100 Mile Warrior

Wonder what happens at an aid station?

2011-09-13T22:16:00.006-05:00

It's been a while since I posted, and I've been pondering whether I'll be keeping the blog alive somehow going forward. It was intended only to track my Western States journey, which I thought at the time would be a one-time thing, but I was so moved by the distance and the fundraising efforts that I'm scheming up ways we might be able to raise even more money for the Wounded Warrior Project (I like the sound of $25,000). Donations continue to be received, too, which is absolutely spectacular. Stay tuned for my next adventure (I haven't decided on it yet), and please, if you feel moved to do so, please click the link on the right side of your screen and make a donation to the Wounded Warrior Project. In the meantime, I'm still logging my miles and gearing up for two marathons, the Bourbon Chase relay, a half marathon, and my favorite local race, Pere Marquette, this fall.

I am writing, however, to share the embedded video below was just released. It features footage from the Devil's Thumb aid station at approximately Mile 48. The video does a great job of portraying all the hard work that goes into aid station volunteering--the food, the medical help, the costumes, even the popsicles! I make an appearance at the 5:39 mark as a volunteer douses me with sponges. Moments before, I was doing this. Someone told me that they'd never seen me at such a loss of words. The climb to Devil's Thumb, in the heat of the day, was without a doubt the hardest physical feat I have ever done.

Thanks again to all of the volunteers who see to it that we can make the finish line!

Western States Race Report

2011-08-04T09:14:00.010-05:00

Prologue

Well, it's taken a while to finish this, and even as I'm about to hit the "publish post" button, I can't help but feel that there's so much missing from this admittedly lengthy race report. I think part of me has avoided writing this report because I know that its completion finishes more than just a race report, it brings an end to an experience that has captivated me in ways these words, and those I've written since December, cannot describe. Running the Western States 100 was the achievement of a dream, and I would be lying if I denied that I don't want to wake up from it. This race has consumed me, in a positive way, teaching me so much about myself, my body, my family, and my friends. It has required me to prioritize, to multitask, to ask as much from others as an endurance event asks of myself. It has focused me on the goal, to run for the prize, to reach deep within myself. It has reminded me to dream.

Race Day

It was 2:30 AM, and my alarm was sounding. A decade ago, I would have been sauntering up to the bar for last call, and now I was rolling out of bed after a short four hours of sleep to start the prep work for a 100 mile run from Squaw Valley to Auburn, California, the Western States Endurance Run. And by "prep work," I mean consumption of approximately 1000 calories to fuel those early miles. I just hoped they would all stick around, since I'd been having stomach issues I attributed to an overconsumption of sugary drinks like Gatorade and Coca-Cola the day before. It was causing me serious concern, but I hoped I would overcome it once the race started.

It had already been a rewarding week. The Tahoe area is beautiful--bright blue skies, a mix of green flora and white peaks surrounding a crystal clear lake--and the pre-race pomp at Squaw Valley USA ski resort was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, in spite of the small scale of the race. For 2 1/2 days, I walked among a virtual who's who of the ultrarunning world as I attended the numerous race seminars, and the ironic thing was that for all of the celebrity rush I was experiencing by my mere presence in the midst of some of the best runners in the world, every single one of these folks could walk the aisles of your local grocery store undisturbed.

Photo: Joe McCladdie

My pre-race highlights included a Thursday hike up to a Squaw peak for an emotional flag-raising ceremony, where all of the names of those affiliated with the race as runners, volunteers, or supporters were read and a poem (yes, someone read poetry!) about the beauty of the endeavor we were about to undertake was shared, a series of meetings about the course and crewing, a WS100 veterans' roundtable moderated by my coach Andy Jones-Wilkins (where his closing comments had me ready to start the race that moment), and a one-on-one session where Andy described the course, and suggested my approach to it, in great detail. When it was all said and done, he left me convinced that my goal of chasing a silver belt buckle with a sub-24 hour finish, while admirable, was underestimating my fitness. The new goal was sub-20 hours, and he would provide a split card to see that I get there. All I had to do was follow it for 100.2 miles. It sounds easier now than it did then.

On race day, we arrived at Squaw Valley a little after 4 AM. Other cars were pulling into the parking lot, and it really wasn't unlike any other race day morning I'd experienced before. I went straight to the pre-race weigh-in, where the medical crew raised their eyebrows when the scale tipped to 195, since the yellow bracelet that served as my lifeline for the race--lose it and my day was over--read an admittedly-starved 190.6 pounds. Hey now--I'd already eaten enough breakfast for two or three people that morning! That last hour was spent stretching, giving hugs to my family and friends there with me, and wondering if I was cut out to accomplish this feat. I knew I'd done the work, but it all seemed so formidable now. Before long, though, it was time to wander outside for the start. The 400 or so runners had less than 10 minutes until they started the adventure of a lifetime.

As I approached the starting line arch for a few final photographs, I bumped into my friend and fellow Missourian Ben Creehan. We exchanged some good luck wishes and promised to catch each other in Auburn. I nearly ended my day before it started when I tripped over a large orange cone as I took a step backward to pose for a photograph, but luckily that was as eventful as things got.

As the final minutes ticked away to the start, I gave a final kiss good-bye to Beth and Nora. It was strange to think that I'd run almost 62 miles before I saw them again in Foresthill.

Start to Talbot Creek (Miles 0 to 13)
Split card: 2 hours 15 minutes/9:00 pace
Actual split: 2 hours 27 minutes/48th place

With a countdown from 10, the race started and we all moved forward for the trudge up the mountain in front of us. I passed Cowman A-Moo-Ha, the second man ever to run the 100 miles from Squaw to Auburn, in his standard bullhorn hat and jogged at an easy pace toward the steeper section.

It was too dark to see the crowds lining the course, but the flashbulbs and cheers let me know they were there.

The first 4 miles or so includes a 2500 foot climb up to about 8700 feet in altitude, and my only instruction was to make sure I got far enough in front of the pack that I wouldn't be stuck in a congo line of runners once we reached the snow. I noticed I was walk-jogging near Tracy Garneau, the defending women's champion, and another runner mentioned that he was hoping for an 18 hour finish. These observations told me I'd done my part to earn some separation from the field at large, and it was time to focus on running my race.

An aid station was set up after the second mile, just before we hit the first patch of snow. Its normal location was 3 1/2 miles into the race, but they could not get the supplies to that point due to the high snow levels. We were told that it'd be at least ten miles, rather than the usual seven, to the next station, so I double-checked that my three bottles-the two holster bottles I planned to carry plus an extra handheld-were full, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and started up the snowfield.

The best description of this snow is to imagine hardpacked snowcone ice. I marched along with a few runners, happy to unite with one of my Memorial Day training partners Skip Crockett and his high school friend and elite women's runner Rory Bosio, who was on her way to a fifth place finish in the women's race. Skip expressed some relief on my behalf that I hadn't gone out too fast, and we fell in together along a line of runners hiking up the ice steps carved into the mountainside to assist us up and over the Escarpment. There is a 10 foot tall monument marking the Western States Trail at the very top, and only one foot was visible as we jogged past. Along the way, I made sure to take a peek over my shoulder. The sky was an orange glow as the sun that promised to beat us down later in the day rose over the range of mountains ringing the pristine Lake Tahoe. It was only a momentary glance into the rear-view mirror, however, as I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me that required my attention.

Photo: Joe McCladdie

The back bowls on the other side of the mountain were a slippery mess of deep, icy snow. The trail ran along the mountain to the runners' right, and I felt like a skier riding the inside edge of my left ski as I tried to traverse over the terrain. It didn't take long for a hot spot to form on the calloused inside portion of my left big toe. It took even less time for me to fall, and I repeated that feat six more times through the snow. One fall cut my knee, though it didn't require any medical attention. I also saw a fellow runner fall on the snow, sliding down the mountain a good fifty yards before coming to a stop. All we could do was shout down to ensure he was safe (he was), since it wasn't clear how anyone responding to help would be able to get back on the trail. I learned later that a course volunteer fell and suffered what was thought to be a broken leg. That poor soul earned an express ticket off the mountain on a med-evac helicopter.

While I certainly wasn't running in the front group, the trail didn't look as trodden as I had hoped. This point was driven home when I brought up the caboose on a 20 runner train that included most of the lead women. As we entered a large clearing along a ridge, the engines at the front of the pack came to a sudden stop and started looking wildly around, unsure of where they were to go next. I stopped a good 50 or 60 yards behind them and started looking downhill for trail markings. Within a few seconds, I saw a small yellow flag sticking out of the ground below me, shouted my discovery ahead to the pack, and started the short descent back onto the trail. I made a decision then to let them go ahead so I could run my own race and pay closer attention to my surroundings. Skip and Rory disappeared in front of me, and I fell into a pace better characterized as survivable than comfortable.

Photo: Gary Wang

Every step through the snow required some strategy. The risk of postholing was high, as some areas were softer than others, and a few snow bridges broke under the pressure of my 190 pounds. About 10 miles into the race, I emerged on a road only partially covered in snow. It led to a creek crossing, and my already wet shoes became completely drenched by the knee high ice water running through the swollen beds. I heard some commotion a bit further down the road and soon entered the Talbot Creek aid station, one of the replacement stations for the snow course we were following.

I'd been running for nearly 2 1/2 hours, and my Garmin said I'd only covered 12 1/2 miles. The aid station volunteers insisted we'd reached Mile 15, but my watch and loose understanding of where the impromptu aid station was supposed to be placed suggested to me that we were no further than 13 miles into the race.

Talbot Creek to Poppy (Miles 13 to 19.6)
Split card: 45 minutes/9:00 pace
Actual split: 44 minutes/40th place

I ran out of Talbot with refilled bottles. Just outside the aid station, I saw a van for Journeyfilms, a film company that is releasing a documentary on last year's epic battle among the leaders. I'd recently been introduced on Facebook to the director, JB Benna, through a mutual friend, and I noticed JB climbing out of the van as I ran by. I quickly backtracked to say hello, shaking his hand in a brief introduction before continuing on my way. I can't wait to see the film.

The next section was part of the snow course, and instead of a run above 9000 feet, we followed fire roads and even some pavement in a steady downhill. My pace dropped into the mid-7s, and when runner Lon Freeman approached, we (or at least, I) accidentally dropped down to a 7:00 pace for a stretch on account of the company. Lon qualified for WS with a 2nd place finish at the Ice Age 50 Miler in May, and I was familiar with his abilities as a runner because my pacer Jay Thomson paced him from Green Gate to the finish last year. We parted ways after just a mile or two, Lon running ahead to a stellar 30th place finish this year to earn his first silver belt buckle.

I entered the Poppy aid station, where I ditched my handheld bottle in an empty drop bag I'd sent ahead of me and choked down some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I'd brought one with me, but only ate 1/4 of it on the snow sections since so much attention had to be paid to my footing. It was at this aid station that I reunited with my friend Skip and another Western States training partner, Aliza Lapierre. We headed out of the aid station within a minute of each other, and it didn't take long for the three of us to join forces.

