Tahoe 200: Day 1 Pre-Race to Sierra-at-Tahoe #Tahoe200 #RunningforRefugees

Pre-Race: The anti-Ironman & Meeting Scott Jurek

We arrived to Homewood at 7:45am, just an hour and fifteen minutes from the race start, and that seemed early.  Ultra-runners are pretty mellow, especially compared the Ironman triathlete crowd I’ve grown used to seeing on race days. Many of the runners slept in their vans and campers in the parking lot.

Ultra-runners are more like Neil Young compared to the Guns-n-Roses craziness of Ironman races. No rock music blaring at 5am. No $10,000 bikes and transition set up. No wetsuits. No pensiveness. No one yelling at me through a loudspeaker – “By the end of the day, you will be an Ironman!” I’m glad I experienced the Ironman races, and now I’m glad to be in a more relaxed crowd. In ultra-running, you just lace up your running shoes and go.

Most of the pre-race time was spent waiting to get our SPOT device, so I used that time to get my feet and shoes prepped.  Then Lena said – “Isn’t that Scott Jurek?”

Whoa! He was just chilling with his wife and baby.  I said hello and thanked him for his book – “Eat & Run.” He introduced me to his wife, Jenny. They were there to pace a friend.

To put this in perspective… Imagine showing up to play a weekend softball game and seeing Babe Ruth warming up the pitcher. Or before a pick-up game of flag football, seeing Tom Brady playing catch with your buddies. I’ve had similar interactions with Dean Karnazes at two other ultras – he just showed up, grabbed a bib number and said – “We’ll have to run some miles together today…”

I don’t know of any other sports where you can hand out with the titans of the sport.

 

Race Start to Barker Pass (mile 7): Let’s do this

Candice called everyone over about three minutes before the race start to line up behind the gate. I gave my goodbye hugs and kisses, and blended in with the other 182 starters waiting for the countdown.

It’s pretty melodramatic, if only because it’s not really a “race” for most of us. It’s a journey – more like starting a road trip. You don’t exactly pull out of the driveway at 65 mph and rip open the beef jerky while still in your neighborhood. It’s freaking 205.5 miles. Plus the course immediate goes uphill, so no one is actually running more than a few steps to push through the starting gate.

I considered the first segment from the race start to Barker Pass as a prologue – it was a feeling out phase to see how I would do with elevation and staying patient, and to make sure that my backpack and gear was all sorted and working comfortably.  The course doesn’t give you much to be impatient about – you hike the first 3.5 miles with everyone else then you meander down to the first aid station at Barker Pass.

I sensed nervous energy throughout the crowd.. I spent a mile talking with Brent from Georgia. He struck up a conversation by asking – “What’s your name?” I felt a little out of breath walking up the first few miles and he seemed unphased.  It wasn’t the elevation as much as my body adjusting to the activity. That create a twinge of doubt in my mind  – did I really belong here? Was I ready? I slowed my walking pace and just told myself – “Conserve, conserve, conserve.” I really had no idea of what was ahead.

I also felt curiosity in the group of runners. I think everyone wanted to know if they belonged too. Were we crazy to be going after this distance? Were we ready and prepared for what was ahead? Would doing a 100 translate to knocking out a 200? For me, I hadn’t even done a 100, which surprised everyone I shared that tidbit with throughout the race.  It was hard to think about the next four days out there, and even just getting through the first day so mostly I just wanted to get to the first aid station and get on my way to Loon Lake.

At the top of the climb out of Homewood, a patch of snow remained which was an well-placed reminder that we were, in fact, in the mountains. This was the wilderness and I was about to spend the next four days out here.

Along the jog down to Barker Pass, I remember looking at my Garmin and seeing we were past 5.5 miles into the race – less than 200 to go! A small milestone achieved.

At the aid station, I tried to be swift and deliberate. The next stretch was 14 miles so I wanted begin gauging how much water and fuel I would need for these longer stretches between aid stations, as these distances between aid stations would get longer as the day and the race wore on. The more I could learn early in the race about hydration, the better.

 

Barker Pass (mile 7)  to Loon Lake (mile 24): Getting off-course & the Rubicon Trail

This is where the race became real. Past the aid station, the course led you about 1/2 mile down fire road then turned sharply to the left onto a single track trail. With the runner group so compact, it was easy to follow the person ahead and stay on the course.

Or so everyone thought…

After about 1/2 mile down the single track, a group of runners were doubling back yelling – “No flags!” About 100 runners aggregated in an open area along the trail, pulling out our phones and checking out the GAIA app.

