tl;dr: Last Saturday I ran through forests and up mountains in arguably my most successfully executed race yet for a 100K PR (14:24:53) and a qualifier for the Western States lottery. Although
it was dusty and waspy, I made some good decisions, was well prepared, and got lucky. I also had some amazing friends for pacing, crewing, and race buddy-ing. Huge thank you to Levi, Jeremy, and Meredith! What more could you ask for?
What is Waldo?
It’s a 100 km race out of the Willamette Pass Ski area in Oregon with about 11K feet of climbing starting at 4500 ft. Beautiful buttery single track, gorgeous views, and some nasty, nasty climbs.
See?
So...I don’t know how to put this politely but….why?
So I can get a ticket to the lottery of the Western States 100 Mile Endurance race! It’s the Boston Marathon of the ultra scene!
That’s...not what I was asking.
Ok. Sometime during the Waldo 100K, after getting repeatedly stung by hornets, after inhaling what seemed like several pounds of dust, and after climbing the equivalent of Mt. Tam at mile 50, I turned to Levi without a trace of irony and proclaimed “This is the toughest race I’ve ever done.” <pause> “Pretty sure it’s also my favorite.”
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| Not enough energy to lift my thumb for a proper selfie |
The hilarious and awesome thing is that Meredith said much the same thing.
I know I’ve been talking with the cadence and zeal of the newly converted. I know. I know you’re probably sick of hearing about the awe I feel running through the majesty of nature. I know I won’t shut up about being completely alone during a race and feeling at peace. I know you’ve heard about how trail running makes me a stronger, more patient, more balanced person. But damn it, this is my race report, so you’re going to have to hear it all again anyway.
Because one of the best parts about ultrarunning is the enforced optimism. Take it from the glass half full guy, the Catholic who stopped going to church, that finding a source of faith is truly something worth fighting for. I come out of ultrarunning with a newfound sense of belief. Belief that hard work and determination can make you a better person. Belief that adversity isn’t just something that can make you crack, that it can also make you strong. Belief that when things go wrong, you have the strength to stuff that panic back in box and go on. Because when you’re out there that long, it’s not if things will go wrong, it’s when. Your knee twinges after six months of feeling fine. That last gel sent your stomach into a spiral. You plant your foot wrong and your ankle gets rolled. You grit your teeth, you grin, and you bear it. Because what else can you do? And quicker than you think, that grin becomes genuine because things. Will. Always. Get. Better.
At one point, I slowed down briefly to let it all sink in. The air was cool, verging on crisp, and the sunlight dappling through the trees had yet to bring the promised heat for the day. I could smell pine needles and feel the grit of dust in my teeth. I was completely alone with just birdsong for company- no signs of competition, no trail markers, just me in the forest. I had everything I needed on my shoulders.
I was reminded that this wasn’t just a race, it was a journey. I took a moment to breathe a silent prayer of thanks, and kept on moving.
It’s at times primal and exhilarating, enervating and energizing, uplifting and humbling. I’ve blown by talented 17 year old racers only to have lean, dangerous looking trail moms leave me in the dust. When you feel good, you push. When you don’t, you try to hang on and wait for that second wind. Or the third, fourth or seventeenth wind. You have to have faith while in the dark moments that things will get better and the tenacity to hang on until they do. You can’t hide from your emotions. When you’re that scraped raw, they’re right there in your face. You just have to acknowledge them, embrace them, and move on.
Bottom line: you might not feel the same way as me, but you should give it a shot.
Ok, back to THIS race. How did you do?
I nailed it! This might have been my most successful race well….ever. Nothing major went wrong. No muscle spasms, twisted ankles, debilitating cramps, or severe GI issues. Despite this being a monster of a course, I finished 5 minutes ahead of my previous 100K PR (ok my only other 100K)
You can see the story here. I start out at an appropriate pace (amazing!) and maintain my position. There’s some surges and some more laid back sections, but I get my legs under me and run the last 5K to pick up some late race positions. This was my dream: being able to run the last miles of the race. It seems unreal.
So how did you prepare?
Strength training and hill work saved my ass. Literally. Every week I’d hit my Four Peaks route one or more times and then hammer my glutes and legs in the weight room. #trailswole
I also made sure I locked in my gear, shoes, and nutrition and practiced using them. See the end for comments.
