Years ago, my friend Meghan introduced me to a 100 mile ultra-marathon. Not just any 100 miler, but Western States Endurance Run, the oldest 100 miler in the books. States runs from Olympic Valley in Lake Tahoe to Auburn, California, following the historic Western States Trail (you can read more about the race here: https://www.wser.org/how-it-all-began/).
I loved crewing and pacing for Meghan, being part of the Western States energy. But my second year helping her with her race, she suggested that I should try to get in. It seemed like a crazy, daunting idea, but that little suggestion took hold and became a bucket-list goal. There was just something about the energy at States. The problem is, States isn’t so easy to get into. First, you have to qualify, meaning you have to run one of a select list of milers or 100km that you have to finish under a specified time limit. And until then, I’d only done one 100km, and it hadn’t gone that well. Second, after qualifying, you have to gain entry, which for most of us is through the lottery. Problem is, way more people want to run States than there are entries. In most years, only 369 people are allowed to race due to permitting constraints - in 2022, over 6200 people entered! Each year you apply, your chance of getting in improves (your number of tickets in the lottery increases by “2^(n-1) tickets in the hat for each failure to gain entry where n is the number of years applied), but that also means that you have to keep running and qualifying to get in.
So, I got to work. With Meghan as my coach, I focused my training, and in 2014, found myself back at Waldo 100km as my first attempt at qualifying for States. I had a great race, and a few months after submitting my entry to the lottery, eagerly awaited the results.
Nope.
My number wasn’t called.
Okay, not a surprise, I’ll try again next year (2015 - now with 2 tickets)
Nope, try again.
2016 (4 tickets)? Nope, try again.
2017 (8 tickets)? Nope, try again.
2018 (16 tickets)? Nope, try again.
2019 (32 tickets)? Nope, try again.
2020 - race cancelled, thanks covid
2021 - no lottery since entrants from 2020 were rolled-over
2022 (64 tickets)? ….maybe…..
One of my tickets was finally pulled as #40 on the waitlist. In the five previous years they had had a waitlist, only once had anyone higher than #39 gotten in - last year, when a large number of runners (especially international runners) had to withdraw from the race. So, I figured I would train as if I would get in, but have a qualifying race planned for the summer in case I didn’t. I got into Cascade Crest 100, to be held in July.
In the months after the lottery, I occasionally checked if there was movement on the waitlist. There really didn’t seem to be much, so I focused on being ready for Cascade Crest. I checked that States webpage at the beginning of June (the race is June 25-26), and I was around #18 - I figured there was no way that many people would drop in just a few weeks. Then on June 5, I got a text from my friend Craig, “#10 on the waitlist?”
…8 people had dropped in a few days.
Then I got an email from the race organizers asking me to submit my information to be announced as I approached the finish line in case I got in. I started to think it might actually happen … crap. Was I ready?
I talked to Meghan - if I got in, was I really ready? She assured me I was (it took about 45 minutes to convince me.) I had already reserved a place in Olympic Village in case I got in, so at least I had that in place. Craig had already offered to help crew and pace, and my friend Rick offered to help when I sent out a message seeing if anyone else was up for it. So all that was left was to actually get into the race.
Over the next several days, I obsessively checked the race website, watching as some waitlisters withdrew themselves from the list, others accepted invitations to the race until at the end of the week, I was next. I was the next person in line in case someone decided to withdraw. On Sunday (6/12) night, I finally got the invitation to run Western States - less than 2 weeks before the race.
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| Heat training - so many layers! |
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| So grateful for my awesome crew - Craig, Ross, and Rick |
Surprisingly, I managed to get a decent night’s sleep the night before the race. I went through my race morning routine - eat some food (oatmeal + an egg and a bit of avocado), drink some coffee, apply sunscreen and Squirrel’s Nut Butter, and go to the bathroom a ton of times. And then it was time … we wandered down to the start line. Hugs with Meghan. Then a final hug and kiss from Ross. The countdown, and we were off down the Western States Trail.
