A Long Run on the Prairie

In order to apply for entry to the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100), participants must meet certain qualifying standards. I was originally hoping to qualify last May at the Ice Age Trail 50-miler in Wisconsin, but that option was cut short when I sprained my ankle early in the race. I could not find any other 50-mile runs that would easily fit into my schedule, so it was looking like I would have to wait another year to try for the WS100.

In June, I ran as a pacer at the WS100 for Dan Brenden, a very experienced ultrarunner who just recently became one of only two people in the world to complete the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning four or more times. I learned a lot from Dan out on the Western States Trail in California, but he was also very thankful for my part in helping him achieve his first sub-24-hour finish at the WS100. As a result, he decided to sign me up and pay my entry fee for the Heartland 100-mile run in Kansas this year.

Successfully completing a 100-mile race is one way to qualify for the WS100, but I couldn’t imagine why I would want to go that route. Regardless, Dan was planning to run the Heartland 100 and seemed to think that I would be able to go the distance. My wife encouraged me to do it and also convinced me that my chances would be significantly increased by having someone like Dan to run with. I thus began training for my first 100-mile run.

The Heartland 100 course is in the Flint Hills of Kansas, the last great expanse of tall-grass prairie in the United States. The landscape was unspoiled and unending. The cattle on the land still graze without fences. As we approached the race course, it was difficult not to think of the herds of buffalo that must have roamed this area many years ago. I began to feel that this would be an experience I would not soon forget.

Section 1: Start to Teterville Aid Station at Mile 25

Since Dan had already done twelve 100-mile races this year alone, I didn’t question his logic when he said we needed to leave by 4:15am in order to be ready for the start at 6:00am. It was dark for the first hour of the race. The wind was strong but it was not unbearably cold. The trail of headlamps bouncing in the distance down the road was surreal, but the sunrise was probably the most beautiful I have ever seen. Everyone was running together with relaxed anticipation, meeting new people and talking along the way.

As Dan and I approached the 10-mile marker, the meaning of the second word in “Flint Hills” became clear. The hills were not incredibly steep, but they were long. I had been drinking constantly since the race started, so I also discovered how difficult it would be to find cover to relieve myself. For wooded trail runs, all you have to do is step off the trail a few feet and do your business. Out in the open prairie, there is no such thing as modesty.

Normally when you go for a run, you avoid doing so right after eating. When running 100-miles, you must eat constantly. I began to feel nauseous at about 15-miles from all of the eating I was doing to counteract the estimated 18,000 calories that I would burn during the race. I found that eating pretzels and crackers seemed to help calm my stomach, but I would battle this issue periodically throughout the rest of the day. Fortunately, it never became bad enough to be a serious concern.

Section 2: Teterville Aid Station to Turnaround at Mile 50

There is a large tower near mile 50 on the course which first came into view 20-miles before we would arrive. Distances were very difficult to judge out on the prairie. When running in the woods, you can usually only see what lies ahead a few yards at a time. During this event, you could almost see the entire course. The issue of running towards a goal on the horizon which never seemed to get any closer proved to be one of the more challenging aspects of the course.

As Dan and I began our second marathon of the day, we were proceeding at a comfortable pace that we hoped would allow us to run harder during the second half of the race. However, both of our legs were starting to feel tight and tired. I stopped a few times to stretch, but I began to fear how I might feel later on if I was already starting to feel bad this early in the day. I later learned that your feelings in a 100-mile race are not linear. If you are feeling bad, hold on and you’ll probably start to feel better. If you’re feeling great, then be patient because you’ll get over it soon.

Somewhere near the 30-mile marker, a thunderstorm that we had been watching for several hours finally reached us. Normally this wouldn’t be a huge concern, but we were running on a ridge and were definitely the tallest objects around for miles. Fortunately it passed quickly and Dan and I were both starting to feel revived as we approached the halfway point.

