Western States Endurance Run (for Dummies like Me)

Seven (as well as nine) years ago today I was in Squaw Valley, totally out of my element.  I was on the starting line of the Western States Endurance Run. 

Some of you may not be familiar, so let me refer to the event’s website to explain: 

The Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run is the world’s oldest and most prestigious 100-mile trail race.

Starting in Squaw Valley, California near the site of the 1960 Winter Olympics and ending 100.2 miles later in Auburn, California, Western States, in the decades since its inception in 1974, has come to represent one of the ultimate endurance tests in the world.

The only word you need to focus on is ‘trail,’ because if you’re natural running environment is asphalt (that being the case with me), running a race of any distance—let alone 100 miles—on trails can be quite the challenge.

Western States is not just any trail.  For almost the first five miles of the race the route takes the runners directly up a mountain.  Not just any mountain: the initial climb of 2,550 vertical feet up to Emigrant Pass at an elevation of 8,750 feet leaves you breathless and a with a sudden case of ‘sausage fingers,’ a phrase that is hard to explain but easy to understand when you see it in action (the extreme altitude and exertion causes your fingers to swell to the size of a rather large sausage link—scary shit if you’re not used to it, which I’m not).

My first attempt running Western States in 2004 was a dismal failure.  Although I was well ahead of the pace required to complete the race within the 30-hour time limit, my knees had absorbed such a pounding from running up and down and up and down and up and up and up (and down) that I was forced to surrender after 62 miles.  Ironically, from what I was led to believe by the veterans of the event, the heavy lifting was over once you reached the 62-mile mark.  The last 38 miles were ‘gravy.’

Two years later I would return, only to discover for myself that those veterans had been lying to me.

At the very least the final 38 miles were just as difficult as the first 62.  At least I believe they were; it was a little hard to tell for sure because I ran a great portion of them in the dark.  At Western States you’re allowed to utilize a pacer (another runner—ideally fresh and rested who can run with you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid like fall off the side of a mountain) after 55 miles if you reach that point after the sun goes down (which I did).  Danielle did an outstanding job keeping me on pace, on course and on track to finish under 30 hours.  Western States has a series of checkpoints along the course that you must reach within a certain time limit; if you don’t you are unceremoniously removed from the race.  Although I was barely dodging bullets (hitting the checkpoints with only a minute or two to spare) throughout the night and into the morning, I was still in fact dodging each and every bullet!   After 38 miles of watching over me, Danielle’s problem with her foot forced her to turn the pacing duties over to Susan for the final seven miles.  After reaching the 94-mile checkpoint in time, I ran my a** off for the next three miles and hit the 97-mile checkpoint with a 15-minute cushion.  That was the good news.

The bad news: I was totally exhausted.

The good news: Once you reach the 97-mile checkpoint within the allotted time, you can take as much time as you want/like/need to get to the finish line.

The bad news: I did.

The good news: I still had enough gas in the tank to run the last 300 yards to the finish line banner on the high school track in Auburn and received a rousing ovation for being the absolute last finisher of the race.  My time?  30:16:58.

After having a finisher’s medal placed around my neck, reporters from several local television stations interviewed me.  Although I didn’t attend the awards ceremony, a friend of mine did and when I woke up from the nap I took in my hotel room literally minutes after my interviews, I found a framed print lying on my chest, the award given for my position in the race.  Apparently finishing in last place at Western States is a pretty prestigious thing.

Knowing what I went through to get there, it damn well should be.

Just ask everyone who didn’t make it.