Not the easiest first hundred, but easy and flat are not appealing to me. I wanted a course I would enjoy, and southern Oregon exponentially went beyond my expectations. But the unknown was how I would fare in my first hundred mile race. Anything can happen, and its almost guaranteed that something will happen - no matter how well planned, how well trained, or how experienced one might be. My longest race prior to this was fifty miles, and those experiences were not guaranteed to cross over when the distance is literally doubled and includes new elements such as running through the night.
So as I toed the line with 120-some others on race morning, I basically assumed that everything would go wrong. But, critically, I one hundred percent knew that I was going to finish. That was my main goal, and come hell or high water I was going to finish. Period.
Since this was my first hundred miler, there's a lot to say about it. Grab some tea and settle down, because this is a long one....
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Miles 0-15:
P2P starts by ascending for about 10 miles to reach the first big peak of the day. Road gave way to dirt road for the first five miles. The incline is low enough to be runnable, and yet present enough to make me balk and instead power hike. I trotted to get ahead of the couple who were using their trekking poles (come on, already? Really?), but otherwise used the slow pace to focus on the incredible sunrise to our side.
Five miles in we were greeted by Hal, pointing us onto the trail. This, in the fresh dawn light, was where the run really started. East coast trails are very technical - littered with rocks, lots of small twists and turns, more direct paths and lots of scrambling up rocky passes. Think Escarpment. In Oregon, trails are smooth cut-outs from the side of a sloping mountainside - smooth, covered with pine, and often in a series of switchbacks. My old lady knees felt great. I barely noticed when I miss-judged the size of a downed tree and cut the inside of my knee while trying to straddle instead of sitting and swinging my legs over.
The course markings were very clear, though it was a bit of a trust experiment at first since I'm not used to so infrequent of course turns. Once above 6000 feet (per a fellow runner with an altimeter watch) the trail made a sharp zig zag though a grassy patch before heading back under the cover of giant pines. Five hundred markers had been set along the course, less frequent when staying on the same trail and more frequent before and after turns. Some switchbacks had reassurance markers immediately after the turn, but this zig zag did not. I couldn't remember how long ago I'd last seen a marker. I stopped and looked around, debated back tracking to make sure. But since I didn't remember a genuine trail crossing I opted to continue on. It took about five minutes of running to encounter the next marker, and I was so relieved to not be lost in a new place that I high fived the marker after kissing my hand. Note to self: don't leave a particular trail unless directed to do so, and it will be marked well when the turn comes.
I hit the top out at 8:40am, or 2h40 into the day. This wasn't even as wide of a view as I'd be privy to later, and yet it still blew the wide Texas sky out of the water. No matter if day or night, the layers of mountains progress from clear and solid color to increasingly hazy and lighter in the distance, but all you can see to the horizon are more peaks. Beautiful, and this was even with crass mid-morning light. The altitude then occurred to me, and while I was breathing ever so slightly harder than normal I had otherwise felt no difference on the ascent with my pace. I also realized I had a particular song stuck in my head all morning. It was something I heard on the radio while in Oregon, thanks to staying with Michael (who I met last year during Virgil Crest) and his sisters (Julie and Melissa) who had the car radio set on a local pop station. Surprisingly, my mind picked a pleasantly appropriate song for the race, and it looped continuously.
I began the descent and caught up with a Japanese runner who was maintaining a good pace that he called "nice and easy" despite still recovering from food poisoning three days prior. Just after he warned me of the grade the trail started at an angle hard to control in attempt to save your quads. We did what we could, mostly running it but trying to keep things feeling loose.
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Miles 15-28:
Trail met dirt road at the O'Brien Creek aid station. Volunteers refilled my hydration pack with half Gu Brew/half water while I ate some pineapple and dunked cold creek water over my head from a bucket. Just before leaving a volunteer came up to me. "You know you are second female, right?"
I looked at him like he was insane. "You're joking. You have to be." He asked if I knew Jenn Shelton. She lived in Oregon for many years, is a sponsored athlete, and held the women's record for P2P. "I know of her, though don't know her personally. Doesn't surprise me she's in front. But, seriously, you're lying to me, right?" He just laughed and wished me a good race as I left with wide eyes.
Second female? I felt like I was going nicely slow and steady. Was I actually pushing too hard and would regret it later? How many females were even running P2P? I have no business pushing the front, and I am more consistent if I don't have the pressure of a race on top of my effort. I decided to pretend like I didn't hear it and go back to being blissfully unaware of the race aspect of the day.
The next section was seven miles of downhill dirt road. Good for an easy running pace, though most of it exposed to the sun. Along the way I met Chris, who met his girlfriend running the NYC Marathon a few years ago and he's planning to do it again this November - wearing an "All American" costume that includes cutoff jean shorts and tube socks. How he doesn't chafe is beyond me. I also met Marshall, though I didn't find out his name for a while. Instead I knew him as Nice-Guy-in-Manpris. We chatted with all kinds of things, as runners do, boomeranging back and forth as we took turns with easy and moderate paces.
The next aid station, Steamboat Ranch, fell where the downhill dirt road started to turn upward. I was inhaling a giant slice of watermelon when Marshall arrived. "You know, if Jenn starts puking it'll be all you."