Section 3: Turnaround to Teterville Aid Station at Mile 75

Since the course was out-and-back, on the way out you could see the lead runners on their way back. I determined that we were in about 30^th place at the halfway point. Most ultrarunners start out too fast and then crash sometime during the second 50-miles. Since we had been taking it relatively easy for the first half of the race, it was now time to pick up the pace and start moving up in the pack. Dan and I finally went our separate ways as we each determined to see how fast we could finish this course.

Throughout the day, my extremely supportive wife, Lais, and our four children met me along the way to provide both mental and physical support. Since we were combining this trip with a visit with Lais’ grandmother, Lais’ sisters Carmen and Heather and their children also came along to help out with crew duties. Seeing them at the crew checkpoints was more helpful that I could have ever imagined, especially during the second half of the race.

The sun was setting and it was starting to get dark as I left the Ridgeline Aid Station at mile 64. The socializing that occurred during the first section of the run was long over with since the field was so spread out. Runners typically enjoy the loneliness of a long-run, but the isolation I experienced in the dark after running for 13-hours straight was almost more than I could handle. Running up on a coyote in the road and the endless shine of spider eyes reflecting the light of my headlamp certainly didn’t help either. However, after a while, I began to appreciate the serenity of the night. Even though it was still quite windy, the calmness of the prairie in the dark was an amazing experience.

Section 4: Teterville Aid Station to Finish

Running into the Teterville Aid Station at mile 75, I discovered that the bottoms of my feet were beginning to blister. The constant running on the rock-covered dirt roads was beginning to take its toll. There was a guy sitting next to me at the aid station who also discovered his feet were beginning to blister. The difference is that he seemed to know what to do whereas all I could do is look at them and wonder how much worse they would feel after one more marathon. I later caught up to him on the course and he explained what he did to help deal with the blisters. My first assignment after getting home is to buy the book “Fixing Your Feet” by John Vonhof so that I’ll be the one taking care of my blisters with confidence at the next 100-mile race.

I reached my lowest point of the day just before the Lapland Aid Station at mile 83. Usually I have success in focusing on how far I have already traveled rather than the how far I have left to go, but it wasn’t working this time. The remaining 17-miles just seemed too far. My feet were getting sorer by the minute, my shoulders and back were extremely tight, I was sick of carrying my pack and water bottles, and I was just plain tired. It was past midnight and I still had several hours left to go. I just wanted to lie down and be done with it.

Fortunately for me, my crew had decided to make one last stop at Lapland. I gladly plopped down into the chair they had brought for me. However, one of the aid station workers gave them the wise advice not to let me fall asleep or sit there too long. I realized the danger of the chair, but it was sweet while it lasted. After some serious back rubbing from my wife, a few shots of Mountain Dew and a hit of espresso gel, I was a new man. I don’t really remember everything my crew did for me at Lapland, but whatever it was, it got me to the finish.

With about 6-miles left to go, the hills were leveling out and I started running harder than I had all day. I knew if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to start running again, so I just kept going. As annoying as it was, a modified mantra from Dory of the movie “Finding Nemo” kept repeating in my head, “Just keep running. Just keep running. Just keep running, running, running. What do we do? We run, run”.

All that running late in a 100-mile race really paid off. At the 92-mile mark, I was in 11^th place and roughly 30-minutes behind the 10^th place runner. By mile 98, I was in 10^th place. With less than 100-yards to go, I moved up one more position and crossed the finish line in 9^th place with a finishing time of 21-hours, 35-minutes, and 20-seconds. My original goal was to finish in less than 24-hours, so I was quite pleased with how things turned out.

My wife and two of my children ran with me for the final half-mile of the race. I cannot fully express the emotions I experienced during that final stretch of a very long day. I could not have done this without the support of my wife and family. They supported me not only during the day of the race, but during the countless hours of training required to go this unfathomable distance. I also could not have done this without Dan, who I should mention was also able to pick it up the last half of the race and finish not far behind me in 13^th place. Last year, I ran my first marathon. I could have never imagined that I would do almost four marathons in one day less than 12-months later.