I kept telling myself to slow down as we made the climb from Olympic Village to the top of the Emigrant Pass. I kept telling myself that slowing down just a few minutes here would save me tens of minutes down the road. Looking ahead and behind me, I seemed to be about 1/2-way through the pack - isn’t that about where I should be? I could see Meghan a bit ahead of me, but never close enough to reasonably catch-up to her. Glancing over my shoulder I could see the sun rising over Lake Tahoe. So pretty!
There were so many people along the course on those first few miles, and the sides of the trail were packed as we made the last little push up and over the top of the pass. I had envisioned pulling over to do a brief sun salutation, but there was nowhere I could go that would get me out of the way of the people behind me. So instead, I slowed my gait just a bit, took a last quick look back at the lake, then started the descent into the high country.
If this race report had sound effects, now is when you’d hear a record scratch.
As soon as we started downhill, I felt my quads cramp up. Well, crap. Only 20,000 feet of downhill running left to go and my quads are already cramping. I told myself it was more because of the sudden switch from uphill to downhill with little transition between, stepped off the side of the trail to try to stretch them out a little, then rejoined the slow moving parade of runners down the mountain.
Most of the remaining 6 miles to Lyon Ridge Aid Station were downhill on a mix of technical and less-technical single track. I took my time on the technical sections, not wanting to catch a toe so early in the race. It was so stunningly beautiful through here. -The trail wandered through mountain bogs and high elevation forests. The wildlflowers were in full bloom and there were so many plants I’d never seen before. I’ve only spent a little time in the Sierra high country before and this really made me want to come back to enjoy it at a more leisurely pace in the future.
We rolled through the high country on our way to Red Star Ridge at 16 miles. By now, it was starting to get a bit warm. I wanted to make sure to get cool and wet before it really felt hot, so I started to look for a bucket to dunk my shirt in - a volunteer asked me if he could help me with anything and no sooner had I mentioned what I was looking for, and he was pulling my shirt over my head to take care of it for me. Before I had a chance to even put together a sarcastic comment, he was back putting my shirt back over my head as he and another volunteer commented on how I was the only runner who’d done that and how smart I was. Yay me.
From Red Star to Duncan Canyon to Robinson Flat, we gradually made our way down the canyon, and the high country vegetation changed, with oaks becoming a part of the over story a lot sooner than I’d expected. I felt like I was running well, in control on the downhills, climbing strong, and while cautious where it was technical, was making my way well on the flats. Despite that, when I looked at the times posted at each of the aid stations, I was much closer to the time listed for a 30 hour finish than I was to a 24 hour finish. I’d been told that the times posted at the earlier aid stations tended to be somewhat fast, but it still made me a bit anxious to think I was potentially that close to a 29 or 30-hour finish. Not that there’s any shame in that time - I just was hoping for a bit more of a cushion in case things fell apart later in the race. I also couldn’t see any way that I was going to be able to run faster, so I tried to just be confident that I was strong enough to at least keep up my current pace.
Robinson Flat was awesome. It was the first time I got to see my crew and after I stopped by the aid station for some ice for my arm sleeves and bandana, they helped me change into a dry pair of socks and refill my pack. We’d now run 50km, and although I was running slower than I’d hoped, I had been able to eat fairly well and was staying relatively cool.
After Robinson Flat, it was a lovely, mostly gradual downhill run through Miller’s Defeat, Dusty Corners, and Last Chance Aid Stations. I was starting to get a bit nauseas, bit figured that was due to the heat. The day was quickly heating up to be the 8th hottest in race history. I was drinking occasionally from my bladder that had Skratch drink mix in it. I was still eating every 30 minutes or so - till now, mostly Trail Butter, pieces of Payday bars, and peanut butter rice krispie treats, but I was having a harder time finding what looked good to eat. As I was about to leave Last Chance, a volunteer noticed I was chafing on both sides of my collar bone where the combination of continuously dripping water from my ice bandana and the friction from my running pack had worn through my skin before I’d had the thought to put some lube there. She led me to the medic tent where another volunteer skillfully cleaned and me up and with remarkably little pain applied some bandages that held up throughout the rest of the race.
