Before Broken Arrow: California Winters and Pandemic Progression

It was late January 2020 when I first heard about the Broken Arrow Sky Race.  I had just finished up a run on a beautiful Sunday morning with Mountain View Area Run Club.  As a runner, I tend to perform my best in cold weather, and mornings in Silicon Valley during the month of January are typically in the low forties with plenty of sunshine.  The sun rises at around 7:15 AM, the air is cold and refreshing, the air quality index is generally very good, everything seems to be greener and more colorful thanks to rain season, and the distant mountain peaks have dustings of snow on top of them at certain times.  I call it a California Winter.  California Winter mornings are fantastic for running and I was feeling particularly energetic after this run.  I sat at a table outside of Starbuck's at the corner of Pear Avenue and Shoreline Boulevard in Mountain View, our usual meeting spot.  I was clad in flip flops, running shorts, a warm jacket, and a winter beanie hat, double fisting a dark roast coffee and a cup of water.  I had just finished telling the group stories about the St. Croix Winter Ultra, which I had run a couple of weeks earlier.  As I finished the story about eating nothing but chocolate chip cookies during the entire thirty-eight mile run, my friend Mariele asked me if I would ever consider running Broken Arrow.  After I arrived home later that morning I did some research.  A 52-kilometer trail race in Lake Tahoe in June, circumnavigating the Palisades at Tahoe Ski Resort (formerly Squaw Valley) on a course mostly above treeline, with some snowy sections, steep climbs, beautiful scenery, and a climb to the summit of Emigrant Pass at nearly 9,000 feet in elevation?  Holy shit...sign me up!  When I saw Mariele a couple of weeks later I thanked her for her suggestion and told her that I had signed up.  I later found out that she is Mike Wardian's sister, which would at least partially explain her fondness of ultramarathons.

When I received the email that the race would be cancelled, it massively pissed me off.  I knew that we were going through a very challenging time in the early stages of the pandemic, but it made me angry.  On the morning I saw the email, I had tossed my snowshoes and poles in my car and driven two hours and forty-five minutes out to Pinecrest to get one more snowshoeing trip in before the spring, only to be intercepted by a forest ranger at the junction where the mountain road flanks off and leads to the trailhead.  "Okay, no problem.  All I want to do is go snowshoeing for a few hours.  That doesn't violate any social distancing rules".  I thought as I drove forward.   "How're ya doing?" I said with a smile as I rolled down my window.  "Good, thanks.  Where are you traveling from?"  the ranger asked.  "The Bay Area".  "What are you here for?"  "Just to do some snowshoeing at the Crabtree Trail before Spring kicks in" I replied.  I smiled sheepishly as if to say "look dude, I know I'm not from here, but please let me just go to the friggin' trail for a little while.  I drove a long way".  I knew that saying this out loud to the ranger wouldn't help anything, so I just answered his questions.  He was a polite guy, but my response didn't sit well with him.  He proceeded to give me the whole spiel on sheltering in place, no non-essential travel allowed, bleh, blah bleh, blah bleh.  Arguing would have done me no good, so I graciously turned my car around and headed home.  Annoyed about the fact that I wouldn't be able to have some nature therapy during hard times, I searched my email for updates on Broken Arrow to lighten my mood.  The cancelation email was in my "promotions" folder...and it had been sent two weeks ago, but I didn't see it.  Son of a bitch.  The race was still two months away and I was shocked that they had pulled the plug so early.  It just goes to show how little I knew in April 2020 about how big of an impact covid would have on the world.  Fed up with the pandemic, races being cancelled left and right, and the overall impact that covid was having on my life, I arrived home, threw all my gear on the floor in anger, and went straight to my bedroom to take a nap.  It was really the only tantrum that I threw since the start of the pandemic, but I was just overwhelmed with how things were unfolding.  The nap did help, and I calmed down and came to my senses later that afternoon.  

Fast forward to September 2021.  Thanks to advanced research by top scientists, vaccines, and the actions that people have taken to help mitigate the spread of covid, the 2021 race is on.  Despite the recent delta variant surge and wildfires, the organizers deemed it safe to put the race on with a few modifications.  The race was pushed forward to October, the course would be slightly modified due to construction on the gondola at the ski resort, and we would be required to mask up at the start line.  The nice thing is that even though it wasn't possible to get a refund for the cancelled 2020 event, my entry was rolled into the 2021 race at no cost.  Now let's talk about my current situation.  It's been busy at work.  Like, super busy.  My department is transitioning into an exciting new phase that will hopefully be great for my career, but a heavy focus on work over the last several months has left me with little time and energy to run on mountain trails.  Most of my training has been on flat, paved paths like the Stevens Creek Trail and Guadalupe River Trail, both of which are very close to where I live.  I've managed to get a couple of mountain trail runs in, but with the race being one week away, I'm about as ready as I'm going to be.  This race is definitely not going to be a PR.  Broken Arrow features 10,000 feet of climbing at high altitude on tough terrain, and I fully expect that this race could take me around eight hours to complete.  That's okay though.  What matters most is the experience.  With that, I will simply hope for the best and see what happens.  For now, I'm going to enjoy the final week of training and I'm looking forward to another adventure in one of my favorite places!

Going Easy

The first of the Gem Lakes

The nighttime air was chilly and refreshing as we sat around the campfire.  Stars filled the sky above and huge mountain peaks rose above us in every direction.  Opposite the campfire from me were some familiar faces, but faces I hadn't seen in person for quite some time.  "Just so you know, Liam" said my friend Iris "tomorrow we were planning on getting started around 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning and going for a nice, easy eight or nine mile hike.  Hope that's okay".  Not only was it okay, but I was relieved.  "That sounds perfect to me" I responded.  Iris and Dave looked surprised. "Are you sure you don't mind?  We thought you were going to want to run the whole thing maybe even twice".  I laughed.  "Yeah, right" I said.  "No, a nice easy hike sounds great.  It's actually what I was hoping for".  

