIL after I logged in four hours post race to see them. I call that race service!
My recollections of pacing Niall:
After a few e-mails back and forth, it looked I would be a good fit to pace Niall since his goal was to finish under 30 hours. I have run every part of the trail from Foresthill to the Auburn finish, so I hoped my knowledge could help in some way. The morning of the run, I got online and saw that Niall was off at a 24 hour pace, which frightened me a bit, but he mentioned that the latter part of these things is rough on him. Long story short, Niall arrived at Foresthill about 4 hours ahead of 30 hour pace, but I had been there to watch the leaders go through and was prepared to jump in with him.
When I finally saw number 295, I jumped out introduced myself and heading in to the aid station with him. Understanding that this is the largest aid station on the course, it was important to ensure that he got everything he needed, including being weighed. This was the first time that I got to hear his name butchered, but the attempt was a game one (O-cruel-ouch!). Niall grabbed a GU topped off the hydration pack and we were back out on to Foresthill Road. There was a lot of support on both sides of the road, which was appreciated, but what we were really looking for was the elusive Joe with the drop bag which had all my night gear, fresh clothes and lights. We finally realized that we either had to stop and go back or move on and the decision was to roll on down the California Street Trail.
The trail quickly leaves the small town of Foresthill and dives in to the forest. If you look at an elevation map you see that it is pretty much solid downhill from the top of a ridge all the way down to the shore of the American River. We took this time to get acquainted and caught up on the adventure up to this point. As I recall, one of the first things Niall said is, "We don’t have mountains like this in Ireland!" This was the first time that he commented on his quads being shot and running down single track for 16 miles was sure to give it quite a pounding, but much to his credit, we kept a steady pace through the various aid stations. Even at that stage, after 60+ miles, Niall would separate from me on the longer up hills and I would catch him when things leveled out. The weather was unseasonably mild, so we chatted a bit and made good progress down the hill. By the second aid station, it was getting dark and the frequency with which we caught toes on rocks was increasing, so I grabbed my headlamp and gave Niall my spare for the final trek to the river, Dan came prepared for everything. The farthest I have ever run is a 50k, so I had a contingency plan that I would get picked up at Green Gate and meet back up on Highway 49, about 13 miles later. Niall mentioned that he was most concerned about being on his own in the middle of the night, because he figured when that is when he would be experiencing the lowest lows and that I hadn’t a clue how well the trail was marked and if I could follow it having been running all day. So, we cut a deal, if guaranteed not to stop, I would stay with him the whole way. As we got close to the river, Niall made it clear that down hills were not treating him too well (there might have been a couple of choice words here and there), but we never stopped outside of the aid stations. What Dan is trying to say here is that I was very grumpy and using every swear word in my vocabulary and using them all in rotation.
Finally getting to the famous Rucky Chucky river crossing was a site to behold and true to form, Niall blew through the aid station and got help by a brigade of volunteers down the rocks to our raft. We got a quick cruise across the fast flowing American River and were to the far side in no time. The rafter was one slick pro with the oars, considering the very fast flow in the pitch black; he didn’t even seem to be exerting himself. At the far side there is another aid station with a triage unit that we took advantage of and for the first time I got to meet Joe, who hiked down in the dark over two miles to meet us there. Upon removing his shoes and socks, it was clear that Niall’s feet would need some treatment and the physio there got to work popping blisters, treating hot spots and getting him taped up. I grabbed some extra fuel from the snack table while Niall switched out shirts. Unfortunately the one he was looking for was in the car, so he ended up in a long sleeve fleece on what was relatively warm night. Not one to complain, he quickly saddled up and we began a quick, 2 mile hike up the steep fire road to Green Gate.
At Green Gate, we were greeted by the expected enthusiastic team of volunteers who topped us off and pointed us in the direction of the Auburn Lake Trails aid station. We were told to be alert for bears, cougars and a crazy old guy who lives in the woods (seriously). The old guy was easily identifiable by his shotgun, so we were told.T This part of the trail had its ups and downs. There were not too many noticeable hills or long drops, but it seemed to go on forever. I wasn’t too focused on the scenery, because my light was focused on the ground immediately behind Niall, so we just kept trudging along until we saw the Auburn Lakes Trails aid station. There is a steep little drop in the trail right before it levels off going in to the aid station and I could tell it was going to be rough on Niall, but he made it and we headed in to the station. At this point I was a little tired and not too focused on things. Niall asked how long it was until the finish from this point and I said, "Only 13 miles, that’s only a half marathon, you’ve got this!" He didn’t seem too encouraged and upon leaving the aid station was informed by one of the volunteers that it was actually 15 miles to the finish from here! Oops, I think that was my only major failure as a pace on the night, but Niall didn’t say a word, so we just kept going in search of Brown’s Ravine aid station. My not too pleased once again shows how diplomatic Dan is. I had at this stage believed I was closer to the finish and was wondering why nobody else seemed to know this. I finally believed the aid station volunteer as he had a signpost over his left shoulder confirming the 15 miles.
