Just Give Me The Dirt: My Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run Story (Part 2)

I had been chatting with a young guy from Cleveland and as I jogged into the Stonehenge aid station near Spooner Lake at the fifty-mile mark.  We were having an engaging conversation, but my soul filled with joy as I ran down the approach and recognized some familiar faces.  They were my friends Edith and Danny, who had driven ten hours from Southern California to crew for me.  It also presented an opportunity for them to take a mini-vacation and for us to catch up while I took a much needed break.  A big smile spread across my face as I ran off to the side of the trail and gave them both a big hug.  Edith is one of the toughest individuals I know, both mentally and physically.  We've hiked several mountain peaks together throughout the years and she's run numerous ultramarathons in both the United States and Central America, where she is originally from.  Danny is also an avid runner and hiker, and although not an ultrarunner (at least not so far), being Edith's boyfriend, he's been exposed to the world of ultrarunning on several occasions.  There's an indescribable feeling that runners encounter after running fifty miles through the mountains and seeing not only people they recognize, but people who are their close friends.  It creates a sense of security and reassurance after spending nearly fourteen hours experiencing on and off feelings of self-doubt, exhaustion, and fatigue.  Knowing that my friends were here to support me and keep me going to the finish line was a powerful tonic.  After greeting each other, I stopped by the aid station and loaded up a paper plate full of cheese quesadillas and grilled cheese.  Edith and Danny escorted me to a small outpost they had set up where they had a few camping chairs and a cooler full of goodies.  As I sat in a chair enjoying my plate of cheese heaven, they asked me questions and we spent some time chatting.  "Things are going pretty well, so far" I told them.  "I've been trying to be conservative with my energy for the second half".  They gave me some coconut water and sprayed me with some insect repellent as I stretched my legs.  I felt slightly overheated and dry sweat coated my face, so the coconut water was helpful for re-hydrating, and I had a mild pain in my legs, but the level of hurt was not of major concern.  Overall, I was feeling good, but I reminded myself that I was only halfway through the race.  The second half would be a repeat of the loop that I had just traversed but I knew it was going to be tougher and, as I would find out, much more interesting, to say the least. Eating some hot food and having some time to regroup with some great company lifted my spirits.  Although I felt determined, I knew that I would need to take a cautious approach to the next fifty miles if I wanted to finish at all, let alone within the cutoff time.

It was 7:32 PM when I officially checked out of the Stonehenge aid station.  As I stood up to leave, the pain in my legs intensified, and it took a few hundred steps to acclimate to the discomfort.  "I hope I can do this" I said to my friends as I bade them farewell.  They supplied me with a hearty dose of psychological encouragement as I disappeared down the trail.  As I ran alone towards the junction that connects the course to Marlette Lake Trail, I realized I had made a major rookie mistake.  The one drop bag that I had for the race was at the Tunnel Creek aid station, eleven miles away.  Since the course passes through Tunnel Creek six times in total throughout the race, it seemed like an ideal place to leave a drop bag for additional supplies.  Even though there was still plenty of daylight, it would be well after dark by the time I reached Tunnel Creek, where I would have access to my headlamp and flashlight.  Until then, I had no choice but to find my way in the dark with no light source available, with the exception of my cell phone flashlight, which I was hesitant to use.  I wanted to save as much battery power on my cell phone as possible.  Shortly after picking up the single track trail that would eventually lead me to Marlette Lake, I caught up with a group of three runners.  The group consisted of Kim from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, Chris from the Sacramento area, and Melissa from the northern region of the San Francisco Bay Area.  As we chatted and exchanged stories, I asked if I could hang with them until Tunnel Creek since I didn't have a headlamp.  They happily agreed.  "In fact" Kim said "I have an extra headlamp right here that I won in the pre-race raffle yesterday".  She took the headlamp out of her pack and handed it to me.  "Just give it back to me at Tunnel Creek".  "This is great, thank you so much!" I said gracefully.  As the sun set, and the evening turned to night, our group gradually disbanded and I switched on Kim's headlamp to light the way.  The headlamp was brand new, but because of the cheap batteries inside, the light that it produced was weak, but it was certainly better than nothing.  Kim's other light was much more powerful and she wore it around her waist to light the path more efficiently.  As I made my way past Harlan Peak, I slowed considerably after a few close calls from nearly tripping over rocks and roots due to the dim light of the headlamp.  As I ran down the switchbacks to Tunnel Creek, I decided to adopt Kim's method and wear the headlamp around my waist.  It helped a little and I was now able to see the path more clearly in the dim light.  Kim kept up a consistent pace and was a few hundred feet behind, creating an additional light source as well.  