                                                           Our campsite at Convict Lake

Anyone who reads these blogs knows that I'm an adventure junkie.  They know that I love running stupidly long distances, hiking up mountains at 10,000 feet or higher in altitude, and putting my body through hell while doing it.  Yes, there is an element of physically pushing myself involved, and that is part of the thrill that fuels my desire to keep running ultras and hiking up massive mountains.  But despite what some people think, I actually live a pretty normal life.  My weekday morning runs are between three and five miles, I go to work everyday, I spend time with my girlfriend and my friends, I get six to seven hours a sleep per night, and my diet is pretty normal.  Yes, I'm an ultrarunner, but that doesn't mean that I approach every experience in life with the same attitude as when I toe the start line of a fifty-mile race.  Yes, I like to push myself, but I'm more focused on the experience and journey.  This is especially true when I go hiking with my friends.  Dave and Iris seemed to actually think that I might be turned off by their plans.  I think they wondered if my response was going to be more like "What?  How come we're not going all the way to the summit?" or "Come on guys, let's make it a sixteen mile hike, otherwise it won't be worth it".  Or "Okay, well I think I'm going to run the trail instead.  I'll see you guys along the route somewhere".  Believe it or not, sometimes I like to take it easy and just enjoy the experience.  Not only is it a good thing to do psychologically, but it also creates a more enjoyable situation because I'm not being as rough on my body.  This hiking trip with three of my good friends from Southern California really brought this sentiment to the surface of my mind.

                           The group (Iris, Dave, Tony, and yours truly) midway through the hike

The journey began when I left Silicon Valley on Friday afternoon in mid-August.  Since I moved to the Bay Area from Los Angeles in 2019, it has since become a tradition that my SoCal friends and I meet up at least once every summer for an overnight hiking trip.  In 2019 we hiked Mount Shasta together, last year was Big Pine Lakes, and this year, we would be hiking Little Lakes Valley.  The plan was to spend the night at a campsite that Iris and Dave had reserved at Convict Lake, then drive to the trailhead the next morning.  I had never been to Little Lakes Valley before and when I left home that afternoon, I didn't quite know what to expect or what my friends had in mind in terms of what time they wanted to start or how far they wanted to hike.  The seven hour drive to Convict Lake from Sunnyvale was relatively calm, and showcased some beautiful forest and mountain scenery.  After the first couple of hours of driving through farmland, the route ascended up through the Sierra Nevada mountains, and  eventually make the big climb over Sonora Pass.  This stretch of highway 108 is notorious for being one of the steepest and highest highway passes in California, approaching a grade of 26% in some areas, and cresting at 9,600 feet of elevation over Sonora Pass.  I completed this ascent just as the sun was setting, which made it much easier to tackle, as opposed to last year when I had to contend with the drive in the dark.  Highway 108 eventually dumped me out onto highway 395, where I turned right and continued south through the town of Bridgeport, past Mammoth Mountain, and followed the dark, winding road into the campground at Convict Lake, where Iris and Dave were awaiting my arrival.  They had driven up from their home in Rancho Cucamonga and arrived a few hours earlier.  Sitting around the fire and catching up with them, beer in hand, I was instantly at ease when they mentioned their plans for going on an easy hike the next day.  After a solid month of being busy at work and finishing the Badger fifty-miler two weeks prior, it was exactly what I had in mind.  Eventually our friend Tony showed up, who had also driven up from Southern California.  Shortly after midnight, we packed it in for the night.  Tony, Dave, and Iris set up their tents and I folded the seats down in the back of my Rav4 and created a makeshift sleeping area with my pillow, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad.

                                         Rock Creek with Bear Creek Spire in the background

I awoke the next morning at 5:45 AM after sleeping surprisingly well.  One thing I love about waking up in nature, especially in the mountains, is that the sun always seems to rise earlier than at home and as the sun rises, I tend to wake up with it.  As I stood outside sipping from a paper cup of instant coffee, I admired the surroundings.  We were treated to a beautiful starry sky the night before, and now the sun was lighting up the towering peaks that surrounded the campsite.  I felt a great energy coursing through my veins and I was excited for what lay ahead.  Our hike ended up being exactly what I had hoped for.  We drove thirty minutes to the trailhead and began around 7:45 AM.  The route began at Mosquito Flat trailhead, which lies at around 10,000 feet of elevation.  Our nine mile hike featured only modest elevation gain, reaching a peak of around 10,600 feet, and took us past the beautiful Gem Lakes and Rock Creek.  As we took a break for lunch, we admired how blue and clear the mountain lakes were.  Like most lakes in the Sierra Nevada mountains, the Gem Lakes are formed by snow and glacier melt and the water is typically very cold, clear, and clean.  Several prominent mountain peaks dominated the horizon in the distance in front of us.  One of those peaks was Beak Creek Spire.  "I wonder which route Nemo took to get up there?" Tony asked.  Although the overall mood of the trip had been very positive thus far, it had turned into a somber moment as the four of us stared off into the distance.  Nemo Hernandez, a good friend of ours, had set out on a solo trip from Mosquito Flat over fourth of July weekend, six weeks earlier.  He never returned and tragically, his body was found several days later by a search and rescue team.  He was a fanatical hiker and rock climber, and had attempted a solo climb up to the peak of Bear Creek Spire.  Nobody knows the exact circumstances of what transpired, but we speculated that he slipped during his climb and apparently fell to his death.  The news of Nemo's untimely demise was a shock to our community and all of us were deeply saddened by the loss.  He was a healthy guy with a family, and had such a zest for life.  Then he was gone in a flash.  I had not seen him in a few years, but we had formed a bond through hiking together and running races.  We concluded that he likely continued along one of the few trails that led from the Gem Lakes over a ridge to the base of Bear Creek Spire, but being the animal that he was, we also wondered if he just free climbed the ridge as a shortcut.  These questions will forever go unanswered.  In the end, he died doing what he loved in his happy place, and he will be forever missed.  After paying our respects to Nemo, we headed back down the trail to the parking lot taking in the beauty of our surroundings along the way. 

                                                 The crest of Sonora Pass on Highway 108

                                    

We were back down to the parking lot by 2:00 PM, enjoyed some hamburgers and beers in Bishop, and I was back on the road to head home by 4:15 PM.  I had once again made it over Sonora Pass in daylight, much to my relief.  The summer before, I drove over the pass in the dark both ways, and the return trip was especially not fun.  I was sleep deprived and exhausted from the long hike and the steep road and sharp turns in the dark really put me on edge.  This year was much better because not only was it easier in daylight, but I could also enjoy the amazing scenery that the drive had to offer.  I ended up getting home around 11:15 PM that night, a fairly decent time.  Overall, it was an excellent trip.  Logistically, it was a huge improvement from last year, and it really couldn't have gone any smoother.  In 2020 when we hiked Big Pine Lakes, I had left the Bay Area later in the evening, gotten to the trailhead in the middle of the night, gotten maybe two hours of sleep, hiked sixteen miles, got a later start on the drive home, and arrived back home at 2:30 in the morning.  It was still fun, but this year was much better, logistically.  And why was it better?  Because I had decided to take it easy.  It doesn't always have to be a situation where I'm crushing through huge miles in hard terrain on virtually no sleep, then driving home and arriving in the middle of the night, half dead.  I realized after this trip that sometimes going easy and allowing more time for rest and logistics can make all the difference.  It was a cool experience and a valuable lesson.   