Section 5: Finish Onward

Joining the 100-mile club is not really something that brings much admiration from the general public. The general reaction I’ve seen is that once you have a desire to move beyond the marathon distance, there must be something deeply wrong with you. When hearing why I was going to Kansas, the typical response was, “Why would you want to go and do something like that?”

One of the interesting thing about ultrarunners is that they can never give you a straight answer to the question of “Why?” However, at a 100-mile race, no one dares to ask the question. Everyone understands that each runner has their own reasons why they are compelled to do something so strange. Usually the reasons are such that they cannot fully comprehend themselves, let alone express to someone else.

Personally, I’m not exactly sure why I have been compelled to move into the world of ultrarunning. I do know that I am much healthier than I was three years ago and that the time spent running has helped me to keep other areas in my life in a more healthy balance. I also know that it has brought wonderful people into my life that I would not have known otherwise and it has helped to bring my family closer together. Most of all, I know that things in my life that seemed overwhelming a week ago just don’t seem like such a big deal anymore.

Pacing at Western States

The hardest part about wanting to do the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100) next year is that I live in Indiana and we don’t have many hills here. In order to gain the specific training and experience necessary to run 100-miles in the mountains of California, I have to do a bit of traveling. As part of this process, I flew to California last weekend to run as a pacer in this year’s WS100.

The rules of the WS100 allow each participant to have a pacer for the last 40-miles of the race. The main goal of the pacer is safety, since at this point it is beginning to get dark and the runners are very fatigued. A tired runner moving alone in the wildernesss at night who falls off an embankment might not be found for several days.

The runner I was chosen to pace for was Dan Brenden, a 56-year old attorney from Arizona. After doing some research, I discovered that Dan is quite the ultra-marathoner. Not only was this his fifth running at Western States, he is one of only five people in the world who has completed the “Grand Slam of Ultrarunning” three or more times. In addition, he has completed the “Last Great Race” the past two years. For those not familiar with these accomplishments, the Grand Slam involves completing four of the toughest 100-mile races in the U.S. in less than a 4-month time period. The Last Great Race is similar, but adds two more 100-mile races to the requirement.

When I arrived in Squaw Valley last Thursday, I was terrified that I would even be able to go the distance. Since I sprained my ankle last month, I haven’t been able to do a continuous run longer than 10-miles. Before the WS100, the longest distance I’d run was 31-miles over gentle terrain in the daytime. My job here required that I go 40-miles over mountainous terrain, mostly at night, and all at the pace of a very accomplished ultra runner. However, this race was not about me. There are no finisher awards for pacers. I was here for Dan and I needed to do whatever I could to get him to the finish line in Auburn.

Although Dan has finished this race 4 times, he has never done it in less than 24-hours. This is the cutoff time where runners are awarded the hand-made silver Western States Belt Buckle, a.k.a., the “most coveted prize in ultra-running”. The weather forecast for race day was near perfect and Dan had been running well the past few months. It became clear to me that this was his year for a sub-24-hour finish and I needed to make sure he persevered the last 40-miles to Auburn.

When Dan arrived at the 60-mile marker, he was about 10-minutes behind a 24-hour pace. Given his experience, I figured I would provide information rather than running advice. I studied the course route, the elevation profiles, and all the split times necessary for a 24-hour finish. I also strapped on my GPS so that I could provide realtime information on pace and distances.

Through the night, I had to be sensitive to Dan’s needs, all while keeping him on pace. If I pushed too hard, he might get discouraged. If I didn’t push at all, he wouldn’t meet his goal. I knew that he could make it before the 24-hour deadline, but things can get pretty hairy after so many miles in the darkened wilderness. I have never in my life been so focused on a single goal. Nothing mattered at that point other than getting Dan to Auburn before 5:00am. I didn’t even notice my own aches and pains because I was so determined to keep Dan on task.

After almost 10-hours of running with Dan, we arrived in Auburn just before 4:30am … 30-minutes before the 24-hour cutoff. As we ran around the Placer High School track for the final 300-meters of the race, I was completely overcome with emotion because Dan had met his goal and that I was able to be a small part of it.