Poppy to Duncan (Miles 19.6 to 23.8)
Split card: 55 minutes/15:43 pace
Actual split: Somebody messed up my splits along here, causing some concern among those tracking at home. Rest assured, it did not take me 98 minutes to run this section. Unfortunately, I also didn't run the next section in 22 minutes either.

The Poppy to Duncan section took us along double and single track trail, with the French Meadow Reservoir sparkling to our left.

Most of the trail was fast, easy rolling dirt, and the three of us worked as a team to set a comfortable pace. At one point, I ducked offtrail for a pit stop, drawing a snide remark of "I didn't need to see that!" from a spectator walking against the grain toward the oncoming runners. I still don't know where he came from, and I had checked that tree cover and body positioning ensured some privacy, for the sake of others and not me! Oh well...sorry, buddy!

I caught up with Aliza and Skip again. Aliza was struggling with her water pack, which had a clogged hose that was limiting her hydration. She looked strong, though, and the three of us knocked out a few miles in the mid-9s. There was a stretch in here where we got our first taste of the sun, as we climbed through an old forest fire site with total exposure. It promised to get hotter and hotter as the day went on. The stomach issues that bothered me the previous night into the morning before the race seemed to have been left in the woods behind me, and all in all, I was feeling pretty good at this point. That's a good thing, though, since I wasn't even a quarter of the way done! If you're hurting at Mile 23, you're really going to be hurting at Mile 77, if you're even lucky enough to get there.

Duncan to Mosquito Ridge (Miles 23.8 to 31)
Split card: 1 hour 20 minutes/10:40 pace
Actual split: 47th place (but no, I did not run this section in 3 1/2 minute miles as reported by the race).

Photo: Glenn Tachiyama

I fell in with Aliza and a group of strangers who came and went around us along the fire roads up to Mosquito Ridge. The worst of this section was an 800 foot climb over one mile up to the aid station. At one point, Aliza turned and asked my goal time, since it was difficult to gauge where we were supposed to be at this point. I knew I was close to the pace on my card, so I told her that I was aiming for twenty hours. I'm still not sure if she was relieved or alarmed to hear what came out of my mouth, but she replied that she thought I was ahead of schedule. This implied, of course, that she was behind schedule, and it wasn't a surprise when she climbed hard ahead of me into the Mosquito Ridge aid station.

I had a planned shoe change at Mosquito Ridge, and Aliza had a top ten finish to pursue. (Thankfully, we both achieved our goals.) I sat down for the first time since breakfast to lace up a dry pair of Brooks Cascadias over a dry pair of socks. I never saw Aliza again, as she took off for a sixth place finish in the women's field, but I'm glad I got to spend those miles running with her.

Mosquito Ridge to Miller's Defeat (Miles 31 to 34.4)
Split card: 1 hour/13:57 pace
Actual split: 46 minutes/10:22/50th place

Equipped with dry shoes and socks, I headed out toward the normal course for the first time since we started. In an effort to reach the standard 100.2 miles, the course officials routed us on a short out along the usual "in" to the Miller's Defeat aid station. It was unnerving to pass an aid station just yards from the Mosquito Ridge station, but I headed out along the original course, a view of the snow-capped peaks we'd just left behind off in the distance. Skip and I went back and forth a bit along this section--he'd left the aid station before me, but I ran slowly past him, and I looked to my left at the "back" portion of the course along a fire road below us, where I saw defending women's champion Tracy Garneau pass by. Within a short amount of time, we hit the prescribed mileage and cut to our left along newly created trail that was difficult to make sense of since it wasn't really trail at all. I stopped myself once in my tracks, correctly believing that I'd gone slightly off course by a few yards. Before long, Skip and I were running side by side along the fire road.

Photo: Glenn Tachiyama

We were able to direct a few runners who inadvertently (I can only assume) attempted to cut off the out and back with a direct route from Mosquito Ridge to the fire road. It was one of the shortest sections between aid stations, and I barely had to top off my water bottle before heading along to Dusty Corners.

Miller's Defeat to Dusty Corners (Miles 34.4 to 38)
Split card: 35 minutes/12:57 pace
Actual split: 32 minutes/10:14/50th place

Skip and I clipped along, with me leading the way, in a series of miles that felt easier, and got faster, than either of us expected. Much of it went downhill, dropping over 1200 feet in under 4 miles. We worked so well as a team, passing a few runners along the way, that Skip rightly observed that it was like we each already had a pacer. The miles were clicking off so well, though, that we purposely slowed down in an effort to conserve some energy for the difficult terrain just around the corner. Dusty Corners, that is.

Dusty Corners to Last Chance (Miles 38 to 43.8)
Split card: 45 minutes/8:29 pace
Actual split: 44 minutes/49th place

It may have been a product of how good I was feeling, but I remember looking off to my right along this section. The view was spectacular--a huge canyon, a river raging somewhere below, so remote that I commented to Skip that no more than a few thousand eyes probably ever lay eyes on it in a year. We continued to value our teamwork, and Last Chance arrived faster than either of us expected. Skip got through the aid station faster than me, and we didn't unite until the finish line.

I guess I entered Last Chance in good spirits, because I bumped into a woman I learned was the aid station captain the next day when she met up with her just-finished husband who borrowed one of our chairs for a respite for his tortured feet. She took one look at my face and exclaimed, "I remember you! I'd remember that smile anywhere! You were smiling when you entered our aid station, and you were so nice to everyone. You looked like you were going pretty strong." It meant so much to hear these words from her. Running brings me so much joy, and I'm glad it was apparent to a complete stranger hard at work over 40 miles into the race. I only wish the kind folks at Dardanelles a little later down the trail could have said the same thing about me...but of course, we'll get there eventually.

Last Chance to Devil's Thumb (Miles 43.8 to 47.8)
Split card: 1 hour 10 minutes/15:33 pace
Actual split: 1 hour 9 minutes/48th place

The drop from Last Chance into Deadwood Canyon is extreme, over 1800 feet in just 2 1/2 miles. It was early enough that my quads didn't feel the pain yet, and I crossed over the swinging bridge suspended over the thundering waters of the crystal clear North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River thinking that they never would. The Deadwood Cemetery, one of the only remnants of the old mining town of the same name, appeared at some point on my right, making me wonder how many runners considered making it their final resting place.

In his prerace instructions, Andy told me about a cool stream that fell off the mountainside just past the bridge before the climb to Devil's Thumb. He encouraged me to take 30 seconds to cool off in its icy waters, and even to refill my water bottles there if I needed to do so, since the water is that pure. I did cool off under its chilly flow, but I decided that it wasn't necessary to risk a bout of giardia when I returned to St. Louis.

The climb from the bottom of Deadwood Canyon to Devil's Thumb is perhaps the most brutal one on the course, even if it's not the longest or steepest. It's "only" a bit more than a mile in distance, and the switchbacks are supposed to reduce the grade of the climb to something manageable. But how hard is it? There's no other way to put this: it's awful. I've heard even some of the front runners walk stretches here. It was the middle of the day, and temperatures were rising. This video captures my enthusiasm.

How did it feel? Count to 36 (the number of switchbacks) over 45 or 50 minutes, with no other thought in your mind other than how good it will feel to be done with the climb. I was not exaggerating when I told the aid station volunteers I finally reached at the top of the mountain that it was the hardest physical act I have ever been through. They rewarded me with a popsicle.

Devil's Thumb to El Dorado Canyon (Miles 47.8 to 52.9)
Split card: 45 minutes/8:49 pace
Actual split: My first Garmin died after 40 miles, and there wasn't an accurate record of splits kept at this remote aid station. I know I was passed by several runners along here.

I took my time out of Devil's Thumb, knowing that I was not even halfway through this race yet. I walked the first mile out of the aid station, relishing the chill of the popsicle, the ice cold "car wash" sponge bath, and the ice cubes I put in my hat to melt slowly over my head. Before long I started running and found myself on downhill single track into El Dorado Canyon. The miles clicked away again as I descended over 2000 feet in just over four miles. My quads were now screaming, and I remember feeling so isolated after losing contact with two runners who started near me that I had to look for the yellow ribbons that marked the trails. I was convinced on one occasion that I must have missed a turn and gone off course, despite there being no cross trails along this stretch. In retrospect, this was a sign that my mind was starting to tire.

The canyon rose again off in the distance to my right, and I knew that my crew was somewhere out there in the distance, waiting for me. For the first time, the burn in my legs caused me a little concern. I passed the halfway point and soon reached the El Dorado aid station. They tossed a cold bath towel over my shoulders, offering some encouragement that I was close enough to the front of the pack that only a few other runners had used the same towel thus far that day. I thanked them, crossed the bridge at the base of the canyon, and started my journey toward my parents, who were waiting for me at Michigan Bluff.

El Dorado to Michigan Bluff (Miles 52.9 to 55.7)
Split card: 50 minutes/17:51 pace
Actual split: 53rd place; I entered Michigan Bluff on a near-perfect overall pace, though I still didn't have an accurate reading. It was 1 hour 55 minutes after I left Devil's Thumb, and I'd run 7.9 miles. That's a bit slower than 14 1/2 minute miles.

The climb up to Michigan Bluff is a bit over 1000 feet in less tan three miles. Devil's Thumb was much more difficult, except for the fact that it came first. There were stretches here that I should have run, or at least could have run, but my legs refused. I continued my hike, joined nearby at one point by former Leadville 100 champion Helen Cospolich of Colorado. I introduced myself, first name only since I knew I wasn't in any shape to remember her last name, and we hiked as hard as we could. As I neared Michigan Bluff, where I'd see part of my crew, my parents, for the first time since the starting line, I kept thinking that I was hearing it just around the corner. My Garmin had died at Mile 40, so I had no idea how fast I was moving or how far I had to go. Unlike the other climbs, which had stretches of shade, the climb up to Michigan Bluff was much more exposed, and the sun beat down on my body, not to mention my spirit.

I was drawing closer to Michigan Bluff when I heard a holler from on high come rushing down to me in the canyon: "Let's go, Chad!" I thought it might have been my dad, and I wondered where he was that he could see me approaching. I later learned it was my friend Mike Holmes, who was cheering on several runners that day, and he was just guessing that I was in earshot. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of reuniting with my parents, and I marched onward and upward. The ground soon leveled out in front of me, and I broke into a jog past the weathered wooden sign identifying my next destination.

The tears gushed as I laid eyes on my parents for the first time in over ten hours. I stepped onto the medical tent scale, passing that test, and then hit the food buffet as my empty water bottles were filled by volunteers.

My parents waited patiently a few feet away, unable to enter the tent, and I took a handful of edible something or other and walked over to them for a series of big hugs. My dad fussed with my replacement Garmin, trying to find satellites, and I explained to them, with a smile on my face, how I was feeling and exactly what I thought I'd need at Foresthill: new shoes and socks, but none of the food and drink supplies I figured I would use since the aid stations were so well stocked. I also shared the tough decision I'd made on the climb there into this little old mining town: I could no longer drink Gatorade or Coke, and I had to give up candy and other sugars, too. Surprisingly, it wasn't my stomach that rejected these items, despite my earlier worries that it would be my downfall. It was my teeth-they'd simply become too sensitive to the sugars. I gave some final instructions to my Mom and Dad for my planned stop in Foresthill, including a request that the crew have my nuun electrolyte tablets ready for me and a chair set up for a shoe and sock change, since I knew I had one more creek crossing ahead of me.

