In preparation for the event, I poured over pictures of runners from previous years. I paid close attention as to what clothing to wear, and at what times and stages of the race. I knew it would be critical to pack my drop bags appropriately for all I would need given the changing conditions throughout the time spent on trails. During the day I would need warm weather clothing, and at night the temperature would drop, necessitating the need to add layers. I spent a good couple of weeks making sure I wouldn’t over look anything. I knew the smallest detail beforehand could become a real headache on the course. Melissa went to work on sewing me up drop bags. They were all made with the same material, so they’d be easy to spot at the aid stations. I rounded up all the needed items, such as Body Glide, bandanas, sunscreen, headlamps, socks, gloves, hats, S-caps rationed out, food, wet wipes, etc, etc.
Race morning, I awoke at 2:45 a.m. and I made all my final preparations to catch the bus in downtown Salt Lake City at 4:00 a.m. I ate a light bowl of oatmeal, half a banana and drank a bottle of Ensure. I hoped I consumed enough calories to get me going, yet had some concern if they were the right calories, and if my stomach would be retaliating in the hours to come. Melissa arose to accompany me to the bus, and to drive our SUV back home rather than having to fetch it after the race. We finally left home around 3:20, and made it to 700 S. & Main St. with minutes to spare.
After bidding me well, Melissa watched as I boarded the second of the two waiting busses. I sat down and was quickly joined by a runner from Seattle, WA. This would be his second 100. He had flown in alone as his wife was in Europe on a business trip and couldn’t join him. He was however; looking forward to having his sister join him as a pacer somewhere along the way. We talked the whole ride to Kaysville about our race histories and of our strategy for the event ahead. It really helped pass the time and kept my nerves in check as I didn’t sit with worried anticipation of the miles and hours to come.
The bus dropped us off, and we walked a short distance up a hill and around a bend to the start line. I took a quick trip to the pop’s, and had to hurry as count-down had begun. Or did I really need to hurry? This was a 100 miler after all, so a minute or two delay at the start was quite miniscule! Anyways; I managed to leap up to the group as the start was called. It was now 5:00 a.m., and we slowly made our way on a congested, narrow trail.
The runners started to disperse, and I found myself in a brisk walk. It didn’t last long however, as we had to make a turn onto the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. From there, we would coast along the mountainside and then make an ascent for several miles. A treacherous section near the top has been assigned the name “Chinscraper.” I cannot think of anything more appropriate, as it had me quite nervous of losing my grip or footing. I’d hate to imagine a fall from that point of the course. It would not have a pleasant outcome! I found relief upon tackling that climb, made my way along a not so cumbersome ridge to a service road for a communication tower. The race’s first aid station was at mile 13.35, named Grobben’s Corner, after the race director, John Grobben. He was there in support with a water pitcher in hand to top off runner’s bottles and bladder packs. It was the most basic of aid stations. There were some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies which were a real treat at this point, and gave me a quick dose of energy.
The service road passing by “Grobben’s Corner” continued on in a mostly downward slope until reaching the Francis Peak Aid Station, at mile 18.76. I was able to put in some of my quickest miles in that stretch. I suppose the combination of a decline and relatively fresh legs (in the scope of a 100 overall miles) allowed me to coast a good clip. It was also in this section I finally turned on my Ipod and kind of zoned out. Little would I have known that I would listen to no more than 3 hours of music during the entire race!
Francis Peak was the first of six drop bag aid stations. I quickly spotted mine, made from the hands of my wife. I swapped out my socks, put on a new hat, and soaked a bandana to place around my neck to keep me cool as the sun warmed the day. Although tempting; I avoided ingesting solid foods, as I had discovered early on that they felt like a brick in my stomach. I had resorted to water, electrolyte drinks, S-Caps, energy gels and bottles of Ensure as my primary sources of sustenance. I worried about having digestive issues and time sidelined calming my stomach. Hydration and nutrition really seem to be an individual thing to refine. I felt fortunate that it didn’t take long for my body to let me know what would work and what would cause me problems. No time was wasted in the remainder of the race experimenting with fuels and liquids.