As Dan crossed the finish line, he swept up his crew chief, Huguette, in a tradition that is widely known in the ultra-running world. I then disappeared into the sea of spectators, unknown to the lights and the cameras and the glory of a sub-24-hour WS100 finish. The job of a pacer is one of anonymity, but the reward of seeing Dan win his race was more of an experience than anything else I could ask for. No matter what happens from this point forward with my own WS100 aspirations, I can be satisfied with having played a part is such an epic adventure as well as the special bond formed out on the trail that only Dan and I can comprehend.

Dan and Huguette (Crew Chief) at Finish

Dan and Patrick (Pacer) at Finish

Dan and Patrick with WS100 Silver Buckle

D.N.F.

For the past six months, I’ve been steadily increasing my weekly mileage and participating in increasingly longer races in hopes of preparing myself for a run at the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100) in 2008. In order to gain entry to the WS100, a runner must first complete a 50-mile qualifying race within a specified time. Last weekend, I traveled to Wisconsin to attempt my first 50-miler, the Ice Age Trail 50 (http://www.iceagetrail50.com). However, if you look up the results, my name won’t show up. Rather than successfully qualifying for the WS100, I experienced the 3 letters that all enduance athletes have told me looms in the background of every single race: DNF (i.e., “Did Not Finish”).

I have never been more prepared for a race of this magnitude. Along with the months of training, I have spent hours researching the physiology, nutrition, and mental preparedness required to do well at the ultra-distance. I even prepared a detailed race plan which laid out how many calories of food and ounces of fluid I needed to consume between each aid station and exactly what speed I should run at each segment of the course.

The race-day weather forecast was perfect. After leaving the starting line, the first 10-miles were on a cross-country skiing trail. The course was soft, wide, and with just enough hills to keep things interesting. My split times were right with my plan and I was feeling great.

After 10-miles, the course turned onto a portion of the Ice Age Trail in the Southern Unit of the Kettle-Moraine State Forest. The trail was now single-track with many more hills. The course went through dense pine forests, open meadows, and wetlands. The hills were challenging but not too overwhelming. The experience of running in that environment was almost surreal and I was enjoying every minute of it.

Just before the 15-mile mark, I was scrambling on the downhill of a somewhat technical portion of trail. I was moving pretty fast, but the footing seemed stable enough. However, just as I was about to turn a corner, I heard a loud crack as my left foot hit the ground and found myself lying in the brush just off the trail. My foot had turned and the pain made it clear that I had just sprained my ankle.

I injured my left ankle about four years ago during a camping trip in Colorado. Since I started running, I have re-injured it at least three more times. I was hoping this time it was minor and I would be able to continue. At first, I said to myself, “I’m done”. However, I got up and started walking with hopes that I would be able to work through it. I told myself, “I didn’t work this long and travel all this distance to stop now.”

For the next 5-miles, I did a lot of walking and slow jogging to see if the pain would subside. I found that I could almost manage on flat ground, but the hills and rocks were unbearable. My ankle was simply too weak to support my own weight for 30 more miles on a course this technical. At the 20-mile mark, my family was waiting to cheer me on, however, it was there that I officially dropped out of the race.

The process of turning in my timing chip and collecting my drop bags was a painful one. I realize now that this is one of those times when no matter how much you prepare, something unexpected can always happen. Now I just need to focus on working through this injury and getting prepared to try again later this year.

Moving on from DNF #1,

- Patrick

Humility and Hypothermia in Boston

Last January, I ran my first official road marathon in Houston, Texas, in an attempt to qualify for this year’s Boston Marathon. It was during this race that I gained an appreciation for how difficult running a marathon can be. I was on track to run a time near 3-hours, but the last 5-6 miles became increasingly tough, both physically and mentally. I managed to finish with a time of 3:14:15, which was just 45 seconds faster than what was required for Boston, but shortly after crossing the finish line, I was overcome with hypothermia. The weather wasn’t particularly cold, but I was wet, standing in an air-conditioned room, and somewhat dehydrated. I realize now that this is a perfect recipe for trouble after the stress of running 26.2-miles.