Once at Tunnel Creek, I returned the headlamp to Kim and after a quick break, I took off for the Red House Loop, thankful that I now had my headlamp with fresh batteries to light the way.  After running downhill for a while, I reached the bottom of the gorge.  It had been an enormous winter in the Lake Tahoe area and the snow melt from the nearby mountain peaks had caused the area to become completely flooded.  I searched for a way around the makeshift pond in the middle of the trail, but blocking any potential dry paths were thick bushes.  As I had done earlier in the race, I decided to just run through the water, which was only deep enough that my ankles were submerged.  After powering up the climb with wet feet, I arrived at the disco themed Red House Loop aid station, which was now decorated with multi colored Christmas lights.  As I sat in a chair, sipping some hot broth with rice from a paper cup, Kim emerged.  "Hey Liam, I caught up with you!" I was again, happy to see a familiar face, even if it was someone I had just met.  We hammered through the rest of Red House Loop together before returning to Tunnel Creek, where she pushed ahead towards the Bull Wheel aid station.  The final stretch of Red House Loop is a difficult uphill climb, and by the time I arrived at Tunnel Creek, I had fallen into a low point.  The climb had consumed a substantial amount of my energy, and I was concerned about the remaining climbs that I would need to traverse between this point and the finish.  As I arrived, a volunteer named Casey appeared before me.  She could see that I was in a state of despair, so she offered an enthusiastic greeting.  I had seen her volunteering at other ultras I had done, but hadn't formally met her until this race.  I loved her enthusiasm and dedication to the sport, and the fact that she had been here in the middle of nowhere all day taking care of runners made me smile.  She brought me tater tots and pieces of cheese quesadilla before refilling my water bottles and sending me on my way to Bull Wheel.  Leaving Tunnel Creek and disappearing into the darkness with a full stomach and a psychological uplift from the volunteers, the feelings of despair were replaced with feelings of determination and hope.  I felt good at the moment, but as another runner pointed out early in the race, everything we experience is temporary.  As I pushed up to Bull Wheel, drowsiness began to set in.  It became difficult to focus on what I was doing and I debated on whether to keep powering through or to try to take a quick power nap at Bull Wheel to regain my energy.  I chose the latter, but after sitting in a chair at the aid station and trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, I decided to carry on.  Departing Bull Wheel, I was seventy-two miles into the race, and it was just after 3:00 in the morning.  From there, things got pretty weird and after passing through a delirious, dream-like state, my mind was playing tricks on me and I was convinced that somehow I had gotten turned around and was going in the wrong direction.  After that rather troubling episode, I was feeling much more alert as I ran along the ridge admiring the view of Lake Tahoe and the lights of Incline Village under the star filled sky.  

By the time I reached Diamond Peak Lodge, mile eighty, just after 6:00 AM, the sun had begun to rise, and although I was drowsy again, I was in good spirit.  Here, I would be seeing my crew again, and accompanying them would be my friend Juan Carlos (JC), who would be pacing me for the final twenty miles of the race.  Pacers are not allowed to offer physical assistance, but they can provide a lot of psychological encouragement.  I had done the same for him at the Kodiak 100-miler in Big Bear Lake the summer before, and when I was pondering who I would want by my side during those last twenty miles, it was a no-brainer.  JC happily obliged, although due to a pre-scheduled family commitment, he wasn't able to join us during the first half of the race, and flew into Reno from Los Angeles the night before at 9:00 PM.  Edith and Danny had picked him up from the airport, and he was able to get some sleep in the hotel room that we were all sharing in Carson City before hitting the trail with me.  As I sat on a padded chair inside the ski lodge sipping a piping hot cup of coffee courtesy of the aid station staff, I kept an eye out for my crew, and they soon emerged through the door and headed towards me.  "You ready to be entertained?" I asked JC as the four of us sat in a circle, chatting.  "Just make sure I don't die out there" I joked.  "Don't worry man, I'm going to make sure you finish" he said with strong assurance.  After spending some time regrouping, I made my way back outside and Edith and Danny bade JC and I farewell as we began the notoriously tough climb up Diamond Peak together.  It was amazing to catch up with JC as we moved along, but the climb was beating me into submission, and I was barely able to keep the conversation going.  My answers and verbal reactions were delayed and weak and I puffed up the sandy climb.  Then I remembered how spectacular the view was, and would turn around periodically and admire the lake to take my mind off the anguish.  JC was also enjoying the view and began snapping pictures of us as we powered along.  After nearly an hour, we crested the climb and proceeded down the rolling trial back towards Tunnel Creek, once again.  Once we arrived, I gave Casey a big hug, and found out that the aid station was serving up hot breakfast burritos, much to my delight.  I wanted coffee again, so shortly after taking a seat, JC brought over a breakfast burrito and Casey hooked me up with a cup of fresh brew.  The burrito consisted of scrambled eggs, cheese, and avocado and it was really hitting the spot along with the coffee.  "Check out that sign over there, man" JC said.  "You only have fifteen miles to go".  For the first time in twenty-eight hours, I felt as if I actually had a chance of finishing.  "Oh man, this is definitely putting some life back in me!" I said as I we left the aid station and I continued mauling the burrito.  I think JC got a kick out of how excited I was over what is normally a simple breakfast food, but after running eighty-five miles, it was the most amazing thing I could have asked for.  

