Tag Archives: Tahoe 200

I got to “bed” around 10:30pm and planned to sleep until 4am – no real plans to rush the morning. Instead I wanted to get a really good rest so that I could have a strong day on Monday to finish the race. While 84 hours was still on my mind, I was also willing to eschew hitting that time in exchange for good strong day.

I woke up sometime around 1:30am. The air was cold outside, blowing under the tent flaps, and the wool blanket felt warm and comfortable. I did a quick diagnostic – no soreness in my legs and I felt  rested, so it was time to rise and shine.  The only thing standing in my way of the finish line was 50 miles of trails. Having that singular focus was so freeing and enjoyable. I slipped on my shoes and ambled back to the aid station area from the sleeping tents.

First things first – pop in my contact lenses so I could see. I didn’t think through this like I should have, trying to put them in my eyes while standing outside on a rug using my iPhone as a mirror. Duh.

One of my contacts fell on the ground, so the mad scramble to find a needle a haystack began. I was able to find it, and then asked for some help. One of volunteers had a camper with a mirror. Much more civilized and practical. I then ordered some breakfast and found a spot on ground to start limbering up.

While I was stretching, a runner came into the aid station, telling a story about a bear encounter. He had turned a corner on the trail a few miles back and saw a bear standing there. When he tried to make some noise to scare it away, the bear stood its ground. Then he heard some rustling and saw three cubs up in a tree – not exactly this situation you want to find yourself in, so he backed off down the trail a bit and waited until he heard them leave.

I told this story to Todd, the head medic, at the Tahoe City aid station later that morning. He asked me – “Do you think he really saw a bear?” as if to say – “Maybe the guy was hallucinating…” Either way, it was both entertaining and a reminder that I was in the wilderness, even though the aid stations, trail markers and constant drip of runners made it feel like we were out for a walk in the woods on a race course.

Once I ate, I remembered that I left my trekking poles down at the sleeping tent, and Liz was kind enough to go grab them. Final adjustments to my gear and I got some advice on the next stretch from the Donner Running Party – “mostly downhill and very runnable. Really great surface.” Yes. Awesome.

On the way out, the volunteers played exit song requests. Here’s mine:

Brockway (mile 155) to Tahoe City (mile 175): Flying Down the Mountain

It was just past 2:30am and I was on my way to Tahoe City, 20 miles of nighttime and early morning running. Like yesterday, I segmented this stretch into smaller parts. I knew I had about three hours of darkness, then I’d start to see the false dawn around 5:30, then the sunrise an hour after that.

I figured this 20-miles stretch would take about 6-7 hours given the wear and tear of the past three days, bringing me into Tahoe City around 9:30am. I had budgeted to be there by 9am on my 84-hour race plan, and given my early start – arriving about two hours ahead last night and leaving much earlier this morning than planned – I started to think that as long as I kept plodding along at the same pace, I might still have a chance to hit the 84-hour mark. I tried to do some math in my head – 50 miles, divide by 3 (20:00 min/mile pace) was 17 hours. Three o’clock AM, add 17 hours…. 12 hours is 3:00pm, remainder 5 hours, which is 8pm, which would be 83 hours so even at a 20:00 min/mile pace for the day, I have an hour buffer to get to the finish by 9:00pm, or 84 hours. This could happen.

I hadn’t thought much about bears too most of the way, but during this morning I definitely thought about bears. The guy’s story at the aid station spooked me. Plus I was now working on eight hours of sleep over three days and more than 155 miles, so the visuals were pretty strong.

I wasn’t hallucinating, but rocks, trees and shrubs took shape. Stumps looked like giant frogs and the heads of giant ferrets. Fallen trees and rocks started to look like bears. I decided to just have fun with it. I knew none of it was real, so why not enjoy the show?

The first part of this stretch was a gentle uphill then an easy downhill for the first 2.5 miles, then there was a long gradual uphill for the next five miles that gained about 1000’. Definitely manageable even if it meant a lot of slow miles. I just focused on plodding along.  I came down a hill to a small lake or pond, and stopped for a few minutes to eat a bag of sweet potatoes and bacon. I called that “breakfast.”