Last week, the Boston Marathon organizers sent out a weather advisory stating that we should expect cold temperatures, heavy rain, and wind gusts of up to 50-miles/hour on race day. For those of you not familiar with the Boston course, it is a point-to-point run straight east from the town of Hopkinton into downtown Boston. Since this bad weather would be caused by a rare late-season nor’easter, those strong winds would be in our face for the entire marathon. Based on my experience in Houston, I understood the risks of hypothermia and believed I would be able to be fully prepared for the worst. I was also confident that I would be able to run a faster time than I did in Houston. Even though the Houston course is extremely flat and the Boston course is notoriously difficult, I still felt like I was in better shape and could conquer the hills of New England.

I woke up early this morning (race day in Boston) after sleeping very little last night. That nor’easter hit full force after going to bed, and the thought of running a marathon in those conditions was not very comforting. After arriving in Boston at about 6am, I walked to Boston Common where we would board the buses to Hopkinton. For some reason I imagined there would be large, comfortable, and warm charter busses waiting for us. I was wrong. With all the prestige of the Boston Marathon, the preferred method of transit is the school bus. It took a while to load more than 20,000 runners on school buses in downtown Boston. Did I mention it was cold, windy, and rainy?

After an hour bus ride to Hopkinton, we were dropped off at “Athlete’s Village”, i.e., a makeshift swamp at the local middle school. The ground was completely saturated and flooded, so I quickly gave up on the idea of having dry shoes at the start. I’ve heard from veterans of the race that the time in Hopkinton is usually a pretty fun party. Not so this year. It was two hours of wind and driving rain while standing in near-freezing water trying to stay warm. It was a huge relief when the announcement finally came for us to begin the almost 1-mile walk to the starting line.

It felt great to finally start running. The rain was lightening up, the temperature was warming, and the first 4-5 miles of the course are downhill. The spectacle of the race was immediately evident and it was difficult not to get caught up in the moment. Running by the screaming girls of Wellesley College was likely the most impressive part of the day when it comes to Boston Marathon traditions. I was even on track to beat my Houston time when I passed the halfway point.

Enter mile marker 18, the hills of Newton, leg cramps, side cramps, and a big “wall”. Apparently, the constant rolling hills on the course and the extra energy expended to keep warm while soaked through and running in the cold wind was more than my training prepared me for. Moving forward became increasingly difficult, even with several walking breaks. My right hamstring was cramped up, but when I would try to stretch it, my right quad would cramp up. I somehow managed to continue on until I reached the 24-mile marker. My hands went numb, my face was tingling, my lips were gray, and I began to become nauseous and disoriented. Hypothermia had once again reared its ugly head.

The decision to obtain medical assistance with only 2-miles to go was not an easy one. If it wouldn’t have been for my experience in Houston, I’m sure I would have gutted it out to the finish and then ended up in the hospital. The good news was that I had done quite a bit of research and knew exactly what I needed at that point. I spent more than 1/2-hour on a heated bus, wrapped in a fleece blanket, drinking hot sugar water and hot chocholate, and eating whatever my stomach could tolerate. With the prospect of an impressive time long gone, I exited the medical station with the sole motivation of completing the race and at least having a finisher’s medal to take home from Boston.

My wife, Lais, was waiting at the 25-mile marker with dry gloves and a hat so that I would be able to tolerate the cold once I actually stopped running at the finish line. I should also mention that she was able to master the Boston transit system enough to meet me at three other places along the course to provide support and encouragement. I originally thought that I could have come to Boston and run this race alone, but now I realize that I would have never made it to the finish without her here today.

At the end of the day, I am again humbled by how difficult a marathon can actually be. Someday, I hope to be able to do one of these without becoming hypothermic, but I am encouraged by the fact that I was able to work through it and ultimately finish. In addition, it was cool to be part of the one and only Boston Marathon run in a nor’easter. Even though it took me more than an hour longer than it did in Houston, finishing the world’s most prestigious marathon never felt so good.