The first part of the trail out of the previous aid station was pretty rough, not too steep down, but full of river rocks which were rough on Niall’s ankles, so we took it slow and crossed a couple of streams before settling back in to his steady pace. At this point there was not much talk outside of the occasional bad word after buckling an ankle or catching a toe on a root or rock. I am not exaggerating when I say that I must have seen Niall twist his ankle about a dozen times and each time he just kept moving forward. There was a point where he muttered about just stopping, but I kept on reassuring him that with his stellar first 60 miles, he had built a full 4 hour cushion against the 30 hour cut off. We were both trying to do the math in our head and before we knew it, but way before we got to the Brown’s Ravine aid station, we could hear music. We were both trying to do the math in Dan’s head as I had decided that it had been an hour or two since I had peed and I needed more fluids. This was an erratum as the actual problem was more likely to be the muscle breakdown compounded by the dehydration. Either way I upped my fluid intake massively. I am still surprised that I couldn’t do the math but realized I needed more fluids. It seemed like they switched songs every couple of minutes and we figured they must have been taking requests. After coming around a bend in the trail we could see the unmistakable glow of the aid station ahead. How they managed to bring out Christmas lights, a sound system and a whole bunch of other stuff to the middle of the woods is beyond me, but I am glad they did. With hours of darkness behind us I thought the lights looked psychedelic. There was another quick weigh in here and the station doctor pulled me aside to let me know that Niall wasn’t in trouble physically but that he seemed to be at a very low point and the best course of action was to get back out on the trail immediately, so that’s what we did.
The next part of the trail took a curving path down to the Quarry Road which runs next to the American River. It is rolling, but relatively smooth and a much appreciated respite from all the rock hopping we had been doing before. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Niall isn’t the rah rah, tell me how great everything is, kind of guy, so I decided that I would try to lead for a bit and see if I could gently pull him along. I tried to break the remaining 10 miles or so in to portions and to just get through each segment. Which worked very well. Off of the Quarry Road there is a moderate climb that goes on a ways, it doesn’t ever get too steep, but it goes on a while and is pretty much filled with ruts and isn’t remotely smooth. The gift you get for cresting the hills is a relatively smooth, pine needled covered trail to the highway 49 crossing. The officials blocked the road so that we could cross and as in all the aid stations, we got a lot of support from volunteers and spectators. Niall was finally able to switch in to a short sleeve shirt and he even got in a quick interview for a documentary being done on the run before we hit the climb out of Highway 49. Another not too long (1/2 mile) hill, but very rutted and rocky in sections. I told him to enjoy this because after a short trip through a meadow at the top we were taking the long descent to No Hands Bridge. Everything up to the meadow was pretty uneventful in preparation for 3 miles of suffering. Most of the trail down to the river is not too steep, but it is rarely flat and had to be hell for someone with shot quads. We passed a couple of people and got passed by one or two, but seemed to get No Hands Bridge in decent shape.
At No Hands Bridge, we just grabbed a couple of things, took a breath and headed out for the final climb. After you cross the bridge, it starts out relatively gentle with some rises followed by almost flat terrain, but it quickly starts getting steeper and even a little technical in places. The sun was already coming up, so we were thankful that most of the trail was covered with trees and heat wasn’t an issue. This was the point where eventual women’s winner Ellie Greenwood ran in to a bear, but she must have been asleep and back in her den by the time we came through. Several times we saw groups of runners out for a weekend run and they all stopped to let us get through and offered their congratulations and support. Which made me feel like a rock star! We finally got to the fire road which is the final portion of the climb before arriving at Robie Point, the last aid station. When we got there, I looked back and No Hands Bridge looked tiny, way down there across the river. I took a cup of coke and when I turned around, Niall and Joe were already hiking up the street, so I quickly caught up for the final stretch. The road eventually leveled off and we began to see people in this residential neighborhood out with morning cups of coffee. A group of boys on bikes rode up to us and asked for Niall’s name, then pedaled furiously up to a group of adults who gathered around the upcoming intersection. When we arrive they rang a big bell and welcomed us to Auburn. About a block later we came up to a woman who said that we only had a half hour to go. I was thinking to myself, there is no way it is going to take us a half hour to get to the finish from here and I was right. We made it to the White Bridge and finally began to congratulate Niall on a job well done. We could see the stadium and the growing number of people on the road. Joe took our packs and we made it through the gate for the lap of honor around the track to the finish line. I don’t know if I was choked up over the experience, exhausted or what, but I don’t think we shared many words. We just took in the sights and expressed our appreciation for all of the spectators cheering Niall to the finish line. I gave him a quick pat on the back and congratulated him on a job well done. Then I ran around the finish to take a couple of pictures.
It was hard, but it definitely reminded me of why I volunteered to pace, to see what it takes to do something like this and try to help someone reach their goal of finishing. You learn a lot about yourself and the person you run with after sharing this sort of experience and I guess if I took one thing, it would be just keep moving forward. There may have been a point, maybe several, where Niall felt like throwing in the towel, but what I saw was someone (as well as many others on the trail), who would have to be dragged off the trail before they would quit. Many people would call someone doing a 100 mile run through the Sierras crazy, but this weekend there were hundreds, probably thousands; running, spectating, crewing, pacing, volunteering and just wanting to be a part of seeing what people can do when they put their minds to it. In this day and age, it is sometimes hard to find inspiration and motivation, but I got 12 hours of it that will stay with me for the rest of my life this past weekend and I would like to thank Niall and all the runners, volunteers and supporters for that.
Niall here again;
Anyway we had finished and the medical tent kept me prisoner for awhile. By the time I landed on the grass in the sunshine, Dan gave up his chair to me. I could have hugged him there and then. And I should have, as I never expressed my gratitude properly to both him and Jess. I was just too wiped. I grabbed my coveted bronze belt buckle and went to the hotel and slept. I woke that evening in time for some real food and last orders in the pub conveniently located next door to the hotel. One beer and I was fit for more sleep.
