WS Report Part II: This Time, It's Personal

Okay, so I got super-lazy about scribbling a single, massive writeup of the race experience and have been kicked in the arse by numerous people for doing so. Apologies. (Thanks for the pics Karen, Leslie, and Gary!)



Dad?

Race morning: 5AM sure rolls around early in Squaw Valley. Gary and I dragged our butts to the start, half dazed/totally exhilarated. The overall energy was enough to take your breath away (if the race itself wouldn't do that for you).



LET'S GET READY TO SNUGGLLLLE - er - RUMMMMMBLLLLLE!

Kate said she hadn't been nervous until pretty much the very moment this pic was snapped. I spied Hal up front at the start alongside Geoff Roes and Anton Krupicka, joking around. Before I knew it, Greg, the race director, was up on a ladder with a microphone, informing us that race founder Gordon Ainsleigh would say one sentence, which he - somehow - managed. God love Gordy, but you give that guy a microphone...well, suffice it to say: Don't give that guy a microphone :)



I can only dream of looking like this when I'm approaching 70

The countdown from 10 seconds out started, and BLAM, off went the shotgun, and "Woo!" screamed a bunch of runners and crew members, and then...well, that was it.

Gary had hiked up to the first aid station to watch the pack climb up, so I opted to hide out in the restaurant area and try to catch some z's. I passed out on a bench in a tucked away area as I heard volunteers cleaning up the place. Gary phoned me to say he was nearly to the front door, so I roused myself, feet dragging, to meet him. I tried the front door.

Locked.

I tried the side door.

Locked again. While I was asleep, the volunteers had locked everything up and taken off.

Gary was pacing on the other side of the windows, trying to figure out where I could get the hell out, and I felt like I'd seen this in a movie before.



Finally, I found a remote back door, gritted my teeth, grasped the handle, and...WHEW. Sweet release.

We'd planned on jumping in early-on at aid stations, but from the looks of things, access was fairly limited, and chasing Hal would actually be cutting it close due to his speed. So we opted to meet him at 2 accessible aid stations: Michigan Bluff (mile 55) and at the elementary school (mile 62). We hauled ass back to our hotel in Truckee, then grabbed our gear and raced down to Auburn, checked in to our hotel, and figured out Hal's approximate arrival time at Michigan Bluff, only 10 miles from the hotel.

Gary and I hung at the aid station at Michigan Bluff, enjoying the pomp and hugeness of the race (I've never seen more than 5 volunteers at an aid station - this place was HOPPING with both them and "fans"), meeting with and talking to crew members (one in particular was gregarious as hell. He invited Gary and me to stay with him if we were ever in Boseman, Montana). Then, the crowd burst into cheers - the leaders were pulling in! yay, Hal!

Wait. That's Anton and Spanish ultra-champ Kilian Journet.



Geoff Roes, Kilian Journet, and Anton Krupicka. It's not the heat, it's the stupidity...of running 100 miles.

They were in and out of the aid station in the blink of an eye. I have never, EVER before seen anything like the well-oiled machines that were their crews.

A few minutes later, the crowd began again to cheer. Go, Hal!

Oh. Wait. That's Geoff Roes.

Again, lickity-split, and he was gone. I knew when Hal rolled in, I would get precious few seconds with him, so I readied my recorder and braced myself.

Within 5 minutes, I saw Hal's telltale visor bobbing through the crowd, coming right at me. He weighed in, refilled his bottles, and I ambled up to him.

Me: "Sorry, man. I warned ya I'd be here."

Hal: "Hey, brutha!"

Me: "How's it going out there?"

Hal: "It's getting warm, but I don't think that's gonna change."

And BOOM, off he trotted.

Gary and scrambled to the car and floored it to the next aid station, only 6 miles away by trail, 3 by road. At the pace they were running, we'd barely be ahead of the leaders after parking and setting up.

