That changed about a month and a half ago, when I had to make good on a commitment to pace Rob Byrne, veteren of the race, someone whom I had run a bit with before, but usually that's what it was, a bit. He'd usually tear up most Tullamore Dew Running Club courses that had been set before him, leaving everyone including myself in his dust. This time he "needed me" for an 18 mile segment of the the 100-mile course that he would be doing for the 11th time. I was game to give it a try.
His real goal was not to finish for this 11th time, but to break 24 hours for the 10th time, giving him the acclaimed "1000 miles in 10 days" belt buckle that repeat finishers envy and few have attained. So the 18 miles that I had signed up for took a little deeper meaning and I felt as if I had to some way help him make his mark rather than just getting him through another race. It was an honor to help him try.
The trip started via a ride with Larry England, a friend and fellow pacer, who would be taking Rob in for the last 20 miles after my segment. We drove up in his weathered Suburban and picked Rob up at a park and ride, just off of 580 . The weather was an ominous 111 degrees as indicated by the Suburban's thermometer. Actually, "ominous" is too soft of a word. How about hellacious? Either way, it was frickin' hot.
We made our way up to Auburn, town of the finish, a place which is conisdered by some, if not many, the "mecca" of ultra runners. It's got this very home town feel to it, with lots of pine trees sprinkled around and mountains waiting in the distance. The air is fresh and the area has a clean cut feel to it, perfect for those who enjoy putting their legs to the test.
The opposite of "clean cut" may have very well been the taco joint that we stopped at called "Jimboy's Taco", a place that Rob recommended and wanted to stop at for a bite to eat. Actually, it wasn't all that bad, just a place that I probably wouldn't normally venture into unless I was with a guy that was about to run 100 miles and wanted his burrito. It's his stomach and his race; let him eat what he wants. The food was as good as he had advertised, though there's no way you can eat their burritos with your hands as they pretty much fall apart upon contact. But that's what sporks are for.
After our respit, we continued on awhile to Squaw Valley, the site of the start. I had never been to Tahoe ski country in the summer, but I'd say it's just as beautiful seeing the mountains more green than white (though there was still a lot of snow up there) and not seeing my breath as I opened the car door and enjoyed the 70 degree temperature that the climate had settled to. The evening felt perfect.
The next morning led us to the WSER registration and check in, which started at 9 AM that Friday. There was a pretty good sized line of runners waiting to get registered. It is a little bit more advanced than your typical pick-up-your-bib-and-t-shirt type of affair. You actually have to weigh in at your hydrated weight. This is what they hope for, but supposedly some runners dehydrate themselves a bit so that they might catch a break on the course if they're caught a little under weight. The race experts do mention that this is a fairly stupid thing to do though, given that they've rarely had to pull a runner from the course due soley to a change in weight. It's usually just one of the symptoms they'll use to determine whether someone should be cut off. Anyway, along with the weigh in, the runners get their pulse and blood pressure checked and are invited to go further by offering a sample of their blood to help researchers get a sense of what this kind of activity does to folks. I don't think it's enough to say that 100 miles kinda screws people up.
While Rob went through his ordeal, Larry and I checked out the expo. We found that a lot of the things that the expo offered were exactly what Larry has offered over the years of running his Tullamore Dew Running Club. Every Death Valley and Benedict Arnold run that he's organized features a trinkit that he offers with the TDRC logo on it. He's had head lamps, t-shirts, map/scarves, blankets, gloves, bucket hats (kinda like Giligan wore, but beige), travel coffee mugs, wool jackets and other stuff I'm not remembering. WSER had all of that as if they'd been on the same page with him from year to year. They did finally trump Larry tough with a white pair of WSER briefs of all things. I hope he doesn't resort to copying them.
After the resigtration and the expo, we dropped off three camping chairs (two of them were TDRC chairs) in this grassy open area that would eventually serve as the pre-race meeting space. Obviously I was with veterens that had been through the drill a few times. After killing some time, lo and behold we were sitting in the shade, right towards the front, listening to all of the ins and outs of the race that would follow the next day. We were in perfect position.
Probably the most memorable part of the pre-race talk was the mention of all of the volunteer work that had gone in to clear out a new section of trail that was once overrun with trees, as well as all of the volunteer work that would be going into the race. Supposedly Tim Tweitmeier, the president of the race and another volunteer, whom I unfortunately cannot remember the name of, had spent 100 hours and 500 hours respectively using chain saws to work on the trees, even having to take a class on chain saw usage to get certified. They also mentioned that 1300 volunteers (not inclding crews and pacers) would be working the race, which is an astounding 3 volunteers per runner. I was beginning to perceive the magnitude of the event.
