Most of time when I tell people that I'm going to pace a runner for a 100-mile race, I'm not sure if they fully understand what I'm talking about. I think to some people it sounds so bizarre, they don't know what to make of it. They simply can't wrap their heads around someone running a hundred miles, so they just say "cool, have fun with that". I think other times, people think I'm going to be running a hundred miles around a track with a megaphone, calling out lap times and telling people they need to move their asses. Not many people outside of the ultramarathon world understand at first, but I'd say about half of the time, people are intrigued and ask me to tell them more. Once I explain it, they seem to understand and appreciate it. Most 100-mile race participants have pacers for the second half of the race, or perhaps the last thirty or twenty miles. Even the elite runners usually have someone there. Pacers are often friends or family members who are crazy enough, and willing to share the adventure with the runners. Pacing a runner during a 100-miler can mean a couple of different things. When someone paces an elite runner who is competitive and going for the win, the experience is almost all business. The pacer is expected to run seven to eight minute miles with the runner for at least twenty miles. Additionally, they are expected to push the runner to their maximum potential, make sure they don't spend too much time at the aid stations, and make sure they're eating and drinking enough. Basically, they're expected to be extremely efficient, and maximize the runner's chances of achieving their race goal. But for most 100-mile race runners, particularly first timers, it's not quite as intense. When people are pacing less competitive runners who are going for a thirty to thirty-five hour finish, their role is more focused on keeping the runner company so they keep moving. The runner and the pacer will often share stories and engage in conversation to pass the time. Most of the time, all these runners need is someone to talk to them, give them positive words of encouragement, make sure they're eating and drinking, and make sure they don't lose their composure or wander off course. Rather than seven or eight minute miles, pacers are often half running, half hiking, or even mostly hiking the remaining miles of the race with the runner.
I've paced five runners at 100-mile races over the last seven years. My specialty seems to be first timers going for a thirty to thirty-five hour finish. Which means we're often hiking together through the mountains for the last thirty to forty miles of the race and occasionally running when we're able to. It's equal parts work and play, and my approach to pacing runners is often lighthearted and fun. I love pacing first time 100-mile runners. An ultrarunner's first 100-mile race is something they always remember, and I love being part of that journey. My favorite part is seeing their reaction when they cross the finish line. That raw emotion that comes pouring out, knowing that they just conquered the unthinkable. So, when the opportunity arose for me to pace a runner at the Burney Mountain 100-miler this past weekend, I jumped all over it. Brianna, the runner I was going to be pacing, chose the Burney Mountain 100 as her first 100-miler, having made the decision to sign up just three months prior. We touched base often on her training and progress. She trained quite a bit in those three months, but the longest distance she logged was a single thirty-three mile training run. That's not very much distance to cover for preparing for a 100-miler, but she felt confident and determined that she could finish. The plan was for me to pace her for the last thirty miles from the aid station at the base of Burney Mountain to the finish line at the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch. Her husband, Nick, and her two daughters, Fierra and Chevelle, accompanied her on the trip, and were planning to be at the aid stations to crew for her.
Charm Motel in Burney
I arrived in the town of Burney at 3:00 PM on Friday June 20th, 2025, after a ten-hour drive from Laguna Niguel. The race had started at 4:30 AM that morning. Although cell phone reception along the course was sporadic, Nick had been doing a great job with keeping me updated on Brianna's progress and letting me know when she was arriving at the aid stations. He informed me that she had twisted her knee around mile seven. It was painful, but she continued on, hoping it wouldn't turn into a major issue later on in the race. When I arrived, I checked into my room that I had booked for the weekend at the Charm Motel off highway 299. As much as I love living in Orange County, it was nice to be in a small, quiet town in a mountain wilderness setting for a couple of days. I took a nap in my room for a couple of hours and woke up to a text from Nick letting me know that Brianna had left the Tamarack aid station at mile thirty-five and was on her way to the Cypress Trailhead aid station at mile forty-eight. I headed out to go meet up with the crew in hopes of catching Brianna before she departed the aid station for the base of Burney Mountain. The drive to the aid station was pretty fast until I made a right turn off highway 89 by the fire station near Hat Creek. From there, it was a ten-mile rally through the mountains on a dusty, rugged dirt road with steep drop offs. Even though it was sketchy at times, the scenery was beautiful. I stopped my car periodically to take a moment to enjoy the picturesque setting. The aid station was at a campground in the middle of the wilderness with no cell phone reception, but when I finally arrived, I quickly located Nick, Fierra, Chevelle, and their dog, Biscuit. We lingered around the campground together as they told me about how wild of a day it had been. They were having a good time but had a couple of stressful moments earlier on in the race when they were trying to locate the aid stations in the remote wilderness. They had driven their van around the course from aid station to aid station and managed to make it to every single one in time to meet Brianna. Being a crew member during a 100-miler can be taxing, and Nick, Fierra, and Chevelle were doing a fantastic job at making sure Brianna was being taken care of. We talked a little about Nick's running history as well. I got a good laugh when he told me he stopped to have a cigarette at mile nine of his last half-marathon, then went on to finish the race.
