Fun Running the Western States 100

This year I entered the Western States 100 miler. This was my third 100 miler, after Massanuten and Hardrock. For difficulty it ranges somewhere similar as Massanuten and not as hard as Hardrock. However, it's certainly the most competitive of all 100 mile races, with stringent entry requirements and a lottery among the well over 1,000 applicants for the 400 entry spots. There are quotas for elite runners and for foreigners in effect. I was lucky to get in via the foreigner quota without the lottery requirement.

In contrast to my earlier 100 milers, this one didn't get me all so excited and I did not worry about not finishing nor about not reaching a decent time. I knew I could do it. Maybe it was for this reason that this year's race didn't leave as deep an impressions as previous ones. Anyway, here's the story:

I got up at 4 a.m. at my campsite, dressed and drove some ten minutes to the start in Squaw Valley. Until I got through the crowds and had received my race number it was too late to have a decent breakfast, so all I had was some muesli. We started out at 5 a.m. under the illumination of the ski slope lights and headed up along these slopes to Emigrant Pass. I was running the easier angles and hiked the steeper slopes. Already here I noticed that there was a different breed of runners out here as compared to Hardrock. People were pretty fast on the (dirt) roads but on the sections with sleep rocky or slippery footing I was passing everyone, including Ann Trason. On Emigrant Pass there was a splendid view of the sunset over Lake Tahoe (unfortunately, one has to turn around to see it). From Emigrant Pass follows a pleasurable run along a hiking path through the Granite Chief wilderness, where I ran pretty close to a Japanese guy for most of the time. A second aid station, some dirt road and good running along Red and Lyons Ridge. This is a kind of never ending up and down until the drop into Canyon, where the second major climb to Robinson Flat follows. This climb at mile 30 already felt a good bit tougher than the first one. Just before the aid station Ann Trason overtook me again. It was 10:28 when I left the aid station. For an optimal result I had calculated 10:30 for this point: what timing!

Over the next ridge temperatures began to soar an dthe downhill to Dusty Corners was pretty steep and not very good footing. Here is where to you start to run on some five miles of dirt road, mainly downhill. A good stretch to cover some ground quickly. But this was running on a dusty road at noon with no shade. Slowly I fell behind schedule. After this long stretch a steep hot drop into Duncan Canyon follows. By the time I reached the bottom, the two handfuls of ice I had placed into my cap to cool me down had already melted and I was HOT. To cool down, I left the trail and took a dive into a pool in Duncan Creek. A minute in the creek reinvigorated me and I made the long hot climb at a decent walking pace until the cooling effect of the water was gone. The remaining two-thirds of the climb took some effort but the heat wasn't quite as bad as I'd feared. After dipping down into another canyon and climbing up Michigan Bluff, the worst climbs were done- so they say. But I was done, too. I had to pay tribute to the heat, despite the fact that I was hydrating well, drinking two to three quarts of Gatorade per hour.

Climbing up to Forresthill (mile 60), I felt stronger again and was quite confident of a decent time, even though I was one hour behind my "best case pace". From Forresthill you drop into the American River Gorge-- not without climbing up and down the side walls of the canyon several times. This is where my state suddenly changed. I felt tired, my legs wouldn't move without a specific command from my brain, and my feet developed really painful blisters. Until now I had barely seen anybody in the race, just two runners who overtook me in the Canyons, and the Japanese guy with whom I'd traded places several times. Now more people began to pass me. On the last two flat miles the first woman and her pacer went by, while I didn't have the strength to keep up.

Ruck-A-Chucky river crossing at mile 78 is a special place: you cross the American River in water that's over your waist, helped by a rope and volunteers who stand for hours in the cold water to hold the rope steady while the runners pass. After the river crossing, I changed into dry and slightly larger shoes, but this only brought very temporary relief to my blister problem.

After the climb to Green Gate, it was night. Theoretically an easy winding trail follows the canyon walls for the next 10 miles, but my feet hurt so much that I had to walk the downhillls not to be in too much pain. The flats I still managed to run and the uphills I tried to run as much as possible. Nevertheless, more than a dozen runners must have passed me during those last 15 miles. Another climb brings you to Highway 49, followed by some gently running, followed by a grueling downhill in which I banged my sore toes innumerable times.

Finally No Hands Bridge was reached-- and I saw a walker. Indeed, for the first time since 80 miles I would actually pass somebody. In the fading light of my batteries (I had calculated to be at the finish by this time of the day), I worked my way up the last hill into Auburn and down the last 0.5 miles where the guy who I had passed on No Hands Bridge caught me again and finished some three minutes ahead of me. After 22:26 hours the race was finally over.

I fell into a lawn chair and the pain in my feet receded. Ten days after the race the worst was over. I can walk normally (only the big right toe is still very sensitive to being banged against things!)

To summarize: this was a good race. I finished in a decent time, but the net downhill grade and the hot conditions (even if this year's 90's or 35°C were relatively low temperatures for this race) are not really the conditions I dream of when running 100 miles. My thoughts are already wandering if and what race to do next year. It might be Hardrock again, but who knows what the future will bring.

And, if you think I'm crazy, let me tell you that I met a German couple on my campsite. The husband told me that he had just retired at 60 years of age and they are now spending six months in the U.S. doing ultramarathons. Western States was already his tenth 100 miler this year, and he had several more on his agenda until his departure in October. Somebody like me, mentally and maybe also physically able to do not more than one 100 miler per year, is obviously just a fun-runner compared to some real ultrarunners!

-- Gi Schneider