After reaching the end of the gradual climb, the rest of this stretch was as promised – flat and runnable, and a super opportunity to bank some time, dropping into 16:00 and 17:00-minute miles in the first ten miles. Around mile 12, I stopped for a longer break, then the next 5-6 miles were GLORIOUS!

My legs felt remarkably fresh. No soreness in my quads or hamstrings at all. A few ligaments and tendons were feeling worn, but nothing debilitating, so I was able to pick up the pace and knock out miles all the way into the 11:00-13:00 minute/mile range. This was HUGE to bank this time, and to feel really strong, almost like Superman. Every mile that I picked off was one less mile to go to the finish. Every mile at a pace under 20:00-minutes was banked time.

I zoomed by a couple of runners on this segment that I had run with last night. They had gotten an earlier start than me, but with my pace, I was able to catch up and pass them. At one point, I got down to 7:23 pace for a short spurt. I was flying down the mountain.

After riding that wave, I had about three miles to the aid station. The trail turned rocky and hard to manage at a quick pace. I took that as a sign to slow down, enjoy the time I banked and start resting up for the next stretch from Tahoe City to Stephen Jones.

Travis and Lena would be meeting me at Tahoe City. I told them sometime between 8:30-9:00, thinking that I would arrive a bit later than that, but at least they’d be there ready to go when I arrived to shorten the rest stop time but I was well ahead of that.

As I came down to the trailhead, the course ran along a couple of streets to reach the aid station. As I pulled into the aid station, it was only 8:15am! The sun was shining, and I felt awesome, just awesome. Lena was just walking up to the station with chairs and gear just as I arrived.

The aid station was quiet so I had the place pretty much to myself at first with just 1-2 other runners there. I ordered a huge breakfast – eggs, bacon and pancakes. I wanted to refuel and enjoy the fruits of my early morning work. I had just covered 20 miles in under 5:45, feeling great and starting to believe that 84 hours was very, very possible after all.

Todd patched me up one more time, taking care of a blister under a toenail. He told me that I was looking strong and really in good shape. Travis pulled into the parking lot, got together his gear while I ate and got medical attention. I was juiced and ready to go. Lena snapped a picture and off we went.

Tahoe City (mile 175) to Stephen Jones (mile 195): Just Two Buddies on a Day Hike

I saw this stretch as the last dragon to vanquish. While the last ten miles from Stephen Jones to the finish included one last big climb, I knew that once I got to Stephen Jones, I would be unstoppable and my finish inevitable, save for a major catastrophe.

Travis and I departed Tahoe City at 9:03am, so I was well ahead of my 84-hour plan. I had planned to arrive to Tahoe City at 9am, so pulling out of the aid station at that time felt really, really good. I briefed Travis on our walk-run strategy, and the first bit of the course ran along pavement before darting back onto the trails. We had a short climb before a steady flat few miles before the mega-climb on this stretch – nearly 2000’ over 3-4 miles right in the middle of the 20 miles.

We knocked off the first 5-6 miles pretty quickly, and again I was happy to bank time, bracing for any possible delays where I’d need to use that time – needing a long break, and injury or anything else. I’m not sure where my worry came from given how well my body help up through 3+ days, but I just wanted to keep that mindset to brace for or avoid any total meltdown.

We came upon a small footbridge at the base of the big climb, crossing a stream near a waterfall.  We sat for a minute to rest before the climb and decided to fill up our water bottles just in case. It felt like we had enough, but I was close to empty on one bottle and the thought of the first night when I ran out of water getting into Sierra-at-Tahoe, which seemed like weeks ago now, was still in my mind. Travis was good enough to climb down to the stream for us and our climb began.

By now, runners were scattered far apart on the course. We went miles without seeing anyone else, I remarked that it didn’t even feel like I was in a race anymore. It jut felt like two guys out for a hike. That feeling alarmed me because I didn’t want to lose any intensity in mindset and pace, but with the climb, there wasn’t much I could do to go faster so it was just about plodding and plodding and plodding. Just keep moving and trust that I was executing on my race plan.

After about an hour, Travis called out the time and asked if we should break. Very good of him to stay on schedule – 55 minutes of movement then a 5 minute break. Perfect timing. We continued the climb and the path crossed an open field close to the top.