Brianna emerged on the trail and rolled into the aid station around 8:00 PM. She had covered forty-eight miles in fifteen-and-a-half hours. The race had a forty-hour cutoff, so she was making good time. Aside from her knee giving her trouble, she looked pretty fresh. She was tired, but not too haggard and beat up. This was promising to see. The halfway point of a 100-mile race can be tough. Runners have been on the trail all day, and they have to mentally contend with the fact that they need to run fifty more miles, when they've already been through so much. It can be overwhelming, but the best thing to do is just take it one mile and one aid station at a time. After having some time off her feet and eating some noodles with soup broth, Brianna grabbed her polls and hit the trail once again, heading for the base of Burney Mountain at mile fifty-four. From there, she would make the eight-and-a-half mile climb to the summit, then head back down to the aid station. I bade the crew farewell for now and headed back into town to eat and get some rest for the night shift. Based on Brianna's current pace, I expected she would be back down from Burney Mountain and reach the aid station at mile seventy-one around 4:00 AM, where I would meet up with her and pace her the rest of the way. Even though I had a comfy bed in my motel room, I decided to head to the aid station after I ate dinner. Rather than sleep at the motel I decided it would be less risky if I went to the aid station and slept in the back of my car until Brianna arrived. That way I could just get there instead of taking the risk of getting lost trying to find the aid station and potentially having to make Brianna wait. The drive along the dusty dirt road in the mountains was similar to the drive I had done a few hours earlier. It was pitch black outside, and tall pine trees lined the dark, narrow path on both sides.
The aid station finally emerged through the brush. It was set up in a clearing where the dirt roads intersected. The canvas tent was set up with a table full of snacks and provisions for runners, along with a propane fueled fire pit and several foldable chairs. Cars from volunteers and crew members were parked along the dirt road. I arrived shortly after 11:00 PM. The aid station was fairly quiet in the nighttime wilderness, and a couple of runners sat near the fire trying to stay warm. Beyond the light that the fire gave off, it was sheer darkness in every direction. We were miles up into the mountains, far away from everything, with no cell phone reception. This place was truly remote. I was advised by a volunteer that Brianna had passed through and began her ascent up Burney Mountain just a few minutes prior. She was making the ascent with Kaitie, a runner from Oregon, who she had been leapfrogging throughout the race. It was a seventeen-mile roundtrip back to the aid station, so I figured she'd be back down in four to five hours. I walked back to my car to get some sleep while I awaited her arrival. I spotted Nick's van along the side of the road. It was darkened, so I assumed he, Fierra, and Chevelle were hunkered down inside getting some sleep. Once back at my car, I changed into my running clothes, folded the backseat down, and crawled into my sleeping bag. Over the next several hours, I awoke sporadically but managed to get a little rest. By 5:30 AM, the crack of dawn had filled the sky with vivid color. I sat up, looked out my window, and saw Nick at the aid station, so I hopped out to check in with him. Brianna was still tackling the trek up and down Burney Mountain, and Nick informed me that she expected to be down within a couple of hours. I was glad to hear that she had made it through the night and was still going. Even though it was the first day of summer, it was quite chilly outside, so I retreated back to my car and cozied up in my sleeping bag to stay warm until she arrived. It had been a fun experience so far. I laughed as I laid in my sleeping bag in my running gear. "We're ultrarunners, this is what we do" I said to myself.
Base of Burney Mountain aid station at dawn
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