The Badger 50-Miler Part 2: PR or DNF

There were about a hundred or so of us in a pack as we made our way over a small bridge just outside of the park and towards the Badger State Trail.  I had gotten caught up in the moment and realized shortly before crossing the bridge that I had forgotten to queue up my GPS watch.  After all, it wasn't something I was exactly used to doing.  After several months of contemplating, Sam brought to my attention that Garmin Instinct GPS watches were on sale.  I took advantage of the deal and in June I began using a GPS watch for the first time in nearly two years.  As the course left the streets of Belleville for the trail, I started talking to this dude who was a local guy doing his second ultra.  We were only about a mile in, which for me is pretty early in a race to be chatting with people.  Normally I prefer to take some time during the first five miles or so to find my groove when I do ultras, but we were having an engaging conversation, so it felt good.  His name was Dylan.  He had done a 50K once before and this was his first 50-Miler.  He was a younger guy and attended grad school nearby where he studied fungi.  I immediately thought of Sam because although she majored in psychology, biology remains one of her lifelong passions.  We ran side by side and continued chatting as we made our way along the course.  The terrain we were running on was a wide dirt track which was dissected by a grassy strip down the middle.  Although the ground was smooth and gentle, I decided it was best to wear my Hoka Speedgoat trail shoes for not only when the terrain became less pleasant, but also for extra grip.  We soon came upon the first aid station, which was at a junction where the trail meets a back country road.  Dylan stopped at the aid station, so we parted ways for the time being, and I continued along the course, which had deposited me onto a short road section.  This part of the course was a bit of a detour.  The original route was set up in such a way that we would continue on the trail and run through the Stewart Tunnel.  The tunnel lied about a mile or so up the trail and was approximately a quarter of a mile long, however it was closed off due to flooding issues.  It was also deemed unsafe to run through due to the poor condition of the ceiling section.  This course detour on the road would take us around the Stewart Tunnel and we would eventually pick the trail back up after bypassing the tunnel section.

Despite some rolling hills, the road section was pretty decent.  I caught up with a few other runners: Skip and Gavin, both from Indiana, and Brendan, a college student from the Chicago suburbs.  The four of us motored along together for a little while and we soon arrived at the Hollywood aid station, where I had been hanging out the night before.  Many of the volunteers were still there and taking care of us while operating on two or three hours of sleep.  Some of them recognized me from the night before and asked how my race was going.  "So far so good" I answered.  So far so good, but I was only nine miles into the fifty-mile distance.  The course was an out and back route, turning around at the junction where the trail meets Town Center Road in Monroe.  How would I feel when I passed through this aid station again at mile forty-one?  Only time would tell.  With my water bottles topped off with UCAN and water, I resumed forward progress down the straight, flat trail.  The next several miles offered nice vistas of farmland and rolling green hills.  The surroundings were pretty typical of rural recreational trails in the Midwest.  The route mainly traveled through farmland with a tunnel of trees and brush surrounding both sides of the trail.  When a majority of the forest was cleared out for farmland back in the day, they spared the trees surrounding the trail to add shade and a wilderness vibe to make the experience more enjoyable.  Occasionally there would be a rock wall on either side of the path and there was the occasional railroad bridge above as I passed by underneath.  I kept Skip, Gavin, and Brendan within eyesight, but the next several miles were run solo.  After another road section I heard footsteps coming up behind me.  "Hey, what up?" I said without turning my head.  "Hey, is that Liam?" the voice answered.  It was Gio, a member of the TJM Nation, who I had met the afternoon prior at the race HQ in Belleville County Park.  He had traveled from the Denver suburbs to participate in the 50-Miler.  We chatted for a brief moment before he continued on.  As I continued along, Gio, along with Skip, Gavin, and Brendan slowly faded away in the distance and were eventually out of sight.  I glanced at my watch and noticed my pace had been steadily slowing over the last few miles.  Dylan soon caught up with me and we exchanged some small talk but soon, he too was down the trail and out of sight.  I tried to not let my slowing pace derail me, knowing that it was to be expected that I would slow down as the race went on.  Still though, I had not reached the halfway point of the journey.  Skip, Gavin and Brendan eventually ran past me coming the other way, so I figured it would be coming up soon.  Sure enough, within a few minutes the aid station at Town Center Road appeared in the distance.  I was greeted enthusiastically by the volunteers when I arrived, one of them being Azam, another notable TJM Nation member.  Although I still felt good, I acknowledged to the group my concern with the fact that my pace had steadily slowed over the last several miles.  They assured me that I had plenty of time to finish and that I should not worry.  I knew they were right, but still, my mind dwelled on the thought of getting a DNF (Did Not Finish) because I didn't make the cut off time.  I knew I would finish if I just kept moving, but would it be fast enough?  We would have to see.  I ate a couple of Pop Tarts, and with my water bottles topped off, I headed back down the trail to tackle the second half.  All I had to do now was get back in time for the cut off.  I just hoped that I could do it.

Allow me to explain my concern over not making the cut off time.  This was my third 50-mile race and the other two I ran had taken me twelve and a half hours and a little over fourteen hours.  One of those was virtual.  The cut off for this race was twelve hours.  Given the relatively flat and gentle terrain, the timing was logical, but twelve hours is a little on the aggressive side for a 50-mile cut off.  This meant one thing: I would either have my best 50-mile time yet, or I would get a DNF.  Pure and simple.  PR or DNF.  Those were my two choices.  I had experienced various waves of self doubt over the last several miles, but during the early miles of the return journey, reality set in pretty loudly.  To quote Kevin Hart, "shit got real".  As I plodded along, my mind drifted to a particular sketch from Kevin Hart's "Laugh at My Pain" comedy show in which he tells the story of when he threw a birthday party for his five year old daughter and hired a guy to dress up like SpongeBob.  Apparently things didn't go as planned, and Kevin got into a heated confrontation with SpongeBob because the guy kept taking the top of his costume off and smoking cigarettes in front of the kids.  So, Kevin told him to put the goddamn costume back on and put the cigarettes out "before shit gets real out here".  Shit was getting real out here.  Not because I was about to get into a fist fight with a guy in a SpongeBob costume, but because I was worried that I would have the letters DNF listed next to my name in the race results.  At this point I was on pace for about a ten and a half hour finish, but I knew that I would gradually slow down as I kept going.  After departing the Gutzmer Road aid station at mile thirty-seven, I began doing some pretty hardcore trail math on my cell phone calculator.  I had about a half marathon's distance left to cover and I calculated that I would need to maintain around a twenty-six minute per mile pace to finish on time.  I was averaging well over that pace and even if I slowed dramatically, I'd be moving faster than that, unless something unthinkable happened.  By the way, after all that, SpongeBob then proceeded to curse Kevin out and inform him that he was fresh out of jail and he was only there to get paid.  I laughed to myself out loud on the trail as the sketch flashed through my mind.  As the miles clicked off, my concern over not beating the cut off time gradually melted away.  I kept doing trail math, and each time I knew I could maintain a faster pace than the one I needed to finish in twelve hours.  I felt mentally lifted as I drifted into the Hollywood aid station at mile forty-one and took a seat for a few minutes to be off my feet.  The crowd was giving off great energy, and just before I left, Holly, Dan, Kyle, Myself, and a few others raised a toast with shots of Fireball.  It was one hell of a send off.

