Vermont 100 Race Report

Great success!

"Cautiously optimistic."

That's the best way to describe my mindset leading up to the Vermont 100 in Windsor, Vermont this year. I had put together some intel about the course, the layout, the terrain, the elevation...all the essentials when preparing the mind and body to run 100 miles. I was still sore from my disappointments at Western States, but was eager to turn the page and move on. I had heard nothing but good things about Vermont since I signed up for it earlier this year and, I am pleased to report, the race did not disappoint.

I am going to hit some of the highlights of my day and talk a little about the course itself rather than spend too much time chronicling everything that took place during my 21+ hours that I spent out there. There are a few things that I found to be different from the race reports that I had read in preparing for this one (in a good way) that deserve mention.

The first thing I would say is that Vermont was tougher than I expected it to be. The elevation is sneaky - the VT100 website touts over 17,000' of climbing and descending, a number that I initially questioned but found to be spot on after checking my Garmin after the race. The course is not particularly technical. Many of the climbs are on hard-packed jeep trails that are, for all intents and purposes, roads. There's some single track but I would say it makes up around 10% of the overall course. The climbs just keep coming at you, one after another, all day long. It adds up. Conversely, the downhills are very runnable. Most of the descents are gradual, long, gentle grades that seem to encourage you to hammer them pretty hard, especially early on.

Like I said, most of this course is very runnable. If someone were to take an aggressive approach to this race early it could definitely pay off with a great time. On the other hand, it could also backfire later on. I had heard plenty of stories of Vermont runners who did not strike the proper balance and struggled or even completely blew up as a result. This was in the back of my mind as I considered how to approach the race. My plan was to "run to comfort". I never wanted to feel like I was pushing too hard, but at the same time I wasn't going to hold back simply for the sake of holding back. I knew it would get tough at some point, so the farther along in the race I was when that happened, the better. So aside from the steeper hills that I would certainly hike, I planned to run - casually, easily, at conversational pace. But, run nonetheless.

As far as my nutrition (always a dicey thing for me), I chose to put myself on the clock. I set a timer on my watch to beep every 45 minutes. This is something I did not do at Western States; in fact, it's been a while since I have been so meticulous about taking in calories. I often choose to listen to my body and eat when hungry, but this approach can be deceptive - particularly when burning an inordinate number of calories either from running at altitude or from running hard. I do not train to the watch, and rarely race with it, but I needed a new approach. I worked out a new plan with my nutrition coach, Meredith Terranova. My calories early on would be carried with me - Huma gels, Gu Roctane, and Tailwind. I would take a gel every 45 minutes and supplement by sipping my Tailwind. If I saw anything that looked good at an aid station I would enjoy it, but that would not be my primary source of calories. My crew would top me off at the aid stations with fresh supplies as needed per Meredith's plan. This was a 180-degree change from my Western States plan, and I am pleased to say that it was successful.

My Day

The day began early, with a 2am wake-up call at the hotel. I stayed at the Fireside Suites in West Lebanon, New Hampshire, about 25 minutes from the start line (nice place - clean, comfortable, reasonably priced, quiet, right off the highway). After prepping my gear and getting dressed, I met my friend/chaperone/crew chief/coach/pacer extraordinaire Ryan Knapp for the trip to the starting line. The morning air was relatively cool but the humidity was stifling. I was glad that much of my training had been in a similar soup back in Texas!

Upon arrival at the race start, I checked in and waited. I prefer to arrive early, so we had around 40 minutes to kill until the gun went off. There wasn't much to do besides stand around and wait, so that's what we did. We shuffled off to the starting line at around 3:55, and promptly at 4am, I trotted off into the early morning darkness with a couple hundred other intrepid adventure-seeking souls.

One of the unique features of this race is that while we were running our race there was a 100 mile horse race going on simultaneously on the same course. I was somewhat concerned that this might cause problems during the day but I quickly found this not be the case. The riders were courteous, encouraging, friendly, and more than a little perplexed by why we would want to RUN 100 miles! I had a number of pleasant exchanges with the riders throughout the day, and seeing the beautiful horses trotting along side us mere humans provided a mental break from the occasional monotony of the run.