As we left Hobart aid station five miles later, the lively volunteers dropped ice cubes down our backs to keep us cool, and squeezed ice water over my head with a sponge.  "Now, get the fuck out of here!" one volunteer joked, as he gave us a knuckle pound and took an enormous pull from his cup of beer.  "Hey man, let's pick up the pace a little" JC advised as we made our way up to Snow Valley Peak.  "I want you to shuffle down the downhills so we can make sure we make it back with plenty of time before the cutoff."  Although it seemed difficult, I trusted JC's instincts.  He had run several ultramaratons before, and knew what I needed to do to push myself, but just the right amount, and not to the point of total breakdown.  I did as he instructed and began power hiking up the climb at a brisk pace.  "There you go, good job" he said.  I hoped that I was keeping a good pace, because I wasn't capable of going much faster.  My stomach was full and I didn't want to risk vomiting on the side of the trail, like I had seen other runners doing earlier in the race.  As I said, when we are running extreme distances, our bodies are using all of their energy to keep us moving forward, including energy that is normally used for digesting food.  As a result, I went through a redundant cycle throughout the race where I would feel full, then my stomach would abruptly start growling only moments later, after the food was quickly digested.  With seven miles left, I paused at the Snow Valley Peak aid station only long enough to refill my water bottles, before taking off for the final stretch.  The trail was mostly downhill from here to the finish, but after ninety-three miles, it all was beginning to feel the the same.  As we wove our way through the tall conifers, I was "leap frogging" with a handful of other runners, meaning I would pass them, then shortly later, they would return the favor as my pace slowed.  We highfived each other and gave kudos as we passed each other.  After what seemed like hours, JC and I were jogging along the winding, narrow trail, when suddenly, Spooner Lake emerged through the brush.  I knew what that meant.  I had less than a mile to go.  I could see the finish line across the lake and could hearing cheering in the distance.  "JC" I said, staring at the lake.  "We're going to do it.  We're really going to do it, man".  I said in disbelief.  "Yeah man! Let's do this" he replied.  But I wasn't ready to go just yet.  I stood still, looked at the finish area across the lake, and began crying.  I was sore, filthy, sleep deprived, and completely wiped out, but holy shit, I was actually going to finish.  It all seemed surreal to me.  "I love you, dude!" I said to JC as we took off towards the finish.  Emotions ran high as I ran the final hundred yards to the finish line with Edith, Danny, and JC at my side.  I had said "just give me the dirt!" throughout the entire race and that's exactly what the world had done.  Highs, lows, joy, pain, sun, heat, water, rocks, roots, steep climbs, breathtaking views, amazing aid stations, the whole ultramarathon experience.  I had lived an entire lifetime in a day and a half.  Knowing that JC, Edith, and Danny were there for me created an overwhelming feeling of loyalty and I would remember crossing the finish line with them for the rest of my life.  As I crossed the finish line, I completely broke down in tears as my crew and I embraced in a group hug.  I had crossed the finish line in thirty-three hours, zero minutes, and fifty-six seconds, two full hours ahead of the cutoff time. 

As much of a train wreck as I was, the post race party was tons of fun, and my crew and I celebrated our accomplishment over beers and delicious food from the nearby food truck.  As my we shared a laugh, I looked over and saw Kim approaching.  She had finished about an hour ahead of me and was looking fresh.  We congratulated each other, and I thanked her graciously for letting me use her headlamp.  I introduced her to my friends, and she went on to tell the story of how the headlamp later died, thanks to the weak batteries.  All the training had paid off, I overcame the setbacks I had experienced, learned a lot, and proved to myself that I was more capable than I ever thought possible.  This race had transformed me in ways I have yet to understand, but I knew one thing for sure right then and there.  My life would never be the same from this day forward.  Two hours later, I stepped out of Edith's car in the hotel parking lot.  Her, Danny, and JC needed to head back to Los Angeles, but I was going to be staying an extra night in Carson City, leaving early the next morning.  As we embraced in a final hug and said our goodbyes, I thanked them for their loyalty and support before heading into the hotel lobby, barely able to walk.  During the drive home the next morning and for days afterwards, I would reflect on what an amazing journey it has been, but I wasn't thinking too much about that right now.  I could barely see straight, and all I wanted was a comfortable bed, a shower, and another hot meal.      