Travis was as much as a guide and storyteller as he was a pacer. He knew the geography, plants and flowers around us really well. The best part was that he kept me talking. We talked for a while about endurance racing – marathons, triathlons, training and qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Then we talked about his backcountry adventures with Richard Sexton, a fellow economist at UC-Davis. In his stores, Travis described the terrain, the story, the situation, the weather, the equipment. It was entertaining and most of all, helped pass the time, which meant that as long as we kept moving forward, distance was passing as well.

We reached the top of the climb along with 2-3 other runners about the same time and stopped to look over the valley and take a few pictures. Such a wonderful feeling to have that climb behind me. Just like with Powerline, it was milestone to the finish – it was starting to feel real.   I started thinking about the distance not just to Stephen Jones, but to the finish line. We were now about ten miles into this stretch, with ten miles to go, then just another ten miles from Stephen Jones to the finish line. The mental countdown started, even as much as I wanted to stay present and focused on just getting to the next aid station.

Soon after reaching the peak, we stopped for another break to refresh and start the downhill.  The next seven miles were simply GLORIOUS again. First, Travis started ahead, picking up the pace ever so slightly. I felt GREAT! Very strong and enjoying the downhill. I told him to nudge the pace a bit more, so faster we went. We stopped for a short break, then I took the lead, running ahead for a few miles, ratcheting up the pace even more, faster and faster. For a two mile stretch, we dropped down to a sub-8:00 min/mile and even down to a 7:07 pace at one point. Pure flow. Knocking off miles in 11:00-16:00 range was just damn fun. More time in the bank.

We reached the bottom of the trail into a neighborhood down to the lake. After about 1/2 mile, we picked up the bike trail along Lake Tahoe. Just like the day before near Incline Village, the asphalt miles were painful. Travis kept me moving with a walk-run strategy – “Run to the second telephone pole” and we’d run to it. “Run to the big tree off to the right” and we’d run to it.  Along the path, we stopped to dip our hats in cool lake water which was welcome relief. While the air temperature was moderate, the sun felt hot and we’d been going almost six hours.

The course has us cross the road and head back into some asphalt neighborhood roads before reaching another walking trail on the way to Stephen Jones aid station. We were about two miles from the aid station and I was starting to feel the first real effects of the mileage in my feet and legs. The arch on my left foot was starting to throb and I thought about it would be entirely possible for this to flair up to the point where I couldn’t run. Most of this track was flat or modestly uphill but I had a hard time running with any pace so we walked it. Along the last two miles, Travis and I talked about the aid station plan. Refuel, eat, take Advil and apply more sunscreen.

The trail came out to another asphalt road and we crossed a bridge with a volunteer there. “Just go right up there and hang a left. The aid station is about a quarter mile.”

“A quarter mile from when we take a left, or a quarter mile from here? Because it matters…”  I asked half-jokingly, half-seriously.

She laughed – “From when you make a left.”

Into the aid station we trudged, where Lena, Benjamin, Nina and Paul were waiting. It was just past 3pm, and again, I was ahead of schedule by nearly an hour. THIS MEANT I HAD SIX HOURS TO GO 10 MILES AND STILL BREAK 84 HOURS!

I took my time at the aid station to make sure I was completely regrouped before the last climb. I had the medical volunteer check out my feet. The bandages on my blisters were holding up, and I told him about the shooting paid in my arch.

“I never really get plantar faciatis. This is pretty unusual.”

He didn’t say a word, instead giving me a hilarious look that said – “Are really surprised that after 195 miles, you might actually have some problems you’ve never experienced before?” He applied some rock tape to hold my arch in place. “That should get you through these last ten miles.”

While in the chair, I broached the topic of having someone pace me for this last stretch. Travis said, “I’d stay with you if I think you needed it. You look great – really strong. You don’t need me.” Lena and I talked about her pacing me, and decided that I was good on my own, and that I’d rather her get to the finish line with everyone to meet me there. Paul and Nina helped to refill by water bladder and nutrition and off I went.

STEPHEN JONES (mile 195) TO THE FINISH (mile 205.5): A Massive Climb & A Massive Thunderstorm

Ten miles to go! JUST TEN MILES TO GO!