Taftsville covered bridge, mile 15.

Emerging from the morning mist, entering Pretty House aid station. Photo: Kristen DeMeo Winger.

Cruising through Pretty House aid. Photo: Shama Sattar.

I had tried to script the first 20 or so miles in my mind before the race - how quickly I would run, what splits I would shoot for, when I would eat, how I would handle the aid stations, and so forth. I planed on meeting Ryan at the first crew-access aid station (Pretty House, mile 20.4) in around 3 1/2 hours. For that first segment, everything went according to plan. I took in my calories, stayed on my projected pace, and rolled into Pretty House right on schedule. Ryan topped off my supplies, filled my bottles, and after grabbing a handful of bacon (BACON!!) I was off again.

Daylight was now covering the course and I had a chance to take in the landscape around me. Every race that I have run has had its own unique beauty and Vermont was no different. The countryside was dotted with picturesque farms, covered bridges, barns, and old houses that dated back to the 18th century. Inexplicably, it seemed that every lawn and garden we passed was perfectly manicured. The Green Mountains off in the distance provided a stunning backdrop to the lush and verdant fields and farms that surrounded us all day. It was truly a beautiful place, filled with wonderful people who turned out to cheer us on.

Here are some scenes from the course, as captured by my friend and photographer Shama Sattar:

The course wound through the farm country, over hills, into the woods, and back out onto the roads again. I was very pleased that the training I had done for my last race was paying off in this one. I had very little difficulty dispatching most of the climbs in relatively short order, and was quickly back to running the downhills again. There were a few moments when I was concerned I might be pushing too hard, but my heart rate was low, I felt comfortable, and so I decided to roll with it. I did not spend more than a few minutes in any given aid station and began to relax, enjoying the way the day was unfolding.

With Ryan at Stage Road aid station. Photo: Shama Sattar.

My goal entering the race had been, of course, finish. I had an "A" goal of a sub-24 hour finish but the day was going so well I adjusted my sights to a 20-hour finish. This would be a stretch, but was doable. I used this new goal as inspiration to keep pushing myself through low moments and to maintain my sense of urgency in the aid stations.

When I arrived at the Camp 10-Bear aid station (mile 47) I was a little weary but still felt strong. I knew there would be a challenging climb about 1 mile out from this checkpoint so I took a few extra minutes here to collect myself, restock, and catch my breath. My crew (Ryan Knapp, Jessica Knapp, and Tara Deeble) was fantastic. They seemed to anticipate everything I needed. I was fed, watered, given a pep talk, and felt polished and ready to go when I emerged to tackle the 23-mile loop that would bring me back to this aid station later in the day.

There are actually 2 tough climbs after 10-Bear - one at mile 50, and another at around 56. I wasn't expecting to do much hands-on-knees hiking in this race, but that's exactly what these climbs reduced me to. I just kept moving forward and before long I was running downhill again.

Of note here is the aid station at the 100k mark. The crew dubbed it "Margaritaville", and for good reason. As I approached I could smell the cheeseburgers from the grill and was met with the sounds of some lively music serenading us. I had remarked to the person with whom I was running at the time that if this aid station didn't actually have margaritas, then that would be false advertising. But lo and behold, they had margaritas! I was jubilant as I enjoyed a cheeseburger in paradise and a cold margarita.

Oh happy day, a margarita and a cheeseburger! Photo: Shama Sattar.

Tara and Jessica from my crew had made the trip to this aid station to check on me, and since I felt good and was in good spirits, we made our visit brief. I refilled my supplies and set out again. There was another hill to climb right out of this aid station so I was happy to have a chance to hike and let the food settle.