With a quick hug, I said good-bye. It occurred to me that I hadn't looked at Andy's pace card in a while, so I pulled it out and saw that it read "3:15" for Michigan Bluff. I asked someone what time it was and was surprised to learn that it was 3:17. I felt terrible, but I was on pace. That was a rejuvenating piece of information.

I started my walk/jog out of the town to the cheers of the residents and many more spectators lining the single street to cheer on the runners. Mike jogged alongside me, offering some words of encouragement. Before long, I reached the check-out point and headed on down the dirt road on my own again. It was about seven miles from Foresthill.

Michigan Bluff to Foresthill (Miles 55.7 to 62.0)
Split card: 1 hour 10 minutes/11:07 pace
Actual split: 1 hour 36 minutes/53rd place

For the first time all day, I had some familiarity with the course, having run this section in both directions on the first day of the Memorial Day weekend training runs. I even gave a quick salute to the gravesite of Tonto, 7-time champion Scott Jurek's loyal four legged running companion, that I knew to spot in the overgrown grasses alongside the trail.

Soon thereafter, though, my familiarity didn't seem to matter, as I found myself yelling back to Helen, who was about a hundred yards behind me, to confirm that we were correctly following the dirt road ever higher and higher. I knew to be looking for a left turn onto a trail, and since much of this area had been logged at one time, there were several trails that seemed to jut off in the correct direction. None, however, appeared to be our trail, and with each passing turn, I imagined that we had overshot the course. Before long I found the trail and started a hard descent down into Volcano Canyon. I'd run this as hard as I could one month earlier, about 25 miles into that training run. I was now 58 miles into my run, the longest I'd ever run before, and the loose rock and occasional switchbacks on the descent irritated my aching feet. My quads also continued their plea for mercy, but I was comforted knowing this was the last extreme downhill. Even if the bulk of the remaining trail was a net downhill, it simply wouldn't be as steep.

I reached the bottom of the canyon, where the Volcano Creek crossing was set up. The thigh-high, ice cold water felt spectacular on my legs, but the bad part about crossing the creek was that another long climb awaited on the far shore. I again set into a hard hike, but the effort was increasingly difficult, as my legs and spirit were battered by the miles and the sun overhead. I found myself hands on knees on multiple occasions. There seemed to be no end to this thousand foot, 1 1/2 mile climb.

I finally emerged to the paved Bath Road, a small aid station just a mile or so out of Foresthill. My pacer Jay was waiting for me there, and he greeted me with a "Hey, buddy!"

He was ready to run ahead with instructions for my crew if I needed him to do so, but I decided I'd rather have his company. Armed with full water bottles, we walked up a paved hill I'd have been able to run on a regular day.

Before long we reached the summit, and for the very first time all day, we shared the course with traffic.

Fans lined the shoulder, politely fibbing that I "looked good," when in reality I probably looked like hell. Jay and I picked up the pace, and we made the final decision that there was no need for him to run ahead to our crew car, since I was getting the supplies I needed from the aid stations. I entered the Foresthill aid station to a loudspeaker blasting the news of my arrival, and after a quick weight check showed that I was still on target, I popped a few slices of watermelon and oranges before we started a slight downhill journey through the town to my entire crew alongside the road.

I felt terrible when I arrived, and my emotions started getting the best of me. I was choked up as we approached, glad to have my sunglasses on. As my crew-consisting of my wife, my parents, my daughter, my mother-in-law, and my friends Jeff and Pam, not to mention Mike, who'd found us again after Michigan Bluff-reeled me in with their cheers, I started a round of hugs and even a sloppy kiss to my better half. For the first time since Mile 30 at Mosquito Ridge, I plopped down in a chair. My gear was spread on a blanket in front of me, and I could easily point to anything I needed as my crew went to work.

Beth and Pam each took charge of a foot, removing my socks and shoes (a task that deserved a much better salary than volunteer). We were all relieved to see my feet were largely blister-free, a testament to my DryMax socks. The struggle started when they tried to put the clean socks on. The DryMax material is skintight, and they couldn't slide them on my dirty feet. I was forced to struggle with them, leaning over into a leg tightening mess that exponentially increased percentage of words starting with "f" coming out of my mouth. It got worse when we couldn't find my headlamp, which I wanted to put in my pack, and I violated at least two of the Ten Commandments when I learned that my mom had picked it up off the blanket and set it near me on the car's tailgate. Before long, but after what felt like an eternity, I was ready to go. Some quick hugs, a promise to see folks at Mile 79, 93, or the the finish, as appropriate, and a deep breath later, and Jay and I set off down the paved road toward the California Street road sign that served as our entrance marker for the section of trail known as "Cal Street." I was still hurting, but I was more familiar with this section of the course than any other...and it typically proves to be fast. Typically.

Foresthill to Dardanelles/Cal 1 (Miles 62.0 to 65.7)
Split card: 40 minutes/10:49 pace

Dardanelles/Cal 1 to Peachstone/Cal 2 (Miles 65.7 to 70.7)
Split card: 1 hour/12:00 pace
Actual split: 1:46 minutes from Foresthill (6 minutes off pace)/56th place

Peachstone/Cal 2 to River via Ford's Bar/Cal 3 (Miles 70.7 to 78)
Split card: 1 hour 15 minutes/10:16 pace
Actual split: 1 hour 26 minutes/47th place

The section from Foresthill to the iconic American River crossing at Rucky Chucky is commonly known as "Cal Street." It's said to be a downhill section of the course, and much of it certainly is.

At Andy's urging, Jay and I planned to have him lead me, in an effort to create a rabbit situation of sorts. I nixed that idea on the fly, deciding to set the early pace since I was struggling at that point. About a mile from Foresthill, Jay was a half stride behind me and just off my left shoulder as we descended down a steep stretch of rocky trail. We were running alone, once again on a sparsely populated trail, so I was startled by the sudden appearance of two spectators who had hiked back into the canyon. One of the two lied to me with a quick "looking good" comment, and for just a split second, I took my eyes off the trail to thank him.

Crash. Before I could say the words, I hit my foot on a rock and fell headfirst in a roll down the trail. The muscles in both legs locked up instantly, but it was my right shoulder and arm that took the brunt of the fall. I came to stop with a scream as I tried to work the cramps out of my legs. Blood streaked down the right side of my body, and, of course, the salty language came back full force. I took a minute to collect myself, but with no first aid supplies, the only thing I could do was continue onward.

After what felt like an eternity, some of it walking, we reached the vicinity of the Dardanelles aid station, a small aid station tucked gingerly into the mountainside. I first announced my need for a first aid kit to the trail spotter who radioed in my request to the volunteers a few dozen yards down the trail, but we arrived to find the volunteers still scrambling around to find the kit. I cut off their search prematurely with a shout, which I'm sure is less profane in my memory than it was in person: "Forget the first aid kit. Just give me a wet paper towel!" Finally handed one, I cleaned as much of the dirt and blood off my shoulder, arm, and leg as quickly as possible as someone filled my water bottles. After all, I wasn't going to gain any time standing around! Grumpy, frustrated, and now aching in a few new places, I turned and exited the aid station in a huff. Looking back, I know I owe those hardworking volunteers an apology for my attitude...but I just was not in a good place at that moment.

Now, remember the part where I said Cal Street was downhill? That's how I remembered it from the three prior times I'd run it. For the record, though, the second section, from Dardanelles to Peachstone, is not downhill. It's not even flat. The jagged teeth of this section just didn't chew me up when I had fresh legs. My legs were completely incapable of climbing even the smallest hill, and I was surely frustrating Jay with my unwillingness to climb. "You can run this one," he'd say, just like the good pacer he was. "No, I f'ing can't," I'd reply. I'm not sure that those quotes ever occurred in exactly those words, but that is essentially the extent of our conversation through this stretch of trail. The one benefit (my choice of words, not his) I had to running with a friend was that I didn't feel the need to chit chat with Jay. Exhibit A that I was in rough shape: no small talk!

The trail dropped toward the roaring American River along the second section of Cal Street, but for the first time, I barely noticed it. I remember being in awe of my surroundings one year earlier, a feeling that carried me through two days of training along Cal Street over Memorial Day. And there I was, on race day, completely oblivious to my surroundings.

The highlight of this section, if you want to call it that, is a steep uphill just when you think you're surely done with the quad busting downhills and annoying uphills. It covers a couple hundred feet in a quarter mile, and I think I remember my coach calling it "Six Minute Hill." It was steep, the type of climb that brings a tired runner to the classic hands on knees position more than once, and it did. On one occasion, I detected that Jay was pulling his camera out to capture the moment, and I bit his head off with the thought that automatically bounced through my head: "F you. Do you think I want to remember this moment?" The harshness of my words at that moment topped my earlier response to Jay's inquiry into the difficulty of our climb from Squaw to Escarpment: "Not now." I think I kept that one clean, but the very thought of the climbs I had earlier in the day was the last thing my battered body, and even more battered soul, wanted to discuss. I promised him a full recap when it was over, but for the very first time, somewhere along Cal Street, I wondered if it already was.

Jay knew I wanted to run sub-20, as Andy thought I could. I gave up on it somewhere along Cal Street.

"That was a 14 minute mile; we're a little off 20 hour pace, but you can make that up."

"I know, I know. I'm giving it all I've got, man. F 20 hours. We're going to have to focus on 24 hours, but I can't even walk it in from here. All I wanna do is walk. I'm doing the best I can."

"Take a gel. It'll make a difference."

And from that moment forward, any time I started falling off pace even a little, Jay reminded me to take a gel or salt tablet. I stopped cursing at him, and I started running. It was slow at first, but we joined a train of two pairs of runners somewhere along the way and started working our way through a few 10:30 miles. Soon Jay was urging me to pass them to set my own pace; I quickly shot that idea down as ridiculous since I was feeling so comfortable as the caboose. But we'd passed through Peachstone, and then Ford's Bar, and as we worked our way down to the river we opened a gap with the rest of our train. One of the guys running near us even commented that I was like a gnat, the way he couldn't drop me despite several attempts.

The uphills still required a walk, but I was running the downhills. The only annoyance was the setting sun that poked its head out from behind the canyon walls after a few of the twists and turns of the trail, forcing us to put our fogged over sunglasses back on. I didn't realize it at the time, but we'd had our breakthrough. I had fought through that moment where it can't get any worse. The darkness was lifting. It was time to race.

River to Green Gate (Miles 78 to 79.8)
Split card: 35 minutes/19:27 pace
Actual split: 31 minutes/47th place

There was no better sight along the course than the medical station just above the river crossing. It meant I'd have two chances to eat food (my diet now consisting of watermelon, bananas, strawberries, and soup broth), one chance to sit down as we rafted across the flood-level river, and a mere minutes until I got to walk up to Greengate with Beth, Jeff, and Pam.

I passed my weigh-in, and Jay and I inched our way gingerly down the rocks to the river.