Just Give Me The Dirt: My Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run Story (Part 1)

My mind wanted to sleep, but my body wouldn't let me.  It was 3:00 AM as I sat semi-coherently in a camping chair at the Bull Wheel aid station, hugging myself to keep warm, closing my eyes, hoping to squeeze in a fifteen-minute power nap and restore my mental clarity.  For the last twenty-five sleepless hours I had been traversing through the mountains of Eastern Nevada along with 254 other runners (probably less now since a fair amount had dropped by this point), hoping to arrive at the finish line at Spooner Lake prior to the thirty-five hour cutoff for this beast of a race that I was participating in, known respectively as the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run.  As I sat there trying to fall asleep, the cold temperature had reached discomfort levels and runners arrived, got what they needed, and pressed onward.  After ten minutes of trying, I became frustrated and stood up.  "Hey man, I'm outta here" I said to the guy manning the aid station, trying to remain optimistic.  "Cool, see you on the way back!" he answered.  Off I ran, into the night.  As I continued along the switchbacks, the mounting drowsiness transitioned into delirium, and my mind slowly entered a dream-like state.  The transition was not abrupt though, and things got more hazy as I continued onward.  Everything began to look the same to me.  The trail, the trees, the moonlit, star filled sky.  All of it was one big identical blur.  Movie scenes and bits of songs began playing in my head as I continued along the rolling trail.  I was moving forward numbly, completely unaware of my surroundings, and began singing softly to myself "give me the dirt, just give me the dirt.  Just give me what I want 'till it hurts".  Any pain I had been feeling was slowly melting away and my mind was on an acid trip of endorphins.  It felt as if I had stepped into a scene in Alice in Wonderland.  It was actually a pretty fun stroll, until I suddenly stopped in my tracks.  The Alice in Wonderland mind state had abruptly disappeared, and it felt as if someone had slapped me in the face and I had woken up from a dream.  About thirty feet up the trail in front of me, hanging from a tree branch right in the middle, was a florescent orange ribbon.  The course was marked with them every quarter of a mile to keep runners on the right path.  But this one was was brighter, shinier, and more prominent than the others I had recently passed.  I stood there and stared at it as it fluttered in the breeze in the midnight stillness.  Something was strangely amiss.  After a few seconds it hit me that something was very wrong, and I was in trouble.  I had passed by this exact ribbon thirty minutes prior.  Somehow I had taken a wrong turn and effectively traveled in a big circle.  Then I realized that I hadn't gone in a circle; I was going back the way I came.  I had been following the orange ribbons all along, but somehow I had gotten turned around.  I decided to keep going, but the further I progressed, the more disoriented I became.  I had no idea where I was going and the situation was becoming unsettling very quickly. Although the moon cast a silvery-white glow of light on the trail, it was still very dark and there were no other runners to be found.  To add to the chaos, I was now miles away from an aid station and going back for help wasn't an option.  "How could this have transpired?" I thought.  Did I somehow get turned around while I was in La La Land?  I certainly didn't remember turning around or veering from my course.  I finally decided to just stop and try to get my head straight.  Something just wasn't right and I had to figure out what had gone wrong before going any further.  I stood there for a good minute, my headlamp illuminating the trail with the help of the moonlight, and not a sound to be heard except my heavy breathing.  Then suddenly I saw something ahead of me that caught my attention instantaneously: lights.  Lights from other runners probably about a quarter of a mile ahead.  As I looked more carefully into the darkness,  I could see their shadows in their headlamps in the distance and they were moving away from me.  This was a good sign.  I warily began marching forward.  I noticed that they were not directly in front of me, but on an uphill switchback slightly to my right.  After a couple of minutes I arrived at the junction that connected me to this switchback and suddenly, all was good.  As my senses began firing, it occurred to me that I had been going in the right direction all along.  The sleep deprivation and exhaustion from running and hiking for twenty-two hours straight had caused my acute senses to malfunction, and my mind had been messing with me.  As I plodded along, the trail passed over the ridge and Lake Tahoe emerged below to my left, the lights of Incline Village illuminating the hill side that rose from the north shore and into the ink black mountains.  As I admired the night view, I slowly broke out of the delirious state that I had been in for the last several miles and was now feeling much more aware and alert.  I smiled as I approached the junction  where the course began a downhill twisting route to Diamond Peak Lodge.  "Only twenty-three more miles to go" I said. 