Not long after, I hit a long, sustained descent that was at a somewhat steeper grade than most of the downhills had been earlier in the day. I was finally starting to feel the cumulative effects of the pounding my quads had been taking all day at this point. I was not able to push as hard as I had been able to and while I was moving decently it wasn't quite at the pace that I had hoped to hit. This long descent would culminate once again at Camp 10-Bear (mile 70), where I would pick up Ryan and begin the charge to the finish.

Rapidfire

I told Ryan that I wanted to finish in 20 hours. He said, "Let's do it!" We trotted out of the aid station and I brought him up to speed on how my day had gone. We had around 6 hours to finish the last 50k and break the 20 hour barrier. It seemed very doable to me at the time, and I maintained my intention to hit that goal.

I hit a low spot at mile 76 (the "Spirit of 76" aid station) and had to hold up for a little while to allow my engine to cool off. This was also a crew aid station, so I was able to visit with everyone and catch my breath. I probably spent too much time here but I was starting to feel fatigue creep in. Tara packed some sandwiches and pickles for me in a baggie that I would eat on the trail. Soon Ryan convinced me we needed to get going, and we were off.

Hanging out at Spirit of '76 aid station with the REAL star of the show - West Knapp! Photo: Jessica Knapp.

Heading out of '76 with Ryan, trying to stay positive! Photo: Shama Sattar.

It wasn't long before we were moving at a good clip again. Late in this race, the aid stations seem to come along pretty often and I tried my best not to spend too much time loitering. Ryan was great at keeping us moving. We would restock, grab a snack, and get back out again. Along the way, we had a number of passing conversations with other runners and pacers that served to keep us in good spirits. I had the good fortune to spend some of these later miles running with my friend Shaheen Sattar from Dallas, and elite runner who had battled through an up-and-down day but was now looking very strong with her pacer, Steve. It's always great to see friendly faces late in a race and this was no different. The 4 of us shared some great miles and conversation as night began to fall. We made it to mile 88 together - Bill's, an old barn that was converted into a farmer's workshop that was converted into an aid station. This was a COOL aid station. I wanted to hang out for a while and check out all the gizmos and gadgets lining the walls and tucked into the rafters, but there was still some work to be done. I had to grab some food and keep moving.

With Shaheen Sattar at mile 88, Bill's Aid Station. Photo: Shama Sattar.

Everything continued to go relatively smoothly until around mile 91 when I made a minor miscalculation that ended up becoming a big problem. Since Margaritaville, I had largely switched from my gels and tailwind to solid food at the aid stations. It was working well. But at the mile 91 aid station ("Keating's") I thought I would try some ramen soup. In short order, I gulped down 2 full cups of ramen, then tried to get up to run out of the aid station with Ryan.

That didn't work for me.

Almost immediately I became sick. I wouldn't shake that feeling for the rest of the night. I tried to recover at the next aid station, mile 94 ("Polly's"), even hoping I would throw the stuff up. No luck. Eventually Ryan pulled me up again and we would continue on. I felt awful, but I only had a few miles to go. If I got sick, Ryan pointed out, I'd get sick out there where we are at least moving forward.

As we left Polly's, Ryan pulled out his phone and called my wife and daughter! I was hoping for some pleasant and loving encouragement, but that was not happening. My wife was awesome. Her comments were to the point. "Look, you only have 5 miles to go. Suck it up and get it done!" Spoken like a true veteran! (Not her first rodeo.)

The Finish

The last few miles were seemingly endless. Not only because I was reduced to walking, but also because 3 of the last 4 miles were uphill. We faced climb after climb, and any hope that I could make up some time down the stretch time quickly evaporated. There were long, muddy stretches of trail that had been chewed up by the horses that made the footing somewhat treacherous. So we hiked. It didn't bother me that much. For the most part, I had held it together for 91+ miles. We could walk it in and still PR comfortably. And that's what we did. Ryan and I didn't talk that much over those last few miles, choosing instead to save our energy to keep pressing onward. But having him there was very important to me. He helped me maintain some consistent forward progress and was always positive and encouraging. Like I said, a pacer extraordinaire! I crossed the finish line at 1:49 am - tired, but overall in good spirits about how the day had gone.