The Fireball shot carried me along nicely.  That is until I came upon the road section that served as the detour around the Stewart Tunnel.  In the early stages of the race I had no issue with this section, in fact it was rather pleasant.  This time though, it was a straight up suck fest.  My pace slowed dramatically as I was forced to walk over the rolling hills on the back country road.  Every step hurt and my progress was sluggish at best, even on the downhill sections.  I was no longer worried about not making the cut off.  At this point, I was just in a lot of pain and wanted to be done.  It was time to dig deep and use that psychological strength I had brewing to get through these next few miles until I was back on the trail.  I eventually cleared the final aid station and got back on the trail for the final three and a half mile stretch.  Norbird, one of the volunteers at the final aid station, wrapped a cloth dunked in ice water around my neck, which put some life back into me.  With a mile and a half left, I came up behind an older looking gentleman using trekking poles and walking at a swift pace.  By the way he was moving, I was pretty sure he was a hundred-mile runner.  In the early stages of the race, several hundred-mile runners passed by me going the opposite way on pace for around a thirty to thirty-three hour finish.  Some looked pretty alert, others were so wrecked that all they could do was give me a blank look and a nod when I offered kudos.  This guy was one of the more alert guys.  I found out that he was indeed doing the hundred-miler, and get this, he was seventy-eight years old!  I gave him a knuckle pound and continued on past him, but the inspiration that I felt from that brief encounter was enough to keep me moving steady until I reached the final stretch, where the course leaves the trail for the streets of Belleville.  As I ran through the park and towards the finish line, I could hear the loudspeaker:  "And now we got Liam, who came all the way from Sunnyvale, California, completing his fifty-miler".  I threw my arms into the air in celebration and crossed over the finish line in eleven hours and sixteen minutes.  Scott Kummer put a medal around my neck and I immediately gave him a big hug and thanked him for putting on such an awesome race.  As mentioned earlier, during this race I was faced with two options: PR or DNF.  I thanked my lucky stars that nothing crazy happened and I was able to have the first option as the end result.  I wore a big smile on my face as more people offered hugs and kudos.  Skip, Gavin, Dylan, Gio and Brendan had also killed it out there, and I was super happy for them as well.  Not too long after my finish, Ian, the seventy-eight year old hundred-mile runner ran across the finish line sending the crowd into a roaring frenzy.  After enjoying some free pizza and beer in the finish area and hanging out with the rest of the crowd, I returned to the motel, cleaned myself up, and told Sam the whole story over the phone.  The next day was Monday, and the first day of month end close for July, so I had to multi task by working about three quarters of a work day from a Starbucks in Janesville before traveling back to O'Hare International Airport to catch my flight back to San Francisco that night.  

Another great ultramarathon experience in the books.  Every year brings new races, new adventures, and plenty of stories to tell.  I had a lot of fun traveling back to the Midwest, getting a fifty-miler in, and getting to know so many awesome people from the TJM Nation.  The story about the Badger 50-Miler experience would continue to linger in my head for weeks afterwards, not just because it was such great fun, but because I've been so damn busy, that I'm just now getting this piece written three and a half weeks after the race.  Oh well.  Time to get ready for Broken Arrow!

   

The Badger 50-Miler Part 1: Fun Times In Belleville

A soft chime abruptly woke me up from my half-asleep, dream like state.  My legs were stretched out as far as they could go underneath the airplane seat in front of me, and I laid back, head off to the side, facing the aisle.  The flight crew announced that we would be landing in about twenty minutes.  As I yawned and rubbed my eyes I looked out the small window across the aisle.  It was about 6:15 AM local time on Saturday morning, the darkness had disappeared outside, and the rising sun was firing orange light across the sky.  My redeye flight from the San Francisco airport to Chicago had been fairly uneventful, but my journey would not be ending here.  After we landed I would be jumping into a rental car and driving two and a half hours up to the town of Belleville, Wisconsin.  From what I could recall, the only real time I ever spent in Wisconsin was when I used to go up there on weekends to snowboard at Devil's Head and Alpine Valley back when I lived in Chicago.  The drive was around two hours, so it was an easy day trip.  Based on some research I had done prior to hopping on the plane in San Francisco, Belleville was a town of about 1,800 people and was presumably, by all accounts, your average Midwestern rural town.  I would say probably 95% of the time it's a pretty quiet place.  It's a small community with a simple way of life, and nothing overly exciting really happens there.  Except for this upcoming weekend.  From Saturday morning until Sunday evening the Badger Trail Races put on by the Ten Junk Miles podcast based in Chicago were coming to town.  This meant that 400 and something runners from all over the country would be pouring into this town of 1,800 people over the weekend.  The Badger is a fairly new race, having been created in 2019.  The hosts of Ten Junk Miles had spent a lot of time logging miles on the Badger State Trail and loved the community so they said "why not create our own race, right here!"  Since then, the races have received overwhelming support from the community.  The towns people liked that these folks were coming to visit their area and support their businesses.  The positive response from the town as well as runners from the inaugural Badger Trail Races prompted the creation of two more events; the Last Dot Standing 24 hour race in October, and the Sugar Badger Trail Races in May.  As a result, Belleville has become somewhat of a tourist attraction within the Ten Junk Miles nation.