The next 13 miles between Last Chance and Michigan Bluff consisted of two step descents into then ascents out of deep canyons. The canyons were holding the heat and by now were well over 100 degrees. The canyons were pretty, and I didn’t mind the uphill climbs so much as I was hiking uphill stronger than I was running downhill, but the second canyon, El Dorado was especially hot since the sun was shining pretty much directly at us as we descended. In addition, somehow, I’d forgotten about the El Dorado Aid Station, and had somehow convinced myself I’d be coming into Michigan Bluff and seeing my crew. I was so disappointed when I realized my mistake. The aid station crew was great though, and I was well taken care of, and now I knew I’d see Ross, Craig, and Rick in just over 3 miles.
It was awesome running into Michigan Bluff. The whole town seemed to be out enjoying the race. They had broth at the aid station, and it was the best tasting thing I’d tasted all day. I guzzled one bowl before taking a second over to where my crew waited for me. I gratefully sat in a chair for a few minutes as they helped me get my shoes and socks off, then put on a dry pair of each. My feet were swollen enough that the shoes felt snug, but over all it felt good to have dry feet again. I grabbed my lights knowing I wouldn’t make it to ForestHill without them, then headed back down the trail.
Although there was a bit of a climb out of Michigan Bluff, over-all, it was a relatively nice run in the setting sun between Michigan Bluff and Bath Road. I was so looking forward to Bath Road. I knew my crew was planning on waiting for me there, then we’d head into ForestHill and I’d have a pacer the rest of the race. I crossed the gate at Bath, looked around - didn’t see anyone. I called out “Ross?” hoping that maybe he was behind a tree peeing. Nope. Oh. Maybe it took them longer to get to ForestHill than they thought? I trotted up the road, expectantly looking for a familiar face. Almost 3/4 of the way up the road, I finally saw Ross coming down toward me - he hadn’t realized he could come all the way down the road. It was soooo good to see him and have him run with me into ForestHill. I made a quick trip through the aid station to get some ice for my bandana - even after 10pm it was still quite warm, then stopped by my crew to resupply my pack and drink an Athletic Brewing IPA (non-alcoholic). My stomach had turned on me in the heat of the day, and not much sounded good, but I found that I could tolerate “sipping” on the Gu salted lime gels - and thankfully, the aid stations were well stocked with those.
Cal Street was the section where I had paced Meghan several years ago. Now, it was my turn to introduce someone to this section of the Western States Trail. It made me so happy how much Rick seemed to be enjoying himself. The first stretch of Cal Street felt particularly runnable, and while I wasn’t feeling chatty, it was really nice to have someone with me. We made sure to turn off our lights and look up at the dark night sky. The stars were amazing.
I’d love to say that the rest of Cal Street was a nice, easy stroll to the river, but unfortunately, I definitely had some low moments. For one, I was really getting tired. Not surprising, since I’d been running all day, I’d run through over 100 degree heat and it was a very warm night still. But I was also behind in calories, which I was trying to make up for by sipping on gels and drinking coke at the aid stations, but once behind, it’s sooo difficult to catch back up. In hindsight, I also think that this may be where my electrolytes started to get out of balance. I’d been drinking Skratch sports drink all day, which I’ve always done well with in the past, but I found that I felt less nauseous if I chased the gel with a bit of plain water instead of the Skratch. I wasn’t bloating, so that seemed to be good. I was peeing a lot, and it seemed fairly clear, but I thought my frequent urination was due to a bit of bladder sensitivity (not an unknown thing for long distance runners.)
Regardless of the cause, there were definitely a few low points, and somewhere after Peachstone/Cal 2, I stepped to the side of the trail and just started crying.
Poor Rick. I didn’t really give him any warning. I just started crying.
Rick checked in - was I okay? Yep, just need to cry. Some runners came by - everything okay? Yep, all good.
A few minutes later, I took a deep breath, stood up straight, thanked Rick, then started back down the trail. I felt remarkably better. It felt good to at have briefly given in to the the enormity of the emotion of it all. This race had meant so much to me for so long, and I was so glad to be finally running it, and there had been some amazing moments so far, but I was also tired and sore, and it was hard, and I still had a long way to go until I was done.