4:00 AM, Saturday, July 22nd, 2019, Spooner Lake - Lake Tahoe State Park, Nevada

Stepping off the bus that transported runners from the hotel to the race start, I inhaled a deep breath of the cool, crisp, refreshing Sierra mountain air.  One hour from then, myself and several other runners would toe the start line of the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run, along with the 50-mile and 55-kilometer races that were being held in conjunction with the 100-miler.  I had spent the entire year training for this race and although my mind raced during the days leading up to today, I felt ready.  The Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run, commonly known simply as Tahoe Rim Trail 100 or TRT 100 is no ordinary 100-miler.  From the start at Spooner Lake, the course travels in two 50-mile figure-eight like loops through alpine wilderness and along mountain ridges near Lake Tahoe, climbing and descending a cumulative total of 18,000 feet.  And just for good measure, the course is run at an average of 8,000 feet in elevation.  Today, make no mistake, was going to be one of the most crucial and defining days of my life up until this point.  My physical and mental toughness would be tested like never before.  I had been longing for this day for quite some time and was looking forward to enjoying the highs I would experience and encountering the lows and having the strength to break through them along the way.  Earlier this year, my favorite band, Motley Crue, had recorded four new songs as a soundtrack to their movie "The Dirt" which had been released in March.  I really liked the new songs, but one of them really spoke to me.  The chorus of the song goes "give me the dirt, just give me the dirt.  Just give me what I want 'till it hurts".  I had adopted this song as my soundtrack to this race.  To the band members, "the dirt" is a two-word phrase that entails everything they've been through together over the years.  Their rise to fame, decline in popularity, return to fame, drug addiction, alcoholism, rehab, jail time, etc.  My meaning of the phrase would be slightly different.  When I said "just give me the dirt", it meant "give me the whole ultramarathon experience".  The highs, lows, joy, pain, elation, despair, feelings of self-doubt, feelings of determination, feelings of hopelessness, feelings of confidence, the whole picture.  I had experienced these emotions in ultramarthons many times before, but today was going to take all of that to the next level.  "Just give me the dirt!" I kept thinking to myself.  After walking down the trail and arriving in the starting area, I grabbed myself a paper cup of coffee and took a seat in an empty camping chair under one of several canvas tents that covered the area.  A steady cloud of steam rose from my cup and fluttered off to the right before evaporating in the slight breeze.  The morning air was chilly, but not cold, and although it was barely warm enough that I wasn't shivering, I knew that I would warm up when I began moving.  I admired the Christmas lights that hung from the canvas tents as volunteers prepared coffee and checked runners in.  As I enjoyed my piping hot cup of paradise, George Ruiz, the Race Director spoke over the loudspeaker:  "Five minutes until race start!  100-mile runners, please make your way to the start line".  I took one last sip of coffee and merged into the crowd as we made our way to the blue archway that marked the start line.  After the National Anthem and a few brief announcements, the final countdown began.  "And, go!"  George shouted into the microphone.  The crowd of volunteers and spectators went wild as the group of two-hundred and fifty-five runners charged forward through the start line at 5:00 AM on the dot.  The adventure had begun.  "This is going to be a great day, or day and a half for some of us" I said as I ran with the tight pack of runners.

As hours passed, the distance eventually totaled thirty miles as I rolled into Diamond Peak Lodge around noon.  We had traversed along the Marlette Lake trail, ran past Marlette Lake, and followed the Tahoe Rim Trail to the Hobart aid station which, to my surprise, was stocked with not only great provisions and awesome volunteers, but a full bar, even at 6:30 in the morning.  From there we ran along a ridge past Harlan and Marlette Peaks with spectacular views of Lake Tahoe before arriving at Tunnel Creek aid station and hammering through the notoriously challenging Red House Loop, which featured a disco themed aid station, complete with costumes, a disco ball, and a sign on the way out that read "as you pass, we're checking out your ass".  Once I'd survived Red House Loop, It was up to the Bull Wheel aid station, followed by an eight-mile stretch through tall conifer trees and along ridge line that offered more great views of Lake Tahoe and Incline Village, before a three mile descent to Diamond Peak Lodge.  Diamond Peak is a well known ski resort in the Incline Village area and the aid station was fully stocked with plenty of food, drinks, chairs for runners, and restrooms.  Looking at myself in the mirror in the restroom, I took mental note that I hadn't looked too beat up, but then again, I was less than a third of the way into the race.  I splashed some water on my face, headed out to the aid station to have some food, and soon began the arduous climb up the Diamond Peak Ski Resort.  This 1,700 foot climb over a span of just under two miles is the section of the race that many runners dread the most.  As I sluggishly made my way, step by step, up the steep, sandy grade, I looked on as other runners stood off to the side of the trail, vomiting.  It's not uncommon to see runners puking during ultras.  Often times, runners will either eat too much, eat something that doesn't sit well with them, or simply push themselves too hard, which can quickly result in their guts becoming unstable.  When running extreme distances, our bodies are putting all of their energy into keeping us moving, including energy normally used to digest food.  If too much food is consumed and our digestive systems can't keep up, it will come right back up.  Typically, runners will carry on after doing their business, however prolonged vomiting can lead to dehydration, cramping, and an eventual withdraw from the race.  Periodically, I would turn around as I made my way up this monster climb.  The view was the best I had seen yet.  The dirt path that I had just climbed disappeared below into the dark green conifer trees in the distance, and the horizon was dominated by the dark blue water of Lake Tahoe and the snow-capped mountains that rested along the shore on the opposite side.  The view made the brutal climb worth it, and after a fifty-four minute struggle in the sun and heat, I made it to the peak, where I scarfed down some watermelon and had some cold drinks back at Bull Wheel.     