What was it actually like?
I wake before my alarm at the cheerful hour of 3 am. I’m wide awake, but thankfully not jittery from the adrenaline. I go through my routine, wolfing down a banana and chasing it with two pieces of acme bread slathered in trail butter. Before I know it, Jeremy’s dropped us off at the ski lodge (thanks Jeremy!) and Meredith and I are joining the herd heading outside. It’s perfect outside- cool, but not cold and no trace of smoke in the air. We’re lucky.
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| We scored a sweet off season cabin! |
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My smartass comment for the day “It’s gonna be a while before we get back inside.”
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The clock is ticking down to 5 am and suddenly, we’re off! There’s a palpable energy in the air as racers accelerate down the 50 yard straightaway and...then start powerhiking up the hill. We’re basically hauling ourselves up a ski slope and we all get real warm, real fast. The initial chatter subsides as we settle ourselves into a conga line of headlamps heading up through a cloud of dust. Up, up, and up we go, until without fanfare we finally reach the top and start what feels like a helter skelter descent. I consciously try to hold myself back to spare my quads, but I get swept up into the excitement of racing through the woods following the beam of my headlamp.
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The change is gradual but steady, a transition from black to grey to gold. But before we know it, dawn breaks through the trees and the first few birds are stirring. We reach up and click off our headlamps but remain silent as we wind our way through sleeping campers. I finally settle into the pace, feeling one with nature as we slowly, steadily make our way up the...
WHAT THE @#$!@$!!!? My right calf is on FIRE...who jabbed me with the flaming needle? OW! My left thumb is suddenly in agony and I look down to see a less than friendly wasp giving me a reminder that the woods belong to her. Thankfully, I’m not allergic to venom, although my bite/sting is throbbing in double time. Get off! GET OFF!! Ugh.
Ahem.
Other than that, the climb up Mt. Fuji is uneventful and the views are lovely. See?
The morning continues to unfold nicely. The scramble down Fuji is much easier than the slog up, and I settle into some gorgeous singletrack through the trees, punctuated with sunny meadows.
This high carries me almost to the marathon mark despite having to hear someone drop at the aid station behind me. I’m moving well and taking in both fluids and calories until I hit a lull. Somehow I’m convinced I’m lost for about 5 minutes and I slow down while I try to figure out where I am. Although the next runner pretty quickly sets me straight, some of the wind has been taken out of my sails. I get grumpy and start to see my pace slide. I’m not hurting too badly or in serious distress, I’m just hitting a low patch.
I get loopy, then I get angry. I start recalling the words of the immortal Zach de la Rocha and I start yelling at my fatigue and general malaise. Audibly. It starts with “@*#$ you, I won’t do what you tell me” and just proceeds to an all Rage Against the Machine-fest. Hell yeah! I get louder, and angrier, and somehow, I get faster and faster until I’m loudly blowing by stunned (scared?) runners on the way to Levi. I picked up 10 spots in 5 miles! And then when I think things couldn’t get any better, I find Levi and Jeremy hanging out at a gorgeous lake. Now I’m in good hands!
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| Place 54 to 44 in 5 miles! |
I do my bidness quickly, and Levi and I set out at a steady pace. Here’s where it gets a bit blurry. Levi keeps me fed and hydrated and moving, but the encroaching heat and steady climb start to take their toll. I’m doing fine, but I’m not happy as we hit the third big climb of the day up to the Twins aid station. I’m powerhiking the uphills just fine, but my strength is getting sapped again. We are getting passed with some leapfrogging and my attention starts to flag.
I finally realize what’s happening; we’re spending some serious time above 7000 ft. THAT explains why my heartrate and breathing our off, although my grouchiness is entirely my own fault.
Enter the Bag O’ Motivation™. Earlier that day I handed Levi a ziploc bag full of slips of paper on which I’d written personal mantras and challenges. He whips it out and picks out the worst sounding one of all. “Pick a 2 minute surge or a 2 minute rest and justify your decision to Levi.” I think my exact words were “@%#@ it, let’s go.” And it works! It hurts, but we gain some momentum and I get out of another low spot. We finally crest the hill and I’m surprised to find I’ve still got downhill legs. Spiffy. We push on to the final climb of the day: Maiden Peak.