The volunteers helped us into life vests, and I remember that the woman who helped me with mine had a spectacular rainbow of tattoos on her arms that drew a compliment from me. I really was coming back.

This year's river crossing, for the second straight year, was done by rafts due to high water levels following the snowy winter. I climbed aboard the raft first, with Jay closely behind me. We looked up to see two women approaching and were soon joined by eventual 10th place female finisher Pam Smith and her pacer. I could hear Beth, Jeff, and Pam cheering for us as we floated across the crystal clear waters, but I couldn't tell where they were.

I soon realized they were on a bluff above us, having been told they couldn't stand on the shore. Once we reached the shore, Jay and I tried to be gentlemen, allowing the ladies to go first, but they deferred to the fact that we had boarded first. I climbed out and walked up to the aid station for a bottle refill. I stuffed my mouth full of bananas and turned for a hug from my better half, who had run downhill to reach me. She really was a sight for sore eyes.

Not wanting to waste any time, we walked up the steep fire road climb to the Greengate aid station. This was one of only three segments where crews could join their runners along the course, and since it was steep, there was no sense in running it. We hiked, and I learned later that I hiked aggressively enough that my crew feared they'd be left behind. For reasons unknown to me at the time, I suddenly felt good. In retrospect, it probably had a lot to do with the GUs and S-Caps that I was taking on a regular basis as well as the rapidly setting sun bringing cooler temperatures. But I don't think I can underestimate the importance of spending time with my friends, laughing as we walked uphill. I'm not sure how it happened, and I certainly can't explain why, but I soon found myself singing the words, at least those I remembered, to the Wilson Phillips song "Hold On":

Someday somebody's gonna make you wanna turn around and say goodbye
Until then, baby, are you going to let them hold you down and make you cry?
Don't you know? Don't you know things can change?
Things'll go your way, if you hold on for one more day,
yeah if you hold on...

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was one of those moments in life where I was just so happy to be alive. I was living in the moment, surrounded by some of my best friends, and in the midst of a ton of physical pain we were laughing and having fun.

We reached the Greengate aid station faster than I could have imagined, where I found a chair set up and waiting for me. Unlike the two previous times I sat down, I had no plans to change my shoes this time. Instead, Beth looked sternly at me and said, "Three minutes. Don't think about how much time has passed. Three minutes." And I sat there, mind blank, for three minutes.

It seemed like an eternity, and yet it was over in the blink of an eye. I stood up, gave my wife a kiss, and promised to see her in another 19 miles at Robie Point. Daylight was still peaking over the top of the mountains, but dusk had struck. I flipped my headlamp on and started a short descent into the woods.

For the first time all day, I was absolutely, positively convinced that I was going to finish this race. It was just a matter of whether I could do it in under 20 hours.

Green Gate to Auburn Lake Trails (Miles 79.8 to 85.2)
Split card: 1 hour 15 minutes/13:53 pace
Actual split: 1 hour 15 minutes/45th place

It took a few minutes to convince my legs it was time to run again, but Jay and I soon were running along the rolling single track on both the ups and the downs. Largely due to my tired legs, this section seemed to have a lot bumpier topography than I remembered, but I was able to run a series of 13 minute plus miles, pretty much right on the pace I needed to keep through here. The miles didn't seem to be clicking off too quickly, though, because I'd frequently ask Jay how much longer, and it seemed like he said two or three miles every single time along the entire length of this section. Before long, though, and after a few small creek crossings, we started a descent down to the ALT aid station, a remote outpost that featured a bonfire and several lit torches that shined through the darkness of our surroundings. Because it was a medical station, I weighed in to discover I'd actually gained a small amount of weight. I don't think we spent more than 2-3 minutes at the aid station, quickly exiting into the woods through a small creek crossing that reminded my feet with a chill that there were still plenty of challenges ahead of us.

ALT to Brown's Bar (Miles 85.2 to 89.9)
Split card: 55 minutes/11:42 pace
Actual split: 59 minutes/41st place

The trail out of Auburn Lake Trails is quite runnable. I don't remember much about this section, other than the fact that we started clicking a few sub-12 minute miles. In fact, the Garmin shows splits of 11:32, 11:16, 11:18, and 10:55 for a four mile stretch somewhere along here. We passed a few people, usually when the runner was bent over, hands on knees, emptying his stomach. By comparison, I was feeling good. In fact, I believe it was in this stretch that Jay took a hard fall. I turned back toward him to shout, "Are you okay?" He confirmed that he was, and I was grateful for that because if I'd stopped running to attend to him, I'm not sure I would have been able to get going again. He quickly caught up to me, handheld flashlight providing a little extra guidance, and it wasn't until later that I learned how dinged up he got on the fall.

Unlike last year, the portion here where the trail doubles back on itself didn't reveal the dancing fireflies of headlamps across the canyon this year. It didn't occur to me then, but I realize now it was because we simply didn't have a lot of company around us on the trails. This was okay, because Brown's Bar reached us about a half mile before we reached it, the sounds of "We're an American Band" blasting through the silence of the night. The party was in full force, with the hash hound harriers manning the station throwing back their favorite fluids. In true harrier tradition, several of the men were wearing dresses.

Jay needed water, but he was hesitant to have them hassle with his pack, which was proving difficult to open in the dark. I reminded him that I'd need him for the final 10 miles, so we were going to take the time to make sure he was hydrated. I slammed down a GU and S-Cap ahead of schedule, figuring it couldn't hurt, and drank a cup of broth. Just as we were about to leave, I recognized one of the volunteers from the first morning of my Memorial Day training weekend. He was filming the goings-on at the aid station, and I walked over to say hello. I think he was surprised that I remembered his name, and even more surprised that I was already at this aid station. Back in May, he'd chuckled at my North Face visor bearing the the Chicago Marathon-inspired motto "Like the Wind," insinuating that a guy from the Midwestern flatlands would be eaten up by the rugged terrain out west, not running like the wind. In only our second meeting, I think he was being honest when he told me that I was looking strong. For once, I really believed it.

Brown's Bar to Highway 49 (Miles 89.9 to 93.5)
Split card: 50 minutes/13:53 pace
Actual split: 50 minutes/39th place

It was a rugged descent out of Brown's Bar, the trail filled with loose rocks and rutted-out footing. We gingerly descended, and I may or may not have suffered another fall. The trail leveled out on some fire road for a while, where we crossed paths with a strange long-tailed dark furred animal that I guess, in retrospect, was a marmot. Jay and I both shined our lights in its direction, because it didn't seem to be too concerned with us, and we were mystified as to what, exactly, it was. We shortly thereafter started a long, hard, brutally draining climb up a narrow horse trail to Highway 49. I knew this climb was coming, but I still don't think I was ready for it. The climb lasted a bit over a mile, and I cursed it the entire way. At one point, I had a Gatsby-like moment, seeing a bright light ahead that I believed signified the end of our climb. The trail turned slightly, and just like Daisy's green light represented the unattainable dream to Gatsby, it appeared that I was imagining it. I soon chalked it up to trail-marking glowstick. Shortly thereafter, though, I realized I wasn't seeing things--there really was a bright light ahead, and we climbed onward toward it, reaching it just before taking a sharp left for a short jaunt overlooking the aid station below us just across its namesake, Highway 49.

A year earlier, I stopped here with Fernando so he could chug his water bottles, so concerned were we with his weight for this final weigh-in. This time, I took a quick swig and announced my arrival. The squad car lights blinded me as we were waved across the road to the aid station. My parents cheered our arrival, and I could tell another voice had joined them. I looked over to the gathered crowd and saw my friend Rusty had driven out to show his support. I passed my weigh-in, and we exited after a minute or two, bottles full for a final push through the seven remaining miles.

Jay and I already had discussed our strategy going forward, and while we both were growing more and more certain that a sub-20 hour finish was possible, we knew anything could happen in the final miles of the race. I shouted to my mom and dad that we planned to be aggressive to the finish line. I'm not sure they had any doubt it'd be any other way.

Highway 49 to No Hands Bridge (Miles 93.5 to 96.8)
Split card: 50 minutes/15:09 pace
Actual split: Approximately 35 minutes

The first half mile out of the Highway 49 aid station is a steep climb along yet another rutted out trail. Jay and I hiked aggressively, knowing that this climb was short and immediately dropped into a smooth trail that would allow us to fly, if my legs allowed it. Jay continued to do the math, since my brain was some sort of mush that rejected the very idea of arithmetic, and determined that we had to run approximately 13 1/2 minute miles to go sub-20. I hadn't run that slow since my approach into Auburn Lake Trails, and the trail ahead was largely forgiving. Yet we both knew that nothing was guaranteed.

The climb was soon over, and we reached the section of the course known as the Meadow. It's a slight downhill trail through tall grasses; in other words, this section of the course is appropriately nicknamed. The path is wider than most of the single track we'd been running on, though not always wide enough to be double track, and it's not rocky, rooty, or otherwise technical. It seemed faster that night than the two previous times I'd run it, and I started a hard pace through it. Jay moved up alongside me, just behind my shoulder, in an effort to illuminate the trail more brightly. The worst thing that could have happened at that moment was another fall.

I remember Jay and I laughing as we ran through the Meadow, since it seemed almost comical that my legs could hammer out these miles at Mile 94 of the race. Thankfully, I have the Garmin records, showing back to back 9:15 and 9:12 miles, to prove that it was possible! As each mile split registered, we knew we'd just banked another four minutes or so toward our finishing goal. We were in a race against the clock, and it felt good to know that we were creating a small buffer, just in case.

We soon started down a steeper downhill overlooking the American River and the Christmas light-illuminated No Hand's Bridge, our next aid station. From our elevated position, the trail ran past the aid station on our descent, and it required some hopping over log steps built to prevent erosion. The river roared in the distance, and when we finally hooked back around and reached the aid station, I roared with it, "Runner 189 arriving and departing. Just passing through." The volunteers marked their split sheets as we ran off across the bridge. The only thing I could see ahead of me was total darkness, but through the black of the night, I knew we'd find the light in the form of the city of Auburn and the stadium lights over the Placer High School track.

No Hands Bridge to Finish (Miles 96.8 to 100.2)
Split card: 50 minutes/14:42 pace
Actual split: Approximately 41 minutes/38th place

When I ran it on Memorial Day, I remember being surprised to see the trail up to Auburn in daylight. It started out mostly flat, and very runnable, for about 1 1/2 miles. I thought back to one year earlier, when Fernando and I were pursuing his silver belt buckle, and how incredibly steep the entire section felt to me then. There is a steep section, but it's only the final mile of the climb toward Robie Point, the aid station at the outskirts of town, a mere 1.3 miles of paved road running along residential streets.

Jay and I continued our attack on the course, a tad slower than before with a 10:44 mile split. I remember Jay telling me that "Sub-20 was in the bag," only to draw a quick rebuke from me: "Nothing is in the bag until I cross that finish line!" As expected, the trail took a steep climb up upward on a 700 plus foot ascent toward the city lights glowing over the ridge in the distance. We hiked as hard as we could, Jay taking the lead to provide some navigational guidance and that "rabbit" effect I had wanted to utilize over the entirety of the final 40 miles. The steepness of the climb brought me to my familiar hands on knees pose on several occasions, but Jay did his best cheerleading and reminded me of how close we were. Unlike the lead women who passed through this section ninety minutes before us, we never spotted the menacing figure of a black bear along the trail. We simply marched on, as I wondered out loud how a mile could seem so long.