I made my way through the mountain wilderness, passing through Tunnel Creek and Hobart aid stations once again, where I consumed smoothies, ample amounts of solid food, and kept my handheld water bottles full, thanks to the awesome volunteers.  Between my two water bottles, I was holding a quart of fluids, and I had been peeing throughout the race, so I felt confident that I was properly hydrating.  Every once in a while I would see peculiar squiggle marks in the dirt as I ran, and eventually it dawned on me that runners were peeing on the run rather than going off to the side of the trail.  The only logical reason I could think of as to why people had adopted this method was to avoid wasting time stopping to relieve themselves.  I wondered if I would get a chance to witness it first hand.  I was feeling the effects of exhaustion and fatigue as I arrived at the Snow Valley Peak aid station, mile forty-three, at approximately 4:45 PM.  It had been a warm and sunny day, and much of the course was on exposed ridge line.  After sitting in a camping chair eating fruit and drinking electrolytes for a few minutes, I felt slightly more energized.  Just as I was making my way to the exit, a runner staggered into the tent and collapsed into a chair.  She was barely able to speak and the aid station crew surrounded her, taking her blood pressure and asking her questions.  She said that she had been puking for the last couple of hours.  I gave her some words of encouragement as I headed out, fully aware that soon enough I could be in just as bad of shape.  Although the remaining seven miles to the halfway point were mostly downhill, I took a reserved, cautious approach.  Running a hundred miles was going to be a new experience for me and I wanted to make I was conserving energy for the next fifty miles.  I would need it.  The second fifty-mile loop would be a repeat of what I had just done, but it would feel very different.  I would be running through the night and into the morning, hoping to finish by the thirty-five hour cutoff at 4:00 PM the next day.  Covering the last few miles to the halfway point back at Spooner Lake, I was fourteen minutes over my projected pace, which wasn't of grave concern.  My projected pace was based on a thirty-hour finish, so I still had plenty of time.  The question was could I make it another fifty miles? Or would I crumble in a heap on the trail and be forced to quit?  Could I make it through the night on my own before my pacer joined me at mile eighty?  Could I push through the pain and despair that would be lurking in the miles ahead? I wasn't sure, but I hoped so.  There comes a point where physical endurance can only take us so far.  After that, it all mental grit and determination that gets us to the finish line.  Covering the last bit of distance to the halfway point, I had since passed this threshold.  From here on out, I would be relying on mental strength to get me the rest of the way.       

From A Spectator's Point Of View

Saturday, June 29th, 2019 8:30 AM Philz Coffee, Sunnyvale, California: With a full tank of gas, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, a bottle of Naked Juice, a Ziploc bag full of peeled clementines, a liter of water, and a piping hot cup of Aromatic Arabic brew, I begin my drive to Auburn.  As I make my way out of the San Francisco Bay Area on the 680 freeway, the traffic gradually dissipates and eventually gives way to a wide open road along the northbound section of the 5 freeway.  I've made this drive numerous times since moving to the Bay Area and it never loses it's excitement.  The town of Auburn, California holds a unique status in the world of endurance sports.  Because of the large number of endurance events that are held in and around the Auburn area, the town is widely considered, at least in some social circles, to be the endurance capital of the world.  I've participated in several of these events, including the Canyons 100K, Overlook Endurance 50K, and the Western States training runs, and each of these experiences has their own unique story.  Because of this, the town holds a great vibe for me, and I consider Auburn to be one my "happy places".  When I was a kid, my family and I would drive down from my hometown in Michigan to a beach town along the Gulf Coast of Alabama to enjoy a vacation in the sun for a couple of weeks every year during the harsh winter.  As the years went on, I learned to enjoy the sixteen-hour ride in the car as much as the vacation itself.  When I wasn't interacting with my family I would put on my headphones, reflect on things, gather my thoughts, and reminisce on experiences during trips from prior years, which allowed me to build up excitement and anticipation for the adventures that awaited us when we arrived.  I could fill many pages of writing with the adventures I had during my winter trips to Alabama growing up, but the point is those same feelings of anticipation and excitement that I experienced during the long drive to Alabama still live with me to this day when I'm driving somewhere where I know adventure awaits. 