Finally warm and dry in Boston,

- Patrick

Am I Ready?

After my last blog, a few people asked what goal I am working towards with regards to my current training program. About 2.5 years ago, I got serious about my health and started running. I had quite a few setbacks during my first year, but then I set my sights on the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run, aka, the WS100. The farthest I’d run at the time was 6-miles, so it was definitely an ominous goal. However, it has helped me to tailor my training program in a way that has kept me extremely excited about running. My ultimate goal is to be healthy, but the WS100 is just the push I need most days to get into a pair of running shoes and head out the door.

Just last month, I qualified for the Boston Marathon for the first time. Most people think this was my ultimate goal. Although I’m very proud to be able to run in Boston this April, it is just one in a list of key milestones in my journey to the WS100:

• 06/2006 - 19 miles @ Hawthorn Half-Day Relay, Terre Haute, IN
• 12/2006 - 26 miles @ Tecumseh Trail Marathon, Bloomington, IN
• 12/2006 - 31 miles @ Sunmart Texas Trails Endurance Run, Huntsville, TX
• 01/2007 - 26 miles @ Houston Marathon, Houston, TX (Boston Qualifier)
• 04/2007 - 26 miles @ Boston Marathon, Boston, MA
• 05/2007 - 50 miles @ Ice Age Trail 50, La Grange, WI (WS100 Qualifier)
• 06/2007 - 38 miles @ Pacer for Western States Endurance Run, Auburn, CA
• 12/2007 - 26 miles @ Tecumseh Trail Marathon, Bloomington, IN
• 12/2007 - 50 miles @ Sunmart Texas Trails Endurance Run, Huntsville, TX
• 01/2008 - 62 miles @ Bandera 100k, Bandera, TX
• 06/2008 - 100 miles @ Western States Endurance Run, Auburn, CA

So, that’s my list of key races geared towards a successful WS100 finish in 2008. I also try to participate in any organized trail races near my home in Indiana, primarily the DINO Trail Run Series, and anything else that might help provide the experience, both mental and physical, necessary to complete a 100-mile trail run in the mountains of California. Am I crazy? Probably. However, I figure I have the ability to go for it now and I don’t know what life will bring later. I don’t want to regret not having at least tried something that seems so impossible.

On the trail to Auburn,

- Patrick

Are You Ready?

We’ve all experienced doubt and fear when it comes to training for a goal race, whether it be a 5k or a 100-miler. Standing at the starting line, it is inevitable to ask yourself, “Am I ready for this?”. It is important to ask the same question during training as a means of evaluating progress, but the main goal of any good program is to be “ready” on race day, not before.

In the running community, I’ve noticed there are two kinds of people. The first person sets a goal race, signs up for it as soon as possible, and then begins training. The second person begins training, but waits to sign up for a race until they feel they are “ready”.

The problem with the second approach is that we rarely feel “ready” while in the middle of training. We risk missing out on the joy of an accomplished goal, whether it is a result of self-doubt or from other circumstances like a key race filling to capacity. Nothing gives a training program more focus than selecting a key race and then working dilligently to reach the starting line as prepared as possible.

A good friend of mine was training with me for the Houston Marathon this January in order to qualify for the Boston Marathon in April, but by the time he got around to signing up, the Houston race was sold out. As a result, I’m now going to Boston alone and his job circumstances dictate that he won’t have another opportunity to attempt Boston for several more years.

Another person I know decided to take up running last year and immediately signed up for the Houston Half-Marathon. It was an impossible goal at the time, but it gave her running program a focus that would have been lacking otherwise. She found a training partner, slowly worked up to longer distances, ran in a few shorter races, and then successfully finished the 13.1-mile race this January.

So, set a goal. Pick a race, sign up, and start training! Do whatever it takes to be ready when race day arrives and then run with confidence. Don’t let life pass you by and miss out on the opportunities that are available now.

No regrets!

- Patrick