It was an interesting sociological experiment in group think and decision-making. We all appeared to be off course, and according to GAIA, should have been on another trail just slight downhill from where we were.

A few people wanted to go back where they came from saying things like – “This is the Tahoe Rim Trail. I know where we are.”

Then I remember one woman taking charge – “Think about this guys – there are NO FLAGS down there and Candice was very clear that no flags means you are OFF COURSE, and we should go back to the last place we saw a flag.” She was right and that made the most sense to me.  I continued the double-back to the fire road and we found a second trail that appeared to be the right trail according to the GAIA app. Still no flags though.

For the next four miles, no one saw a flag but the GAIA app and corroborating with other runners, we seemed to be on-course. Eventually we picked up a trail with a marker. The only thought we hd was that someone wet through a picked the flags as a really bad joke.  Gladly this happened early in the race when everyone was bunched together and people could work it out together. If this happened at mile 130, it could have meant big trouble for anyone that was fatigued and out on the trail alone at night.

Along this stretch I met Peggy from Nevada City. She’s 61 and has grandkids. Wow. She and I spent the next few days leap-frogging each other. It was comforting to see a familiar face along the way, and I was glad to make a friend on the course. (Thanks, Peggy!)

Heading to Loon Lake brought us onto the famed Rubicon Trail. Around mile 12 or 13, I chatted for a few minutes with a women from Arizona. She asked how I was doing. I said – “We’re doing it. We’re here. We’re on the course.”  I started to feel like I belonged, and at the least, I felt like I’d figure out a way to get through Day 1.

On the Rubicon Trail, while the boulders and rocks were a huge pain, the recent rain kept the dust I had read so much about at bay. This was a very fortunate break compared to past years – runners had reported 2-3 inches of dust the made breathing hard and caused blisters by penetrating shoes and socks.

It was slow going along the trail as expected, mostly walking on and between big rocks.  I met Gene on this stretch, 69 years old and going for the Triple Crown this year – Bigfoot, Tahoe and Moab. Next year, he’s gunning for a sub 3:00 marathon to set a course record in Europe. I walked with him and another fellow that was on the course for the second year. He knew the distances and climbs ahead, which helped to manage expectations and felt nice to have an impromptu guide for this section even if he hadn’t signed up for that duty. I tried to be judicious in my questions because I wanted to respect his space and race. Hopefully I was.

As we reached Loon Lake, I stopped with about 10-15 others to refill my water bottles from the lake. I didn’t really need the water, but thought it would be a good break and a good exercise to get in the habit of getting water – using my water tablets and generally staying disciplined to keep my water bottles and water bladder full. Late in the day, I’d have to learn this lesson the hard way…

I don’t remember much from the Loon Lake aid station.

Loon Lake (mile 24) to Tell’s Creek (mile 30.5)

In this stretch, I met Jonathan from Texas. He and I ran together for a while and down to the Tell’s Creek aid station. It was good company for both of us. I stayed just ahead of him almost like a pacer and for a good hour or more, we talked without me ever really getting a good look at his face – just a voice along the trail. Thunderstorms were brewing as forecast and the skies turned gray.

The skies opened up as soon as I hit the aid station. Oh my. The rain was frustrating in working with my drop bag. I didn’t have any space to spread out and go through my drop bag for what I wanted. I wanted to be quick here, but not hurry too much.

I saw Jonathan at the aid station, and he and I made eye contact as if to say – “Let’s keep running together. I was game, but the rain and chaos separated us and I was on my own.  Time to get on my way to the next stretch – a half-marathon to Wright’s Lake.

I ate a couple of quesadillas and two pieces of bacon hot off the grills, dripping with grease, donned my rain gear and headed down the trail.  Less than a 1/4 mile out of the aid station, I doubled back for my aid bag to grab my plastic poncho as well. The rains were really coming down and I wanted to stay as dry as possible. Once situated again, I felt ready to get going, and got myself to accept that rain was just part of the challenge. There’s was nothing to do but accept it was there, and be thankful I had my rain gear, poncho and headlamp.

Tell’s Creek (mile 30.5) to WRight’s Lake (mile 44): Night-time & BROKEN-DOWN JEEPS ON THE RUBICON

I caught up to Jonathan and we put in a few more miles together, chatting more about podcasts and books, and just mostly passing the time along the slow miles.  The rains stopped and the air temperature dropped. Somewhere along here, I donned on my long-sleeved shirt and headlamp. Night-time running had officially begun.