After Francis Peak, my next stop would be the Bountiful B Aid Station. A strategy I began at this point was to just focus on making it to the next aid station, where I could get a mental and short physical reprieve. Sometimes that’s all it takes, is having something to look forward to as one chews up small pieces of the whole. My pacing fell in line with that of a woman named Marilyn. She told me of her previous attempt to take on the Wasatch beast, which led her to a dnf. This time would be quite different. She told herself and her crew/pacers she would finish no matter what, barring a complete disaster along the way. I think it had made her tougher and wiser this time out. It really made these miles fly as we exchanged stories and personal backgrounds. I also found comic relief in her naming of some hills we were conquering, called the “four bastards and three bitches!”
I topped off my waist pack bottles, as I would in all aid stations, downed a small piece of water melon, and headed on out to the next aid station, Sessions. This was a fairly short stretch, at just over 4 miles, and was over before I knew it. A friend of mine that I hike with on Saturday mornings was helping to man this aid station. It was good to see a familiar face and to receive encouragement that I still appeared fresh to the trails.
From the Sessions Aid Station to Swallow Rocks Aid Station, it started getting a little warm as it was reaching midday. I just coasted along and played leap frog with an individual named Chihping Fu, who was snapping tons of photos along the way. He was originally from Taiwan but had moved to California and now holds the title of a software engineer. Another runner, named Alisha from Jackson Hole Wyoming was also keeping in close proximity. She once asked me what to do if encountering a rattle snake. I suppose a chance meeting with one could have happened, as I’ve heard they will sun themselves on the trails when the sun’s at its peak. I just told her to keep moving, as stopping suddenly would probably increase the chances of being bitten. This was something I really didn’t want to put to the test! Another runner I chatted with was from Missouri and had decided to dnf upon reaching Big Mountain. He moved from Salt Lake earlier this summer and felt a lack of training and mental stamina were working against him. He had 3 successful Wasatch finishes in his repertoire, but just didn’t feel a desire to see this year through. I suppose the mental aspect of completing the race is paramount as you must have deep reserves to dig into when the going gets tough. I couldn’t fault him for calling it a day, and passing it on to another year.
At Swallow Rocks, I grabbed a grape popsicle and took a seat to clear out some debris that had gathered in my shoes. Before the race I had considered getting myself some gaiters to go over my shoes so I’d avoid this problem. I ultimately passed on getting any as I figured they would be one more thing to pack around and fuss with. Was this a mistake? I’d say after all was said and done that they may have helped out, but I faired fine without them. I had a change of socks waiting for me at each of the drop bag stations, which worked out fine. Once my shoes were cleared out, I was back on the trail, and I had less than five miles to go until Big Mountain. This was a mental boost of sorts as I knew I would have pacers to break up the monotony of the final 60 miles.
One thing in reflection of running Wasatch is I can honestly say that a dnf never crossed my mind or became an option. I hit the start line fully intent on seeing the full distance through. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, by any means, but felt I had a goal to meet. I also felt that it was a true privilege to have my name on the roster as an official runner. I attended the lottery drawing back in February in prospect to gain entrance. From the moment my name was drawn, I knew I also had a duty to all the names which were not drawn and would have been delighted if they had been.
Upon reaching the Big Mountain Aid Station, I was greeted by Melissa, my mom, and my first pacer, Stefan Wells. I apologized to them as I was a couple hours later than I had projected. I had estimated arriving around 2:00 p.m., however the reality was 4:18 p.m. They were very understanding, and we all knew I really had nothing concrete to gauge my arrival time on since it was my first time running the race. After a quick greeting, I headed over to get checked in and weighed. I came in around 3 pounds under my starting weight. That was a relief, as I had been concerned of not keeping adequate hydration. I felt great, and thought I had kept on top of my fueling and electrolytes as well. I did get a lecture from a woman at the aid station table, stating that I really needed to keep a better watch on my fluids. That really surprised me.