11:15 AM: I arrive in Auburn and pull into Black Bear Diner for a quick meal.  Today I will not be participating in one of the many endurance events held in Auburn, but instead, I will be a spectator at perhaps the most noteworthy event that takes place in the area; the Western States Endurance Run.  The Western States Endurance Run, commonly known as the Western States 100, or simply Western States, is held once a year on the third weekend of June, and is one of the longest standing ultramarathons held in the world.  Initially a horse race, it transitioned into a footrace in 1977 and covers rugged terrain along the Sierra Nevada mountains between the start line at the base of the Squaw Valley Ski Resort and the finish line at the Placer High School track in Auburn.  I've been heavily intrigued by this race for several years since reading about it in Dean Karnazes' memoir and have since made it a goal of mine to run it someday.  Finishing the race is difficult enough, but due to the level of prestige that Western States holds, just getting in requires a great deal of effort.  Before even registering, all potential entrants must complete a qualifying race.  There are several ultramarthons throughout the United States and the rest of the world that are Western States qualifiers, however the minimum distance is one hundred kilometers, and runners must finish within a specific amount of time.  Once runners qualify, they must also enter the lottery process.  Out of the thousands who apply, four hundred runners are selected each year, and even for runners who have multiple qualifiers, the probability of being selected for first timers is low.  It can take as long as seven years for some runners to get in.  I myself had been denied in the lottery this particular year even though I had earned a qualifier, but like everything else in life that is worthwhile, I must keep trying.

12:35 PM: After driving down a desolate stretch of road through the wilderness, parking on the side of the street next to a rock wall, and walking about a half a mile down the winding road, I arrive at the small outpost of Michigan Bluff, mile fifty-five of the race.  Several spectators line the sides of the street sitting on blankets and in camping chairs in front of small houses socializing and waiting for the leaders of the race to pass through.  I walk down the street towards the Michigan Bluff aid station which is situated at the junction where the course leaves the trail for the pavement and continues down the street for about a hundred yards before picking up the dirt trail once again.  From tracking the live results online, I learn that Jim Walmsley, a twenty-nine year old runner from Flagstaff, Arizona is in the lead and will likely be passing through within the next ten minutes.  After spending a few minutes chatting with a few people in the crowd and scoping out the scene, I walk past the aid station and down the trail, where several photographers are anticipating Jim's arrival.

12:50 PM: The small crowd goes wild as Jim emerges from the trail and comes cruising through the aid station sporting a white Hoka shirt, displaying not one ounce of exhaustion.  He spots his crew on the roadside and runs over to them, pausing for about ten seconds while they fill his hat with ice, before disappearing down the road and back onto the trail.

1:14 PM: Another round of applause erupts as second place runner Jared Hazen, twenty-four years old, also from Flagstaff, comes running through Michigan Bluff.  Rocking a blue Hoka shirt and looking strong, he drenches himself in ice water with the help of an aid station volunteer.  Temperatures at Western States can range from the high thirties at the summit of Squaw Valley early in the morning to the low hundreds in the notorious canyons section later on in the afternoon.  Because of its length, the race starts at 5:00 AM and continues into the night, and into the following morning, with an 11:00 AM, thirty-hour cutoff.  Michigan Bluff is nestled right in the middle of the canyons section and several runners are in dire need of aid by the time they arrive here.  Luckily, today the temperature is unseasonably cool and has hovered in the mid to high seventies throughout the day.  Despite the pleasant weather, Jim and Jared both opt for a cool down at this juncture to keep their momentum going.  After a brief pause at the aid station, Jared hops back onto the course and takes off past the enthusiastic crowd, his long hair and clothes dripping with water, as he disappears back onto the trail.

1:58 PM: As I mingle on the trail a few hundred feet ahead of the aid station, photographers on the trailside gear up for the arrival of the female leader of the race, Courtney Dauwalter, a Minnesota native now residing in Golden, Colorado.  Seconds later, she abruptly comes running through as cameras click and the small group gives her kudos on her performance.  "Great job, Courtney!" I shout as she glides by.  She replies with a "thank you!" and a smile as she continues to the aid station.  What stands out to me the most about her is not only the fact that she's an amazing runner, but the fact that she is always smiling.  Photographers have taken videos and pictures of her at start lines, finish lines, and even during the most difficult sections of races, and she always has a big smile on her face, no matter what.  This, to me, speaks volumes of her love and dedication to the sport of ultrarunning.  This encounter was no exception, and seconds later, another round of applause erupts at Michigan Bluff as she passes through and continues to the next check point.

3:20 PM: After spending more time cheering on runners and chatting with spectators, I decide to relocate to the next check point at Foresthill, a little over six miles down the course from Michigan Bluff, thirty-eight miles from the finish line.  Between the two points, the dirt road leaving Michigan Bluff rolls up and down, banks right at the intersection with Gorman Ranch road, and continues onto single track trail through pristine, alpine wilderness.  Once on the single track trail, runners drop 1,000 feet down the twisting course into Volcano Canyon, cross a small river, and climb up the switchbacks leading to another short section of road before arriving in Foresthill.  As I arrive back at my car to leave, several cars are now lining both sides of the road as far as I can see, as spectators walk down the road, heading towards Michigan Bluff.