Once we touched down in Chicago, I shuffled my way through O'Hare International Airport to the rental car counter.  I checked in, got my keys, jumped into the Mitsubishi Outlander I rented, and began the trip north.  I made it about thirty minutes outside of Chicago before drowsiness set in.  I suck at sleeping on airplanes.  It's hard for me to get comfortable and I'm usually in and out of consciousness, rather than fully asleep.  I decided it was best to pull off the freeway for a snooze before I wind up in a ditch.  A couple of hours later with my energy partially restored, I carried on through the countryside.  I crossed over the state line into Wisconsin and the terrain was flat and green with farmland and silos dominating the horizon as far as I could see.  I was excited to be here but I missed Sam.  Thanks to her hard work with growing her business, she had a lot of new pet sitting gigs lined up, one of them happening this weekend.  The Badger Trail Races offered every distance from a 100-mile ultramarathon to a half marathon.  Something for every runner, as I like to think of it.  Sam surely would have enjoyed running this course.  I missed her, but I knew she'd be cheering me on in spirit from back home while I progressed through the fifty miler, which started at 6:00 AM the next morning.  After a filling brunch at an IHOP in Janesville, I eventually arrived in Belleville.  It was early afternoon and the hundred miler was in full swing.  The runners began at 6:00 AM in the town of Orangeville, near the Illinois/Wisconsin border.  From there, they would make their way along the Badger State Trail through Belleville, turn around at the aid station at Dot's Tavern, head back to Orangeville, then come back again to the finish line in Belleville.  Once I pulled into town I headed for Belleville Community Park which served as the race headquarters and the finish line for all distances.  I parked across the street and as I walked through the park I spotted in the distance in front of me the Ten Junk Miles Racing inflatable banner situated next to the park pavilion, which had been transformed into an aid station and packet pick up area.  I met Kyla, the wife of Scott Kummer, who was the main host of the podcast.  She checked me in and handed me a bag with my race bib and lots of goodies inside.  Although Kyla is not a runner herself, she plays a key role in the making the races run smoothly.  She does a lot of work behind the scenes like assembling race packets, checking in runners, and overseeing the merchandise shop while being a wonderful support system for Scott and us runners.  As I mingled with the spectators and volunteers I recognized a lot of names from the podcast and was having fun putting faces with names.  Hundred mile runners passed through the aid station set up in the pavilion which was at about mile thirty-nine.  Some looked fresh, others looked beat up, but they were all still moving.  

After some time I made my way over to the Hollywood aid station to hang out with the crowd over there.  The aid station derived it's name from Holly Lindroth, a co-host of the podcast, who was the aid station captain.  Which means that she would spend the entire weekend managing volunteers, sleeping in a trailer here and there, and doing all that she could to ensure that us runners would have a badass time out there.  The aid station was nine miles down the trail from Belleville Community Park but thirteen miles away by car.  I drove along the country roads through more Wisconsin farmland before entering a residential neighborhood in Monticello.  I passed by a few houses and came upon a small factory before the street came to a dead end at the trail.  The bustling aid station was set up near the end of the road on the trail side with music playing and lots of provisions including massive bottles of Jeppson's Malort and Fireball which were available to runners if they chose to partake in such shenanigans.  After spending more time chatting with people and cheering on runners, I headed up to the town of Verona, ten minutes outside of Belleville to check into my hotel.  I was staying at a Super 8 Motel and the room was pretty basic, but I wasn't going to be spending much time in there over the weekend, so I didn't really need much.  As long as it was quiet at night, the shower worked, and there were no bed bugs, it was fine by me.  It was definitely better than the motel room that Sam and I stayed in earlier in the year while on a road trip, which had holes burned in the bed blanket from cigarettes.  I unpacked and took a shower, but I was eager to get back to Belleville and cheer on more runners and hang out at the aid stations.  Once I was back in town I popped into J&M Bar on Main street to have some dinner.  I wondered if I was going to get some weird looks from the locals because I wasn't from around there, but then I remembered it was race weekend.  Other runners were hanging out inside and the locals told us how excited they were for us as I nibbled at my fries and chicken strips.  People were stoked about the fact that I had come all the way from California and it took a little longer to get out of there than I had originally planned because I was having fun chatting it up with people inside the bar.  Once I made it back to the Hollywood aid station, the party in the middle of nowhere was still in full force and this time around, runners were coming through at both the forty-eight mile mark and the ninety-one mile mark.  The course route was an out and back and out again, so runners passed through this aid station three times.  The runners who were passing through for a final time had nine miles to go and were going for a seventeen or so hour finish, while some of the runners coming through the forty-eight mile mark were in dire need of help.  We had one guy who sat there for a while and was planning to drop because his feet were in such bad shape.  Holly fixed them up with some first aid tools, but there's a big psychological factor involved when it comes to moments like these.  In real life situations outside of ultra running, it's not realistic to be positive all the time.  I've learned the hard way over thirty-five years that it's not healthy to bury negative feelings and minimize physical and emotional pain.  Instead of repressing negativity it's better to acknowledge it and find ways to overcome it.  But when someone is on the verge of quitting a hundred miler, there's only room for positivity.  If they say it's too hot, tell them they just need an ice soak and they'll kick that race's ass.  If they're scared because their feet are battered, tell them their feet will recover eventually and they'll be fine.  Sometimes the right words at the right time can be what ultimately gets a runner to the finish line.  

By the time I left the aid station at 10:30 PM to go back to the hotel for the night, the runner with the battered feet was still sitting in a camping chair at the aid station, so I'm not sure if he was able to go on.  As I drove along the pitch black road, I passed an intersection with the trail and saw the beams of headlamps from more runners in the distance making their way to the aid station.  During the drive I thought about how fun it was to be the guy cheering on runners at the aid stations instead of running myself, for once.  Watching these hundred mile runners chase the finish line, some for the first time, was an inspiring experience and the fact that I was possibly making a difference in their race by giving off good vibes was a powerful tonic.  My thoughts were interrupted when I had to abruptly hit the brakes.  About a dozen glowing eyes appeared in the road out of nowhere, and when the car came to a stop I saw in the beams of the headlights that I had almost taken out five or six racoons who were just chilling on the pavement, apparently oblivious to the fact that they had come inches away from meeting their destiny on this lonely dark road.    I slept surprisingly well that night and was in a dead sleep when my alarm went off at 4:30 AM the next morning.  There was a McDonald's right next door to the motel so I went through the drive thru and got some coffee and a couple of sausage burritos, which I wolfed down during the fifteen minute drive to the start line.  I arrived just as Scott, who served as the race director, was beginning the pre-race briefing over a PA system.  A few hundred mile runners came through the finish line, finishing in around twenty-four hours and after the national anthem was played, us fifty mile runners made our way up to the start line beneath the Ten Junk Miles race banner.  I briefly chatted with a few people I had met the day before and at 6:00 AM on the dot the horn went off and we charged across the start line through the park and towards the trail.  