The first two miles were unexpectedly flat. The surface was littered in large rocks about the size of my fists and feet, but even so, I was able to walk-run to keep the pace going and bank a few minutes before the climb started.

Then it started. Travis had briefed me about this last segment of the course – “It’s a climb about the same as the one we just did, but there’s a saddle on the top, so when he hit the first peak, you’ll go down a little, then back up to a second peak.”

Nope. It was not a climb like the one we just did. It was way, WAY worse. SUPER steep – like climbing stairs but without the stairs. I knew I had about 1750 feet of vertical to reach the top, so I segmented the climb into 250 foot chunks. It was really, really hard to avoid looking at my Garmin. When I did, I’d see I’d only climbed 60’ or 80’ so I started picking a spot above me and climb to that, the find another turn and climb to that. Very slow going, but I kept it steady. At one point, I looked back down and it felt like a roller coaster descent behind me. My only regret is that I didn’t take a picture back down the hill.

I was both cursing and applauding Candice, the race director. “Well done, Candice,” I thought. “Take everything we’ve done over the past 195 miles to get to these last ten, the turn the screws on us one more time.”

After about 1000’, I reached a false peak where a car with a couple of race supporters were, offering water and soda as an informal aid station. I declined and kept moving. The course ran along a paved road for about 1/2 mile before turning back into trail. One more push to the top.

More switchbacks and steepness. A hiker passed me on the way down. I managed a “Hello.” and she replied with – “Enjoy you walk!” Giggle.

As I got closer to the top of the climb, the trees thinned out and I could start to see more of the sky, and what I saw was not good. A thunderstorm was brewing directly across the lake and headed my way. As I reached a clearing towards the top of the climb, it was pretty obvious that I’d be in a race to get up and over the peak before the storm hit. I didn’t care much for the feeling of being at 9000’ feet on an exposed peak with a thunderstorm approaching. I reach one peak, then the trail descended briefly, then back up to the actual peak.

The storm grew closer and I was glad for a decision I made in the last aid station. I had gone through my backpack and handed off some stuff I wouldn’t need to Lena to save on weight – electronic equipment and a couple of other things. I had thought about handing over my rain gear, assuming I won’t need it, but instead thought about Deep Survival. The jacket and pants weighed less than 1/2 lb and what if….

As I reached Ellis peak, I felt a relief to have that behind me so that I could start the race to the finish. The trail descended quickly and the storm was coming closer. Fast. The trail flattened a bit then had a slight incline. Then the slight incline turned steeper. F&CK! I thought I’d hit the saddle before the last peak, and only now was I hitting it!  More f&cking climbing.

Now I was starting to feel concerned for getting stuck up there somehow in the storm, so much so, that I was now running the uphills. I just wanted to get to the next peak, knowing it really would be the last, then I could haul ass it to the finish line.

I hit the peak and started down the true final descent. I came upon a patch of snow that I remembered from the start of the race, and knew that I was about 3 miles to the finish. I was well ahead of schedule again, and right now, looking to finish around 7pm – two hours ahead of my 84-hour race plan.  As I started down, I texted Lena –

 

 

I checked the time – just before 6:30pm. With about three miles to go, I started thinking about breaking the 7pm barrier and having a time of 81:something. Wow. So impressed with my performance. But no time to celebrate because of the damn storm rolling in.

The trail was exposed because I was now running down ski trails and the thunderstorms kept approaching. I’d see lightening flash, then I counted until I heard thunder – one one thousand, two one-thouasand, three one-thousand.  I was running scared.  By now, I locked into a flow state again, picking a line through the trail rocks, eyeing the trail about 50 feet ahead for my line, not even looking down at where my feet were going – they just knew. A few times I stumbled and once I fell. Inconsequential. Just get up and run.

The thunderstorm was now directly over me and passing from the west to the east. Rain hadn’t fallen and I was running scared. The trail ran along the ski lifts, which of course were made from metal, which was awesome in a thunderstorm, and the farther I descended, the more I kept looking for the last turn down into the open ski run area where I could spot the finished gate. But it kept eluding me. I was peeking at my Garmin, and now breaching 10 miles for the stretch. I had to be close, so close. Right?