And then we reached some more Christmas lights marking our return to civilization, the aid station at Robie Point. Beth saw me, or at least, my headlamp, before I saw her, and her cheers caused me to pick up my pace even more. My first words to her were more of a warning than a welcome: "You better be ready to run, babe!" She was, and I again called out my arrival and departure in one quick sentence, foregoing the aid station. Beth and I exchanged hugs and a kiss, and the three of us fell into a line as my feet hit the black paved roads of the City of Auburn. Our next stop was the finish line.

The only problem is that there's a very steep climb that last a good half mile on your way back into civilization. Jay flipped the camcorder option on his camera on along here, and after one gets past my final f-bomb of the day, you can hear me moan, "I am so sick of climbing." Because I was. My legs were shot, and here I had to get over this one final hump. Beth offered her encouragement, and we eventually reached the peak of my last climb for the day. Some of the neighbors had rolled out the welcome mat, celebrating our arrival with cheers, whistles, and the ringing of a bell. It was a spectacular welcome, and my only regret is that I was so focused on the finish line that I barely had a chance to soak it all in.

The road starts downhill after that, and we picked up our pace to a steady jog that quickly started speeding up. We passed two runners brought to a slow jog and a walk, respectively, all the while gaining speed with each stride. We weaved through the neighborhoods, the glow of the stadium lights overhead, but still out of sight, serving as our navigational beacon, and with a left turn the lights burst into view.

My pace quickened, and I made the right turn downhill through the gate onto the glowing track.

My family and friends burst into cheers, and the loyal spectators out to cheer on complete strangers applauded eagerly. I heard bits and pieces from the voice of John Medinger booming over the loudspeaker, "Chad Silker of Ballwin, Missouri," but my mind was focused on the opportunity to share this moment with those I love. My crew joined me for the victory lap, as I hammered those final 300 meters at a furious pace, for a guy who'd just run 100 miles anyway.

A voice erupted over all of the hubbub associated with our celebration, shouting in perfect rhythm, "SILKY! SILKY! SILKY!" over and over. I saw my friend Greg, who attended law school with Beth and me and now lives in Sacramento, running across the infield toward us as we made our way around the final turn. About to hit the homestretch for one final kick, I reached over to Beth, squeezing her hand in an expression of gratitude. I was 100 meters from achieving my dream.

I had always imagined that I'd be overcome by emotion, tears falling down my face, the way I was after several important marathons, including my first one, my first sub-3, and my huge PR at Boston, or the way I did when I watched Fernando cross that same finish line in 2010, or even the way I did when I finally reached my parents, and then my wife, earlier that afternoon. I'm a fairly emotional guy, armed with fully-loaded tear ducts. At this moment of achievement, one involving over 1700 miles of training, hours upon hours of planning, and years of dreaming, I fully expected to break down and sob.

But I didn't, at least not then. The adrenaline drove me forward, legs kicking like I was finishing a much shorter race, and the only sign of emotion was the huge smile on my face. I was overcome with happiness and a feeling of invincibility, not necessarily physically, but from the the knowledge that with the love and support of a wife, a family, and a group of friends from every corner of the globe, my dreams can be realized.

Arms raised in personal triumph, I crossed the finish line with an official finishing time of 19 hours 48 minutes 27 seconds.

I let loose a shout of joy, then saw my friend Ben Creehan standing in front of me. Ben had finished six minutes earlier, and it was great to see him again almost twenty hours after we chatted about meeting up in Auburn. I turned to Tim Twietmeyer, Western States legend, who placed a finisher's medal over my head, and then was ushered to the medical tent for a final weigh-in, this time with the added measures of a blood pressure check, blood sample, and urine sample.

To my surprise, I weighed 190.6 pounds, the exact same weight listed on my wristband.

I took a seat, feet submerged in an ice-filled wading pool, and chatted with anyone and everyone around me. Andy, my coach who finished in 9th place overall with a nearly twenty minute PR, shouted a congratulatory message down to me from the announcer's booth. My brother, the inspiration for my Wounded Warrior Project drive, called from Arizona.

After a while, Beth and I headed to our nearby hotel room, where I took the most painful shower of my life, the water piercing chafed hotspots found all over my body. It was shortly after 3:30 AM, and I laid down on the bed to rest while Beth cleaned up. She says that I fell asleep mid-sentence. When I awoke around 5 AM, I realized we were going to miss the cutoff for the 24 hour finishers, but we returned to the track anyway.

Around 5:05 AM, having provided the necessary samples to the medical folks that prevented me from partaking earlier, I cracked open a cold beer with my crew. We toasted an amazing day, one made possible through their encouragement and support, and cheered the many finishers still to come over the next six hours. We also tried to sleep.

After some of the adrenaline had disappeared, when my muscles started locking up and the sleep deprivation had set in, my coach joined me to hear about my day.

When I finished recounting the adventure I'd just completed, he looked at me and asked a question to which I'm sure, from merely looking at my face, he already knew the answer: Would I ever do it again?

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Oh, yeah!" Beth shook her head, a smile across her face. What did they expect to hear? It's not every day you get to achieve a dream.

Epilogue

This is where I say it once again, beacuse I can never say it enough: thank you, thank you, thank you!

Thank you for coming along on this journey to the finish line in Auburn. Thank you for helping to raise, to date, $14,175.00 for the Wounded Warrior Project. Thank you for tracking my progress on race day. Thank you for your pre-race messages wishing me luck, and the flood of notes congratulating me after the race.

To my wife and daughter, thank you for letting me do this at an otherwise inconvenient time in our lives. Thank you for your patience and understanding for those late dinners and early Saturday morning alarms. I could not, and would not, have done this without your support. I am lucky to have the two of you. I love you.

To my crew, including my wife, my daughter, my parents, my mother-in-law, my college roommate Jeff, my friend Pam, and my pacer Jay, plus the race day additions of Mike and Robert, thank you for putting up with me! I was grumpy. I was cursing. I was miserable. But remember, I only teared up twice-the first two times I approached my crew. Your emotional support, not to mention Beth and Pam's willingness to touch my dirty feet, was invaluable.

Special thanks to Jeff, Pam, and Mike, who captured so much of the day through their lenses, allowing me to have a huge number of memories preserved forever, as the day's vividness starts to fade in my memory just a bit.

Jay, I treated you like an old dog in those early miles, cursing and kicking at you when you tried to help me out. Know that I treasured the chance to run those miles with you, and your ability to motivate me to rise up from the ruins when I thought it impossible will always be remembered. Is it time for another GU yet?

Greg and Meghan, thanks for being there at the finish line in the middle of the night quite a few miles from home. I'll never forget the rush of Greg's chant.

And to the wounded warriors, and all of our men and women in uniform, thank you for the example you set each and every day. Your sacrifice and dedication inspired me daily. I had one tough day; so many of you live through tough months, years, and for those injured or affected by the horrors of war, lifetimes. Thank you for your sacrifices. Godspeed.

This experience was fuller, more rewarding, and more memorable because each and every one of you was there with me, whether in the flesh or in spirit. Thank you all.

A long, long way!

2011-07-29T09:22:00.003-05:00

My hometown newspaper, the Rochester Post-Bulletin, ran a front of the sports page story on my Western States race on Wednesday, which just happened to be my birthday! It featured a large finishing photo along with a smaller headshot, and I'm grateful to Paul Christian for taking the time to talk to me about my journey and give some publicity to the Wounded Warrior Project that means so much to me.

I'm not sure how long the article will be available without a password online, but here's the link.

The Marathon Show podcast wanted to talk to me?!

2011-07-05T22:05:00.004-05:00

I'm still working on the race report, but wanted to share a link to the interview I gave Joe from the Marathon Show about my Western States experience. If you're not familiar with the Marathon Show, check out some old podcasts for interviews with better guests than me, great advice, and a whole lot of fun!

Mine's not done, so here are a few race reports from others.

2011-06-30T14:59:00.005-05:00

First, here's an excellent video showing some of the snow running. I make my appearance at the 2:45 mark.

Here's a link to the blog that directed me to that video, where the always informative Craig Thornley offers his race report.

Any race report compilation would not be complete without my coach and, for the seventh straight year, top ten finisher Andy Jones-Wilkins' race report.

I actually made the 6th place women's finisher Aliza Lapierre's race report. Aliza and I ran together during the Memorial Day training weekend, and she did in fact make the noise I predicted she'd make. Nice run, Aliza!

As a reminder that this is a tough sport even for the top guys, course record holder and defending champ Geoff Roes recounts his first ever DNF here.

The speedy superhero Ian Sharman's race report about his tenth place finish can be found here.

Dave Mackey's 8th place running recap is here.

Nick Clark's stellar third place recap is here.

I'm in no way boasting, because he's much more talented than me and, again, anyone can have a bad day in this sport at any time...but was I shocked when the uber-talented Scott Jaime arrived to the track a little after me. Here's his report. I'm glad he fought it out!

And I'll probably keep adding to this list as I find them...and avoid doing my own.

The buckle.

2011-06-27T13:02:00.004-05:00

I'll write a full race report later, but I wanted to share this photo of the coveted belt buckle I received yesterday as well as let all of you know how appreciative I am of your congratulatory notes and well-wishes. You were all out there with me in spirit on what turned out to be an epic 100.2 mile run!

Official Finishing Time: 19:48:28

Place: 29th male; 38th overall out of 310 finishers.

And yes, I'm sore.

It's time to run. (One day to go!)

2011-06-24T16:25:00.000-05:00

Having dreams is what makes life tolerable. - Pete from the movie Rudy

If having dreams makes life tolerable, how can I capture what it feels like to live my dreams without sounding like I'm exaggerating, or being over-the-top, or just plain obnoxious? I'm not sure I can, though here I am in the midst of one.

I first dreamed of running this race five or six years ago. I was a new runner, falling in love with the sport, and I read, watched, and talked running whenever I could. Somehow, maybe through Dean Karnazes' book, I heard about the Western States 100, and before long, I owned several DVDs on the race and browsed every page of the race website. It became my dream event, something on the bucket list, the race I was going to do, someday...I just never imagined that someday would be tomorrow. Dreams aren't supposed to come true, right?

I am experiencing a lot of emotions as we draw nearer and nearer to the firing of the starter's gun.

First and foremost, I feel gratitude. Yes, even more than nervousness, I'm grateful for everything in my life. I'm surrounded by my family and friends here in California, and there are so many more of you keeping tabs on me back home. That's an incredibly powerful motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm married to a saint. Beth has supported me from Day One two hundred and three days ago, when I felt fear and guilt from the moment my name was drawn about the sacrifices it would require from my growing family. She felt joy, and she quickly imparted that feeling on me. The last seven months have been a crazy time in our lives-I'd highly recommend anyone contemplating their first foray into 100 mile races to wait until a time when they're not expecting their first child-but through it all, Beth has been a rock, that constant source of support and love that I needed to maintain some level of balance in my life. She's an amazing wife, the best friend I could ever ask for, and a loving and caring mother to Nora. There is no way I would be toeing the starting line tomorrow if I didn't have her to lean on. I'm glad she'll be able to run that final mile or so with me to the finish line...she always does see things through to the end. Thank you, honey. I love you.

