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Shambling and stumbling like a procession of the damned, a line of runners battled up out of Volcano Canyon. Streaked with sweat, dirtsometimes even vomit and bloodparticipants in the Western states 100 were just midway through a quest to run from Squaw Valley to Auburn in less than 30 hours.
Thus starts the San Francisco Chronicle report on this years Western States 100 mile race in the mountains of California. The race is limited to 400 runners selected by lottery but, lest you are tempted, the first 45 foreigners to apply are automatically accepted. This year, 7 hearty (or rather foolhardy) South Africans accepted the challenge. This select group included 2 representatives of Fish Hoek Athletic Club: Jean-Paul Van Belle and Caroline Brawner (OK, so neither of us is strictly South African but what the race organisers didnt know didnt hurt them!) If you dont want to read the rest of this lengthy story, Ill cut to the quick for you: your club representatives did you proud. Although we were definitely mid-pack and looked rather bedraggled when we crossed the finish line, Jean-Paul and Caroline were the only two South Africans to make the 30 hour cut-off.
OK, for all those still reading, lets go back to the beginning. This means the year before the race, when one must qualify: either a 100 miler in less than 24 hours or three 50 milers each in less than 10 hours (something like that). If you are over 40, you get an extra half hour or some such equally ungenerous extra time. This is the race directors way of saying that the Western States is not a race for ultra novices or wimps.
Fast forward to this year. Caroline is in California anyway because of a nephews wedding and other business and personal concerns. She has the home advantage, recruiting a friend who lives nearby to act as a second (called crew there) and gets the use of another friends ski cabin in order to stay up near the start. This was important because the race starts at 1900 metres above sea level and, within the first 6.5 kms, goes up to 2650 metres. While this may present no great challenge for Vaalies, we Capetonians find the lack of oxygen a distinct disadvantage. So Caroline did some training at altitude and checked out portions of the trail but, in two weeks, only was able to do about 1/3 of the whole trail.
During one of the training runs I encountered a man and his dog who were also doing a training run (no, dogs dont run the race). I asked if he had done the race before and he said this would be his fourth time. When I inquired why he did it year after year, he responded that the view of the sunrise over Lake Tahoe as seen from the highest point and the feeling one gets crossing the finish line were unbelievable highs. I was rather suspicious that he made no reference to the 96 miles in between those two events!
A few days before race day, the rest of the South Africans arrived. Jean-Paul was making a detour on his way to conference in Canada. Paul Selby and Barry Schwartz should be familiar to many FHAC memberstheyre the ones who run back to back Two Oceans and Comrades to raise charitable funds. They also mixed business with pleasure as Paul makes medalsincluding the ones for the Western Statesand was travelling all over the US trying to find new markets. The three upcountry runners were new to us: Estienne Arndt, Brian Marshall and Brian Collings. We represented the biggest group of foreign runners! We attended the pre-race briefings, got our goodie bags, got weighed and bought the t-shirts. We also had to organise drop bags. There are 23 aid stations along the route each manned with incredibly enthusiastic volunteers who record your number, fill your water bottles, measure your weight, treat your blisters and generally take care of your every need. There is also a whole smorgasbord of food available at each of the aid stations so one neednt carry food along the trail. However, if you want something in particular (especially a change of socks, a warm top, a torch, etc), you need to put those in labelled drop bags that will be transported to the appropriate aid stations. This takes a fair amount of planning as you dont want to pick up your torch at 5 PM when it doesnt get dark till 9 but neither do you want it to get dark two hours before you get to the aid station where your torch is waiting. Inevitably, we discovered we needed kit we didnt have so this meant a mad scramble around the little town of Truckee where selection was limited. Jean-Paul discovered the soles of one pair of running shoes were so worn down that he did what runners are never supposed to do: he bought a new pair of trail shoes just two days before the race! He was luckythe shoes gave him no trouble.