This part sucks. This is a climb straight up a mountain that covers 2500 ft over 3 miles. I thought Willow Camp was a terrible climb, but this takes the cake. It’s unrelenting; there were about 400 feet I could legitimately run over 3 miles. I don’t even bother. I put in my headphones, put my head down, and powerhike. Surprisingly, I’ve got climbing legs at mile 50! Strength training is paying off!
After an eternity and a half, we hike through dirt and up scree until we finally, finally reach the summit. It is gorgeous. Also, I can’t breathe, and I break my rule and sit for 30 seconds. I think my words to Levi were “My soul is broken” but damn, the view is pretty at 8000 ft.
The trip down sets me in a funk. I have to carefully pick down loose rock after the sure footed Levi has lightly danced over it all. We hit the aid station and my stomach has soured enough that I can’t even look at the perogies and grilled cheese sandwiches. :-( I settle for another gel and a half a banana and off we go.
Here was yet another low, low point for me. I was doing the dreaded calculus of “Ok, we’ve got 8 miles left, so that’ll keep me out here for HOW long?” Exactly how long was depressing for someone reduced to hiking pretty much every uphill. So, agonizingly slowly, 8 faded to 7 6 5 and then 4. Interminably slowly. Glacially slowly. Then we start coming up on a runner and pacer that we’ve been trading places with over the last 6 hours. We move to pass, and I see a hint of competition flash in the runner’s eyes. Or perhaps it was intimidation.
Whatever it is, something clicks in me. I’m miserable while power hiking, I’ve still got legs, I just have to throw the switch and not care. So I don’t. I get angry. I pick up the pace, working the momentum of the downhills, until we are legitimately, gloriously (surprisingly) running. As the final miles tick off, I burn it all and accelerate. We blow by some a runner who yells after me “Hey, that looks like real running form!” With just a 5 K to go, I push it into the red and somehow pull out a sub 8 mile. I am foaming at the mouth and pounding away. If I can just sustain this pace, I might edge out a PR. We finally see the end of the trail and the finish banner, and I hit the gas one last time. Finally, it’s over.
I am immensely proud of these last few miles. The headers are "Miles/Pace/Grade adjusted pace/Elevation change" I was redlining it near the end.
I get to shake RD Craig Thornley’s hand and tell him how mean and awesome his course is. He laughs. He replies that he’d considered reversing the course direction, but putting Maiden Peak last forces people to finish since it’s so remote. If they drop, they basically have to walk the course back anyway. Devious, masochistic, and still looking out for us all at the same time. Freaking fantastic.
The rest of the night is me trying to maintain a plummeting body temperature, feed and clothe myself, and cheer Meredith as she comes in. So I’ll finish the story there.
THE END
What did you learn?
- I am the incredible hulk.
Getting angry breaks me out of a rut. Even when I think I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of motivation, getting me good and angry gives me yet another gear. Who'd a thunk it?
- Break it down and get it done.
If you start out thinking “I’m going to be out here for 14 more hours” you are sunk. Get your head in the game and keep your mind focussed on short term goals.
- Rough patches are inevitable, but they’ll come to an end.
- Enthusiastic, knowledgable volunteers are an awesome pick me up at any point in the race
What’s next?
The ultrarunner rite of passage: my first 100 mile race. In comparison to Waldo, this means that after I’d given it my all, gone home and eaten and showered and slept and awakened for a recovery run, only THEN will I be done with Rio. This both excites more than I care to admit and scares the @#%^ out of me. As well it should.
Notable gear and nutrition
No complaints here. This is what I'm going to bring to Rio.
2x amphipod Thermal lite hydraform water bottles
Ultraspire Omega pack
Pearl Izumi arm sleeves
Hoka One One Stinson ATR
Garmin Forerunner 310XT
eGels
Shot Bloks
Picky bars
Epic bars
S! caps
Bonus road trip shots:
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| Mt. Shasta explodes into windshield view |
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| Dust devils |
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| I've heard of carbo loading, but this is ridiculous |
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| Elk burger |
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| Warboy Training camp |
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| I think my wasp stings are turning me Canadian. |
Photo credits: LongRun Picture Co, myself, Jeremy, Meredith, and Levi