Before getting in the water, a volunteer put a glow necklace around my neck, then I stepped in the cold waters of the American River.
It was sooooo cold. I quickly started shivering, but it actually felt pretty good to get my whole body cold for the first time all day. As always, there were so many amazing volunteers there - standing in the river, holding the rope for us, carefully telling us where to step - this rock is flat and solid, put a foot there; be careful, there’s a hole there, but you’ll only go up to your chest; don’t step on that rock, it’s slippery. On the other side of the river, I hollered hello to Mr. SNB, Chris Thornley, then pulled myself up the sand bank.
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| Running into the dawn |
At the ALT aid station, I heard a volunteer tell another runner that as long as he kept his pace under 22 minutes per mile, he’d still make it to the finish in time, and my brain clung to that as if it were a life-line. For the most part, I was running faster than that and I knew I could stay under that pace.
We ran into the Quarry Rd. aid station, and as I started to move past the food and ice, I turned around and suddenly found that I was being helped out by Ultramarathon man, Scott Jurek. Scott was repeatedly telling all of the pacers - “Make sure to take the left turn ahead. There’s a left turn ahead; don’t let your runner miss it.” I wanted to make a sarcastic comment about golden hour runners not making mistakes like Jim Walmsley, but my brain was far from being able to piece together anything clever at that point.
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| Don't miss the left! |
Me: “You’re checking your watch a lot.”
Rick: “I’m kinda nervous about the time. I didn’t realize there was so much uphill.”
Me: “Well stop, you’re freaking me out.”
Rick meant well - he knew how bad I did not want to miss the cut-offs. But I couldn’t move any faster. I hiked as fast as I could up that climb, and eventually, we popped out at the highway crossing, then trotted 1/2 mile through the meadow to the Pointed Rocks Aid Station.
This was it! The penultimate aid station and where I’d have a quick change in pacers. I took just enough time to fill my bandana with ice and I drink some coke, then I told Rick and Craig I’d see them at Robie Point, and I headed down the trail with Ross.
I needed Ross there with me those final 6 miles. Nearly 10 years ago, Ross had paced me for the final 20 miles of my first Waldo 100km. Since then, he has been patient and supportive as I chased this dream, and having him there helped me feel calm and just a bit stronger. We made our way through the woodlands, then along the American River, finally crossed no-hands bridge (honestly, a bit anti-climatic without the lights that adorn it at night), then started the final climb up to Robie Point. Several people came down the trail toward us, encouraging us on as we made our way up the hill. One man told us he’s run this several times before, and we should run the sunny spots to get out of the heat, then slow down and hike the shady parts to cool off. That strategy might have worked if the sunny spots were correlated with the flat spots, but at that point, my ability to “run” (really, more of a shuffle) vs. hiking was solely related to the slope of the ground.
The climb seemed to go on forever, but eventually, we could hear cheering and we stepped off of the trail onto the road at Robie Point. I had run out of water, so took the time to top off the small bottle I kept in my chest pocket and at Ross’s suggestion, grabbed a can of coke to drink as we hiked the rest of the little hill.
There were so many people on the road! …but surprisingly, not Rick and Craig. Where were they? After about 1/2 mile, we finally saw them coming toward us - they hadn’t realized they could go all the way up the road, so had been waiting for us lower down. Ah well, they were there now, and I happily now had all three “running” (me - shuffling, them - slowly jogging) down the streets of Auburn toward the high school. It was all I could do to keep myself together, so I tried to stay focused on running as much as I could until I crossed the line. We got to the school, crossed the fence onto the track, then suddenly it was there. I was there. I was a golden hour finisher, running on the track in Auburn with so many people cheering me on.
29:21:53. I crossed the finish line, someone put a medal across my neck. I turned and there was Craig Thornley - I put my arms around his neck and cried. Then I saw Laurie, gave her a hug. Then shuffled around the finishers chute to see Meghan, and once again, started crying as I gave her a hug. I think the first thing I told her was “that was hard.”