Needless to say, the days before the race were not as restful as one would hope and the anxiety the night before the race limited me to just a couple of hours of sleep. I was not nearly as well rested as I would have liked but Im sure that was true for nearly every runner. The race started at 5 AM, just as it was getting light. The start is at Squaw Valley Ski Resort, the location of the 1962 winter Olympics. Before the start, we had to get our bib numbersthey dont give them out the day before because this is their way of determining who starts. There are 440 people selected by the lottery but only 385 started--thats a perfectly normal amount. I expected it to be quite cold at the start but it wasnt so, at the last minute, I had to search out a friend to give my gloves and extra top to. As a result, I only had about 20 seconds to stretch.
The starting gun went off and we started walking. The lack of stretching didnt make much difference because I experienced the longest warm-up of any race: for the next 6.5 we walked uphill. (OK, so the front runners ranthats why theyre front runners!) Even so, the altitude had an effect on those who just arrived from sea level. I started with Jean-Paul but soon left him behindhe didnt catch me for 30 miles by which time wed descended to elevations where his body could get adequate oxygen. Also, I probably pushed a bit too hard in those early milesa classic mistake that took its toll later. Both of us entertained the idea of coming in under 24 hours and tried to keep up that pace as long as we could. However, we both knew we were undertrained so did not have high expectations.
The top is called Emigrants Pass because the trail was one that was taken to get to California for the 1849 gold rush. If we were feeling sorry for ourselves trying to run up the mountain, we just needed to think of hauling fully loaded wagons up and over the pass to put things in perspective. I did remember to quickly look over my shoulder to admire the sunrise over the lakebut it would take more than that to inspire me to run again another year! From the top, we descended on single track through grassy slopes (we were above tree line!) filled with summer wildflowers. However, Im sure few runners were taking in the beauty of the trail. This section was frustrating because it was difficult to pass. But the closeness of the runners and the fact that we were still fresh led to many chirps and even conversations. During the first half of the race I met numerous runners from all over the US and of every conceivable background. One oke tried what I at first thought was some sort of runners pick up line: he said I had a perfect runners body! Turns out hes a high school track coach so knows his stuff. He asked if Id run in high school and that opened a whole can of worms. Being a contemporary of the dinosaurs, I date from the days when few schools had track and field for girls. I used to watch the boys enviously but I was a few years too earlywhich I was reminded of because it had been all over the news that week in the US: the 25th anniversary of Title 9, the bill that demands that girls be given the same money and opportunities as boys in sport in schools and universities. Makes one think of how far females have gone in the last quarter centurybefore that, women werent allowed to run marathons, or even the middle distances in the Olympics. Now, women such as Ann Trason regularly finish in the top ten overall in 100 milers! You go, girls!
(Please forgive me for that. We all know theres plenty of politics in sport. Im reminded of this as Im back to being a Veteran after running 2 races as a Master!)
Something that the Western States 100 is famous (infamous) for is the dust. If you are running behind someone, dust soon becomes an uncomfortable fact of lifesome people wear kerchiefs, looking like bandits on the runbut, as the miles go on and the pain increases, dust becomes one of the least of your worries. The trail has some rocky and rooty bits but, to those of us who spend our days on the extremely rocky Cape trails, this presents no problem. However, we did notice a lot of US runners having a terrible time negotiating the rocky parts and just whooshed by them. Even when people were still fairly fresh, I personally witnessed 3 runners fall and heard several more grumbling and cursing the rocks. I had read at least a dozen race reports but only now understood how the same portion of the trail would be described by one person as gently rolling and by the next as kamikaze. Its all a matter of personal perspective!
