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Race Report: Western States 100, 2018

Getting into Western States 100 on only two lottery tickets felt like a privilege I should approach humbly and seriously. And after a choppy start into the year recovering from a calf strain in January, I put in a 3-month block of training with more mileage, elevation and consistency than ever before.

That didn’t lighten the intimidating nature of this race and the goal of getting a silver buckle by finishing under 24 hours but at least I had done what could be done and was in good shape when we flew over to California ten days before race day.

Our first stop was Mammoth Lakes, near Yosemite National Park where I got to run and climb a bit and me and my girlfriend Esther went for hikes almost every day. Maybe not the best location for the recommended heat training but running, hiking and sleeping at 2600-3300m altitude and getting a few longer climbs and downhills than I can do at home was certainly beneficial as well, be it just to ease my mind. Wednesday in race week we headed over to Squaw, checked into our Hotel and I started to get more nervous. We attended a BBQ in Auburn, where I got to meet my pacer Scott Brand, whom I’d found via the Western States website, where potential pacers and runners could connect. The rest of the week passed quickly and the small village of Squaw charged up with anticipation every day as more runners, crews and media arrived. Everyone was talking about the looming weather prognosis which predicted a very hot race day with temperatures beyond 40C in the Canyons. As the race day temperature went up a degree every day I opened the weather app, I stopped checking superstitiously. I talked to a couple of veterans of the race to get a few tips. Most mentioned the importance of taking long dips in as many creeks as possible, the recommendations ranged from 30 seconds to 10 minutes. Many also agreed on wearing a cotton shirt instead of fast drying functional or merino ones. I’d always claimed that I loved heat but now I was a bit anxious about it. The day before the race we had lunch with the two other Swedish runners Anders Norén and Johan Steene and their families. My original plan of just relaxing the last few days and not get too immersed in the rising pre race tension in the village didn’t work at all, as I watched every single Irunfar live interview with the top contenders and went into a last minute shopping frenzy. I’ll never change. After my two drop bags were turned in , the race briefing (more heat talk) was attended, and my running vest was packed, I ate some simple pasta and headed to bed at 8.30pm. We had tried to preserve a bit of the jet lag the week before as the race started at 5. The alarm clock went off at 3.30, I had slept pretty well, rushed to the coffee machine and ate a toast before we took the 5 minute walk to the start. I received my Bib and with still 40 minutes to go I went inside and nibbled a bit from the pre start breakfast buffet. With a few minutes to go I positioned myself right in the middle of the starting field. With only 369 runners it wouldn’t really matter, unlike at UTMB where starting to far behind could mean having to queue on trails later on. Runners and the crowds counted down from ten and the gun went off.

We ran a few meters before everyone except the top runners calmed down and most of us transitioned into a hurried hike. The first 6km up to Escarpment and then Watson’s Monument climbed around 750m on a steep ski access road to the races highest point of around 2700m. The sun rose during that climb and the snow capped mountains and Lake Tahoe were a majestic sight for those of us who took a moment to look around at the top.

After a few hundred meters of descent from the top, the course winded along on top of several ridge lines for 20km with short climbs and descents. I eased into a nice relaxed rhythm, enjoyed the breathtaking views when I didn’t have to look down onto the surprisingly rugged, rocky and technical terrain. During that time I passed the first two aid stations and it already became apparent how fantastic the volunteers were. There were about 1700 for a few hundred runners. They’d approach when entering the aid stations, ask what they should fill into the bottles, if I need anything else and wished good luck with the race.