I grunted in reply. Chris chimed in that I was moving well. "For now," I replied. "We'll see how things go after dark when I'm in completely new territory."
Marshall. "Well, she's puked before so it's likely she'll puke again."
Hmm. Noted. And for now, ignored. I downed some ginger ale, dunked a water filled hat over my head a couple more times, and started my power hike up the hill while I digested all the fruit.
The fellas caught up in a few minutes in their trot. Once my stomach had deflated to a reasonable size (i.e. could tolerate my hydration bag straps) I trotted as well, and our boomeranging continued as the road went down a while further and turned up once more. In this section I also met Sean and Jebb. Locals would drive by occasionally, as expected, and we'd breath dust for a minute until the breeze cleared things out. A few times drivers were a safe distance away but didn't slow down, and once a driver came from behind and honked their presence though didn't give much space. I found myself cleaning dust boogers out of my nose, and as a result I developed a small but mostly controllable bleed from my right nostril from the dry air made drier by dust. I smeared the inside of my nose with aquafore in hopes that it would help. Pretty soon we picked up another rail to head up for short bit and then down for another bit into the next aid station.
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Miles 28-39:
Seattle Bar is the first big aid station with crew access. It also has the first of two major medical team posts. Music blasting. Hundreds of people cheering for entering runners. Basically a big ultra party. I was keeping cool about the cheering until a group of women started yelling "Go get 'em, girl!" That got me smiling and my fists pumping.
Julie and Melissa were crewing Michael and, graciously, crewed for me as well. His friend Kayla was also acting as crew until she became his pacer later on. They took my hydration bag for a refill while I weighed in. I was 132 lbs at the race meeting the afternoon prior, and I was 128.5 now at mile 22. Considering what is now understood about water loss, I was completely safe and could continue to drink fluids as I had been. I ate some watermelon dipped in salt, potatoes dipped in salt, and for a moment entertained a triangle of PB&J though quickly tossed it as I realized solid food was not going down easy and therefore was not worth it. Went back to fruit and fluids, including a half serving of a protein shake. The ladies sprayed my neck and arms with sunscreen and helped me refill my pockets with chews. I was pretty clumsy in directing them at Seattle Bar, but they still made the whole thing super easy.
After a couple more dunks of water overhead and with a silly grin on my face I turned to check out with the volunteers. Turned out it was Meghan Argoblast, an incredible mainstay in ultra running who still kicks ass in her early 50s. Dude. Meghan wished me well and helped point me in the right direction. Dude. Awesome.
The next section began with singletrack switchbacks for about a half hour. I had met John earlier, but this was my first real conversation with him. He's done a handful of full Ironman races. I commented on his strong ascending skills as he quickly out-hiked me. "Stubborn and sturdy. That's all."
Then came the exposed ridge. The course still slowly gains more elevation but with only pockets of shade. It was mid-day, the sun strong overhead, temperatures in the 90s. I was grateful for the sunscreen, but still felt like I was being toasted. Any bit of shade felt at least 15 degrees cooler than in the sun. I ran on the few flat stretches but still hiked the shallower climbs. I left Seattle Bar with two liters of fluid, and I allowed myself to drink more than before because I felt thirsty enough and the dry weather could sort out any temporary overhydration during the afternoon - I figured it was a safer bet to work it out later than to intake too little now. I passed a half dozen guys who were climbing slowly. They all were carrying two bottles, yet they all ran out of water with at a couple miles to go. I offered each of them what I had, though they all preferred to just continue slowly.
By the time I reached the next aid station I had only about 250mL left in my bag. My hands and wrists were also a bit swollen. Stein Butte, mile 33, was small though incredibly memorable thanks to the heat. I arrived to find a guy with long curly orange hair and find Jenn Shelton sitting in chairs, Jenn flexed forward and holding a half dozen stacked cups. I asked if she was okay. She described something of a puke fest from the heat, and was staying at the aid station to try and keep down fluids. I refilled my bag, drank ginger ale.
Then there was the bucket of euphoria. I reached for the giant sponge to squeeze overhead, but the volunteer said to let her help so that they could conserve water. She pressed it onto my chest, onto the back of my neck, and overhead. Cold water ran down the entirety of me. I stood there, stock still with my eyes closed, in love. I am very happily married, but I was about ready to propose marriage to this woman right then and there. And I mean lifelong glory. It felt that good. I wanted to live in that bucket. Somehow I managed to whisper a groan and a sincere "Thank you," and forced myself to continue on.
While I walked off my fluid filled belly, I decided to remove my wedding band should my swelling hands become problematic. It took a few minutes of pumping a fist overhead to drain it enough, and I still had to use spit to get it over my knuckle. I tucked it away in my bag's little magnetic storage pocket, just like during Escarpment. With this trend developing, next time I'll just take it off before the start.
Then thoughts of Jenn crept into my head again. I really didn't want the pressure of first female, because I didn't want it to alter my decision-making. I ran into John again, and used the conversation to distract me from the issue. Just before the downhill started I pulled over to take care of some business as John continued on. Once back on the trail I met another local fella. He commented that I was doing well.