I've got an amazing family. After their flight out here was canceled due to mechanical difficulties, my parents re-booked, taking three flights over no less than 15 hours to reach us. Their luggage still hasn't arrived. They'll be leading one of the crew cars, and I'm so thankful for their unconditional love and support. For all of my self-doubt, it's always a little flattering to remember that there are two people in this world who have, for nearly thirty-two years, believed that I really can do anything if I put my mind to it. We're going to test that tomorrow, Mom and Dad, but I'm looking forward to seeing you both when I enter Michigan Bluff after a long 55 miles by myself back in the canyons.

My mother-in-law is the quiet force that has kept us going this week. She's there for Beth and me, and in every possible way, Nora, when we need her the most. I don't know how many times I've walked into the living room to see Nora fast asleep in her arms, and I'm comforted knowing that Nora has the care of her Nana while the rest of the crew out here caters to me. Her role is behind the scenes somewhat, but its importance cannot be stressed enough. Thank you, Sigrid, for being here.

And I can't say enough about my friends, those here in person and those scattered across this country and even globe.

My friends here are going to play an important role in getting me to Auburn. I'm fortunate to have Jay's expertise and ability alongside me for the final 38 miles, pushing me forward and attending to my needs, too. He's the fastest man I know personally, but he's also one of the nicest. Pam is going to be a huge help with the crew. She's already come through with camping chairs and coolers, so this Midwestern gang is outfitted as good as the locals. I enjoyed hiking up the first big climb with her yesterday, and I'm glad she took time away from work to spend a few days up here. And I've known Jeff since 1998, and as the second-longest tenured roommate of my adult years behind Beth, he probably knows me better than just about anyone. While two time zones separate us these days, our time together quickly reminds me how we came to be the best of friends. I'm counting on him to keep things light-hearted in the middle of the night to distract from the pain and suffering when I'm in the aid stations.

My friends afar are here with me in spirit, and they will be all along the Western States Trail. Literally dozens of them have changed their Facebook profiles to celebrate being part of "Team Silky" this weekend, and I've received texts, emails, and wall posts wishing me luck than I've been able to respond to this week. Many of them are my virtual training partners, and have been for up to four years now, motivating me to run when I don't feel like it, encouraging me to reach for that goal that seems beyond my grasp, and reminding me that this is, in fact, something I'm capable of doing. There's a group of guys back in St. Louis--Brandon, Tommy, Travis, John, and Greg in particular--who embraced this ultramarathon novice and imparted a lot of wisdom on me along the way. I said it last month, and I'll state it again: No man is a failure who has friends...and clearly, there's no way I can fail, regardless of what happens on the trail tomorrow. I'm a lucky guy to have each of you in my life!

I can't post about all of you without mentioning the driving force behind my Western States run. All of these people, and a few strangers that I've never met, contributed to something so meaningful to me at a level I never thought possible. Since December 4, 2010, when I found out I got into Western States, we have together raised over $12,800 for the Wounded Warrior Project! That is just unreal. When I first gave thought to setting my fundraising goal--for a race with no fundraising requirement, mind you!--at $100 for each of the 100 miles, I hesitated.. $10,000 is a lot of money. I even typed in "$5,000" on the WWP fundraising signup page. But I quickly realized that I wanted to set a goal as big as this event itself...something that, like the race, was going to take hard work and dedication to achieve. I am so impressed by the generosity and kindness of all of you, since we've raised over 25% more than that! This money raised will go to a good cause, aiding our wounded veterans in their greatest time of need, and I promise you that I will find inner strength from your generosity just as I know I find it every day from the bravery, courage, and toughness of our wounded warriors, and all of our men and women in uniform. It is an honor to run for them, just as it's a privilege to live in this great country. So yes, my first emotion today is one of gratitude.

I'm not going to lie...my second emotion is one of nervousness and even a little fear. I'm nervous about what's going to happen out there. I'm scared of failure. I'm petrified of the darkness I inevitably will experience at some point. Of course, I'm comforted knowing you're all out there rooting me on. I'll give it my best, I promise, and I will do everything in my power to see this through.

Finally, I feel the excitement of race day, the call to do something epic in a world where the opportunity to do so is so rare. I've trained hard for tomorrow, over 1800 miles since that Saturday morning less than seven months ago when I found out my ticket to the Big Dance, a dream come true, had been punched. There were runs in the snow, runs in the heat, runs in the rain. I ran runs at 4 AM before work, and at 10 PM after a long day of billable hours. I even ran a few miles just hours after Nora's birth. There were many runs I didn't want to end, they felt so good, and a few that I was hoping would never start. Running has in many way come to define who I am as a person, and I don't mean that in a negative way. It adds structure to my life, sanity to my craziness, and stress-relief from the 9 to 5 (if only it was just a 9 to 5!). It will be an amazing experience to line up with 400 of my peers, folks who have trained just as hard, for just as long or even longer, to test our resolve over 100.2 miles. I don't know what's going to happen out there, other than that I'm going to put all of myself out there and see what happens. The journey here was worth it all by itself. No matter what, this has been a dream come true.

If having dreams is what makes life tolerable, you all can rest easy tonight knowing that my life is far beyond tolerable. My life is blessed.

I'll see you on the other side.

Busy day at Squaw! (2 days to go!)

2011-06-23T10:25:00.003-05:00

It's another beautiful day in Tahoe! I got a solid 8 1/2 hours of sleep last night, a bit shy of the previous night's 9 1/2, but I'm feeling rested and ready to go!

I'll be heading over to Squaw with my pacer Jay and friend Pam in a little bit. We're going to hike up to Escarpment, about 4000 feet in 4 miles, for a ceremony at the top of the mountain. The highlight, though, will be meeting my coach Andy Jones-Wilkins and his family for the hike! After we've climbed down from the peak, there are a series of seminars available--everything from blister treatment (I'll pass-if I have nastier than usual blisters, I'll be begging an aid station medic for assistance) to final crew instructions to a Q&A session with a few veteran runners that is being MCed by my coach! The real highlight will be milling around with my fellow runners and their friends and families. I imagine there'll be a pre-race energy today!

Tomorrow morning I have a 9 am weigh-in followed by a race expo. At the weigh-in, I'll receive my yellow wristband that is my lifeline to the race...lose that, for any reason, and I'm out of the race. It's the only way that all of the volunteers can ensure that only healthy runners are competing; it's also the only way the race organizers can administer a final test to weed out the morons among us: if you can't go 20 hours without losing the wristband, they probably don't want you out there running 100 miles in the mountains. They'll give us the final runner instructions at 12:30 tomorrow afternoon, and then it's back to the house for a pre-race pasta dinner and last minute packing of drop bags, etc. Breakfast is served at Squaw at 3:30 AM on Saturday morning, and the gun will sound at 5 AM sharp. From there, my big adventure will have begun...and 20-some hours later, I'll hopefully cross that finish line at the Placer High track.

One little note: As I was wandering around the Village yesterday, I was drafted into servitude for the race. When you see the runners run under the huge start line banner on Saturday, and assuming it doesn't fall down on anyone, know that I was one of the able-bodied who helped set that up! Photos to come later.

Time for a shake-out run!

Race day tracking information (3 days to go!)

2011-06-22T13:41:00.003-05:00

Race day is nearly here! We're heading over to Squaw Valley in an hour or so to check things out and attend an afternoon seminar. It'll feel even more real when we do so.

A lot of people have asked me about race day tracking information. Here are a few methods by which you can follow along at home:

1) The ultra live website maintains a runner tracking system that is stellar. It provides regular splits and pacing information updated at each aid station. http://www.ultralive.net/ws100/webcast.php is the link. From there, you can choose your favorite runners to follow by name or bib number. My link is http://www.ultralive.net/ws100/189 since I am Bib #189.

If you're interested in tracking some of the elite runners, let me suggest following these folks in the men's field: defending champion and course record holder Geoff Roes (M1), last year's third place finisher Kilian Jornet (M3), six years consecutive top 10 finisher and my coach Andy Jones-Wilkins (M9), Nick Clark (M4), two-time champion Hal Koerner (16), and Ian Sharman, who ran a 12 hour 100 mile race at Rocky Raccoon this winter (M8). In the women's field, I met elite runner Aliza Lapierre (24) on Day One of training weekend, and later discovered she was super fast when she was flying down Cal Street on Day Two. I told her then that I expect her to make some noise in this race! Others to watch include defending champion Tracy Garneau (F1), masters' wonder Meghan Arbrogast (F2), Nikki Kimball (F3), recent Comrades 4th place finisher Ellie Greenwood (20), and Kami Semick (26).

On a personal note, my WS training weekend running partners Chris Calzetta (248), Dave Town (372), and Skip Crockett (157). Jeff Bertot (104) has been a virtual running partner after we were introduced by a former track teammate of mine from my high school days, and I was introduced to Nate Sanel (341) by mutual running friend Ron Abramson. Fellow Missourian and Saint Louis Ultrarunning Group member Ben Creehan (154) is a guy I expect to run a stellar race and perhaps surprise a few people toward the front of the field.

2) The race apparently has a number of webcams set up along the course, including one at the finish line in Auburn. Those can be accessed somehow on the ws100.com website or the ultra live link I posted above. I'm not finding it right now.

3) Facebook, of course. If you want to chat with fellow "Silky Supporters", or get live updates from my crew--including my better half, my college roommate Jeff, my pacer Jay, or my friend Pam--find our Facebook Group "Silky's Western States Crew", request membership, and we'll add you. Of course, the snow course is keeping my crew from seeing me until Mile 60 or so, so they're going to be restricted to the web updates above for a good portion of the day, too.

It really is a motivator knowing that I'll have friends, family, and even a few strangers I'm sure tracking my progress over the Sierra Nevada mountains this weekend! I hope this post is informative, and I look forward to entertaining you all as best as I can!

What to eat...What to eat...my eating plan. (4 days to go!)

2011-06-21T20:14:00.000-05:00

It's an old rule of thumb that a person will burn 100 calories for every mile run. That means that a runner in the Western States Endurance run will burn, at a minimum, 10,000 calories. That's several days' worth of calories burned in one day, or 28 Big Macs, whichever you prefer.

There are as many suggestions on how to fuel an ultramarathon as there are runners. Some are complex. Any source that starts talking about glucose polymers or whey protein will not keep my attention. Others are simple. Remind me to consume the 300-400 calories per hour I'll need, in foods that my stomach can handle, and now we're talking. As one tip pointed out, that's nothing more than 12-16 ounces of a sports drink and an energy bar per hour. If only it was that easy...

My coach suggested eating about 800 calories for breakfast about an hour before the race. 800 calories. That's only two English muffins (189 calories each) with a little peanut butter (another 40-50 calories), two bananas (105 calories each), a Coca-Cola Classic (12 oz. for 145 calories), and some Gatorade (32 oz for 200 calories). No problem.