The trail turned again with a few switchbacks and the flow state dissipated. The storm had blown overhead and now was to the East. It seemed to stay at a high altitude and never hit squarely over me. My pace slowed and I was feeling it in my feet and quads for the last two miles. I kept pushing even though I knew I couldn’t keep the same pace as the miles before.

My Garmin ticked past 10 miles and the finish was no where in sight. I starting to sense I couldn’t break 7pm without a miracle.

More turns. More switchbacks. Maybe there were only 3 or 4 or 5, but they felt endless and steep, then FINALLY I saw the opening to the gate.

This was it! I couldn’t even enjoy the moment, worried about getting to the bottom of the mountain, worried about the family and especially Benjamin waiting out there for me, exposed to the storm. I pushed as hard as I could to hit the finish without taking time to consider what I was accomplishing – 205 MILES! Even as I write, I’m feeling my eyes tear up. 205 miles… 205 miles… 205 miles… Wow.

The race team propped up the finishing gate and my mother-in-law, Nina, was standing across the finish line with a red umbrella. She tried to hand it to me. I pushed it aside and said – “Thanks, Mom, I don’t want an umbrella.”

All I wanted was to see Lena and Benjamin and give them an enormous hug. And I did.

At THE FINISH: 205.5 Miles

Just like at the start of the race, the finish to ultra-marathons are equally melodramatic. No one on a loud speaker yelling – “Scott Sambucci! YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”

Instead, it’s just a couple of people standing around. No crowds. No cheering except for your own crew. With the storms, it was much worse because a wind gust had just blown over the inflatable finishing gate and the food tent. While I was coming down the course on the last mile, everyone at the finish was scrambling to lock down the tents and food.

Had it not been for Nina, then would not have even had the gate stood up for me. I learned later that she had made friends with the race team, as she’s prone to do :-), and she asked them – “Could you please put the gate back up for him?”

So awesome. Thanks, Mom. You’re the best. 🙂

I was feeling great. I’d just run 205.5 miles and was standing there having a conversation, talking about the storm, and getting briefed on all that happened with the wind gust while I was approaching the finish.

I asked for my finished time.

82:00:16.

I just missed finishing before 7pm, and somehow felt disappointed, immediately starting to think about how with the right planning before a few aid stations and taking a few shorter breaks, or running a few more flat spots, how I could have dropped into the 70s. It’s gave me a glimpse of what is possible with the right training, the right planning and the right effort.

I talked to another runner or two, and one of the race coordinators. I asked for my buckle which had been packed away with all of the other race gear after the wind gust. She kindly retrieved the box and I picked out my buckle.

But it wasn’t about a buckle. It wasn’t about loud cheering. This was for me – that I set out to do some incredibly hard, and with the right plan and the right team and the right execution, I was able to do something wonderful.

205.5 miles.

Sierra-at-Tahoe (mile 62.9) to Housewife Hill (mile 70).

I collected my belongings from the floor next to me, headed to the bathroom, popped in my contacts and washed up. Next back to the main aid station area where I found Tim from the Medical team to help me with my feet.

I told him about the wrinkled mess from last night (two hours ago…), and a couple of small hot spots starting developing.  Fortunately, my skin was mostly dried out so he taped up the hot spots and I was ready to go. I put clean pair of socks (Injinjis) and my over-pair socks (CW-X) were mostly dry too. My shoes were still a bit damp, but definitely much better than I expected. Lena was meeting me at Housewife Hill, just seven miles ahead, so I figured I could change shoes there if I needed to complete the reboot (haha!) from Day 1 before the long climb up to Armstrong Pass.

I got a minimal amount of nutrition together for the short stretch and headed out around 7:30am. As I was heading down the hill from Sierra-at-Tahoe, I passed a few runners still just arriving to this aid station and thought about what their Day 1 must be feeling like, now almost 24 hours into the race without sleep. I was glad to be on my way and excited that I felt good for these next few miles.

I came across a runner and his pacer (can’t remember their names ????) super guys and we ran together for a mile or so. This guy had just run the Bigfoot 200 and told me that he slept 16 hours during that race, and improved his overall time by 7 hours over last year. This data point definitely made me feel good about my sleep decision and my overall plan to sleep as much as I could along the way, instead of trying to go 36 or 48 hours without sleep out of the gate.