21:49:30, a new PR and a BIG buckle!

Closing Thoughts

It was a privilege to spend time again out on the course with some of the guys still in the mix for the Grand Slam - Ace, Chris, Stephen, Jim...truly one of the joys of my day. Those guys are terrific. I am so happy for them, and while it's tough not to be a part of the club anymore, I still gain so much strength and inspiration from them.

So, now it's on to Leadville - the race that had me the most concerned when this whole thing started back several months ago. I'll have more thoughts to offer as that day draws nearer, but for right now, it feels pretty good to at least get this one on the board.

The Verdict-

VERMONT: HIGHLY RECOMMEND!

Here we go again....

We're now just a few short days away from the Vermont 100, the second race in the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning series, and my first shot at redemption after my Western States DNF a few short weeks ago. I have been balancing the desire to go up there and really push the issue (in other words, go for a PR) with the reality of the fact that I am not quite completely recovered 100% from States yet. Plus, I think it really behooves me to slow it down and just get a 100-mile finish on the board for 2017.

I'm not afraid to admit that my confidence is a little shaky. In a few days we'll know how all this will have played out, but as of right now my inability to manage calorie intake and maintain some semblance of a balanced energy level throughout a 100 miler has definitely put a damper on any enthusiasm I might otherwise have had about this one. The course looks like it might be a trail that favors my strengths - but right now I am not even sure what my strengths are!

The plan for Vermont is going to be very simple compared to the highly detailed volume I produced for Western States. What it boils down to is that I need to do a better job of staying on top of my calories, walk (briskly) the uphill sections, and comfortably run the downhills. The word "hammer" should never enter my mind until maybe the last 10-15 miles. I'll have a great crew and pacer who will take care of me. I want to try as much as I can to enjoy my first trip to the New England countryside. And at the end of it all, to COME HOME WITH A BUCKLE.

It doesn't get much simpler than that. I will review the aid stations, the elevation chart, and lay out a food plan. But I am not going to beat myself up about splits or goal times or anything like that. Sure I would love to finish in under 24 hours (a goal that I think is attainable) but this isn't the #1 priority. As I have learned (painfully) - you have to take what the day gives you and roll with it.

I am looking forward to publishing a positive race report for a 100 miler again! It seems that the tough ones are becoming all too frequent. Here's hoping that a week from now I will be doing just that.

Western States Takeaways

It's been a week since the big day. I've had a little time to reflect on what went right (not much) and what went wrong (a lot) - so I am ready to write some of this down in the hopes that I can do better on the next one.

WHAT DIDN'T GO RIGHT-

Gear

The Hoka Infinite. These are great road shoes but they are worthless on icy trails.

• Poor choice of shoes. I was in my favorite pair of road shoes, the Hoka Infinite. They had no lugs. From what I had heard, this trail is generally not technical and I went with comfort first. Given the ice that we had to deal with early on, this was a disaster. I had a new pair of Stinson 3's with an aggressive tread but was a little wary of wearing new shoes. Bad choice. The Infinites were TERRIBLE in the high country on the ice and in the mud. No traction at all. Definitely should have rocked the Stinsons.

• Handhelds. I went with 2 handhelds instead of a vest for my bottles. My hands could not grab tree branches or bushes to steady myself on the ice. I also could not balance myself very well. Having my hands free would have been a big help up in the mountains. I should have gone with the vest. Hindsight. No way I could have known that.....
• I did not have my 3rd bottle for dousing until Robinson. I am not sure how I would have done this differently, but after Lyon Ridge it got hot, fast. Having the third bottle for dousing with cold water from the stream crossings would have been a huge help. 