I replied, "I'm pretty sure Jenn can push through a lot, so I'm assuming she's either going to pass soon or once it cools off."
"She did the same thing last year, puking from the heat, and then came back to win and get course record once the sun went down."
Not even five minutes after turning off the dirt road and onto the trail, here came Jenn bounding away. "There she is! Rock it!" Even with her puke fest, she barely flitted over the rocks and sped past us. I had hoped that at least someone else was ahead that I wasn't told about, but now at least Jenn was in front and I could relax and focus on one step at a time.
This downhill was fun. Back in the shade, enough to gets the legs opened up but not too steep. Still stayed on the careful side. Caught up to John again, who was being cautious with his quads. My own thighs were starting to feel it when the trail leveled off, so I kept the pace easy as the course wound through a half mile of campsite in California and turned back into Oregon to the next aid station.
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Miles 39-50:
Squaw Lake, mile 39, was the second crew access and thus another party. The ladies came up to check on me, and as I started taking off my bag Kayla said I had three mile loop around the lake and would return to the same station. I had enough water, so decided to save all aid station stuff until after the loop and told them I'd want to change shoes and have another 1/2 serving of protein shake. I checked in with the official, yelling my bib number with both hands held to the sky. We could circle the lake in either direction, he said. So I took off to more cheers.
I and most others took the lake counter clockwise, mostly because what I thought was the route for a clockwise loop could also have been a side trail and I wasn't sure. Here I met Gordo. Half way through a flag was placed indicating a turn, but there were two paths that could be interpreted as correct. We tried the first, which led to a picnic site. "This doesn't seem right. Let's go back."
Gordo shouted "Bonus!" I think we only added a quarter mile of distance total, negligible considering the task at hand. Once back on the loop we re-connected with John and Marshall. I tried to waddle-trot up the barely-there incline while looping back toward the aid station, but it felt goofy enough that I decided to power walk.
Back at Squaw Lake I got a pack refill, downed the protein shake, and changed shoes. I had been using my tried and true Montrail Rogue Racers, but after that little extra feeling on the last downhill I figured it would behoove me to switch to the my Old Lady Knees friendly backups - Hoka Bondi Bs. I kept my same socks, since I only had one backup pair and wanted to save those for my full clothing change at mile 65, though I did add more aquafore to all needed areas of my toes and feet. A blister had been forming under my right fourth toe. Once changed I could feel it and others a little raw. I told myself that after a few minutes the feeling would fade and decided to not worry. A couple pieces of banana, some ginger ale, and time to check out with the official guy.
Without my asking, he told me that Jenn had left about ten minutes before but that one woman was way out ahead. The idea of third was not so scary to maintain. No other woman had come in yet. As I started to trot out of the station, in came the next woman. I gave her a big smile an a high five. She was something like thirty minutes behind me, so I felt okay. I saw Chris again, gave him a high five too.
Then I hit a fork and stopped. Did we come in from the right or the left? A spectator said people were going up to the left. I though to the right looked more intuitive. Gordo came up and also paused. Another guy said very confidently that people were going left. So we went left. Fifty feet later we encountered who I think may have been Craig Thornley, the race director of the Western States Endurance Run (one of the biggest and oldest hundreds in the states).
He looked at us seriously. "Are you finished?"
"With the loop around the lake, yes."
"But are you dropping?"
What?? "No no no! Continuing! People directed us up this way."
He re-directed us to the right fork, and told us to follow the road down to the right.
Gordo. "Bonus!"
Once we back-tracked to the fork I noted that I now saw the white arrows that I somehow missed before. I turned to wave another thanks to Man-I-Think-Was-Craig, and he was already smiling at my commend. Ultra humor.
I walked a big on the downhill dirt road to repack my bag, since there were so many chews stuffed into the pockets that I couldn't breath. My hands were still swollen, though not any worse. The ladies passed by in the car en route to the next crew station, another little boost of encouragement. Once re-packed I started my trot, which felt sooooo much smother in my mega-cushioned shoes. I caught back up to Gordo and passed him, as he was starting to move gingerly. The road turned up and I hiked again.
Just before picking up the next trail I heard a quick cadence behind me. It was Sideshow Bob.
"How are you running up this hill?" I asked.
"I get little breaks. I run to the next person in front of me, then I get a break while we chat. Then I run to the next person."
He asked if this was my first P2P. "Yup." Was this my first 100? "Yup."
"Me too!" Big high five.
Once on the trail I continued to hike up while Sideshow Bob picked up a run again. After a bit the trail turned to the right and followed along the side of a ridge. With the curvature of the ridge and the seemingly repeating pattern of foliage, it felt like we were either spiraling slowly up the mountain or stuck in an M. C. Escher work. The main reassurance was the occasional flag on a different type of bush than before. During this stretch I started to feel a tiny niggle in my stomach, so I walked while adding a salt tab to my fluids. Within a few minutes this helped dramatically. I don't know if its the taste of salt, or if its the actual concentration of salt in my stomach, but that solved it for me. More and more Escher pseudo-loops, and eventually came to a dirt road that led up to the halfway point.
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