I felt energized. The sun was shining, the morning brisk and the air cool. The segment was mostly a rolling downhill so I could run a nice smooth pace and made good time down to the aid station.

About a quarter mile from the station, I looked ahead and saw my crew waiting for me! Lena, Benjamin, Nina and Tbone!

Benjamin starting running towards me and I almost starting crying I was so happy to see them.  When he reached me, I said – “Can you believe that I’ve been running since I saw you yesterday?” I said that as much for him as for me. I felt very happy and proud to have made it through Day 1 and felt a confidence that I was on my way to knocking out this journey.

I took some time to try out different shoes but no one them felt right, and my Altras were now mostly dry from the running and dry morning weather.  Nina found me a nice breakfast of eggs and bacon from “The Guy in the Red Suit” serving as cook at the aid station. Very yummy and satisfying.

We snapped a few pictures and off I headed for the 18 miles stretch to the top of Armstrong Pass.

Housewife Hill (mile 70) to Armstrong Pass (mile 88): The long, slow climb

A few miles into this stretch (can’t remember exactly how many…), I crossing a stream. Thinking about the 5-6 hours ahead and remembering how I ran short on water last night, I took a few minutes to fill up one of my water bottles to be sure I’d have enough for the day.

Slowly, slowly, slowly plodding up the first part of the climb, I reached 8000’ about four miles in and felt pretty good about myself and the progress I’d made. The peak was 9750’, so I segmented what was ahead into 250’ elevation climb sections.  I figured I’d be at the top in the next two hours.

Oops…

I should have read the course elevation profile better.  Turns out that once you reach 8000’, there’s a 1000’ descent which drops you back down to 7000’ before heading back up to the 9750’ peak. The downhill miles were nice to knock off a few faster miles, but with each step I couldn’t help but think of the future cost I was incurring, knowing that I’d have to climb back up.

I remember running mostly alone alone along this stretch. With the overnight at Sierra-at-Tahoe and now well past 24 hours into the race and only ~175 runners, the field was stretching out quickly. I passed one runner that was off the trail, sitting high on a rock looking very happy and relaxed. We chatted a short bit, and I liked the idea of finding my own rock for rest somewhere along the midpoint up the climb.

I found my boulder – a huge flat boulder – and set up a picnic for myself. I had a bag of sweet potatoes and bacon that would be become my mainstay fuel for the rest of the race and found an extra packet of Tailwind in my running vest. After a quick bite, I laid on my back and looked up at the trees and watched the clouds move across the sky. A few gray clouds starting to infiltrate the blue canvas above, and all I could think was that another thunderstorm was brewing. I really, really didn’t want it to rain. I did well with it yesterday, managing my mindset and working through it, but the thought of more rain and water on the trail, especially as I was climbing worried me about a slick trail, not to mention climbing up close to 10,000’ where I’d be closer to the clouds and lightening.

I looked up on the trail from my rock, and saw my running friend Jonathan pass by with his pacer and felt a pang of jealousy that he had someone with him on this stretch. A few thoughts of loneliness crept into my mind, but all in all I knew this was just a tough slog that I’d have to do on my own, and eventually when I reached Heavenly tonight, I’d be at mile 103 and more than halfway done.

After a few minutes, I motivated and headed back to the trail.  Climbing higher and higher, the course took me across Big Meadow and along several huge meadows that rested between peaks all around me. Wild flowers were abound in these fields, with yellow and purple flowers everywhere. It really took me aback to think about these plateaus resting thousands and thousands of feet about where I was used to seeing fields of grass and flowers.

I stopped to snap a few pictures just to force myself to appreciate what I was seeing, with the thought that I may never in my life be back on this trail to see what I was seeing. Too many times in situations like this, I’d think – “I’ll take a picture next time” – and too often, there hasn’t yet been a next time.

I took another break along the trailside, laying back on a rock.  I couldn’t sleep but at least I reset a bit. A couple of runners passed me, and one asked if I was doing okay just as I was started to doze off. I was a little perturbed that he interrupted my rest, but really, this was just me being grouchy and instead I considered should be grateful that other runners were aware enough to check in with me. We were miles and miles from anything resembling civilization so if any one of us got in trouble, the only help we could rely on was each other.