Another memorable part of the talk was seeing the top 10 runners from last year brought up to the front. Among the men was Dean Karnazes of ultra marathon fame through his book and many amazing running feats he's pulled (350 miles in last year's providian relay). But it was the women that impressed me the most. Larry leaned over to me as they assembled out front and whispered "Are these women buff, or what?" Yes they were. Their legs and arms had the appearance of being cut out of stone. I was delightfuly impressed.
The evening brought us a nice dinner at a bar and grill just above Lake Tahoe as we enjoyed the cooled temperature that duplicated the night before. We saw several people with green braclets on their arms, like Rob's, indicating that they were signed up to run tomorrow. The waitress became bug eyed as we told her what Rob was about to do. It's fun to brag about something that just seems so ridiculous and better yet, something I wouldn't actually have to do.
The rest of the evening was all about lounging and getting our running supplies in order. This is a ritual that all ultra runners seem to go through, spreading out their gu, salt, drugs (advil) , adhesives, lubricants and all that fun stuff. It's almost as if you're about to partake in some sort of strange orgy. I guess in some sense, that's what it is.
I took a walk outside of the lodge and tilted my head up into the night sky. Without any moon or major city lights to shade the stars, the view was gorgeous, and with the sounds of crickets coming from the grassy base of squaw, I felt a bit like I was back spending a summer night in Minnesota at my grandma's lake home near Mankato. I always enjoyed the intense feeling I had, staring up into the vastness of the illuminated universe, unhithered by anyone or anything. I need more of that feeling from time to time.
An altogether different feeling came about at 3:45 AM, one accompanied by a thought of, "Is it time already???", as I heard Rob's alarm go off the next morning. The man is deaf without his hearing aids so he continued to sleep soundly as the grating sounds spat out into the room. "Rob? Rob?"..."Rob!!!"..."Thanks Mark". What would he do without his pacer? :-)
Soon enough we were among the mass of runners that were making their way to the beginning of the madness. What we noticed right away was that the temperature was way too comfortable for 5 in the morning. It's not that it was really warm, but we weren't standing there with arms crossed and legs bouncing like most ultras and marathons begin. It was pleasant enough to cause worry about what the passing day would bring to this group of runners that would be toiling in the mountains and more importantly, in the canyons during the hotter hours.
I made my way up about a quarter mile past the starting area, so I could get a better view of the runners as they were rising up and passing by. I didn't see Rob come by in the rush. In fact, the only person I recognized was Tim Twietmeier, who was galloping among the front runners, racing up this mountain for the final time as a WSER participant. As I watched them disappear into the darkness that still enveloped the mountain at this hour, I thought about how fresh everyone looked and how long it would take before that freshness was gone. I was guessing one or two canyon's worth of heat may be all that it would take.
Now that Rob was off, it was time for Larry and I to begin a long day of "hurry up and wait" (Rob had told me that CREW stood for Cranky Runner Endless Waiting when it came to crewing for someone). We had several hours to kill before meeting him at Robinson Flat, the first major checkpoint for the runners at mile 29.7. We killed most of the time hanging out at a Starbuck's in Auburn, then taking a ride along Foresthill Rd., probably the main thoroughfare for pacers and crew as it ran paralell to most of the course after Robinson Flat (30 mile mark). It's a beautiful drive, complete with mountains and valleys of pine and the tallest standing bridge (Auburn-Foresthill Bridge) in California, 730 feet above the North Fork of the American River. Larry commented that it would be a better choice for a suicide jump than the Golden Gate Bridge with a chance of survivial being significantly slimmer. Thanks Larry.
We arrived to the chaos that prefaced Robinson flat aid station, which consisted of a lot of parked cars along the side of the road, lots of cars wanting to get parked and a group of volunteers with flustered yet cheerful looks on their faces. It reminded me a bit of some of the busier exchange points of the Providian Relay, though much busier. Larry ended up nudging me out of the car at one point so I could get to the checkpoint while he found some parking. I think he ended up finding something a half mile away.
A large crowd gathered around the premises of a large tent-covered aid station. A lane made by two parallel streams of caution tape was stretched out beyond the aid station to allow each runner a clear path to continue on after he/she had taken what they needed. Bags of all shapes, colors and sizes were neatly arranged inside the perimeter of another taped-off boundary, representing the drop bags that each of the runners can have left at 8 check points. Rob had this pink and yellow school-bag-looking thing that could have belonged to a 7-year-old girl. He actually was able to find 8 of them at a garage sale and scooped them up, thinking of WSER. There's no way they could be mistaken for anybody else's.