After around 30km a longer descent into Duncan Canyon started. The trail became a bit softer but was still quite technical. I noticed that Meghan Laws, a legend of Western States, was running behind me. She has been delivering consistent top 20 results for more than a decade and was running her 12th Western States. If anyone knew how to pace themselves smart for this tough course, it’s her. That company was certainly reassuring. During the following long climb to Robinson Flat it started to heat up. As I reached the aid station at short past 11, 6 hours into the race, the volunteers asked if I’d like ice. I had some poured into my buff and in my arm sleeves which were just cut off stockings I had gotten from my girlfriend. I wasn’t a big fan of iced arms I noticed instantly. It turned them numb from the cold so I decided for the rest of the race to use water on my arms and the ice in my buff and in my running vest instead. A short climb after Robinson Flat the course turned downhill for around 30km, at first on a beautiful single track, then easy, runnable but very exposed and dusty fire roads and 3 aid stations (with fitting names like Dusty Corner and Last Chance ) later on steep switch backs into the first major canyon. To the rhythmic rattle of the slushy ice in my vest I descended lower and lower through increasingly hotter pockets of air. I got passed by Meghan Laws again and tried to hang on. As we reached the bottom of the canyon she just ran passed the creek to climb up on the other side. I’d do as being told by people before the race and prepared to get wet and cold. I took off my vest went to the edge of the creek and descended awkwardly backwards into the water with my only my feet hanging onto the ledge to leave my shoes and socks dry for a bit longer. I was soaking like that for 3 minutes, dunked my head under water a couple of times and finally climbed out, feeling physically refreshed and mentally almost enthusiastic about how enjoyable that was.

The ascend up to Devils Thumb aid station was very steep and climbed around 600m over 3-4km and 36 switchbacks. I had felt pretty good at uphill hiking all day and even more so now as I was cooled down from the water. I caught a couple of people and passed even Meghan whom I hadn’t thought to see again. That short burst of actual and perceived strength carried me all the way up, down the next even longer and deeper canyon to El Dorado Creek and up again to Michigan Bluffs Aid Station, 55 Miles (88km) in. I loved the Canyons, my legs were my friends and I even liked the weather! The ice in the vest did cooling wonders and so did the cotton shirt. Crossing a couple of creeks, I eventually got wet feet, and combined with the heat I felt that the balls of my feet got a irritated. I had my first drop bag at Michigan Bluffs AS and planned on changing into fresh dry merino socks before I would get blisters. As a volunteer noticed me grabbing a pair of socks from my bag, she asked if my feet were ok and I went “Well..” she told me there was the best guy to fix my feet right here. John Vonhoff, author of “Fixing your feet”, who I had heard on several running podcasts, regularly volunteers at that aid station and within seconds I laid down on a chair, he ripped off my socks and applied some preventive taping. He wasn’t only treating my feet but also gave a little lecture about foot health and how to cut and file toe nails (even shorter!). Just when I thought, he’ll offer me his book to buy, he was done. At the same time his assistants had filled up my bottles and brought food telling me they wanted me out as fast as possible to not waste time. I couldn’t believe their engagement and within 15 minutes I was gone with fresh, dry and taped feet. During the next section I ran with and talked to a guy named Philip Sanderson who was running his third “Grand Slam”, consisting of four 100-milers within 11 weeks, with Western states being the second one. He told me we were about to enter “the canyon no one tells you about” (Volcano canyon, indeed, had never heard of it) and that he had still high hopes for a sub 22 finish. I shrugged that off at that moment but felt reassured that I was doing very well gaining a nice useful margin for my 24h goal.

I hiked up to Forest Hill (98k) where I met Scott, my pacer. He greeted me with “you are crushing it so far!” We ran along the road through Forest hill with dozens of trailers parked on the sides by either runner crews or spectators and an electrifying atmosphere. Now we’d start the last 62km and the next 30 of those were the most runnable of the whole course. We hit Cal street, a soft winding mostly downhill single track, high up with magnifying views over canyons and American River. I ran in front of Scott who told me he was glad we possibly could make it almost all the way to the river in daylight which would save us even more time. On an uphill we caught up to fellow Swede Johan Steene and his pacer. Exchanging a few encouraging words we moved on. While the downhills started to hurt at this point, I felt still strong on the ascends. I was really longing for reaching the river now but while I could see it down there for hours, the trail even descended all the way down at one point, just to climb up a few hundred meters again, it was a very long tease. Eventually we reached the river in the last daylight. The crossing was somewhat symbolic for me. There were only 35km left, a distance I run often and which feels approachable and not abstractly long. Also almost no runner ever quits once having passed the river.