Nutrition

• I expected to be able to eat breakfast at Squaw before the race (as they advertised breakfast for the runners starting at 3:30am). I arrived early to take advantage of this. "Breakfast" was a tray of muffins and coffee. That was all they had. Now that's not their fault, but I guess I have a different definition of breakfast. I had planned on having some protein in the morning - bacon, yogurt, etc, maybe with some oatmeal - but none of that was provided. I should have clarified that - it is my fault for assuming. I did have a clif bar and a banana with some coffee when I woke up back at the hotel so I wasn't completely empty but I started with much less in the tank than I had hoped.
• Mixing hydration and nutrition from the start was a bad idea. My plan was to go with Tailwind while out on the course, then eat well at the first aid station. Well, the trip to the first aid station took a lot longer than planned and I was not staying on top of my Tailwind intake. I had no concept of time up there while I was sliding around all over the damn place. My tank started low and I did a poor job of getting calories in. Meanwhile I was burning a TON of energy on that ice. I should have had some gels on hand as a backup plan.
• The aid station food did not correspond to what I had planned on. Especially the early ones. All they had were clif shot gels, these little clif chewy things, and some chips & cookies. Warm soda. Not at all what I expected or planned on. So I ate what I could, but those clif blocks made me want to barf. I wasn't prepared to go it on my own, and I counted on those aid stations for some protein and solid carbs, which they did not provide. I WILL NOT make that mistake again.
• Did I mention that I simply did not get enough calories in?
• I think the diarrhea/vomiting at Last Chance was a result of running so hard for the previous 10-12 miles. I had just burned myself out trying to make up time. And that was a bad place to be heading into the 1st canyon. I didn't know what I was up against. 

Other

• I had a couple bouts of my exercise-induced asthma (bronchioconstriction) that I think was made worse by the heat and altitude in the high country. The dust in the air was problematic as well. It wasn't so bad when I came down out of the mountains but it was a real problem for me between Red Star Ridge and Robinson. 
• I was cocky and arrogant heading into this race. I NEVER FOR ONE SECOND even considered the possibility that I might be up against cutoffs. Seriously, the thought never entered my mind, and I had no mental plan for what I would do if that happened. When I barely made it through Dusty Corners I was in a very bad place mentally. I did not have a "just finish" plan ready to go in such a case. I was thoroughly and completely humbled. 

I do not know if having changed any 1 or 2 of these things would have altered the outcome, but I do feel certain that taken in conjunction they set me back far enough that I could not recover. 

WHAT WENT RIGHT

Training

• I felt fan-damn-tastic heading into this race. I really nailed the training. I worked my ass off. It didn't work out on race day, but that doesn't tell the whole story. Despite WSER being one of my worst races, from a purely training and nutritional standpoint, I feel that I was in as good a place to start a race as I had ever been.
• Aside from race day, I feel like I nailed the nutrition plan. Clean and lean. I felt great and looked great. I did everything leading up to the race Meredith and I talked about, all the way down to electrolytes and hydration on race week.

Crew

• My family and friends who were there to support me were outstanding. Even though my crew could not get to Duncan Canyon, I was fortunate to have a guardian angel there who patched me up and kept me going. When I saw the rest of the gang at Robinson, they were amazing in skirting me through before cutoff. Can't say enough about them all.

Misc

• Even though a lot of things went terribly awry, I still made it 48 miles and only missed the cutoff at Devils Thumb by 10-15 minutes. I was able to make up a lot of time and, thanks to my amazing crew, stay in the game a lot longer than I probably could have otherwise. So, I am proud of that. And of them.
• Packing the bags of ice into my vest was wonderful. I cut several tiny holes in a gallon ziplock bag that they stuffed into my pack, and it would drip cold water on me. This was AWESOME. I should have done this earlier. Unfortunately this didn't come into play until I met my crew at Robinson (mile 30) and picked up my pack from them.  
• Having that 3rd bottle that I picked up at Robinson to douse myself in cold water from the rushing streams was great as well. Great idea from Meredith. Really loved that. 
• If I could have only made it to Michigan Bluff........