Now THIS is an aid station: Music blaring, scads of onlookers, announcement upon announcement over the loudspeakers. It felt more like a party than a place runners would eventually be crashing out in chairs later on, whining and sobbing.

Down the street came Anton and Kilian: They weighed in, got new bottles, and off they dashed yet again. I was stunned. A few minutes later, Geoff rolled in, made the same, amazing transition, and - with a huge smile on his face (which would be a harbinger for things to come), off he sprinted.

I was a bit suspicious about Hal's race, as he hadn't snatched up any distance between the front runners. Again, I saw his visor trotting down the sidewalk to the school, and I gave chase as he weighed in.

Me: "Anything changed since I last saw you?"

Hal: "Nah. I'm just glad to be here."

He lingered a moment, then took off to an SUV where his crew handed him fresh bottles. But in doing so, I noticed something was off: Hal was walking. And walking. In fact, he walked a good 1/4 mile with his pacer to the next section of trail.

Again, we leaped into the car, this time, heading for the finish. We'd have quite a wait (remember: We last saw Hal at mile 62), so we grabbed a mid-afternoon meal and found our way to the track/finish, getting completely lost at the first stab, although I knew that we'd get VERY used to our way from the hotel to it eventually (exit I 80 south, cross over interstate, right, left, left, right, park).

Hanging out at the finish was surreal. As you know - if you run these races - the most you get at a finish is MAYBE a few hands clapping and a "Good job!" or two. Well, the grandstands were PACKED, tents were set up all over the infield with products to test, and music was pumping.

But seriously: If I hear "Running on Empty" once more time, I will give Jackson Browne his well-deserved black eye.

An announcement finally came: Geoff Roes had passed Anton and will be approaching the track in approximately 10 minutes. This blew my mind, as the course record stood at 15 hours, 36 minutes, and Roes was poised to finish close to 15 hours! The buzz was hilarious as all of the ultra-geeks (myself included) began nerding out.

If you too want to nerd out, here is Geoff's final mile approaching the track.

As Geoff entered the track, the place went berserk. He crossed the finish in 15:07, running a 7:30 mile the final mile. Unreal. And Anton pulled in only a few minutes later in 15:13, both of them crushing the previous record. I had a sinking feeling about Hal, so I went to the "Where's My Runner" tent to see where he last checked in, but their internet was down. I texted my pal/crew member Mariko to see if she could find any info, but as she saw, Hal had checked out of the elementary school, where I'd last seen him.

I grabbed a few quick words with Anton (the best part: He was answering my question and his pacer pulled of his shoe. The, "DUDE MY TOE!" still echoes in my ears) and parked myself in a chair, exhausted.

50 minutes later, Kilian crossed the finish. I began wondering if Hal was still even on the course when I heard someone say, "Hal dropped at mile 80." What?

Apparently, he'd come into the race with an achy ankle, and I'd find out later from him that his running gait was compromised due to it. After 80 miles of running wonky, his hips were killing him, as well as the ankle. The only logical choice was to drop.

I hate to do this, but...

MORE TO COME SUCKAHS

FINALLY: My Western States report

It's flat-out bizarre, writing a "report" about a race, having not run it, having not crew or paced for it, but whaddya know: Here I am!

Gary and I headed down to Squaw Valley (God bless him and his Subaru) with media passes in hand to chase around Hal and Kate, documenting them for a piece to submit to This American Life (that enough links in a row for ya?). We made it down in 11 hours, dumped our junk and gear at the hotel in Truckee, and grabbed some dinner. After some good ol' fashioned, restless sleep (on my end - man, were my wheels turning/grinding), we woke up to meet Kate and her crew near the start in Squaw Valley for packet pickup.



Ugly, right?

She seemed more than ready to run the race, and I shadowed her every step through the pickup process. MAN, Western States does it right! Check it out:



After snagging some sweet schwag, getting weighed and her blood pressure taken, Kate was off to relax. Next up, following the Big Dawg: Hal.



