CCC100 from New Orleans

The 20,000 feet of climb and descent in the Cascade Crest Classic 100 (CCC100) was pretty tough for this flatlander. I have been training in parking garages and on the treadmill, but half-way through the course it felt like the benefits of training had run out. I don't understand how one's legs can take so much punishment, I guess it's the mental thing pushing you beyond what you thought you could do. I finished in 31 hours and 24 minutes, 73rd of 77 finishers and 107 starters.  Not quite the 29 hours predicted by Gary Wang's relative difficulty scale and my Rocky Raccoon 100 (RR100) finish of 22:27, but I'm pretty happy with it.

Hydration seems so important and, at least to me, not at all easy to sort out. In working my way into ultra running, the lessons of improper hydration have been cruel but finally well-learned. I'm not sure, but my sweat-rate may be on the high side. In any case, I have to train in New Orleans, where it's been near 80 degrees and 95% humidity every morning for the last two months. In planning for the CCC100, I reviewed my water and salt intake at the RR100 and on two 40+ mile training runs. For the RR100, where I felt real good to the end, I drank 0.5 L/hr and took 1.2 S-cap/hr. The way I'm thinking about it is that the water intake is the most fundamental issue, and the salt intake has to match. At RR100, I got the right amount of water, and the ratio of salt to water was 2.4 S-caps/L. After the two 40+ runs in the recent hot weather, I drank more water (0.7-0.8 L/hr) and took more S-caps (1.4-1.7 S-caps/hr), but I felt lousy at the end. I think it's because it just wasn't enough salt (2.0-2.1 S-caps/L). For the CCC100, I figured the weather would be similar to the RR100, but I would be working harder climbing mountains. Thus, I planned to drink 0.6 L/hr, and the matching salt would be 1.4 S-caps/hr (based on the ratio from RR100). I had no intention of measuring water intake with a stopwatch (in fact, I wound up forgetting my watch altogether), so I estimated my needs between aid stations. There are 18 intervals between aid stations at the CCC100. I was hoping to finish in 28 hours, which would be 1.6 hours between stations, and therefore I needed to drink an average of 0.6 L/hr x 1.6 hr, or two hand-held bottles of water between stations. Again, I didn't want to have to think while running, so I estimated the number of S-caps between drop bags. For CCC100, I would load-up on S-caps at the start and at three of the drop-bag stations. Based on my hoped-for 28-hr finish, I would need a total of 31 S-caps, which I divided into four portions according to the distance between drop-bags. In case I overestimated my speed, I included two extra S-caps in each of the four portions (presumably, I would take extra water at the stations if my pace was slower than planned). While running, I would only need to look into the coin-purse and see how many I had left and try to finish all but two before the next drop bag. The plan seems to have worked very well. I never felt ill, nauseated, or even very much fatigued...other than legs about to explode.

The weather was quite good, with low fifties at night and low seventies in the day, and mostly clear skies. Views of surrounding mountains and Mt. Ranier were spectacular. The race starts at 10 am, which allows a leisurely morning drive to Easton from Seattle. After breakfast and applause for volunteers in the Fire-Department's garage, we were off. The course can be divided into three sections divided by descents to the start elevation of 2200', (1) Goat Peak and the Pacific Crest Trail, (2) Keechelus Ridge, and (3) Thorpe Mountain, which for me turned out to be roughtly over day, night, and day, respectively.

I'm sure that I pushed too hard up the first climb to Goat Peak, but I don't think that made any difference. Now that I've seen the published splits, I realize my place in the pack (near last) was established early. Someone in front of me said "Go ahead, I don't like to feel the burn in my legs." That sounded pretty smart at less than ten miles into a 100. Although I paused for 30 sec or so to rest a couple of times here and on Thorpe Mt, I was pleased that I didn't have to stop and gasp for breath, as I had to on the Italian alps in my unprepared attempt at the Gran Trail Valdigne. The fact that the highest elevation was only 5800' would make this whole endeavor possible.

A couple of motorcyclists cam roaring through, which partly spoiled the scene.  However, one of the bikes kept overheating and  so I repeatedly caught up to them and eventually passed them for good.  There was a certain satisfaction in leaving behind their noise and smoke and mechanical frustrations.

The early parts of the race were thoroughly enjoyable of course.  After the hard climbs for Goat Peak and Cole Butte, the next thirty miles were on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), which is needle-strewn, has no steep climbs, and is gorgeous.  There were so many terrific views of the snow-covered Mt. Ranier. 