What I plan to do differently at Vermont:

• EAT MORE!!! 
• I think it will be a good idea to put myself on a food timer at Vermont. After 45 min-1 hour, ding, eat something - a gel (Huma Gels are my fave), a sandwich that I may have to carry with me, something. I can't "forget" to take in calories. While I would love to be able to go by feel, the fact is that I seem to have the most success when I have a reminder. I would also love to eat as clean as possible but the fact is I need calories in my tank. I need to be more aware of what they are going to have at aid stations as well so I am not surprised.
• I've read that nausea can be a symptom of hunger. I have to push that off as long as possible. Because I had nausea early and often at WSER.
• I'm going to wear the vest with the bottles from the get-go. I'd like my hands to be free. I will also have the baggies ready to stuff with ice early on. I hear it's warm and humid up there - the conditions are exactly the same here in Texas right now. I should be able to handle it, but I really like that ice pack idea.
• EAT MORE!!!
• I didn't have any problems with sodium intake, and aside from when I got sick at Last Chance, I actually never felt dehydrated at States. I did use the S-caps. Will probably stay with those since I am setting the Tailwind aside for the early miles.

I have read that VT is "100 miles of hill repeats". And, that it IS NOT easy. The good thing is that the terrain seems very similar to what I run on every day around here in North Texas - rolling hills on roads and gravel trails. The weather is very similar to what I run in as well. If I can play it smart and NOT get myself into any deficits early on, keep the HR down and the pace comfortable, then I should be able to finish. My coach Ryan Knapp will be there to crew for me and bring me in over the last 30 miles. I will admit that my confidence is pretty shaky, so really the goal is just to finish this damn thing and move on. 

I resumed running a little bit yesterday and today, just some easy shake out miles. The quads are a little tender but otherwise I feel OK. I have just started looking at the Vermont aid stations and started to get the lay of the land in Windsor.

I can't help but feel a lingering twinge of disappointment that I let down my coaches, crew, and friends. I look forward to a better day at Vermont and a shot at redemption again someday at States. So with that in mind, I will say, see you in Windsor!

Western States 2017: Crash & Burn

Western States has come and gone, and despite the buildup and anticipation for this seminal event and what I believe to have been spot-on preparation, things did not go very well. I have chronicled some races where I have had success and some - well, not so much. But despite all of this I had hoped that Western States would be my hour of redemption.

This turned out not to be the case. Western States may have been my toughest race to date. Between the trail conditions and my lack of mental preparation for what I would face in the mountains, essentially things got off to a bad start and went downhill from there. In the end I was unable to make a key cutoff time at mile 48.

I have to admit that I never, for one second - for one SPLIT second - imagined that I would be up against cutoffs. The thought was never on my radar. Suffice it to say I thought a "bad day" would be something like a 28 hour finish. And in that case, I assumed it would have been likely that the race would have devolved into a long hike. But I was not, under any circumstances, going to surrender my wristband until I made it to Auburn. Not going to happen. Period. The end.

The problem was that this decision was taken from me at the top of Devil's Thumb.

It was humbling, to be sure. And I learned my lesson. As Devon Yanko points out, "I knew I had to mentally be at peace with every available outcome." ANY outcome. Just when you think you have this thing figured out, the trails are there to put you back in your place.

I posted a somewhat terce race report on Facebook that I have transcribed below. It was a day of ups and downs - the ups being all the climbs that I had to deal with, and the downs being pretty much everything else.

Enjoy.

Western States 2017

I've taken a few days to step back and let the dust settle. I'm still sore, physically and emotionally, but I'm coming to a place of acceptance of the outcome. I'd like to share a little about my day in the mountains. Forgive the long post - normally I'd post on the blog but there are a few people whom I want to thank along the way in this forum.

So here we go..........................

The day began in Squaw Valley at around 4am. I was excited - about to jump out of my skin - and ready to get started. I checked in and met up with the #ntxasshats group: Dan McIntyre, Joshua D. Witte, and our crew. The weather was on the cool side, but not as cool as I had hoped. The starting line was as absolutely electric as I had imagined it might be. Western States 100! The big dance! I looked up at the lights on the escarpment and took it all in. It was surreal. I could not believe I was HERE.