But what about when I'm running the race? Coach AJW suggested trying to eat solids for as long as I could before switching to energy gels. By comparison, when I run road marathons, I subsist on GU energy gels, Gatorade, and water for the more or less three hours of competition. For an ultramarathon, though, I need something more...and a whole lot of fluids. My buddy Ryan, who ran the Leadville 100 last year, had a pretty straight forward plan for his first 100 miler:

I decided to accomplish this mostly by ingesting a hammer gel every 30 minutes while I ran, in combination with drinking sports drink and eating some solid foods and more gel crap at aid stations. I also needed to address my caffeine habit. Normal people rely on caffeine late in these races to get them through the night. I, on the other hand, was going to need a constant, high supply of the stuff. To accomplish this I brought Red Bulls (no vodka) & 5-Hour Energies eating solid foods for the first 50 miles before switching to energy gels and water.

My plan isn't complicated. When it comes to fluids, I'll pass on the Red Bull, but I will be partaking in the "flat Pepsi," soda de-fizzed for our stomach's delight on a fairly regular basis, at quite a few of the aid stations. A six ounce hit of Pepsi provides a quick 70 calories plus a caffeine kick that's needed for a Diet Coke addict like me. I'll also be sure to drink a cup or two of Gatorade or water at every aid station, regardless of whether I have a sensation of thirst.

My supply belt holds two 22 ounce bottles, and I'll have a supply of water and Gatorade in the two bottles...Gatorade on the left, water on the right (that became an unintentional habit). For the hotter sections in the canyons, I'll carry a 22 ounce handheld bottle favored by most of my ultra peers. I've never been fond of the handhelds, but recognize the importance of extra fluids in the heat of the day in the depths of the canyons. My goal is to empty these bottles as often as possible. My first ultra featured a stellar case of dehydration (I was eight pounds underweight 28 hours after I finished...a night's sleep, several meals, and a flight home later), and it's all I can do to avoid that again.

As for food intake, I'll try to follow my coach's advice to eat solids for as long as I can before switching over to the GU energy gels. I ran a couple 30 plus mile training runs on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches alone (no gels). Each sandwich has approximately 350 calories, and most of the aid stations will have sandwich quarters available. I'll grab one or two, along with bananas, watermelon, strawberries, licorice, or boiled potatoes and salt, whatever looks good, to supplement the main course. I could look up the calories in each of those, but trust me, they're all decent except watermelon, and that gives me some extra fluids.

As the race grinds on and my stomach starts disagreeing with me a bit, I'll switch over to GUs more frequently. I favor GU Roctanes in Blueberry Pomegranate, Cherry Lime, or Pineapple flavors. If you've never heard of GU, it comes in a small 1.1 oz packet featuring 100 calories of flavored gel. It's not particularly tasty, and in fact it's been known to cause me to dry-heave on occasion, but nothing provides the perfect amount of carbohydrates and all that nutrition stuff that bores me in one quick hit. It's like a booster charge. I've packed 18 packets of GU Roctane, and most of the aid stations will have regular (low octane) GU available, too. There will be no shortage of GU.

The later aid stations will also feature soup broth. One cup of chicken broth only has 38 calories, but it slams runners with approximately 1/3 of the daily recommended value of sodium. Most people try to avoid sodium; ultrarunners thrive off it.

The last element of my food intake will be something called an S-Cap. S-Caps are small capsules that provide electrolytes in a quick hit to alleviate cramping and provide a little pick-me-up. Each capsule has 341 mg of sodium! They also have the other electrolytes--potassium, chloride, bicarbonate, and phosphate, and I can say that they've worked so well on my training runs that I've been cured of calf cramps in a matter of minutes. My plan is to take an S-Cap once an hour throughout the race. By comparison, I'll probably take a GU every 30-45 minutes after I start taking them.

Of course, the one thing I'm hoping I have the stomach for when I reach the finish line, or shortly thereafter, is an ice cold beer. Tentative plans are to get lunch and drinks at the Auburn Ale House after the awards ceremony, and I'm trusting I'll have my stomach back by then....right?

Robie Point to Placer High School (Miles 98.9 to 100.2) (Still 5 days to go!)

2011-06-20T16:40:00.006-05:00

You've seen this map before, in my last post about the No Hands Bridge to Robie Point. This stretch, the 25th stage of this historic race, takes runners from the trailhead at Robie Point and heading the other direction, away from the trail and into the city of Auburn, California.

Special thanks to Harry Landers, Vince Brinly and Hallie Shuffler, Deanna Marranzino, Greg Gomez, Jason Terry, Geri Virtue, Ryan and Amy Kelly, Mel Glauber, Courtney and Jim Flynn, Phil Quatrochi, Jerome and Jess Porter, Marea Hunter, and my Mom's employers Gentling Dental Office for their donations to the Wounded Warrior Project. Very special recognition to three other donors to this segment: my law school classsmate Daniel Gallegos, Kevin Allie, and the 725th Brigade Support Battalion (Airborne), 4th Brigade (Airborne), 25th Infantry Division. All are currently serving in the military--Daniel in the Navy, Kevin in the Air Force, and the 725th Brigade is an Army airborne unit based at Fort Richardson, Alaska all made donations to be a part of my Patriot Crew!

In case you didn't notice, the list of donors outgrew my original goal of marking donations to the course in $100 mile increments. We've now raised over $12,000 together, having passed the $10,000 mark one month ago when my then 3 month old daughter Nora made the donation that put us over the goal. I'm going to have to look into freezing her credit cards before she goes to the mall! I'm grateful for everyone's support, and simply humbled by the support of those serving in our military. It is my great pleasure to dedicate my race to all of them, but in particular the wounded among them, and I thank each and every one of them for their service.

This final stretch from Robie Point is one of three spots where crew members can run alongside their runners, the others being along Bath Road into Foresthill and from the river to Greengate. I've asked Beth to join me for this final stretch, and I look forward to celebrating our achievement with her, because all ultrarunners understand that it takes a family united to reach the finish line.

The one thing that can't be seen in these photos, because I don't think they captured it, but the first quarter mile or so of this stretch is extremely steep. Runners express surprise that a paved road could bring them to a crawl, but that's exactly what happens once one emerges back into civilization.

As runners follow small painted arrows through the largely quiet streets (for most of us, anyway, since it's the middle of the night), they might be surprised to find a few residents camping out in their yards, cheering on the runners.

My eyes teared up last year as Fernando and I made our way through the town, passing one small party of race fans. As we did, they shouted out his number, which I've adopted as my own bib number this year-- "189!"--and rang a large gong in his honor. In the darkness of the night, it was a chilling commemmoration of the huge feat he was in the act of completing.

Before long, runners will come into sight of the Placer High School stadium lights glowing ahead of them. WIth a left and a quick right, runners will enter through a gate in the fence, stumble onto the track, and here their arrival announced over the loudspeaker to the spectators gathered at the finish line. There's about a 300 meter run around the track to what most of us would recognize as the traditional track finish line, and each runner's running resume is read out loud.

In 2006, Brian Morrison entered the track with his pacer, seven-time champion Scott Jurek, leading by a solid number of minutes (I think I've read as many as 15 minutes). All he had to do was run the 300 meters along the track, and he would be crowned the champion. Unfortunately, Morrison collapsed, and when it was clear that he was not going to recover, Jurek and another crew member helped him up and carried him across the finish line. In doing so, he was disqualified for receiving improper aid from a pacer or crew, and Graham Cooper was named the surprise champion when he crossed a bit later.

Each runner's crew is permitted to run along the track with them. When the straightaway is reached, crew members can step to the side if they want to let their runner cross the finish line alone. As one might imagine, each finish is a dramatic event, one that brings cheer and emotion from all present.

Here's video footage of Geoff Roes's record-setting final mile and finish last year. Notice how bright it still is--he finished in just over 15 hours, so it was only 8 PM!

Guys like Geoff Roes will finish in the 8 o'clock hour on Saturday evening. In fact, given the course alterations announced today due to snow, I wouldn't be surprised if 2011 featured the first ever 7 o'clock hour finisher. 24 hour hour finishers wanting to earn the coveted silver belt buckle must finish by 4:59:59 AM on Saturday morning, while all finishers must be done by 11:00 AM. One second over 30 hours, and a runner will not earn a bronze belt buckle given to all those who finish in the 24 to 30 hour range.

And that, my friends, is the course! Of course, as my other post today shared, they changed an early stretch. But 100.2 miles is 100.2 miles, and I can't wait to get out there and see it all!

(No) Surprise-It's a Snow Year at Western States (5 days to go!)

2011-06-20T13:20:00.007-05:00

Here's the just-released announcement and a photo of the course change.

What does this mean?

Well, the course is rerouted from miles 23 to 35. Ignoring the snow, it probably means a flatter, faster course, as we'll drop down into a valley instead of climbing up into the highlands. Of course, the snow will do its part to slow us down.

It also means that the first spot crews will be able to see their runners is at Michigan Bluff at Mile 55.7...and that may not be enough time to get to Foresthill, where most crews attend to their runners. It's hard to believe that I'll run over 55 miles without seeing my wife and family! At the same time, it may mean they'll get a little extra sleep back at the house we rented in Tahoe City.

Finally, it still means that this is a 100.2 mile race. That hasn't changed. So away we go!

Training Week 24 Recap (6 days to go!)

2011-06-19T21:20:00.002-05:00

Well, it's here: race week. Almost 200 days since I heard my name drawn in the lottery and a full six months of training later, I packed my bags today. We'll be arriving at our place in Tahoe City on Tuesday afternoon, and Western States events start on Wednesday afternoon. I won't be running much before Saturday, though I will be logging a few miles here and there to keep the legs fresh and adapt to the altitude.

Here's what I ran in my 24th week of training, a taper week, for this race:

Monday: 5.12 miles.

Tuesday: 5.11 miles. Two days of uneventful running.

Wednesday: 3.10 miles. Legs were still feeling dead, and I got time-crunched at work before a softball game so I didn't get to the track like planned.

Thursday: 8.09 miles. In my final track workout, I ran 3x1600s in 5:48, 5:49, and 5:59 (stomach issues). It was a reassuring workout.

Friday: 1.05 miles. One last loop with the dog!

Saturday: 10.12 miles....and I flew. This was one of those confidence boosting runs that I needed. The weather was perfect, and my legs were comfortable clicking off low 7 minute miles the entire way.

Sunday: 7.56 miles. It was hot and humid, and I took it easy and ran on the sunny side of the road wherever I could. And with that, my final run before officially kicking off race week was done!

Total Week 24: 40.15 miles, my shortest week of running so far this year. I've run 1,658.47 miles in 2011, and 1,797 since I found out I got into Western States on December 4th. And it was all for a little race starting next Saturday.

The Silker family has been on the run! (7 days to go!)

2011-06-18T23:24:00.004-05:00

Quick post since I can't let the one week mark go unmarked on the blog! The Silker family has had a number of running achievements this week, and I wanted to mark them.