I packed up again and continued up the mountain. Another runner somewhere along this stretch passed me, and we kept climbing and climbing and climbing. Eventually we reached a peak, then short downhill, then another peak at 9300′. I asked him if he thought this was the top of the summit.

“I think there’s one more little climb to reach the top.”

Ugh.

We started downhill and he went ahead. The terrain got steep as I descended, and I loathed the idea of heading back up again to hit another peak, but the trail kept descending. My spirits picked up when I realized we had already reached the peak and now I was heading down to the next aid station in the next mile or two. I passed a couple of hikers and a runners heading back up, and that charged me more to know the aid stations was very, very close.

I found the oasis, relieved to have Armstrong Pass behind me, and feeling happy and proud with my progress. From a time standpoint, I was about 45 minutes ahead of my projected time. I expected to arrive to Armstrong around 5pm, and it felt good to know that my pace was holding, I had budgeted 8 hours for this stretch, and I knocked it out in less than seven!

As I meandered into the aid station, and a bearded volunteer, who later I’d learn was named John, asked me – “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good.”

Then he looked at me again – straight into my eyes and said – “Are you sure?”

He was right. I wasn’t necessarily bad, but I was pretty worn out after the climb up and over Armstrong.

“Roseanne is the medical person here – she’ll take care of you if you need anything.”

Roseanne came over and just sat for a moment to see how I was. She gave me a roller for my quads. Perfect timing after that climb. John got me a hamburger and Roseanne hung around just to make sure I took enough time to reset. Meanwhile, she tended to another runner that was shivering in the middle of the day because he hadn’t been eating.

As much as this was a reminder to myself to keep eating, none of the food was appetizing. I took a bite of the burger and it just didn’t agree with me. I knew I’d been good about taking in calories along the way and made myself a protein shake from a packet in my drop bag. That’s about the only food I ate at the aid station, and promised myself to keep eating along the next stretch and to do eat well tonight when I made it to Heavenly. I had a couple of bags of my magic sweet potatoes for calories, plus Tailwind and Clif bars stashed as “just-in-case.”

John and another volunteer (I can’t remember her name), helped me fill my water bladder and nutrition bottles. I was a little slow mentally getting things together, but eventually I got packed up and on my way out. Before I left, I drank another Starbucks Via packet as my afternoon coffee, and to hopefully enjoy a little late-afternoon pick-up from the caffeine.

I was happy to know that Heavenly and some sleep was only 15 miles from here – about five hours if I stayed on pace. More importantly, that the hardest part of the day was over.

Or so I thought…

Armstrong Pass (mile 88) to Heavenly (103.5): More Climbing? Really?

Climbing back out of the Armstrong Aid station was tough but my spirits were up. Before leaving the aid station, I asked about the next section of the course.  “You head back up Armstrong then it’s mostly rolling down to Heavenly.”

Okay, I thought, I just go back up to where I passed the runners coming out of the station then it’s rolling for 14 miles. I could handle that.

I worked my way back up the main trail and reached what thought was the peak of the stretch, only to be sadly mistaken. Instead, I had solid 3-mile climb from there back up to 9600’. It was switchback after switchback, and it was DEMORALIZING. I saw Peggy for the first time since late in Day 1 near the creek crossing, which felt like a lifetime ago.

Another runner (John) and I hitched up a bit and slogged along together, finally reaching the crest of the climb that transitioned from one side of the mountain to the other.  After about 1/4 mile of reaching the top, I found a rock and sat down to rest. I was wiped. That section was unexpected and tough, and I still had about 10 miles to go before Heavenly. I gave myself permission to take as much time as I wanted, ate some sweet potatoes and did a round of breathing exercises. That really reset my brain and body.

Once I got myself going, I told myself to just take it slow and make whatever progress I could on the downhill. By now, the sun setting across a valley to my left, and ahead of me stood a mountain with numerous spiked peaks decorating its side.

My body picked up the pace a little and the next 4-5 miles. I dropped down into a 10:00/min mile pace in a few stretches and knocked out a few sub-15:00/min miles overall. This was a welcome change in body and mind to be moving at a faster, more fluid pace. The trail now was a very nice gentle downslope and with the daylight hanging in the air, I was able to make some solid time over this stretch.