For context, it was about 7:30pm, which mean I’d been going for 10.5 hours, and still had at least another 8-9 hours of work to do before I would reach Sierra-at-Tahoe. This was a little unnerving to think about, but overall, while my legs where feeling tired, I felt capable and strong enough to keep going.

There was more of the Rubicon Trail, and what I remember from this stretch is climbing and jumping from boulder to boulder up and down the trail, occasionally slipping past Jeeps that were on the trail. A few Jeeps were broken down or stuck on rocks. Guys had headlamps and spotlights out trying to fix broken engines. Man, those guys are crazy to be out there… ????

I tried to keep up with a group of 4-5 runners that formed, and every so often I’d catch up and then they’d pull ahead. I noticed two guys were running together closely and I tried to stick with them, as they seemed pretty experienced in ultras and mentally there was a certain comfort in having someone else there in case something went wrong. Not that I’d expect them to help much, but it was dark, getting late and I was now in unchartered territory for me. The longest single day endurance event I’d done was the 14.5 hour Catalina Channel swim, so every step I took into the evening felt like I was going farther and farther out on a precipice to see what I could do and what I could handle.

At Wright’s Lake, I think I ate some decent food, but I can’t remember what. I do remember drinking a Starbucks Via packet that I had packed in my drop bag, and that was a good boost to get me going from the next stretch. It was a longer one, with only the Highway 50 water station for the next 19 miles, about 10-12 miles from Wright’s Lake, then “only” another 8 or so miles to Sierra-at-Tahoe. I packed plenty of Tailwind so that I could refuel at the water station for the last stretch to keep up with both hydration and calories.

At the station, I cleaned my feet and changed into dry socks here to keep them in good shape. So far, so good. While my shoes and outer layer socks and shoes where a little wet from the rain, my feet felt good and I figured I could go the 18-19 miles and finish the day in good shape. Every day without foot issues was a bonus out there.

Wright’s Lake (mile 44) to Highway 50 (mile 56.7): Wet Feet & Running into the Abyss

My clean, dry feet only lasted about a mile…

Soon after the aid station, I reached a creek crossing. So far, any of the creeks or stream crossings had rocks and trees to walk on to stay dry, but this crossing was a wider and deeper. No way to cross without walking through the ankle deep water.

F&CK.

After crossing, I plopped down and changed socks again but the outer pair of socks where drenched, as were my shoes so while my feet were clean from dust and debris, they were wet and would be wet for the next 16 miles or so. As soon as I changed my socks, I questioned if I should have waited in case there was another creek crossing. Oh well. So be it.

Past the crossing, I hit a good stretch for a while. The trail was pretty modest and I could actually do some light “running” here. At mile 46, I was “running” at a sub-12:00-min/mile pace. I caught up to the pair of runners that had been running tightly and I passed them – “I had some coffee at the last stop!” It was a good burst for a couple of miles, then my Garmin battery started to fade. I stopped to recharge it and they passed me back.

Out of the words, the course hit a long 3-mile downhill pavement stretch that led down to Highway 50. Pretty painful on the knees. The slope was steep enough that I couldn’t take a true running stride, so it was a lot of small steps to try to take advantage of the downhill, but even with poles, I could feel my knees aching. One of the guys I ran with suggested taking it easy – “I’m going to need my downhill legs later…”

We got to the bottom on the hill all the way down to 5500’ and I looked for the water aid station. My mileage and time was off because my Garmin was charging and I asked another runner where he thought we were on the course.  He seemed to think the water station was about three miles ahead.

I ran ahead of the group a little, feeling antsy because I was pretty low on water, depending on the aid station to refill it. I found myself alone on the trail and now it was deep into nighttime. My Garmin was charged up by now so I tried to estimate miles and looking for the Highway 50 aid station felt like the quest for El Dorado. After a while, I realized that I must have missed it or it didn’t exist, and now it was just a matter of plugging through the next 8-10 miles to get to Sierra-at-Tahoe.

I was mentally tired, but overall, felt surprising good for having now gone 14-15 hours since the morning. Even the first day alone felt like a very, very long journey. It was strange and magical to think that I ran through the starting gate this morning, along the Rubicon Trail, dealt the thunderstorms, passed well beyond my previous personal single-day limits, still had 8-10 miles to do, and remarkably felt able and strong enough to work complete Day 1.

Highway 50 (mile 56.7) to Sierra-at-Tahoe (mile 62.9): Hallucinations: Wolves & Jim Morrison

Yep. I had ‘em.

