Western States 100, Squaw Valley to Auburn, CA, June 25-26, 2011

by Sam Landry on Sunday, July 10, 2011 at 8:51pm

This is one of the ones you look forward to, and I was looking forward to it in 2006, when I started ultrarunning.  I didn’t  consider entering until I had the first 100 behind me.  The climbs and the 30-hour cutoff were too intimidating.  It was no less challenging than I imagined.

Last year I was revving up for the big day.  I had a pretty good Pinhoti 100 in December, a Boston double marathon in April, and was training hard on the parking garage, when, six weeks out, crack went the ankle, and I was off the  trails for 7 months. I can still see my bleary headed self propped up on the sofa typing the note to Greg Soderlund informing him that I was withdrawing from the race.  Surgery, cast, cast, boot, crutches, crutches, therapy, therapy, and finally sneak a run here and there in November.  Forty miles worth of the Cajun Coyote 100k was my first ultra venture as “Alloyankle” Sam.  Then the return to Rocky Raccoon for a 23:20, which wasn’t equal to my previous in 2008, but I’ll take it.  I spent the last weeks of preparation on monotonous repetitions of up-down-up-down on the levee (elevation 25’).

My favorite section of the course was the snow from Escarpment to Talbot.  Of course, at this point I’m fresh and eager to dive into the downhill of the course.  After a mile or so of getting my “snow legs” (like anyone from New Orleans is going to have snow legs!), I settled into some techniques, like fast little steps in the hard crusty parts where the runners had not coalesced to form a trench.  The fresh tread of my new trail shoes may have helped a lot.  Where the trench descended, I bounded downward, stepping in the snow pushed up the sides of the trench.  What a blast!  Got nothing like this stuff at home!  I love the technical bits.  As we moved down into the trees, we crossed about 20 feet of icy creek, almost up to the knees.  Deep pain in just seconds, but it quickly faded.  Speaking of pain, I heard a woman broke her leg up there.  There were lots of opportunities to fall or post-hole near trees and other melts. 

The snow route was like 2010, except for a new section between Duncan Canyon and Miller’s Defeat, which leaves out Robinson Flat as well as Lyon Ridge and Red Star Ridge.  After Escarpment the course gently descends on gravel road to the French Meadows Reservoir and then meanders alongside the lake in singletrack.  This was another fun but somewhat technical bit.  A buddy from the Training Runs named Jeff bashed his shin on one of the creek crossings.  I think this must have been what led him to drop at Michigan Bluff.

The climb up to Duncan Canyon was a taste of the traditional canyons ahead.  I think this is where my fantasy finish under 24 hours began to fade.  Now I was in the sun, and the battle to stay hydrated began, and this year the temperature was relatively cool!  [low 30’s up high and mid 80’s in the canyons]  As it turned out, I finished about where Gary Wang predicts from my RR100 time and the difficulty factor relative to WS100 (0.81), which is 28:45.  My time turned out to be 29:03.

I followed the hydration plan pretty closely, ultimately consuming 0.9 liters of water per hour and 2.1 s-caps per liter.  [Apparently, some reckon this is high salt intake, but I come by it through hard lessons and careful measurement.]  By Foresthill (62 mi, 18 hrs) I felt pretty lousy, but my weight had remained exactly 167 through the first half of the course and then 170 to Highway 49 (96 mi), where it jumped to 172 (170 both the night before and at start).  At Green Gate (80 mi) I still felt lousy but things got better after that.  Most of my calories were from Perpetuem (2 scoops every 2 hours), and I take a couple of bites of something at every aid station. At Brown’s bar (90 mi), I became concerned because I hadn’t had a pee after mile 65, so I stopped taking salt, and the pee came after highway 49.  Suffice it to say that it was pretty brown in color.  One of the race physicians called Sunday night to tell me that my post-race blood CPK was 72,000 U/L, which is very high, but she said I should be okay if I keep well hydrated.  By that time, the color was already going away.

I don’t think the fatigue was related to hydration because I’ve been out of whack a lot more than this before.  Perhaps it was low blood sugar after the canyon climbs and the accumulating muscle damage.  I’ve discovered I can really punish my quads and keep going.  It hurts every time I start off from an aid station, but after a while the pain subsides, and I can just go.

After the canyons, I was dragging into Bath Road (61 mi) and a cheery young woman of about 70 yrs named Barbara joined me in walking and chatting up to the Foresthill road.  Apparently she just does this.  Anyway, she urged me to get a pacer at Foresthill.  Just mention it to the volunteers, she said.  Well, some guy name Eric pounced on me as I approached Foresthill, yelling at me over the din of volunteer cheers that I should get a pacer, and he would help me find one.  I was reluctant because I’m used to running alone, but I finally caved.  Eric disappeared for a few minutes and then came back to say he’d found Lisa, who was asking “to run with someone who was going to finish”.  Turns out she hadn’t said that, but you know it was in my mind for the next 12 hours.  By time I had my socks changed, Lisa appeared with headlamp and hand-held bottles ready to go.

It was dark, both within and without, from here to Brown’s bar.  Run a ways, walk a bit, run a ways, walk a bit.  Lisa and I exchanged running resume’s and talked about the trail and cougars.  She was a perfect pacer, dropping an encouraging word here and there, but otherwise almost minding her own business, sometimes in front, sometimes in back.  I was relaxed.  The best thing was knowing I wouldn’t get off the trail.  Being a Foresthill resident, she was running her typical Sunday-morning route.  How cool is that?

The crossing at Rucky Chucky was remarkable in its smoothness.  I stood at the aid station baffled about what to do next, when the volunteer asked sternly what he could do for me.  I asked if the drop bags were on the other side and if there was anything here and not over there.  He said yes and no and if I didn’t need anything I should get out of his aid station!  Meaning, go get in the boat and keep going.  There were exactly two spots left in the boat being loaded.  What a production! There must have been five people providing stiff arms (hand-holds) as I painfully stepped from rock to rock to boat.  Lisa was the last one on.  It seemed like the oarsman needed about five strokes to put us (maybe 8 people in all?) on the other side.  I glimpsed another boat passing the other way as we glided over.  Another crowd of stiff arms on the other side, and it was done.  Oh no!  A mile and a half of steady climb to Green Gate.

After Brown’s bar it was getting light, and I was starting to smell the barn.  The Memorial Day Training Runs made this stretch familiar, and I was looking forward to that 2-mile cruise down from Highway 49 to No Hands Bridge.  Who cares about quads?  Won’t need them after today!  I loved it almost as much as that third day of the training runs, when I was expecting to be too sore but just bombed down the whole way.  It’s a gorgeous stretch, and you know you’re going to be done soon, almost too soon.  Saw Tweitmeyer and fellow “Safety” personnel for the second time, according to Lisa, out looking for stragglers to encourage into the finish.  Last time I saw him, he and crew were marching up Devil’s thumb at twice my pace.  He was also a constant presence around Foresthill for the Training Runs.  Incredible dedication.  We owe him a bunch, and the “Little Cougar” awarded him this year was well deserved.

After the slog up to Robie Point, the return to civilization is shocking.  The fans and supporters are totally out of control, screaming, gonging, signs, calling you by name.  My crew met us coming up the hill, and Kalaya trotted with us to the track and around.  Ahh.