My quads were already sore by Stampede Pass (34 mi), but I was expecting to get sore.  We'll just see how much worse it gets.  I had never stopped for just sore legs.

The stretch between Meadow Mountain and Olallie Meadow was challenging because it was dark and melt water made the trail muddy where it wasn't rocky, and there were tall weeds obscuring the footing.  At RR100 I was shielding my eyes from some runners who were wearing two and three lamps,  but I realized that having another lamp down low helps with seeing roots and rocks.  For the CCC1000 I opened the headband on one of my headlamps and put it around my waste.  This helped a lot.  I was a little startled when I stepped onto one elongated rock at the edge of the trail and felt it crunch beneath my feet.  So the snow had not yet completely melted up here.

The very steep and rocky road downhill from the PCT to the tunnel was slow and painful.  I suppose a more well-trained runner would go faster, but I thought I would slip down on my butt or trip onto my head.  At the bottom, the trail turns off the road and down a rope-guided drop through the trees and branches.  In the dark there was no seeing where to put feet, but it seemed smooth and reasonably dry.  At the bottom of this section was the fine gravel road that goes through the two-mile tunnel. 

Outside it was cool and little wind, but in the tunnel, it was much colder, and there was a steady blast of wind from ahead.  I was wearing only a T shirt and scarf.  As I passed another runner, he said "better not stop in here!"  Amen.  The tunnel was surreal.  The road was so even and smooth that the footing required no concentration, just go on and on into the hollow, curved, endless, black that lay beyond the reach of the headlamp.  I think my glasses fogged-up, but it didn't really matter.  It was like a dream, practically no way to get your bearings exept for the shape of the tunnel and road, a pair of reflectors every 50 yards or so, and the occasional dripping water from the tunnel roof.

From the Hyak Aid Station to the Kachess Lake Aid Station, it's all road up and then down.  I found I could run downhill on this good surface.  Just like at home on the flat, what initially hurts, after a while, gives way to mild pain or numbness in a regular gait.  Is this different for folks that always train on primitive trails?  In other words, does the rugged-trail-runner get this natural pain-relief even when the gait is irregular?

Now back in the daylight, the next two parts of the trail offered no relief from pain.  The "Trail from Hell" follows the edge of Kachess Lake, up and down and through a hundred little sloughs, over logs, roots, and rocks.  Very slow going.  Several people passed me on this section.  The pain eliminated my ability to control leaps and descents.

After Mineral Creek Aid Station, it's up, up, up 2500' on road.  Easy enough to walk.  The next ten miles of single-track were tough and beautiful, the "Cardiac Needles", Thorpe Mountain, and French Cabin.  Each has a steep climb, rewarded by a gorgeous view.  The spur to the peak from the Thorpe Mountain Aid Station had a kind of party atmosphere.  For the first time in a while I was seeing other runners ahead of me and (one) behind me.  This is the top of the course (5800').  The view of Kachess Lake and Mt. Ranier was fantastic.

Steep down slopes were killing me.  I just had to go slow.  I was shuffling quickly in short little steps to minimize the pain in my quads and stay in control.  The trail was really nice and interesting, but now I was worried about making the 32-hour cutoff for the coveted buckle. 

After the last aid station the single-track was pretty flat, and it gave way to a powerline road and eventually paved road.  Through this I could resume the regular numbing gait and make up some time, and I made it.

This event was truly beyond my experience.  I felt that I had trained as hard as I could with the terrain available, but it was barely enough.  At RR100, I was in the top third, but here I was just finishing.  Whew.  I want more!

Epilogue

I wrote most of this by lantern in the strangely natural-sounding post-Hurricane-Gustav New Orleans.  While in Seattle, we were keeping tabs on Tropical Storm Fay, thinking it might impede our return flight.  It moved away just in time.  Gustav struck less than a week after we got back.  Although the power was restored in our neighborhood yesterday, it's been off again twice today.  We're keeping our fingers crossed and watching Hurricane Ike take aim on Florida and possibly move into the Gulf of Mexico.

Sam
New Orleans

Addendum: Although the fabulous course may be the main attraction at the Cascade Crest 100, I have to thank Race Director Charlie Crissman and the volunteers for a terrific job supporting us. The course was very well marked, but not so much as to make the trail look littered with markings. The aid stations were great, and I must especially thank the volunteers at No Name Road and Thorpe Mountain, who hauled water to these stations on their backs. I think it's remarkable that Charlie and the late-aid-station volunteers can maintain so much enthusiasm for us whacky participants when we're spread over 12 hours near the finish (particularly for the back-of-the-packers. Of course, maybe they're just glad it's nearly over.)