In Rob's bag, along with some snack items, the most important thing to him was a bottle of Ensure. It was this 350 calorie, milky, protein-fortified stuff that he claimed worked wonders for him as a form of runner gasoline. It tasted better than GU and went down much better, even as he got close to the end. He had one bottle in each of his bags that he would end up drinking religously. He even had one in the morning in the room.
I arrived to this site at around 9:30 AM, which according to the program is about 15 minutes after the front runner should have come through. Rob had predicted that he'd come through around 10 AM, though he scoffed at this goal the night before, thinking that the heat would prevent him from making such a time. The first guy that I saw come through was Jim Huffman, who ended up finishing 5th. He wasn't in until around 10 though, which is a sign of how hot it was out there.
I saw Dean Karnazes come through without a lot of fan fare, looking pretty heat-weathered himself. He put his singlet and hat into the bucket of ice water and took the sponge bath they offer. The third place woman from last year, a French citizen, came through soon afterwards and had to be convinced to not bow out (she did finish). "It's too hot", she gasped, as she stumbled into the station. Chikara Omine, a runner whom I've been following ever since seeing him be the first runner to ever break 4 hours in a Pacific Coast Trail Runs event, looked very worse for wear as he came in. As he stood on the scale, I noticed he was wearing trail shoes and socks, which are a far cry from the track shoes that he usually wears, sockless. He looked very pale and somewhat concerned. This is a guy that ran the Ruth Anderson 100K at 7:26 per mile pace. I mean, come on, 62 miles at that pace??? Robinson flat was where his finish was for that day. They listed "Metabolic" in parentheses when I looked at the updated drop list at the next aid station, which I guess meant he had stomach problems. It was a tough start for these runners.
Rob finally came through at around 11:40, which is about even with the 24 hour pace. He was in good spirits and seemed to be in decent shape at the time. He didn't complain about the heat in the canyon, though he didn't seem overly comfortable with the temperature either, spending some extra time hydrating and icing down. This seemed to do the trick for him though, as he came out a new man. We just walked walked him through the shoot and saw him off, nothing too demanding for this crew of his at this point.
We traveled back on Foresthill Road to Auburn to check into the Comfort Inn that Rob had us staying at. Afterwards we had some lunch at a nearby Denny's, where I think I had my third meal of the weekend that included french fries (great diet for a runner!). We were just killing time again before meeting him again at Michigan Bluff, another big checkpoint after a round of some serious canyon running and climbing.
On the way to Michigan Bluff, we picked up Rob's wife Chris, who came up from Oakland to join our crew. After many years of dealing with her husband's addiction to running, she still doesn't quite understand it and doesn't understand why we'd want to take the time to pace him. But she was appreciative of us being there. "So you run?", she asked me, as we walked down the hill to Michigan Bluff. "No", I joked, bringing in a bit of my midwest sarcasm. "I just thought 18 miles sounded like a fun thing to try."
Probably the most attractive part of the Michigan Bluff aid station are these burgers that I had read about in their program and saw first hand, being sold at a counter, completely smothered with fried onions. I have a weakness for hamburgers that I've never tried to fix, but I'm proud to say that I resisted the urge to buy one. Given that I'd be runing in a couple hours, I decided to stay healthy, opting instead for a orange-ice cream dreamsicle. Yes, I know this isn't that healthy, but it is a healthy alternative to a burger (I think). Regardless, I had to eat something fun.
As beat up as the runners looked at Robinson Flat, they looked more so, by a factor of 10 at Michigan Bluff. Several runners staggered in and had be physically guided to the scale and the refreshments. Several runners had to be strapped up to IV's, which essentially ended the race for most of them. To me this was the make it or break it point of the race. The weather was still warm but cooling, and the time spent toiling in the heat of the canyons was over. Yes, there was still that small factor of having 45 miles yet to run, but c'mon, the weather was now perfect. :-)
Chris, Larry and I arrived at Foresthill High School, the checkpoint where pacers could come into the game. As we rode by to hunt for a parking spot, we noticed a famous runner in the unfamiliar guise of a pacer by the name Scott Jurek. I had seen his picture in the WSER program in a few spots and his name by all of the records and first place finshes. I had also seen him at the inaugaral Bizz Johnson Marathon, where he had finished at a time of 2:56. Now he was pacing someone that was actually the front runner at the time until 30 feet from the finish, but more on that later.