Unfortunately, that’s not the case … and although I am honestly a bit embarrassed by this next part, I’m going to share it in case it is helpful for even just one other person in the future.
You see, despite a nice cold shower, and despite sitting down, I was completely unable to eat any food, and pretty much incapable of drinking anything. Instead of my nausea getting better like we all expected, I started to fade even further, until after we tried to start driving north and I had to have Ross pull the car over so I could puke for the 4th or 5th time. Instead of heading toward home, we headed to the Emergency Room.
At the ER, they tested my blood sodium and found that it was down to 124 milliequivalents per liter (mEq/L); normal is 135 to 145 mEq/L. I was pretty significantly hyponatremic. They put me on a 3% saline IV drip (a normal drip is 0.9% saline), and held me for a few hours until my blood sodium got back up to normal levels. Once my blood sodium was back up, I felt pretty good - but there were several hours before that of feeling horrible.
In hindsight, I should have gone to the medic tent when I was struggling to drink fluids after I finished the race. I figured it was due to the heat and fatigue and I just needed some time to let myself stabilize, but they could have tested my blood sodium there - and if needed, given me an IV right there, rather than me having to go those several hours, getting worse, then ending up at the hospital.
As far as preventing the hyponatremia - that’s a bit harder for me to figure out. I did what I was supposed to, I drank to thirst, and didn’t take supplemental salt tablets, which can mask the need for salt. The gels that I was eating had sodium, so I was getting in some, though clearly not enough. There are three things that I can think of that might have contributed: (1) it was really dry and dusty, and maybe what I perceived as thirst as really a dry mouth, so I should have done more of just rinsing my mouth but spitting the water out, (2) blood tests about a month before the race suggested that I might have a sluggish thyroid - there’s some research that suggests that hypothyroidism might be correlated with hyponatremia, (3) I took a ton of albuterol during the race - my asthmatic lungs definitely struggled with the dust, especially the longer the race got and more fatigued I was. Could the albuterol have impacted my body’s ability to process electrolytes? Maybe a bit of all three? Maybe something else I haven’t accounted for. It’s a bit frustrating to not know the cause, since it makes it harder to figure out how to prevent it in the future, but I’m definitely going to be much more aware of potentially peeing too much during a race and seek help if I’m feeling poorly after a lot sooner.
Regardless, I am still super happy to have finally finished Western States. It was such a long time coming and the experience was amazing. I am so incredibly grateful for all of the support and encouragement I have received along this journey - really so very many people have been a part of this, but I have to give special attention to Meghan for being the initial inspiration, and being such an amazing friend, mentor, and coach; Craig Emerson for being an awesome crew chief and paying closer attention to the wait list than I was!; Rick Bushnell for being such an amazing pacer - I knew he’d get me to the finish line before the cut-offs; mom for so enthusiastically cheering me on for so many years and watching our pups for us over the weekend; and most importantly, Ross for putting up with me being so focused on training and racing for so many hours over so many years, the support of this dream has meant so much to me.
What worked:
- Squirrels Nut Butter! …the only chafe I had were the two spots on my collar bone that I don’t think anything could have helped. Pretty impressive given I was running in wet clothes for almost 30 hours.
- Changing my socks frequently - I went through five pairs of socks, and ended up having just a few blisters on ball of one of my feet.
- Taping my toes before the race and my feet as soon as I got hotspots - check on the video on taping your feet that was posted by Western States - good stuff in there: https://www.facebook.com/events/252262747044276/?ti=ls
- Getting wet and cold early and staying that way throughout the day - ice in my Outdoor Research sun sleeves; ice in my bandana (check out http://www.lizahoward.com/2016/07/ice-bandana-hot-runs/); an old, soft cotton t-shirt that held onto water; and a few pieces of ice in my hat and sport bra.
What’s next? I think I’m just going to enjoy the trails for awhile.
(Pictures credit to Rick, Craig, and Facchino Photography. Thanks to Russel for sending me the finishing video!)
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