The morning went well with even a few clouds in the sky to keep the temperatures down. I think everyone managed a smile for our first official photo at Cougar Rock and again at Little Bald Mountain. This was one of two detours we took because fires last year had left the traditional route with wobbly trees and other hazards that the race organisers didnt want to subject us to. The second detour was a lovely single track through thick trees but also with lovely views into the deep canyons this area is known for. I believe it was at Robinson Flat, about 30 miles out, that we were weighed for the first time. Following instructions and drinking plenty, I had gained weight; apparently this is as it should be. By now it was getting quite warm and I really enjoyed the cantaloupe (spaanspek) melon on offer. I sometimes had the potatoes and salt or a half peanut butter sandwich for some solid food but I found the fruit so much more refreshing. At the Last Chance aid station (no, the name has nothing to do with the raceit was the name of a long gone Gold Rush town), I felt like I was in HawaiiI would have happily stayed there all afternoon munching on fresh mangoes, pineapples, bananas and all manner of tropical fruit!
By now, Jean-Paul had caught up but we were both slowing down as the clouds had cleared and the sun was high in the sky. Also we were now in canyon countrymany steep ups and downs often on wide (and therefore sunny) jeep tracks. In the heat of the day we descended into Deadwood Canyon, about 480 metres down and the same back up. I had sussed out this area during a training run so knew to hold Jean-Paul back from climbing down to the river for a cooling swim (a stunning blue stream which was as tempting to us as the Sirens were to Odysseus). I knew there was a small stream that crossed the trail just beyond and that he could save time and energy by laying in that to cool down. On second thought, maybe the river would have been more effective but actually I dont think there was much hope for himhe had to go up the 480 metres which, we were told, involved 36 switchbacks, in something like 40 degree heatand that was in the shade (thank God) of the pine trees. Jean-Paul has never been a big fan of heat and having just come from one of the coldest South African winters on record was not in his favour. Near the top, we passed Devils Thumb, an aberrant piece of rock that stuck up likewell, a thumb. Just shy of the top, we could hear the aid station and a boy came down with bottles of water. I could tell they werent cold and didnt take one but Jean-Paul guzzled his. Less than a minute later, as I sank gratefully into a chair, I heard Jean-Paul quickly dive into the bushes and vomit. Apparently this is par for the course at this point of the race so no one took any special notice. The good news was that his stomach was empty and so all he lost was the water. The bad news was that this was Jean-Pauls bodys way of saying that there was a malfunction with the thermostat control and that the cafeteria and bar would be closed until further notice. In other words, he could not eat and could barely just sip water for the next several hours until the sun set and he could cool down. On a 100 miler, not eating and drinking for hours on end usually is a death knell. Only by going slowly and steadily and with grim determination was he able to continue. I stuck with him 1) to provide support and 2) because I wasnt feeling particularly speedy myself and this was a great excuse to take it easy.
Being middle of the pack meant that we didnt see the TV cameras much but one found me as I was stuffing my face at the Devils Thumb aid station. I managed to ask some questions of one of the volunteers about how far wed gone and how far to the next aid stationI probably appear rambling and incoherent; I just hope I dont embarrass my friends and family too much if I make it to national TV!
I dragged Jean-Paul off again (Beware the chair) and we slowly descended a much less steep but even deeper canyon to El Dorado Creek, 800 metres down and 560 metres back up. Although there was a full complement of oxygen here, we were rather low in the energy department. While the front runners undoubtedly ran almost all of this (no, we were told, even they dont run up to Devils Thumb!), we took it a lot slower. The sun was essentially down by the time we got to the tarred road in the Gold Rush town of Foresthill. This was the BIG aid station as it was accessible by ordinary car (many aid stations were only 4 x 4 accessible) so friends and family were gathered here by the hundredsquite a party atmosphere. This was also where my friend, Sigrid, started her seconding duties; it was lovely to see a familiar face and hear her encouraging words. Since it was getting darker and cooler, we lightened our load by carrying only one water bottle but also took our torches with. We were rather behind schedule at this point and had long since given up on the goal of 24 hours. My pacer met me herehe had been wondering what had happened to us and was very relieved when we finally rocked up. John is a friend of a friend and has paced before but he is really just a companion, not one to push the pace. However, he is a very good talker which is quite useful in keeping runners awake at night.