Me, as far away from Hal I would get for the entire day

Hal opted to swing by packet pickup towards the very end, as he wanted to conserve energy and knew people would be wanting to catch up. So I shadowed him through pickup (he dropped some GREAT sound bites for me - dude knows the drill), and while he was (pictured above) getting his BP read, the volunteer asked him if he'd run the race before. Hal, being the most excellent dude that he is, was sheepish and humble.



"Yeah...I've finished it as well...ahead of 400 people.

Once those duties were polished off, Hal headed back to home base, and Gary and I ran a 10 miler with Leslie before showering and eating home made pasta at Kate's condo.

Okay, let me take you back about 6 years, when I first began running: I became particularly obsessed with running trails (because it's the ONLY WAY TO RUN) and became a member of an online forum that now, speaking frankly here, sucks. But back then, there was an "ultra running" group, where I'd first befriended Kate and Leslie. Years later, we would meet by fate and happily become intertwined in one anothers insane endeavors.

Thing is, what got me interested in running a 100 miler was a race report from Western States by a runner called "Mudrunner". It was heroic, humble, hilarious, and...another "h" word I can't quite dig out. This was "the moment". I actually said aloud, "I will run 100 miles."

To use Hollywood terms: CUT TO:

Dinner at Kate's condo.



Drumroll please.

While we're eating, I meet Kate's pacer, Glen, who is in from Vancouver, Canada (he'd be running the final 40 miles with Kate as support). We chit-chat, I ask him if he'd run Western States, he answers yes, in 2004, but he'd paced a friend a couple of years ago, when he and Kate had met.

Something sparked in my wee brain.

Me: "Are you 'Mudrunner' online?"

Glen: "Yeah. Why?"

I was sitting face-to-face with my inspiration to run a 100 miler. AT the 100 miler he'd reported on.

(((((((CREEPY ORGAN MUSIC))))))

Me: "Holy shit! I'm Rustyboy!"

Glen: "Holy shit!"

Me: "I met Kate and Leslie by chance on the trails a couple of years ago. I was all, 'You're KateMD! And YOU'RE Fatozzig!"

Glen: "Wait - Leslie is Fatozzig?!" he asked, poniting at Leslie. "I KNOW YOU TOO!!!!!"

to be continued

Forest Park marathon...report?

Jeff: "I am SO lucky to put my arm around this sweaty guy YET AGAIN!"

I find it difficult to write a race report for marathons, since I run about 2/week while in heavy training, so I'll quickly sum up yesterday's:

1. Jeff and I hung together for 24 miles, yammering away. I'm sure I talked both ears off about Western States.

2. Jeff pulled away at the 4 hour mark, leaving me with my own thoughts...which involved Western States.

3. My attempt to finish in "4:20" to get a photo of me standing beside the clock, pretending to toke on a joint, was missed by 8 minutes due to the fact that I'd banged the hell out of my quads on a hilly long run Friday.

4. There are really evil trail bandits in Portland that move course markers at every race. Wendell (the RD) has no idea how to beat them at their game.

5. Working a 7 hour shift after a marathon - on your feet - really is miserable. And knowing you have 15 miles the following day doesn't really help.

6. I had a blast! So nice to do a training run that's supported and with other people.

7. Seven! That's a good number to finish a list with.

Hello! Hello! Hola! I'm at a place called...

...VERTIGO!

- Bono

As of right now, I'm supposed to be around mile 30-35 of the PCT 50 Miler, out by Mt. Hood. I, however, am not. This is not because I'm a coward -



- it's because for about 10 days, I've had this stuffy-head-feeling goin' on, and an annoying, omnipresent ringing in my ears. Wednesday afternoon, on my way back from running errands, I started getting the feeling that planet Earth was moving, even when it really wasn't. This sent me into a panic, which - as we know - is the best thing to do when you don't feel well. So Annie, with her amazingly calm demeanor, suggested we check out an urgent care clinic, just to see what was going on.