The gun went off at 5am. I got chills as I took my first step onto the Western States course. This was happening. More than three years worth of training, qualifying races, lotteries, and daydreaming about this moment were finally being realized. It was Auburn or bust!

My plan was to take the escarpment easy. I hiked this long climb at a steady pace. I intended to keep my HR low (below 140) and that's what I did. So far, so good.

When we reached the top of the escarpment I ran into what would become my first problem of the day - the "snow". And by snow, I mean a layer of ice covering a densely-packed mass of ice. This was not like any kind of snow I had ever seen! When I heard snow in the prerace briefing I assumed the "trudge, trudge" stuff that your feet might sink a few inches into. This was not that. This was ice. I was in shoes with no lugs (I chose my most comfortable and favorite Hokas which are more road than technical trail shoes). It was a poor choice on my part. Dumb.

The ice persisted for the next several miles. I anticipated being able to make up a little time on the high country trails after hiking the escarpment. This did NOT happen. Quite the opposite. Every step was an exercise in futility. I slipped. I slid. I fell. I slid into trees. On a couple of occasions I simply gave up trying and sat down to slide down a couple of the smaller hills on my butt. At one point I slid completely off the trail and down an icy embankment, skidding to a stop in a small bush. I had to climb that icy hill to get back to the trail. There were many who were able to navigate this stretch of the "trail" somehow. I was not one of them.

I finally made it to Lyon Ridge, the first aid station. I had completely lost all sense of time but knew I was behind schedule. WAY behind. I still believed I could make it up. There is a long climb out of this a/s, then it levels out. That's where I'd make it up.

Wrong again. The next stretch of trail was covered with ankle deep mud and water. For miles. I tried to run through this and could not. I kept slipping and falling. More frustration.

I checked into Red Star Ridge. Frustration had turned to anger. I was hungry but knew that things weren't going well, so I grabbed some chips and a few snacks in a baggie and left quickly. Gradually the course conditions began to clear and I started to run a little bit. But the climbs were relentless. I remember thinking "I thought this was Western States?? Where are all these downhills that I keep hearing about??" I assure you, it is NOT all downhill from the escarpment. Not for a while, anyway.

I was a mess when I rolled into Duncan Canyon (mile 24). I was having trouble breathing and was beat to hell. Fortunately I had someone in my corner. If not for Tabitha Hedrick my race would have been over at this point. She began to pull me together. The aid station captain came over and said "You need to be out of here in 20 minutes to make cut off."

What, what?? Cut off? Me? I knew things were bad, but it was worse than I thought. I could hardly move. But I had to leave.

Tab's homeopathic voodoo somehow got me standing and moving. She told me not to give up. I staggered out of the aid station with 5 minutes to spare. As I wandered down the hill I heard them blow the horn behind me. That was close. I rebounded briefly when I crossed a cold waist-deep stream a couple miles out of Duncan. But another long climb threw me back to my previous state. I kept moving but could not make up time.

I met my crew at Robinson Flat, mile 30. They were frantic. The vols were about to close the aid station. My crew ran me through the aid station. The horn blew. I may have been the last one through, I'm not sure. But I was through only by the narrowest of margins.

Michelle Harvey Oles, Chris Barnwell and Anne Van Lieshout Barnwelldoused me with ice, listened to my bitching, fed me, and calmed me down. My kids were incredibly positive and encouraging. They were all upbeat. I was not. But I was still in the game. For now.

The next stretch was a blur. After leaving Robinson we hit a long stretch of wide jeep roads. Gentle grades. Mostly downhill. I walked a couple miles to let my stomach settle. I began to feel better. I pulled out my headphones to listen to some music. DMX. Eminem. M83. Beastie Boys. Whoa. I got a charge. I started to run.

Soon, I actually felt a little like myself. I was booking. Sub-8 min miles. The miles beeped quickly off my watch. Into Miller's Defeat. Snack. Water. Out of Miller's Defeat. I walked for a short time, then off again. Blew through Duty Corners. Tabitha was there! Stefanie was there! Hugs, smiles, some food, coke, ice. Off and running again. Fast. Hello Western States!! I'm comin' for ya!!