I ran past one fallen tree and thought I saw a wolf perched, ready to pounce. I actually jumped backwards then tried to laugh it off. In my peripheral vision, I saw a poster of Jim Morrison and The Doors, and when I looked over, it was gone. When I looked back ahead, I saw it again. The trail seemed like a meandering mess, and I lost my sense of direction, just looking for the dragon flags every so often to make sure I was on course. Occasionally I’d see a headlamp ahead or behind me on the trail, so at least the next person wasn’t that far away.

I caught up to another runner – an guy from England. I was low on water and I asked him how much water he had. “I’ve got three bottles if you need some.” Good to know. We ran and walked along for a bit, not saying much of anything and then we hit a long, long climb. He hiked ahead of me and I followed his heels up the mountain. At one point he said – “Jeez, this thing is never-ending isn’t it?”  Yes it was. It was dark, very dark, cold and about two o’clock in the morning. It just kept going and going and going, looking at my Garmin for elevation changes. We were well past 6500’ and still going higher. I rationed my water and nutrition and eventually we hit the top of the climb at 7200′ and descended down to the entrance to the Sierra-at-Tahoe ski area.

This stretch taught me a painful lesson about distance and time. When hiking, even fast hiking up a hill, I was going about 3 mph, or 20:00/min miles. That means you’re only three miles away from a destination and it’s going to take AN ENTIRE FREAKING HOUR TO GET THERE! Covering 60 miles and knowing I was so close to the end of the day, then knowing I still had another hour out there was rough on my psyche. I just told myself to keep moving forward and eventually I’d get there.

The road up to the aid station included one last climb. On the way up, I saw other runners heading back out. I really couldn’t fathom this. It was 19 hours since the race start, with 7 miles to the next aid and 23 miles to the next sleep station at Armstrong Pass that included a 4000’ climb. I couldn’t understand this decision. I’m guessing and hoping that these runners arrived to Sierra-at-Tahoe a couple of hours ahead of me, got some rest and started out again as I would do in a few hours.

Finally I reached the parking lot of the ski resort, turned the corner and saw the wonderful Christmas lights strung out on the ground leading into the ski resort.

It was 4:09am on Saturday morning. I had been going more than 19 hours, and made it to the first big checkpoint in my race, and was only nine minutes behind schedule on my 84-hour race plan. Pretty damn awesome.

 

While I was excited to be on schedule, I also accepted right there that it would be tough to keep this pace for the next three days. For now, I was just glad for the day to be done, and didn’t care if I slept for the next 5 or 6 or 8 hours to reboot. Plan be damned, I just wanted a respite from the never-ending trails.

Candice said Day 1 would be the toughest, so I kept telling myself that. I got through the first day and covered more ground and went longer – 62.9 miles and 19+ hours – than ever before. I already had won, and I knew I’d at least be able to start Day 2.  I declared victory and got myself inside to figure out what to do next.

Sierra-at-Tahoe Aid Station: Wrinkled, White Feet, Wool Blankets & Catching ZZZZZZs

Other than to try to find some food and then sleep, I had no plan whatsoever coming into the aid station. I got my aid bag and dumped everything I had on a chair.

I pulled off my shoes and socks to check the damage. After 16 miles of running in wet socks, I had wet prunes for feet. The skin on the underside of my feet was white and wrinkled, and had I gone too much longer, the skin probably would have started to peel. I figured the best I thing I could do was to let them dry out completely before starting the next day.

I grabbed my contact case from my drop bag, ate what I could and asked for the sleeping station. Up the steps, I found camping pads strewn across the floor. I headed to the back corner away from the snoring, dumped my stuff – phone, contacts, trekking poles and headlamp – laid down. It was cold and drafty, and I was pretty disappointed there weren’t any of these fabulous wool blankets I’d heard Don Freeman talk about on the Trailrunner Nation Podcast. I was wearing my two running shirts and my jacket and laid down to sleep around 4:30am. I didn’t set an alarm, just accepting that I’d sleep as a long as I needed.

I woke up feeling groggy and checked my phone. 5:30am. I had to pee, so I walked down to the bathroom and headed back up to sleep some more. On the way, I found a plastic bin with the fabled wool blankets! Yes!

I grabbed a blanket and snuggled back to sleep. I woke up and saw it was daybreak outside,  wondering how long I’d slept. It was only 6:30am – a whole two hours.  I checked my legs for soreness. Not bad. Still pretty limber.

I sat up and felt refreshed somehow, thought – “Okay, let’s get on with it…” and Day 2 began…