With this being the second drop bag aid station, I took advantage of a change of socks, some duct tape on hot spots on my feet, and some Body Glide in areas of my nether regions! I was offered many tasty foods that my mother had made and packed up the mountain, but had to pass. I worried of stomach troubles in the miles to come, and resigned myself to another bottle of Ensure. After 21 minutes of greetings, gear changes, and topping off my fuel reserves, Stefan and I hit the trails.
It was really refreshing to have a great friend of mine with me on the journey. He offered tons of encouragement in the miles from Big Mountain to Lambs Canyon, a stretch of 13.73 miles, and 4 hours. I was able to shift my mind from what my body was doing and the time seemed to fly by. He also helped me out of a bind when I managed to consume all the contents of my water bottles. We only had about a mile to the Alexander Springs aid station, yet it felt considerably longer with no fluids. I was quite relieved when I saw the aid station volunteers, which were ladies in their nightgowns and curlers in their hair. It made for a good laugh, and with a renewed hydration belt; we were back on our way.
Shortly before the Lambs Canyon aid station, the sun had set and I was now running in the second time of darkness since the race had began. Fortunately; I had packed a headlamp in my Big Mountain drop bag and also retained a handheld LED light since the start. They were a necessity as Stefan and I made our way through some windy, tricky trails with narrow paths and swamplands.
I had enjoyed my time with Stefan, yet it was also nice to see a major aid station, my crew and next pacer, and having the knowledge that my race was now more than half completed. I hurried up to the scale, and saw that I was down another 3-4 pounds from starting weight, for a total of around 6 pounds lost. This concerned me slightly, but a race official assured me that they had seen others with a more than 10 pound loss. With the night drawing in, I made the most significant of my race gear changes at Lambs Canyon aid station. I slipped on some running pants, a long sleeve shirt, a windbreaker jacket, a beanie, gloves, duct tape on the feet and some fresh socks. It was at this time I could really see how races are won and lost at the transition zones, namely in triathalons! I went through mental checklists several times to avoid heading into the night unprepared. If I hadn’t been so prepared; I didn’t need to worry as I was in good hands with my crew and new pacer, Larry Scott. They asked me ‘do you have this?...Do you have that?...Can I help you with?...’And so on and so on. A fortunate thing for me was that Larry has paced a good friend of his over a dozen times, all with successful finishes at the Wasatch 100. He has a thorough understanding of runner’s needs and what it takes to see the tough times through. His insight and wisdom were invaluable, and greatly appreciated. I tried to make the most of the 22.48 miles and 7 hours and 37 minutes with him.
The stretch from Lambs Canyon to Brighton is mostly on single path mountain trails where runners make their way in several ascents and descents through the trees and past a couple lakes. Our sights were strictly by headlamps, so we were limited to our viewing of the beauty around us. We made some great conversation through a bulk of the night and also found ourselves bunched up with several other runners on the trails. It never ceased to amaze me that Larry knew a lot of the other participants from previous years, and quickly spoke of prior trail adventures. Through one of Larry’s conversations, it evolved to the topic of chafing in an ultra, which is something I longed to get taken care of. I really didn’t want to wait until Brighton, but was prepared to do so. Fortunately enough for me though, this runner had some ointment in his pack, and after a brief stop, I had the issue addressed.
As the night wore on, so did the wear and tear on my toes and forefeet. I had changes of socks in all my drop bags, along with duct tape and Body Glide in an attempt to stall the affects. The friction of making numerous ascents and descents had really taken its toll. By the Upper Big Water Aid Station in Millcreek Canyon, at mile 61.68 miles, I knew the hotspots I had been feeling were to evolve into some not so pretty blisters. I have been told, in a sarcastic form, that trashed feet are a rite of passage in to the world of trail running and furthermore, ultra running. I suppose I had paid my dues! They are also one of those things that’ll nag at you if you choose them as your focus, so you have to put them out of your mind and turn off the discomfort.