(Hang in there. I'm almost done. :( )

I cruised into Last Chance a little overheated but still fired up. I grabbed my drop bag. I decided to hit the port-a-potty before heading out.

And that's when the clock struck midnight.

All of a sudden I got very sick. Mass evacuation. I could not get off the toilet. Eventually I staggered out. I threw up. And again. And again. There was nothing left anywhere in my system. I sat down in a chair weak and pale. An enthusiastic volunteer gave me some sprite. "Throwing up is a good thing! Your system has reset! You have 4 1/2 miles to the next aid and 2 hours to get there. You're in great shape." Except that I wasn't. 4 1/2 miles. 2 hours. No problem. (You'd think.)

The descent into the first canyon was miserable. The western sun was on me the whole way down. My legs shook with each step on the steep downhill grade. It took me an hour to get to the bottom. I crossed a bridge. 2 1/2 miles down in one hour. I had an hour to go 2 miles. Up Devil's Thumb.

I started to climb. At every switchback I remember thinking "You have to be shitting me." Up. Up. Up. I would hike 10 yards. Stop. Sit. I was dizzy. My breathing was erratic. I would hike a few yards again. Stop. Rest. "F*ck this!!!" I thought more than once. The sweepers caught up to me. They were wonderfully encouraging but it didn't matter. I wasn't moving. I was crawling, literally in some places, up the trail.

I was joined by a couple other guys in the same boat. We could sense where this was going. We encouraged each other but good vibes weren't helping. Finally, with about 1/4 mile still to go, the horn blew. And that was it. My Western States 100 had become the Western States 48.

We made it to the Thumb about 10 minutes later. Even though the aid station was closed, the volunteers were wonderful. There were a dozen or so not-so-happy looking runners already there who were also calling it a day. It was not much consolation. They cut the wristband off my arm. It was official. No crossing Rucky Chucky. No running from Robie Point with Catherine. No victory lap around the Placer HS track. No Western States buckle. And no Grand Slam.

A lovely family brought me back to Foresthill. I met up with my family. My heart ached as I watched other runners come through this famous aid station. It was tough. Not gonna lie. It still hurts. All that work, all that time....but sometimes that's the way it goes. As I have said before, to have a good day in this sport you have to have a lot of things go your way. But all it takes is one or 2 things to derail you. But I was blessed to have the loving arms of my wife and kids there to catch me and support me. They are my joy that goes far beyond running, and for them I will always be grateful.

...................

So that's it! For those that have made it this far, thanks for reading. I offer my love to my crew, Michelle Harvey Oles, Madeline Oles, Catherine, Michael, Chris Barnwell, Anne Van Lieshout Barnwell, Lesley Larkin Jones, Lesli Butler Witte. To my brother Joshua D. Witte, we'll get 'em next time. To Dan McIntyre, who managed to deal with all this shit and still get it done - great work, my friend. All of Keller is proud of you! Tabitha, I couldn't have made it that far without you. Running with you Eric Strand was really wonderful, you're a treasure to our community of crazies. Thanks to Meredith and Ryanfor ALL the help in the preparation. I'm sorry it didn't turn out "according to plan". But it was certainly not because the both of you weren't thorough.

I'm taking a little time to step back and evaluate what's next. But I've been meaning to visit New England again....

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust, and sweat, and blood." 

- Theodore Roosevelt

Peace and God bless.


Going Forward

Really, that is the only way to go. Forward. I am going to continue on to Vermont in 2 weeks and hopefully have a better race up there. My confidence is pretty shaky at the moment, so I think it'll be good to just keep moving and have a new goal to work toward. Then after that, I have no idea. I may continue with the remaining races in the Slam, or I may back down and prepare for the NYC Marathon in November, with the hopes of posting a new PR.

But that's getting a little ahead of myself. For right now the name of the game is recovering my mental edge. At the moment it's buried in the snow somewhere outside of Squaw Valley, California.