3:45 PM: The crowd at the Foresthill checkpoint goes wild in the distance as I walk over from my car.  Upon arrival, I learn that the commotion was caused by Courtney's arrival, and that she had just departed.  Jim and Jared had passed through about thirty minutes prior and were already making their way towards the river crossing in the valley.  Foresthill's easy access by car and ample space for spectators to gather have lead to it being the largest and most popular check point of the course.  The aid station is situated in the parking lot of the local elementary school, which has served as the start and finish line for many of the ultramarathons that I have run in the area.  The school is located on a normally quiet two-lane road that passes through the heart of the town.  The check point comes at the sixty-two mile mark of the race before continuing a half a mile down the road and onto the dirt trail once again.  As I walk through the crowd of several hundred people, I recognize a group of runners from Texas whom I had met a month prior at the Western States training runs.  Among the group is Laura, who is participating in the race, along with her support crew including Brian, who I had also met during the training runs.  After we all greet each other, Laura informs me that she had to withdraw from the race after an unfortunate and painful accident.  She goes on by telling me that she had sprained her ankle in the snowy terrain during the early stages of the race and shows me the surgical boot on her foot to validate her injury.  Despite her bad luck, she remains optimistic, and Brian and I assure her that she can and should try the race again in the upcoming years.  Minutes later, I learn by checking the live tracking feed that Kyle Robidoux, the first legally blind runner to ever attempt the race, who was being guided by ultrarunning veteran Scott Jurek, had also dropped out in the early stages, as the snowy conditions had proved to be too much.  I think about how courageous he is for attempting the race and hope that he too will try again at some point.

4:15 PM: I catch up with Dusty Olson, who I had been hoping to meet at some point throughout the day.  Noted for his long hair, tall stature, and his light-hearted attitude towards endurance sports and life in general, Dusty has been a well known character in the ultrarunning scene for years, despite the fact that his main passion is skiing and he runs ultras as a form of cross training.  In the fall of 2002 he threw down an amazing seven hour and seventeen minute performance at a one hundred kilometer (sixty-two mile) road race in his native, Northern Minnesota.  The race served as the 100K national championships that year, and his time qualified him for a trip to the world championships in Taiwan.  Dusty declined the invitation, citing the fact that his passion is skiing and he would rather be knee deep in fresh snow on the slopes than competing in the 100K world championships.  I love this story because it proves that he runs because he loves the sport, not because of the fame, exploits, and other trappings that come with being an elite endurance athlete.  As we cheer on runners, Dusty and I chat about everything from ulrarunning to skiing to his struggle with Lyme Disease to the recent loss of one of his close family members.

6:20 PM: After a couple of hours of eye-opening, telling, and fun chit chat, Dusty and I part ways and I prepare to head off to the finish line at Placer High School.  As I'm walking to my parked car on a side street a short distance from the school, I check the live tracking feed again.  Jim and Jared are still in first and second place, respectively, and Courtney is still leading the female division, with Boulder, Colorado native Claire Gallagher following closely behind.  Jim had won the race last year and set a new course record, and the way things are looking, he seems destined to do the same again this year, but the race isn't over until it's over.

7:09 PM, Placer High School, Auburn, California: The bleachers along the high school track are occupied by a few hundred spectators, all on their feet, as Jim and his crew enter the track for the final lap to the finish line.  As I stand on the side of the track at ground level, Jim runs by high fiving spectators.  Approaching the finish line, he leaps in the air in celebration, waving his arms around, causing the crowd to go even more crazy.  He jumps through the finish tape, and as predicted, he wins the race for the second year in a row, finishing in fourteen hours and nine minutes, shattering the course record he set last year by twenty-one minutes.  Jared finishes roughly fifteen minutes later, also breaking last year's course record.  After their finishes, the local media outlets conduct interviews with each of them separately at the finish line.  Watching these two interviews from the sidelines, I learn that Jim and Jared are actually roommates and training partners together in Flagstaff, which was unbeknownst to me beforehand. 

7:30 PM: As Jared's post race interview comes to a close, I begin to walk back to my car and get ready to head home.  As I walk off the track, I find out that Courtney, who had been the female winner last year, and had been leading the female division all day, had dropped out at mile seventy-nine due to hip problems.  I'm disappointed to hear that her race had come to an end, but I also feel excited for Claire Gallagher, who is now leading the female division, and would probably be finishing in the next few hours.  As I drive along the westbound freeway towards home, I think a lot about some of the key points that Jim and Jared both touched on during their interviews.  "We live together and train together with a great group of guys.  He pushed me all day" Jim said of Jared.  "We hold each other accountable.  This is our life, and we remind each other that we can't slack off" Jared said in reference to Jim.  Although they did not explicitly say so during their interviews, I believe it's possible that Jim and Jared could not have accomplished everything they did if they didn't have each other.  This realization made me look at my training and the fact that I have always done it exclusively on my own.  Although I consider myself to be a good runner, I can't help but wonder about how much I could improve if I were to train with other people and let other people in, so to speak.  When I run Tahoe Rim Trail 100 in July it will be my first time having a pacer at any of my races, so that will likely be a great start to possibly training with others in the future.