 

 

Back To The Midwest

In March of 2018 I was getting myself ready for an epic challenge.  I had DNF'ed at The Canyons 100K the year prior and with the 2018 event about a month away at the time, I was putting in some big miles to prepare myself for redemption.  Easter and Passover weekend happened to land on the last weekend of March that year, so I hopped on a flight from Los Angeles to Detroit to spend a long weekend with my family.  And to do something else pretty exciting that would help with my Canyons training.  I had recently discovered that there was a thirty-three mile trail that ran from my college town of Kalamazoo to South Haven, a beach town on Michigan's west coast.  I successfully completed the thirty-three mile one way trek to South Haven, beginning at the trailhead in Kalamazoo, however the adventure did not end as planned.  I intended to get a ride from an Uber in South Haven back to my car, which was parked at the trialhead in Kalamazoo, then drive back to my dad's house.  There were no Ubers in South Haven.  Living in Los Angeles, I took things like Uber for granted and should have expected that I wouldn't be able to find one in small, modest beach town in Michigan.  Long story short, there were no other transportation options available, and all I could do was call my sister and ask her to drive out to South Haven from our hometown, which was three hours away and come get me.  When she didn't pick up, I had to call my dad.  After a long pause and a sigh of frustration, he finally said "I'll be there in a little while".  When he arrived, he was proud of me for having knocked off thirty-three miles, but not thrilled that he had to waste his evening driving to South Haven to pick up his thirty-one year old son who should have known better.  I think I also got a bit of a free pass because he was happy to have me home from California for a long weekend.

But before that happened, the run was fantastic.  I ran along a nice, smooth crushed limestone path through wilderness and farmland in rural Michigan, passing through several small towns along the way.  Several stretches of the route were very remote and when I reached one of the towns along the way, the trail would come to an intersection with a road and I'd run past a few small establishments and the occasional park.  Then it was back to forest and farmland.  The run was so nice because it had a real Midwestern feel to it.  Flat, some forest, some farmland, lots of intersections with back country roads, and lots of small towns along the way.  With the Badger 50-miler coming up on August 1st (one week from today as I type this), I found myself reminiscing about the run I did three years ago in Michigan.  As I did my research, I began to realize that this race will likely have a very similar vibe to the run I did from Kalamazoo to South Haven.  The race itself is held in Wisconsin, starting in the small town of Belleville, about twenty miles southwest of Madison.  The course is an out and back route beginning at a local park and turning around in the town of Monroe, which lies pretty close to the Illinois/Wisconsin border.  In addition to the 50-mile course, there are also 100-miler, 100K, 50K, marathon, and half marathon options available, and all races follow the same route.  Something for everybody, as I like to think of it.  The route is held entirely on the Badger State trail and Jane Adams trail.  The path is mainly composed of sand, dirt tracks, and crushed limestone with no technical sections, according to the race manual.  In fact, the organizers have described the 100-mile race as "a thirty-six hour cut off and the course is flat as shit".  It could turn out to be not what I'm expecting of course, but I'm looking forward to participating in another Midwest race.  And by that, I mean running a nice flat course, and having an experience similar to the one I had when running from Kalamazoo to South Haven in March 2018 and participating in the Minnesota Voyageur that summer, and the St. Croix Winter Ultra in January 2020.  I love California ultramarathons, but ultras in the Midwest have a different personality to them.  It's a different vibe and a different feel, and I like it!  

Another reason why I'm looking forward to next weekend is, well, it's nice to be doing in-person races again!  Even now, I'm trying not to take live races for granted because we never know what could happen, we can only hope.  And if you're wondering why I chose this 50-miler in particular, it's because the organizers are also hosts of a running podcast based out of Chicago that I've been listening to for a few years now.  Ten Junk Miles is a great podcast to listen to if you like to laugh and enjoy hearing stories about ultrarunning while occasionally learning a few things about running.  It's not a good podcast to listen to if you're all business and take running super seriously.  I intended to run another of their 50-milers (The Sugar Badger) in May of 2020, however the pandemic forced the cancellation of the race and I ended up doing a virtual Sugar Badger, a fifty-mile rally along El Camino Real while getting support from my friends along the way.  I don't know exactly how I will perform, but I'm hoping for the best.  The last several months of my life have been good, but busy, and aside from Western States Training camp, which consisted of running fifty miles on the Western States trail over a two day period at the end of May, I haven't done any super long distance training.  My plan is to just do what I can and although I don't have a lofty goal in mind, I'm hoping to finish in ten to ten and a half hours.  We'll see.  My main goal is to have fun and enjoy the race.  The weather so far seems to be cooperating.  We're looking at party cloud skies with low sixties in the morning, low eighties in the afternoon, which is pretty typical of Wisconsin in August.  Two things I know I'll need to be wary of are higher humidity levels and bugs, probably mosquitos.  After all, California is drier than Wisconsin and I'm used to not having to worry about dampness in the summer air.  Higher humidity means more sweating, which means I will need to make sure I monitor my fluid and electrolyte intake carefully.  If I don't, I could cramp up or suffer from heat related nausea and things could go to hell pretty quickly.  Luckily, there will be plenty of well stocked aid stations out there to take care of us, the furthest gap between aid stations being seven and a quarter miles, according to the chart.  When it comes to dealing with mosquitos, I'll just need to remember to spray myself down with bug repellent.  That should do the trick.  

Focusing on work will be more challenging this week as the excitement continues to build up, but with July month end pre-close coming up, it will be important for me to re-direct my attention as much as possible.  My career is important to me, but once I finish work for the day on Friday, get on that red eye flight from San Francisco to Chicago on Friday night, then make the two hour drive from Chicago to Belleville on Saturday morning, I'll be hoping for an unforgettable race experience at the Badger.  I'm looking forward to doing another Midwest race and hanging out with the Ten Junk Miles crew and nation.  Unfortunately, Sam will be working that weekend and won't be able to join, but I know she'll be there in spirit.  More details to come afterwards.  Until then, cheers!  