I started paying attention to the signs at the aid stations which showed goal times for 24 and 30 hour finishes. At the river crossing I was apparently 1 hour and 45 minutes ahead of my 24 hour goal. If I just kept moving I’d certainly make it. If I kept moving as I had so far, why not aim for 23 hours or even less, I thought and mentioned it to Scott, probably secretly fishing for more reassurance. He just dead panned back “25, 24 or 22 hours, it all depends how much you’re willing to run”. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, running was painful at this point but he was right of course and it certainly kept me moving. After stepping through the river, holding onto ropes, we put on our head lamps and began the steep climb up to Green Gate. I enjoyed the climbing more and more as it meant a pleasurable rest from the quad pounding running. That didn’t last for long as we reached the top and entered Auburn lake trails, a 10km or so long rolling section which was (sadly) mostly runnable. Runnable was a relative term for me now, as I entered my only mental low point at the whole race but kept in a running or rather shuffling gait despite the painful legs. I kept myself distracted by the increasingly difficult task of converting miles to kilometres but it didn’t help. Kilometres felt like miles and miles like eternity. I think, not really knowing Scott too well, benefited my race, as I wasn’t comfortable enough to openly start a pity party. Neither did I want him to have to dead walk for hours as he volunteered to run 62km with a total stranger. The few moments I walked for a couple of seconds I almost excused myself and said “just catching my breath” or ate and drank something to create a legitimate reason to walk a few meters. That extra incentive kept me running/slogging while I just could have walked it home and probably would have on my own. We passed a couple of more runners and as at Brown bars aid station a volunteer informed us we were “only 5 minutes short of a 22 hour finish” I regained a bit of motivation. We were still making up time despite moving what felt pretty slow. Having a cheerful Hal Koerner, an ultra runner veteran, who volunteered at Pointed Rocks aid station, filling up my bottles and jokingly scaring me about the next climb just raised my mood even more. At No Hands Bridge, the last aid station with only 5km to go, we were 10 minutes below 22 hours finish splits. We had switched position with another runner and his pacer a couple of times during the last hour and were just right now in front. Excited and riled up from the chasing headlamps, I just ran through the aid station without eating or refilling bottles saying, “We are being followed!” One long last climb, with the last steep part on asphalt roads in the outskirts of Auburn, a celebratory feeling started setting in. The climb took forever, but soon we saw houses, cars and asphalt. We jogged through the sleeping town, passed another runner and Scott briefed me about where to enter the Placer High school track to run a final lap into the finish. He’d turn before that and meet me at the finish. Entering the track, my weak shuffle magically turned into a semi gracious running gait while “Tropical John” announced my arrival, giving details of my life I didn’t remember having given beforehand. It felt surreal and wonderful and maybe for the first time since 20km into it I wished the race would go on just a little bit longer, another lap on the track maybe.

I finished in 21 hours and 46 minutes (51th overall and 35th male), around 2 hours earlier than what I had hoped and trained so hard for.

I was so tired that it took a few hours for the result to sink in but I felt a deep satisfaction somewhere inside. I thanked and hugged my pacer, greeted Esther and just laid down on the grass, mixing naps with cheering on incoming runners. We’d stay on the track for another 10 hours, watching until the last runner had arrived. The crowds cheered louder as the clock approached the 30 hour mark. Most impressive for me was Nick Bassetts finish after 29 hours who became the oldest finisher in history at the age of 73 more than 3 decades after his first WS. Equally inspiring was Diana Fitzpatricks sub 24 hour finish, a new record for 60+ year olds. The heat felt more relentless now than it had anytime during the race. I almost considered asking for more ice. Around lunch time the award ceremony started where everyone received their well deserved iconic belt buckle. Finisher medals/awards aren’t usually a big deal but this shiny buckle is a slightly different story for me. Traveling on for another week I added it to the small list of things (wallet, passport) I must absolutely not forget at motels.

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