Larry and I arrived at the Upper Big Water aid station at two minutes to midnight. He pointed me over to an unoccupied pop up chair and told me to address whatever I needed to from there and he would grab me some hot ramen soup, bananas, and Vaseline for my feet. I was readily attended to by several volunteers. They were top notch and extremely friendly. I passed my water bottles for topping off as I removed my shoes and socks. I used some wet wipes to expose my filthy feet from miles of trail dirt. Larry handed me what he’d gathered up, and I made the physical and mental preparations for a return to the trails. Some runners lay on cots behind me underneath a pop up canopy with propane heaters and blankets keeping them warm. I overheard a couple runners saying this was the end of their journey. I still felt really fresh and was happy to announce “51 heading out.”
From Millcreek to the Desolation Lake aid station, we passed through the pines and a slightly smaller lake named Dog Lake. It really isn’t a lake per se, but a mere pond. I caught a faint view of the water as illuminated by the headlamps and starry sky. I handed my bottles to Larry to be topped off at Desolation Lake, and he instructed me to continue, as he would just catch up. We continued on an ascent to an area named Red Lover’s Ridge, where we could see the lights of the Canyons Ski & recreation resort down below. The trail joined up with a gravel service road shortly thereafter. It was along this road we came upon our next aid station, named Scott’s transmission Tower. I grabbed a couple packets of GU Rocktaine gels, and proceeded onward. In the remaining miles to Brighton, I began to struggle with the discomfort in my feet brought on by burning blisters. I shifted my focus in making good time so I’d have a buffer from Brighton to the finish line. I knew this would be a relatively long aid station stop, and any time put in the bank on the trails would be to my advantage.
Brighton is aptly named “The Morgue.” After 75.61 miles and many hours on the trails, many runners are found in a state of distress and several choose to bail from the race altogether. It is a trap to find comfort inside the lodge and to linger there for too long. This is where I had my longest stop, at almost an hour. It is highly recommended with this and all aid stations, to take care of only the essentials and get back out to the trails. I had my feet to attend to once again, as well as a thorough application of Body Glide and anti chafing ointments. I was really starting to feel delirious, had a bout of tunnel vision, and general fatigue was setting in. My arrival time there at 4:45 a.m. meant that my race so far, was approaching 24 hours. A cup of chicken noodle soup and half a banana were placed in front of me, yet I was only able to consume a small portion. I was still apprehensive to take chances leading to stomach distress. The best thing I consumed at that time was a cup of Coke. It really surprised me how much of a jolt that gave me and helped me get back on my feet. Melissa and my mother were of great moral support and were willing to take care of anything I needed within their control. They packed up a duffel bag with an excess of potentially needed supplies and an ice cooler packed with cold drinks and several food items.
It was at this time I bid farewell to Larry, my incredible nighttime pacer. I gave Melissa and my mother a goodbye hug and we all knew the next time we’d see each other would be at the finish line in Midway. It was now my friend Carl McGavin’s turn to pull me through the early morning, into the afternoon hours and across the finish line. We headed upwards on the trail and towards Sunset Peak, which is known as Point Supreme, the highest place of elevation in the entire race.
After a short distance out on the trail with Carl, just past Brighton, he could see I was stiffening up. It was probably a combination of the miles and hours into the race. It could have been that I spent too much time at the lodge and needed to get moving. As a mask to this, he offered me some ibuprofen. I indulged his offer, and would do so once more before the finish. My greatest asset at this time was just putting one foot in front of the other. I have read that just the act of moving forward and seeing progress can help a runner work through the difficult times.
Just before reaching Point Supreme, we began to see daylight. It was now my second sunrise of the race, and it was nice to turn off the headlamps. We soon passed by Lakes Mary, Martha and Catherine. In my opinion, that is a visually stimulating section of the course. I felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the miles ahead. Carl was quipping up his usual quick whits and sarcasm, which shifted my gears mentally. He has a very raw nature, and a no nonsense approach. I suppose the all-business attitude in seeing the final miles through was what I needed.