As the sun set over the mountain, I sat to rest then headed back down the trail. A few hundred feet down trail, I realized I’d left my gloves on the rock and had to backtrack. It was a good time to get my headlamp on for the last push down to Heavenly. When I pulled my headlamp from my backpack, it was already clicked on. Oh man.

John and I hiked along the next couple of miles together. He just started racing ultras a couple of years ago, and like me, hadn’t done a 100 before tackling a 200. The trail transitioned from a runnable single track to a rocky path of switchbacks. Down the mountain to the east, we could see the lights of the hotels and casinos along the lake. My headlamp light felt dim, so I sat down to change the batteries. I was very grateful to have packed extra batteries because the difference was HUGE. I could see much, much better.

On and on when trekked down the mountain and eventually we reached the Heavenly property, but still had a good three miles until the aid station. We hit a VERY steep short climb up a fire road – not more than a 1/4 mile but unexpected a killer on the legs. More switchbacks, along with more switchbacks, along with more switchbacks. I’d read about these switchbacks from a race report from a previous year, but it didn’t make them any more tolerable. They were steep and hard to run. I found myself walking on the downhills, then growing impatient and frustrated, so I tried to run the straight parts of the path just to pick up a few minutes and to prevent boredom.

Finally I reached the bottom of the mountain and the Heavenly aid station where Lena and Tbone were waiting.  So good to see them, and a little silly to think that it’d been about 12 hours since I saw them at Housewife Hill that morning, and that I’d covered about 33 miles since then.

They asked me what I needed, and I realized I didn’t have much of a plan. The aid station was oddly configured. The inside area was only for sleeping. The food station was outside on a metal grate deck, and the drop bags were down a flight of stairs, as was the bathroom.

Not a having a plan really sucked. I had Lena and Tanya ready to help me with whatever I needed, and I had no idea what to tell them. I felt decently well physically, but mentally, I was spent. I couldn’t make a decision. It was nighttime – around 10pm (still about an hour ahead of my plan!) and the set up of the aid station just wasn’t what I expected and I was trying to figure out what to do. Finally, I settled on eating what I could, then just getting some sleep to figure out what to do in the morning.  My feet were holding up well, and all I could think about what getting some rest to recharge.

I asked one of the volunteers to help me find a sleeping pad, and  I headed back to the bathroom to clean up a little and take out my contacts.  When I came back up to the sleeping quarters a few minutes later, I saw a guy with a blanket and pad. I thought it was the volunteer, so I said to him – “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”

He looked a little stunned, and said, “This is for me.”

Oops.

Turns out it wasn’t to volunteer but another racer. It was dark inside and I didn’t have my contacts in, so I could see much. Lena came inside and helped me get settled. I was having a pretty tough time just trying to organize my stuff and figure out what to do with everything while I slept. The medical staff was working inside the sleeping area with headlamps, which made it hard to get comfortable, plus there was ambient talking all around both inside the sleeping quarters and downstairs at the bathroom.

We finally got me settled and I found a spot with a blanket and laid down. Ahhh… Time to sleep!  Except that I was WIDE AWAKE. My eyes wouldn’t close. Maybe it was too much caffeine. Maybe I was wired from the race. Whatever it was, I couldn’t get my eyes to close.

I finally told myself – “Dude, you’ve been going since 7:30 this morning, and have covered 103 miles in the last two days on two hours of sleep. You are tired. You have to be tired, so fucking GO TO SLEEP!” Within two minutes, I was asleep.

I woke up about an hour later at 11:30pm feeling very uncomfortable laying on the floor. “Oh man. No way,” I thought. I can’t be done sleeping already. No way I wanted to gear up and head out right now, so I found a second camping pad and to double up the custioning again I fell asleep. I woke up at 1:16am feeling much better, but also wondering if I’d had enough sleep to keep going. Did I really want to get up now and start Day 3 already? Then I checked my phone again and now it was 2:06am, so I must have dozed off a bit more.  By now, I accepted that it was time to get going, and if I got up now, I could hit the trail by 3:00am and start the day.

I rolled off the mattress, found my gear where I left, and Day 3 began…

 

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…