The Outdoor Sauna: Western States Training Camp Highlights Day 2

 

I awoke on Sunday morning feeling exhausted, mildly sore, and dehydrated.  I sat up in bed after shutting off my alarm, unsure of what my next move was going to be.  It was 7:00 AM and I was scheduled to be back in Foresthill to begin day 2 of Western States Training Camp at 8:30.  But truthfully, I wasn't so sure I wanted to do that.  The heat from yesterday fried me and left me in a state of fatigue and haziness.  Today was forecasted to be even hotter, around 93 degrees.  The distance today would be shorter and the climbs would not be as harsh as yesterday, but still, it was going to be even hotter.  Was it smart for me to put my body through more suffering?  The thought of relaxing in bed, going out for a nice breakfast, and just taking it easy before heading home seemed more appealing than running through an inferno.  My hotel room was air conditioned and comfortable, which made the decision that much more vexing.  I slowly got out of bed and wobbled over to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror.  At least I looked better than I felt.  I spent a few more minutes contemplating my next move when suddenly I remembered something important; I was trying to get into Western States.  My dream race.  Numero uno on my running bucket list.  The ultimate adventure.  The journey that I'd been trying to be a part of for the past three years.  If there's anything I know about Western States, it's this; it gets friggin' hot.  Like, super hot.  On average, the temperatures in the Canyons get into the low nineties, even dabbling into triple digits some years.  And even after you conquer the Canyons, you still have thirty-eight miles to go.  Admittedly, being active in heat is not a strength of mine.  I fare much better in the cold, or at least in cooler weather.  Some of my best races have been in cold conditions where there's been pockets of rain and cloud cover.  Heat presents an obstacle for me when it comes to running.  It's a weakness of mine.  I focused my attention back to my reflection in the mirror, and said to myself  "Dude, listen.  If you're going to do Western States someday, you need to learn how to deal with the heat.  And this is a great opportunity to learn how to do that".  That was it.  Case closed.  I was going to be running today.

The first step was admitting that heat was a weakness of mine, which felt good.  Truth be told, running in 93 degree heat scared me.  A lot of things could go wrong.  But instead of running away from my fears and weaknesses I decided to conquer them.  That was the second step; making the decision to embrace my fear instead of repress it.  Once I had those two steps under my belt, the third step was determining the course of action I needed to take in order to maximize my chances of success and mitigate any risks.  I needed to stay as cool and hydrated as I possibly could.  But how?  I brain stormed as I got dressed and gathered my running gear.  I recalled reading an article in Runner's World several years ago where the author explained how he survived ever year while running some marathon in South Texas in the middle of summer.  One thing that stuck in my memory was he mentioned he drank a large 7-Eleven Slurpee before the race.  Once I was ready to go, I checked out of the hotel and drove to the nearest 7-Eleven.  I filled a large plastic Slurpee cup with icy cold Coca-Cola flavored slushy deliciousness and grabbed two bottles of Gatorlyte.  I also wanted caffeine, so I filled a small paper cup full of hot coffee and made my way to the counter.  Looking at my items in front of me next to the cash register, it thought it looked pretty silly that I had a huge Slurpee right next to a cup of hot coffee.  "I know this looks strange, but there's a method to this madness" I said to the clerk as I chuckled.  With plenty of fuel, I exited 7-Eleven with a smile and set out down the winding road for Foresthill.  In addition to consuming the Slurpee before today's run, my plan to was take down two electrolyte tablets per hour, have one water bottle for electrolytes, one for water, and make sure that I was drinking all thirty-two ounces between aid stations.  Once I arrived, I ate the two remaining slices of pizza leftover from last night, and continued sipping on the Slurpee while I meandered around the starting area.  I saw a lot of runners from the day before, including the two Midwestern ladies, and we exchanged greetings.  At 8:30 AM sharp we began our run from the elementary school parking lot.  Today we would be running eighteen miles from Foresthill to Driver's Flat campground, which involved around 2,400 feet of climbing.  I took one last sip of the Slurpee until there was nothing but a small layer of flavorless ice at the bottom, and threw the cup away as I began running down the road.  About a mile or so down Foresthill road, the course hops back onto the Western States trail, which then drops 2,500 feet over the next sixteen miles into a valley.  This point is mile sixty-two of the Western States course.  Western States runners traverse this same path and cross the American River at Rucky Chucky, which rests at the bottom of the valley.  From there, they proceed to Green Gate, and another twenty miles to the finish line in Auburn.  Luckily, the distance we were running today was much shorter.  We followed the single track trail over rolling hills into the gorge.  Occasionally, we'd get treated to a beautiful view of the American River, which flowed below us in the distance at the floor of the valley between the towering green hills.  At around the 10K mark I heard foot steps behind me, coming in pretty hot.  I quickly stepped to the side of the trail and nodded to the runner passing by.  "Hey, nice work" I said.  "Thanks, great job!".  She moved like a bullet as she passed by me.  I caught a glimpse of her face and immediately recognized her from somewhere.  But I wasn't sure where.  I knew that she was a big deal, but I couldn't quite put the face with a name.  I later found out it was Brittany Peterson.  She was the second place female finisher at Western States in 2019.  She was also the first place female finisher at the Black Canyon 100K in February, and a top performer in several other ultramarathons.

Day 2 was as difficult as I expected it to be, but being prepared for the heat made things more tolerable.  I refilled my water bottles at the first aid station at Cal2, powered through the short but hellish climb up to Ford's Bar, and traversed along the trail, which ran parallel to the American River.  The scenery was beautiful as always, but as expected, the heat was baking me.  It was getting hotter with each passing minute and the exposed areas of the trail felt like being in an outdoor sauna.  The occasional breeze made the situation slightly more bearable. "Oh, that feels nice" I said to myself hoarsely.  Eventually the trail deposited me onto a wide fire road.  I continued to walk up the hills and run when capable, before finally rolling into the second aid station at Rucky Chucky, two miles from the finish.  Similar to my situation at Michigan Bluff the day before, I needed to sit down, drink some fluids, and regroup.  The volunteers filled my water bottles, and I downed all thirty-two ounces within a minute.  While sitting on a rock, I chatted with some of the volunteers.  One particular older gentleman had run Western States several times, beginning in the early 80's.  Talk about a true hardcore original.  Eventually I felt refreshed enough to hammer out two more miles.  I stood up, thanked the volunteers, and set out to tackle the final segment to Driver's Flat.  The only problem was those final two miles were uphill on a gravel road.  The going was tough, it was getting hotter, and I had to move aside several times for passing vehicles.  Eventually the climb was tackled and the finish area came into view.  Just like the previous day, several volunteers were in the finish area providing food and drinks to runners with chairs set up under canvas tents.  Again, this was simply out of the kindness of their hearts which made me feel grateful and wanting to volunteer at a race or expo in the near future.