Foresthill is at the 62 mile mark (100 kms) so it is well passed the half way point, with no more long, steep hills, but it was here that the race really started for me. By now, it was my bed time; I was tired and sore and my right knee was not happy. Our group of three was making slower progress than wed hoped. Jean-Paul, on the other hand, was returning to normal body temperature and was starting to keep solid food down again so his energy level was picking up. He was temporarily slowed down, though, by the fact that hed expected to get much further than Foresthill by dark and so had not put a torch in his drop bag. After about half an hour on the ever darkening trail, my brain cells rubbed together enough to create a small spark: I remembered I had a spare torch in my waist bag! So Jean-Paul led the way and, by about 1:30 AM, he and John dragged me into Rucky Chucky. This was where we had to cross the Middle Fork of the American River. I knew there was a dam further upstream but I had not known that they actually release water everyday for a few hours (in this way, the local white water rafting companies stay in business). However, at night, the river is quite low and only about 10 metres wide. A cable had been strung across it and from this glow sticks were hung at intervals. It actually felt wonderful to have the cool water bathe my legs and feet. Once across, we got our drop bags and changed shorts, socks and shoes. I also got a cup of coffee. Since Im someone who reacts very strongly to caffeine, I was on a coffee high for about an hourfeeling clean and energetic, I was ready to tackle the next 35 kays!
At this point, we were joined by Jean-Pauls pacerwho hed only met by internet. Roger is highly competitive and has done Western States several times. Next year hell be 60 and intends to set a new record for that age group. He was quite disappointed that wed obviously missed the 24 hour cut-off but was going to try his darndest to get us to the finish line asap. The thing is that he had signed on to pace Jean-Paul and now he found himself with me in tow. And after the caffeine began to wear off (subsequent cups of coffee didnt have nearly the same effect) and my knee got worse (I was regularly taking painkillers) I was slowing the party down again. Roger was up ahead setting the pace (he is truly a pacers pacer!) and, according to Jean-Paul, tried to convince him to drop me. But Jean-Paul insisted we would come in together unless it really looked like I wouldnt make the 30 hour cut-off. This had been a real possibility before Roger came along but, with the last remaining flicker in my brain, I realised I needed to follow Roger at all costs. I was like the faithful dog following its master. My pacer John thought Roger was pushing me too hard and he muttered quietly to me that we didnt have to stay with them. But I knew I HAD to stay with them. Once Roger resigned himself to the fact that I was part of the package, he accepted his new challenge and kept the pressure on me. I hated and loved him simultaneously. In a previous life, he must have been one hell of a slave master!
We passed a lot of people but since my knee really hurt on the downs, a lot of people would pass us on the downs, only to have us pass them on the flats or ups. This leap frogging went on for hours and hours. It was daylight (and thus passed the 24 hour mark) by the time we got to the Hash House Harriers aid station. This one is notorious for its loud music and crazy themes (everyone dressed in drag or in hula skirts) but I have no memory of a theme. I do however remember a large neon beer sign that greeted usmiles from civilisation. I also remember the potato soup that went down so well. Soup was something I would have gladly taken all night long (after twenty some hours, energy drinks taste really foul) but everywhere it was either chicken broth or chicken noodle soupI did suggest that they have a vegetarian alternative next yearand even some non veg heads agreed that something like split pea soup would have hit the spot for them.
Back to our epic: it was morning now and we were getting worried about the sun coming up and cooking usthis inspired us to keep moving and, like a horse, I could smell the barn only about 15 kays away. On we trudged, quickly saying good morning to Sigrid at the Highway 49 crossing before going up and then down to cross the American River again but, this time, on an old railway bridge. The last long uphill took us to Robie Point where we hit tarred road and the edge of the town of Auburn. By this time Roger was in a frenzythere was a chance wed break 28 hours! Still, we could only walk the nearly kilometre long uphill but then I knew it was downhill all the way to Placer High School; I dug deep and found a secret energy reserve. I ran, actually ran, none of this survival shuffle business, the last kilometre. Jean-Paul even had trouble keeping up with me as I streaked (if I saw a video I might realise that streak is a bit extreme but it sure felt like I streaked) around the track with Jean-Paul at my heels and we squeaked in at 27:59:35!!!! It may not have been a record time but we finished the damned thing more or less in one piece and we did it under 28 hours! And most importantly, we got the belt buckle! OK, so it was only bronze and not the sub-24 silver but it is still the biggest chunk of metal Ive ever won for running a race!