The next aid station from Brighton was Ant Knolls at mile 80.27. I took a quick topping off of my water bottle and an electrolyte ‘brew’ in my other bottle. From there, we tackled a short yet taxing stretch named ‘The Grunt.’ It was a fairly intense incline of single track, and we had Chihping Fu at our heels. It was the first time I had seen him since the previous afternoon. I could tell he was putting some effort into the climb as noted in the sound of his respiration. At the top of The Grunt, he passed us by and was not to be seen the rest of the race.
We made our way through many rises and falls of single track and into our next aid station and the final drop bag point, Pole Line Pass, mile 83.39. I was slightly annoyed in our trek to this point in the course as the serenity of our morning was disturbed with the sounds of revving dirt bike engines. The sounds would be heard until just beyond our next aid station at Rock Springs, mile 87.39. The day was starting to warm up, as it was now around 9 a.m. and it was a great time to shed my night time clothing. I slipped off my long sleeve shirt, wind breaker jacket, gloves, and running pants. I drank down a bottle of Ensure and packed one in my waist pack. My feet were feeling fine, so I opted to just shake accumulated dirt out, but didn’t change my socks. One mistake I had made was leaving my hats in prior drop bags. I was left with the beanie I had used through the night. I figured it would suffice in keeping my head cool so long as I kept it wet.
At Rock Springs, I topped off my water and made an effort to pass through quickly. There was a trough being supplied with fresh water from an aquifer. Around this trough and under the shade canopy, swarms of bees proved a nuisance. I didn’t want to take the chance of being stung, as I have swelled up in the past. I’m not fond of feeling like a pin cushion! Shortly after leaving Rock Springs, Carl and I took on a couple technical areas of the course known as ‘The Dive’ and ‘The Plunge.’ They are areas of rapid decent on loose rocks and powder-like dirt. We took no chances in making good time through those sections. My preference was to get them over with unscathed. And that we did.
The final aid station of the course is at mile 93.13, named Pot Bottom. I spent only three minutes there topping off my bottles. I was starting to feel an urgency to put the final miles behind us. I had a good feeling I would make the 36 hour cut-off time at the finish line, but wanted as much of a cushion as could be had. We had a slight climb out of Pot Bottom, a stream crossing, and some more climbing along a dirt road. The climbing was fine on my legs, but when we started some descents, I began to feel a real problem with my left IT band. I had lost all my downhill speed. It felt like a crawl and I wished for once there were hills to climb! There was one final hill, but it was short lived. Our final mile or so of trail felt like an eternity as we slowly dropped down to the Wasatch Mountain Golf Course. I didn’t expect all the switchbacks, and to complicate things further, I had run out of water for the second time in the race. Carl was very accommodating in letting me finish off his supply. What a great pacer!
The final stretch of course is on asphalt, and is just under three quarters of a mile. With fresh legs, this would have taken maybe 4-5 minutes. On 99+ mile legs, a runner is not a runner, but a hobbler! I spotted my dad coming my way along the roadside. I hadn’t expected to see him as I knew his work schedule had its quirks and meant he wouldn’t be there. Fortunately though, I was finishing after his shift had ended and allowed him travel time as well. He joined Carl and I and followed us towards the finish. My mom had an ice cold bottle of Gatoraide in her hand and passed it off to me as I went by. That was very refreshing. I came upon the finish on the lawn of the Homestead and was surprised by the loud cheers coming from such a small crowd. That was a good feeling. My final time was 34:41:26. I had finished with 1:18:34 to spare! I must have been slightly out of my mind as I crossed the finish line, because Melissa was standing there in wait to see me. I completely overlooked her and passed on by. I felt badly for this once I knew what had happened. She has always been my pillar of support and it could not have been possible without her.
The entire experience for me was fulfilling, and went beyond my expectations. I feel truly grateful for the journey and all that helped me see it through. My wife (Melissa), my mother (Joyce) my father, (Miles) my three pacers, Stefan Wells, Larry Scott, and Carl McGavin are of whom I feel deeply indebted to. I had followers cheering me on through Facebook and the Wasatch 100 website as the race progressed. That was truly flattering. |