I checked myself into Pacer Central, picking up my yellow bib that shared the same number as Rob's (48, the one he picked as it reflected his age). I filled a bottle full of water and the other one with sports drink. I was feeling locked and loaded. At that point, I started to feel the butterflies of being involved in a race. I knew I wouldn't be racing, but somehow I felt the juices flowing like I would be. Though Rob would be beat up enough for most runners to hang with him, I felt like I needed to be on my game to be a pacer to him and not someone he needed to worry about. As I pinned the pacer bib to my shorts and started to stretch my legs, I felt all of the elements of a race coming together. I love the feeling of being part of a running event. It was show time.There were several runners whom we saw in the distance and spouted out a "Is that Rob?" in reference to. They were ones which either had the same hat, shirt or shorts as he did, but God help us we didn't learn our lesson at Robinson flat nor Michigan Bluff where we were confused by the same people. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three times, please, have you figured it out yet?
A siren-blaring ambulance sped by in the direction that the runners were coming from. "I hope that's not for Rob", Chris said, then quickly apologized. She claimed that even after all of these years, she still worries about her husband, especially these days when she feels that he's "getting old". I think no matter what age you are, there's always a risk of something serious happening out on this course. An accomplished Iron Man triathlete had a heart attack 11 miles into the race. The winner-to-be (or not to be) collapsed 30 feet from the finish line. Every spouse and loved one related to these runners has the right to worry a little.
Chris's worry vanished, however, as we we saw Rob finally coming in. His energy level seemed somewhat low, but his spirits were high as evidenced by the smile he was still able to flash. Larry grabbed his running pack and proceeded to go get his water bottles filled. I walked along side of him as he appeared eager to depart. He called for a bottle of Ensure, which he downed and followed with a grimace (I think most people might have had that same look). John Medinger (Quad Dipsea director) reminded him that he was just on pace to break 24 hours, to which Rob responded with "I'm not sure if I can do it this year." A few people surrounding John shook their heads and yelled out words of encouragement. "C'mon, you can do it."
Speaking of Tropical John, as he's called or at least calls himself, I found that Western States is quite a who's who of the ultra running crowd. I saw Wendell and Sarah of Pacific Coast Trail Runs crewing at Forest Hill, Guy Palmer of the Marin Headlands 50K running the race itself, not too far in front of Rob, Ann Trason who had won the race several times, walking into Michigan Bluff to check out hte runners. Larry and Rob themselves are in that who's who list as well, being the race directors of the Ohlone wildnerness 50K. Several people recognized both of them, though Rob admitted to me that he recognized very few of the folks that said "hi" to him. He said he probably "handed them a plaque at the finish line" of his challenging race (by the way, if you're looking for a very challenging 50K, this it the toughest one of done...see abovethefog.net for details).
Without much ado, we launched from Forest Hill, taking advantage of the downward slope of the road to gain some momentum. We turned left at the next intersection and soon after, we entered a trail head that was marked with sign reading "Western States Trail" Ahh, so that's where the race gets its name.
From what little daylight we had left, I caught some beautiful views of a mountain ridge across a valley that dropped from trail. The ridge was catching the day's last rays of sun (a gorgeous affect) and below I caught green glimpses of the the American River, raging with a beautiful emerald glow. I'm glad the trail was smooth and fairly flat or I may have taken a header for all of the gawking I was doing at the infrequent vistas of these two magnificent sights. I now have first hand evidence as to why they picked this trail to host a race.
Rob, on the other hand, was not such a pretty sight. :-) Not that he's an unbecoming man, but this early stretch after Forest Hill found him in rough shape. He was battling the digestion of a turkey sandwich, which didn't quite want to go down without a fight. He slowed several times and finally just stopped to let go of it. As good as a turkey sandwich sounded to him at the beginning of the race, it had pretty much lost all of its appeal at that point.
After being doubled over for a spell and collecting himself, he rallied and we were able to pick up the pace again. His stomach may have been out of order, but his legs were working just fine as we came across some down hill and let gravity take on some workload. I could tell he still had that 24-hour finish in mind and was doing his best to keep it in sight. Though we got passed by a couple runners (and their pacers) who seemed as fresh as daisies, I felt like we were moving at pretty good clip.
