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
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.
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