We were soon hauled back to Foresthill on a school bus, and I made my way back into Auburn to meet up with Brian for some beer and lunch.  He was a local guy and the brother of my friend Kelly from the Bay Area.  When I finished Canyons in April, he and his girlfriend came out to the finish line with Sammy and Kelly for moral support and brought us to Pistol Pete's for a night of drinking to celebrate my finish.  We had a great time catching up, and when the dust finally settled, I arrived home in Silicon Valley that evening.  During the two and a half hour drive home I consumed almost three liters of Gatorlyte and water.  Although I was sore and exhausted, I had made it through the intense heat without cramping up or having heat related nausea.  The going was slow, but I made it, and I was happy that my plan had worked.  Although it's still a challenge for me, running in heat is no longer as scary as before.  The fear of the unknown had diminished, thanks to the simple decision I made that morning to responsibly jump right into a scary situation instead of run away from it.  I will eventually get into Western States, I just have to keep trying.  But when I do get in, it's going to be go time.  I have a lot of work to do between now and then and I'm just getting warmed up!       

The House of Bees: Western States Training Camp Highlights Day 1

Saturday 5/29/21

My alarm broke the middle of the night silence at 3:00 AM and I soon began gathering my clothes and supplies for what was sure to be an exciting and unforgettable weekend in Auburn.  Sammy had several pet sitting assignments over the long weekend so unfortunately she wouldn't be able to tag along, but I was excited for the adventure that lay ahead.  I left Silicon Valley at 3:30 AM, made a quick stop for some McDonald's breakfast near Sacramento, and arrived in Foresthill about three hours later.  The organizers had set up a makeshift finish line and check-in area in the parking lot of the Foresthill Elementary School, which always seemed to serve as the proverbial basecamp for local races.  After a pre-run briefing, all two-hundred or so of us were hauled off in school buses from Foresthill up to Robinson Flat campground.  

The stretch of the course that we would be running today was mile thirty-one to mile sixty-two of Western States.  This section is particularly notorious among racers not only because they have to contend with the thought of running seventy more miles upon arrival at Robinson Flat, but also because the course descends into and climbs out of several canyons over the next thirty-one miles.  The conditions can be extreme, often with excessive heat and very little air movement in the gorges.  I began running shortly after 8:30 AM.  The first twelve miles were relatively gentle and when I arrived at the first aid station at Dusty Corners I only paused there for a chance to refill my water bottles and wolf down a couple of slices of watermelon.  Even though the training runs were not timed races, the organizers rose to the occasion by setting up three aid stations along the course with plenty of fuel and enthusiastic volunteers.  The fact that there were so many people out here in the middle of nowhere selflessly working the aid stations and keeping us moving made me smile and I felt grateful.  

After Miller's Defeat, the course descended down several switchbacks, and after passing through Last Chance at around the half marathon mark, the trail took a nose dive down into Deadwood Canyon.  The switchbacks became steeper, the terrain more unruly, and the footing more tricky.  The swinging bridge at the bottom of the canyon eventually came into view and several runners were admiring the American River flowing underneath.  With several years of running and hiking through nature to back it up, I can say quite confidently that the sound of flowing water through otherwise pure silence is one of the most peaceful things I've ever heard.  It was a nice sight to take in before tackling the infamous 1,700-foot climb up to Devil's Thumb, which never seems to get any friggin' easier no matter how many times I do it.  The uphill climb was ruthless and the heat was becoming brutal.  It was nearing noon and the temperatures were already well into the 80's.  Once I'd survived the climb and passed through Devil's Thumb, the second aid station emerged through the brush up ahead.  Normally aid stations are a welcoming sight, but the situation quickly went sideways when I approached the volunteers.  "Don't mind the bees" they said cheerfully. "They won't bother you as long as you just be cool".  Before I could process their words, I was swarmed by what appeared to be at least a hundred bees, and a good twenty of them landed on me all over my arms, hands, and chest.  "Oh shit" I said with some surprise.  It was a unique time of year where even though Spring was in full throttle, it was unusually hot and dry out in the Sierra foothills.  The bees needed some relief and were in search of some moisture, which meant whenever a sweaty runner passed through, the bees came swarming.  They weren't looking for trouble they just wanted some dampness.  I waited patiently but anxiously while the volunteers filled my water bottles.  I tried not to move as my new little friends continued to buzz around me.  I was well aware that one false move could quickly turn them into my enemies.  With my water bottles full, I carefully made my exit, moving away from the aid station at a painstakingly slow rate, as if I were the Tin Man and needed some oil.  Thankfully, I escaped without getting stung.  The four mile descent into El Dorado Canyon was relatively fast and uplifting, however the downhill was followed inevitably by an ass-kicking 2,000-foot three mile climb to Michigan Bluff.  The ascent was even more harsh than the climb up to Devil's Thumb.  The air in the gorge of the canyon was thick as Irish stew and the heat was quickly wearing me down.  I had to sit down and regroup along the side of the trail twice during the climb.  

When I finally arrived at the final aid station at Michigan Bluff, I was overheated and desperately needed to take in some food and fluids.  As I sat on the curb trying to get my head straight, a cute dog really wanted my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  "Sorry dude, I need all the food I can get right now" I said sympathetically as I scratched his ear.  Eventually it was time to get a move on.  Regrouping at Michigan Bluff had done some good, but because the heat was so intense, whatever energy I had left was quickly being depleted.  Luckily, today's finish line in Foresthill was just six miles away.  The remainder of the run was slow and the heat continued to trouble me, but I ran into Volcano Canyon, pulled myself up the final climb, and finally arrived back in Foresthill at the finish line. The excitement of reaching the end quickly made me forget about how tired and overheated I was feeling.  The finish area was thriving with volunteers serving hot food, and runners exchanging stories and banter with one another as they sat in folding chairs under canvas tents.  I walked to my car to get cleaned up, drove to a gas station down Foresthill road, and returned to the finish area to join in the fun with some ice cold cans of Little Hazy Thing IPA.

Saturday Night

Day one was in the books.  The temps had reached about 88 degrees Fahrenheit, and the heat slowed me down, but overall it was a great day.  The bees at the second aid station in Deadwood were unnerving, and I especially felt bad for the volunteers at that location, but they didn't seem to mind too much.  Either way, they're awesome for being out there.  I met a lot of cool people, including two ladies from the Midwest who had traveled to California together for the weekend, a guy who had written a book about being a bipolar endurance athlete, and a couple of people who were fairly new to ultrarunning.  That evening after checking into the motel and taking a shower, I celebrated with some takeout pizza and chicken wings from Lucky J's.  While I was waiting for my pizza I discovered a drink at a gas station called "Gatorlyte" which apparently was Gatorade's version of Pedialyte.  It was exactly what I needed after today and I bought a couple of bottles.  With the Gatorlyte consumed, and my stomach full, I shut off the TV and lights and closed my eyes to get some rest for day 2.