The daylight started dimming as we approached about 5 miles (for me, 67 for Rob. :-)), dim enough to make the neon feature of an "Open" sign effective, a clever decore for the first aid station that we encountered. "Are you open?", Rob quipped. His sense of humor was still firmly intact. I sampled a few of the goodies at the aid station while Rob was getting his bottles filled. I felt a little guilty, given the fact that I hadn't beat up my body like Rob had, though I was appreciative of the attention that the aid station volunteers were giving me.
I was a little embarrased as I saw Rob in the distance looking back at me, already back on the trail while I was still grazing. I think I enjoy the ultra aid stations too much with all of their junk food and fresh melon. I quickly scampered out of there though and got back to work.
Twilight transformed into nightfall quite quickly as we continued along the trail. We put on our head lamps and flipped on the lights. Outside of running the Providian Relay, I had never done a race in the dark. The section of the trail that we were on was challenging in that there was a very steep and sudden drop off to our left. I kept wanting to look left, down into the darkness to see what perils awaited me, should I have any slip ups. This proved to be the exact wrong thing to do though, as looking left took away my light source on the trail, making slip ups more likely. I found that it was best to keep my eyes (and light) on the road.
I'm not much of a conversationalist on the trail (or off the trail for that matter), but tried to come up with some things to keep Rob awake. Mainly I got him to speak about other ultras and 100-milers he had done, which led to some pretty interesting stories. He told me had done a grand slam (four 100's in a year), which boggled my mind even more than it was. He said his favorite 50 miler is the San Francisco Fear and Loathing, one which follows the 49 mile scenic route through the city. His favorite 100 miler was the one we were running, of course, as he was doing it for the 11th time. Favorite 50K? The Ohlone Wilderness, of course, the one that he and Larry organize. :-)
We came into the next aid station, which was a welcome sight for both of us. For Rob, he was ready to try out his stomach again with something other than GU. For me, it was nice to be able turn off my head lamp and make use of another source of light as the station was well illuminated. One thing I discovered at this aid station were some bite-sized pieces of salted nut roll. I love that candy bar and found it to be a stroke of pure genius to see them incorperated into the junk food table.
Even though it was close to 10 PM, I dipped my hat in the bucket of ice water that they had. The temperature outside was not overly warm, but it actually never quite cooled down and the air even felt a little thick with humidity. This was an indication of what these runners had to go through during the heat of the day. If I was feeling a little warm then, imagine what they were feeling at noon time.
This time, Rob showed no anxiousness to hit the trails. "I need to stay here a little while", he said. I think the heat earlier was finally taking its toll on him. Several runners came through and were out as quickly as they had come in. This had no effect on Rob, he needed some time to feel human again. I needed some more salted nut roll chunks. :-)
Leaving the aid station was the start of what I would call a "death march". That's a point in a run where you're body has pretty much says "fuck you" to you and all you really care about is finishing before you become a casuality of the trails. It's no longer a race anymore, you just want to go home to your shower and bed. Rob was shot and anything that wasn't down hill, was time to walk, that is when he wasn't hunched over catching his breath. It was going to be a long time before we got to the river, which marked the 80 mile check point, where Larry would take over.
After slowly moving up through midnight, we finally did get to the welcoming lights of aid stations that stood on both sides of the American River. Usually runners would have to cross it on foot by this point, using a rope to ensure that they weren't carried away by the current. This time, however, we were aided by an inflatable rowboat, powered by a thick-armed, Austrailan-sounding bloke. "Climb aboard mates", he said (just kidding, he didn't really say 'mates', but he did have a thick austrailan accent...or maybe it was New Zealand). He swiftly brought us across the river, which was high and raging. There's no way anyone without fins could get across this thing.
We made a small stop at the aid station before starting an unfair 2-mile climb up hill to "Green Gate", which is where #2 pacers wait. We saw no sign of Larry, who said he'd come down. We figured he had given up and decided to hang with Chris (which he did). He did meet us with about a quarter mile to go and was in an excitable mood as usual. He had me undo my pacer's bib while he assessed Rob's condition, which seemed to be worsening by the minute. He had to stop several times on the trek up this unforgiveable hill. "Can I get you to do a power walk?", Larry asked. Hunched over again, Rob didn't even answer. I got the sense that whatever motivational powers which Larry posessed, which are many, he was going to try to use them.