Before we could sit down in the shade, we had to be weighed and both of us were slightly above our starting weight. Because of the relatively small field of runners (255 finished), there was not a mob scene at the finish like at Oceans and Comrades. Someone offered me a chair in a tent, removed my shoes, washed my feet and checked for blistersI thought Id died and gone to Heaven! I knew I was in Heaven when the next guy came over and offered to give me a massage!!! Probably 25 minutes later he had to cajole me to get me off his table so he could do the next personI was not easily cajoled! Jean-Paul enjoyed the same coddling and then we set off to find the showerswhat a luxurywarm showersto feel nearly human again. And to think, a mere hour ago I was in Hell!
Back at the tent at the finish line, more South Africans appeared to congratulate us. Both Paul and Estienne had bailed in the heat of the canyons and Brian Marshall had expected to bail as hed had a bit of flu. No one knew where Barry was but we assumed hed been pulled from the course for not making one of the cut-off times. The 30 hour cut-off came and went--very anti-climactic as there was no one on the field making a last ditch effort to beat the clock. Then, just as everyone was about to pack up, the announcer called out that two men were on the track. The first looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame, in obvious pain with cramps causing him to hunch to the left, but the other was trudging determinedly along. The announcer asked if anybody knew who he was as he rounded the bend and all the South Africans were yelling back that it was Barry Schwartz! He didnt get the belt buckle but he did get the finishers medal.
By then the foot washers and masseur had gone home so I sat Barry down, removed his shoes and washed his feet. Id heard tales of how bad feet can look but this was a shock. It looked like hed had blisters along every inch of both feet and theyd all poppedhe must have been in such pain but had kept going. As all ultra runners know, these races are at least as much mental as physical. Fortunately, the blister treating woman was still there and she wrapped Barrys feet uphow he took a shower I couldnt tell you!
By now, it was blazing hotwe were glad we didnt start the race today as it was hotter than yesterday (although relatively cool compared to the heat wave that hit California two weeks later when it was over 40the canyons probably heated to 50!) We joined the crowd (earlier finishers had returnedsome had even had a good nights sleep!) in the cafeteria for lunch. Our pacers joined us but soon left to retrieve their cars from where theyd left them the day beforeSigrid gave them a lift. Ultras are not run alonethere are innumerable people who help you in one way or another and I am very grateful to all who helped me.
At 2 PM, we gathered in the auditorium for the prize giving. There we learned about the superhuman top ten, both men and women. For the 4th year in a row, 28 year old Scott Jurak won in a time of 16:19 and, for the 13th time, 41 year old Ann Trason came in first woman in 18:16. Anns lead over perennial second Emma Davies gets shorter each year, only 16 minutes this year but she came in 6th overall!!!! Tim Tweitmeyer, 43, completed his 20th sub-24 and Gordy Ansleigh, who started this race 29 years ago, defying medical professionals by finishing in under 24 hours, came in just ahead of us. Jean-Paul and I joined the other 27 hour finishers and were hailed as South Africans, the only ones to finish within the cut-off time. But it was Barry who stole the show with a special prize for being the first over the finish line after the cut-off. (He was really second but they seem to like to highlight the foreigners; I got a spot prize but I know there was nothing random about it!)
I was in bed fast asleep by 6 pm and only woke up when the early birds started chirping 12 hours later. I think I deserved that after covering 161 kilometres that involved going up a cumulative 5500 metres and down 7000 metres. If you are a certifiably insane ultra trail runner, this granddaddy of all ultras is an experience you shouldnt miss. If you still have some sanity left, try crewing or pacing J