Turns out my blood pressure was 170/100! The doc suggested we head to the E/R and see what's what. So we did. And let me tell you, if you're having a near panic attack, and your BP is extremely high, THE E/R IS THE LAST PLACE YOU NEED TO BE.




And this was just the admitting nurse

My BP was 190/100 at this point, so Annie got them to fast-track me to a room. Within minutes of being out of the lobby, my pressure had dropped to 170/90. EKG, CT scan, strength tests, all of that shit, and what did they say?

"Hmmmm. You should see a doctor."




Um...aren't YOU a doctor?


So yesterday, I met my new Doc, and he flat-out rocks. Also a runner, when he asked if I exercised, and I told him I'm training for a 100 mile race, he muttered, "You people are (effing) crazy!"



We aren't crazy...okay, maybe this guy is. But just a little.

(sidenote: He went to feel the glands under my arms, but I was sweaty and therefore apologized. Said the doc: "No need to apologize. I look at buttholes."

He told me that I have an acute, benign case of vertigo and that it should go away after a few days. I'm still a wee bit "spinny", but nothing like where I was, and my BP is back to normal. BUT, I'm not out by Mt. Hood, running the PCT 50, which is a mild bummer.

To help throw me a pity-party, please press this button.

Wow: jz, part 3

From the nether regions of the universe (and beyond), my amazing friend reached back to me once more, again placing her hand on mine.

Without my knowing it, Julie put me in her will, and I received yet another gift from her today - on this overcast, warm, wonderful summer day.

jz, you rock!

Wow

I've taken this past week to digest what my Western States experience was, but the only summation I can wrangle is:

Wow.



No, not "WoW"


Kate and Hal were incredibly accommodating, allowing me to chase them around with my recorder at packet pickup Friday before the race, where they were weighed in, had their blood pressures taken, given a shitload of amazing schwag. Seriously. I would have gladly taken the killer backpack, technical shirt, and jacket and headed home.

Without going into too much detail, I was able to snag Hal at the mile 55 aid station and at the mile 62 aid as well for a couple of words. As for Kate - I ran the last 1.3 miles to the track with her, recording away. What I ended up getting seals my thoughts that this piece has true potential.

Oh, and I finally - after 3 years of "knowing" one another online - got to meet with a weary, yet somehow still smiling Gretchen around 4AM, as Gary and I wandered in a sleep-deprived state at the track. As I quite suspected, she flat-out ROCKS!

Gary and I returned Monday late evening, beaten and bedraggled. Of course, this meant we woke up the next day and hammered out a hilly 23.5 miler, giddily recapping what we'd just been through.

(Side note: Best moment of my time with Hal - as his blood pressure was taken, one of the volunteers - a middle aged woman - asked him if he'd run Western States before.

Hal: "Yup. 8 times."

Her (smiling): "And how many times did you finish?"

Hal (sheepishly): "Six."

Her (with an impish, "good for you, little fella!" grin): And what was your fastest time?

Hal: "16 hours."

Her: "HUHN?!?")

STATES, BABBEEEEE

'Scuse me - I have credentials

One week from today, Gary and I will be in Squaw Valley, picking up interviews from Mr Western States, Hal Koerner, bearded superhero runner Anton Krupicka, my ass-kickin' pal Kateand Western States founder Gordon Ainsleigh. Then, Saturday morning at 5AM, my bud Gary and I will begin the 30 ishhour process of following both Hal and Kate, from aid station to aid station, for the duration of the race.

It's weird to have reached this point for the piece (in case you missed the entry...EXPLANATION). It's kinda surreal. I imagine it will be slightly more surreal at 4AM, in the middle of nowhere, when I'm punch-drunk and bleary-eyed, asking Kate, "How do you feel?" Somehow, I think our conditions will be similar.