We reached Green Gate, where Chris was waiting for us. She had a worried look on her face, which was eventually disipated by a sheepish smile from Rob. He comforted her with whatever kind words he had left. Larry was hopping to go, still hoping to push him across the finish line at a 24 hour clip. He was about an hour behind at that point though and had no second winds to speak of. I don't think Larry realized how spent Rob was, but was taking heed to Rob's words before the race started. "Larry, you're going to have to kick my ass when I get to you". I have a feeling he regretted saying that.
I wondered how those 20 miles would go as Chris and I ascended for another mile out of green gate to the parking lot. To be honest, as fresh as I still felt, that last mile was hell. It felt pretty much straight up and seemed more like 5 miles. She asked me to stop several times to catch her breath, which was reassuring and a good excuse to catch my own. We saw several crew members passing us, going down the hill, some carrying heavy coolers. I didn't envy their trip back up.
We rolled out of the parking area with Larry's suburban back to the hotel in Auburn. It was 1 in the morning and I was starting to feel the lack of sleep for the first time as the excitement of being part of the run wore off. The thought of a shower and bed was lovely even if it would only be for a few hours. I felt a little guilty that the race was taking its toll on me when I had only done a tiny portion of it.
After a wonderful, yet short refresh in Auburn, we were out again, looking to catch Rob and Larry at the Highway 49 crossing, which was 93.5 miles into the race. We took the shuttle to this point and plopped our camping chairs (and our butts) down and stared a slightly listlessly into what was quickly becoming dawn. I had tried to predict Rob's arrival, thinking he could do a 20-25 minute pace, which would place him there at 6 AM.
But that 6 AM arrival was not to be, as we checked several times with the aid station volunteers that had access to the internet and website that tracked runner's progress. The only information we could get is that he had left green gate at around 12:40 AM. C'mon, we could have told you that. After getting to the point that we were their number one pests, they finally gave us a better answer, telling us that he had just left a check point that was 3 miles away. Again the worry drained out of Chris's face and was replaced by relief.
She felt even better as Rob trudged into the aid station with Larry anxiously power walking behind him. He was still moving forward and seemed to have enough in the tank to get through a little over a 10K albeit at a slow walker's pace. He had had enough of aid stations, I'm sure, and mimized his stay there.
We stood at the very last aid station, Robie point, which was 99 miles into the race. One memorable part about standing there, was seeing Tim Tweitmeier drive up and drop something off at the aid station. He was bouncing around, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the volunteers. Didn't you just run this race? It sure didn't look like it. Apparently he came in at around 20:30, which had been around 9 hours ago. I guess he had recovered.
Rob came through, looking like a man who was ready to finish that last mile. It was his worst finish ever, but one nice thing about it was that his wife could walk that last mile with him. It gave her a new perspective on the race and I think she really appreciated it. Rob asked me how I was. "I'm doing just fine...how are you?", I replied, followed by no response. I guess it's a bit rhetorical at that point.
We let Rob take the final quarter mile lap around the Auburn high school track while we waited at the finish. He posed for the picture, coming in at around 29 hours. There were a few others that came in closely in front and behind him. We found out later that about a quarter of the field finished in the 29th hour, the last hour you could officially finish at.
Not only that, but nearly half of the 400 competitors had dropped out, incuding a couple men and woman who had finished top ten last year. 77 dropped at the 30 mile mark. Later on, I had heard that the race course had been modified to what it was originally and a lot of runners felt that was part of the problem. I had also heard John Medinger made some comment that too many runners were winning the coveted 24-hour silver buckle and they had to do something about that. I think the heat helped keep the numbers down as well.
The biggest trivial (or not so trivial) bit on the race is that the front runner collapsed, 30 feet from the finish line and was recovering in the hospital at the time of the awards cermony. He was the one being paced by Scott Jurek. Sadly he'd only become a foot note for the race, having been carried the last 30 feet to prevent him from going into a seizure, which disqualified him. What a terrible thing to happen to runner.
On a positive note, Tim Tweitmeier was presented a plaque with all 25 of his silver belt buckles, indicating he had done his 25 Western States in under 24 hours. He promptly announced that he would be retiring and looking forward to life as a volunteer for the race. I was just blown away by his accomplishment and the fact that he looked so fresh.
And that, my friends, was the Western States 100. God bless you if you were able to get through all of this post which got completely out of control. For those of you who fell asleep, wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Would I ever do this race? No way. I'm completely challenged by marathons and 50K's. Those who can complete this race are either not challenged by those distances through wonderful genetic dispotions to distance running or are completely out of their minds or perhaps have not found alcohol or Jesus in their life. I had a lot of fun experiencing what this race was all about, but that's as far as I want to go.
The End.