Last night, my dad ran his first 5k in Duluth, Minnesota, at a pre-race event for the Grandma's Marathon! I'm so proud of him-and I hope he gets the marathon bug and decides to run Chicago in 2012!

My mom ran Grandma's Marathon today. She's a grandma of four (and soon to be five), so it's only appropriate that she crushed her marathon PR by over 30 minutes with her finishing time of 4:28! Amazing stuff!

Finally, my brother published this article about my pursuit of a silver belt buckle just one week from today. In fact, I'll hopefully be at or near the Rucky Chucky river crossing one week from right now as I type. Thank you to my brother for writing such a thoughtful article, and thanks even more for inspiring me to run this race for the Wounded Warrior Project.

One week. It's hard to believe how close it is!

No Hands Bridge to Robie Point (Miles 96.8 to 98.9) (8 days to go!)

2011-06-17T21:23:00.007-05:00

The 24th stage of the Western States Endurance Run takes runners from the idyllic scene at No Hands Bridge up a steep climb to the pavement at Robie Point on the outskirts of Auburn.

Special thanks goes out to Pat & Gretchen Scoggins and family, Stephanie Grise, Matt & Betsy Malten, my first best friend way back when we were basically born two house away from each other Ben Rempe, Dustin & Julia Beckley, Tom & Nancy Garvey, Troy Headrick, Jason Lentzke & Jennifer Marquez, Jeff and Kristin Votteler, Meghan DiPerna, Mark & Stephanie Becher, Sam Durham, Mike Nawrocki, Brant Frey, and Holly Miller for their donations to the Wounded Warrior Project that sponsor this section of the course (and, in case you couldn't figure it out, much more beyond that, too, as I'm trying to recognize everyone)!

The first sight on this stage is No Hands Bridge, which will be lined with lights at night as runners cross the American River.

While this photo doesn't capture it, the American River roars below the bridge.

Most of the trail looks like this--single track, dirt, some rocks. It winds its way in a steady uphill that felt steep last year on Mile 35 of my pace run last year, but surprisingly not too bad on Mile 2o of my training run this year. I can hardly imagine what it will feel at Mile 97.

As we rise out of the canyon into the town of Auburn, I distinctly remember hearing the cheers and hoots of the aid station at the top of the climb. The echo bounced off the canyon walls and seemed to call us all forward when gravity, and the competitors' legs, were calling for everyone to take a seat. Before long, we reach the top of the climb, the aid station rests to the left while the gate to the city of Auburn is positioned to the right. It's all pavement from this time forward.

The lead runners will arrive at Robie Point at 8:55 PM. It won't be until 4:40 AM that the 24 hour runners reach the aid station, with the 30 hour runners arriving at 10:35 AM, only 25 minutes before the aid station, and the race, close. Robie Point is a welcome back to civilization--houses, roads, cars, people...of course, for quite a few of the runners, all is quiet since it's the middle of the night. It's just a short jaunt, 1.4 miles, down the road to the cheering crowds at Placer High School.

Western States snow course announced! (Still 9 days to go!)

2011-06-16T22:20:00.003-05:00

In a surprise move that conflicted with their earlier message that the snow course wouldn't be finalized until sometime next week, the Western States race committee announced the 2011 snow course today. Follow the link here for a map and explanation.

Highway 49 to No Hands Bridge (Miles 93.5 to 96.8) (9 days to go!)

2011-06-16T15:10:00.003-05:00

The 23rd stage of the Western States course departs the large aid station at Highway 49 and works its way to No Hand Bridge over the American River. Given how far into the race runners are when they depart Highway 49, that initial couple hundred foot climb is a tough one. But soon, it's all downhill to the river.

Special thanks to Jim and Connie O'Connell, Amy Sellers, Kathleeen Ricketts and family, CJ Rog, Liz Anderson, Katie O'Connell, Ben Baughman, Vanessa Garza McAllister, and Casey Wendeln for their donations the Wounded Warrior Project that sponsor this segment of the course tour. Special thanks to Jim, who served two tours of duty in Iraq with the Army, and Ben, who also served in the Army (if I recall correctly--sorry, Ben!).

None of the photos I found accurately portray that climb out of the aid station. It's a rocky, rutted climb over a trail battered by runoff water and horses. The footing is poor, and it is steep enough to frustrate even the strongest of runners. I found myself struggling up it over Memorial Day, and I imagine I'll walk this climb, particularly since I know what comes afterward.

Once runners have reached that peak, they'll find themselves in a meadow. The meadow is single track, and full of flat and downhill sections that are best described as cruisers. I remember turning my ankle slightly while pacing Fernando last year, but it's a fast section where even battered runners can get back into a running pace.

After a mile of meadow running, runners emerge onto a fire road again. While it probably won't be in view (I can hope anyway), the tallest bridge in California, the Foresthill Bridge, appears to the runners' right.

Foresthill Bridge is just a few hundred yards from the hotel room I've reserved in Auburn. Built when the federal government had plans to build a dam that would have flooded the canyon we will be running through, it is stands 730 feet tall, higher than the Golden Gate Bridge. I've never seen the scene, because I cannot stand Vin Diesel, but the movie XXX apparently features Diesel's character driving a Corvette off the bridge, opening a parachute as he falls toward the American River.

Before long, though, the trail turns to the left and the bridge commonly known as No Hands Bridge will come into sight, even at night. The aid station volunteers line the bridge with white Christmas lights, a beautiful scene in the darkness of the run. They also set up a large video board that projects movies, more probably for their entertainment than that of tired runners not wanting to waste any time with only a few miles to go to the finish line.

This last photo shows where the aid station is located. The bridge itself is to the left of the aid station, and from there, it's a about a 2 1/2 mile climb up to the city of Auburn.

The lead runners will arrive at No Hands Bridge around 8:25 PM. It's fairly safe to say that in a typical year, the runner who leads at NHB usually will win the race. I'll tell the tale of one who didn't in our final segment of the tour. 24 hour runners will arrive at 4:10 AM, with 50 minutes left to travel the final 3.4 miles. 30 hour runners arrive at 9:55 AM, and the aid station, like the race itself, closes at 11:00 AM. Only 3.4 miles to go!

Crew shirts are here! (10 days to go!)

2011-06-15T21:48:00.007-05:00

The crew's shirts arrived today. They're simple, but I like that. I wanted something I could easily see. I wanted something in a color I liked. I wanted something with my running nickname. I wanted something that advertised my bib number. And I wanted something that wouldn't break the bank. On just a few days' notice, here's what they look like. I approve.

That's right...in case you haven't heard, I'm Bib #189. I'll post it again, but if you want to follow me on race day, you can do so at ultralive.net/ws100/189.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! (11 days to go!)

2011-06-14T08:50:00.003-05:00

Okay, so it isn't actually snowing in Squaw Valley right now...I think. The forecast for the next 10 days shows lows in the 40s with highs sneaking just above 60 degrees. It has been, however, one of the snowiest, if not the snowiest, seasons on record. The ski resort was open on Memorial Day, and rumors are that it'll reopen for the Fourth of July. I found this link to a rotation of Squaw Valley webcams that provides a live view of current conditions. It looks just like summer, doesn't it?

One of the runners I met over Memorial Day grew up at Squaw, and he sent me a text over the weekend that advised that I should hold my final training runs on loose sand, since the snow was still pretty bad. I'm not sure where I'd find a beach big enough in St. Louis, so I'll just have to hope for the best. The organizers of the Tevis Cup, the horse race that served as sort of the inspiration for Western States over thirty years ago, have already announced that they've postponed their event from its July scheduled date to an October start. And despite speculation that a similar postponement was in the works, WS race director Greg Soderlund took to the media to squash those rumors last week.

I awoke this morning to the following update, one that promised that the race will go on, though we may not know exactly where it will go until we report on Friday morning for the pre-race check-in. I've been taught to only worry about those things I can control, rather than those I cannot, so this news has done little to damper my spirits. In fact, a slow, snow-packed start may be just what I need to prevent myself from going out too fast and suffering a slow, painful march to the finish a day later.

Here's the latest:

Snow situation. Currently most of the first 30 miles of the course is still covered by snow. It is very likely that we will use a "snow course" route. The exact route is yet to be determined as the conditions are very dynamic.

Crew access may be limited or eliminated at Robinson Flat, Duncan Canyon and Dusty Corners.

A final decision will be announced about five days prior to the race. There was additional snowfall above 6000 feet during much of the month of May, and the current snow content at Squaw Valley is twice what it was at this point last year.

Even with the snow course, you can expect most of the first 20 miles of the course to be covered with snow. The snow will slow you down. Most runners find it reasonably easy to run in snow on a flat surface, but very little of the snow-covered part of the course is flat. On the downhill sections, a glissading technique is fairly easy to master, landing on your heels leaning back a bit more than normal. On the uphill sections most will be walking; so this, too, presents little difficulty. Where things get tricky is running on a contour, where the trail traverses a hillside and there is a noticeable slope from right to left. It is often difficult to maintain your balance on a slippery surface here, where the snow is chopped up from the runners ahead of you or if it is icy on the surface from a sub-freezing night, which is fairly likely at the highest elevations.

Shoes with an aggressive outer tread will help keep you upright. Most trail shoes have this feature. Nonetheless, you might expect to do a bit of slipping and sliding and even to lose your feet occasionally.

Be careful to avoid the snow immediately next to trees. Trees conduct heat into the ground and often melt the snow below the surface. If you step there, you might break through the surface and sink all the way up to your hip (this is called 'post-holing') -- a most unpleasant experience.

Please note that the use of crampons, sheet metal screws, or removable traction devices such as YakTrax or Kahtoola, is strictly prohibited.

It is very likely that the snow will cause all runners to lose a bit of time, maybe by as much as 60 minutes. Our advice is to relax, be conservative, and don't be overly concerned about pacing early in the day. You'll have plenty of time later to worry about pacing and split times. A conservative approach through the snow will save your energy for a strong second half. Race veterans often say that the race starts at Foresthill. Heed their advice!

Our plan at this time is to post the course decision on the WS website on Monday, June 20, but with rapidly changing conditions we may not know the final course until the Friday briefing on June 24.

Crew access may be limited or eliminated at Robinson Flat, Duncan Canyon and Dusty Corners. The final decision will be announced at the Friday briefing.

The WS Trail Team has been intensely working on the trail through the high country for the past several weekends and will hit the trail again this Friday, Saturday and Sunday with possible trail work extending into next week. We would like nothing more than to see normal trail conditions, but we take what the mountain gives us. Please keep in mind that all the trail work is provided by volunteers.

Training Week 23 Recap (13 days to go!)

2011-06-12T12:49:00.003-05:00

Two weeks from now, another Western States Endurance Run will be in the books, hopefully this time with my name on the list of finishers. It doesn't seem possible to be so close to running a race I've been working toward for the past six months. Even worse, I'm pretty much in taper mode right now, so I'm starting to second guess my training, my preparation, my ability to run 100.2 miles in one day. If ever there was a time to have faith, it's now.

On the Wounded Warrior Project fundraising side of things, we're only a few hundred dollars from reaching the $12,000 mark. Remember, every dollar counts...please join me in supporting our wounded veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan if you can!

Here's what I did in the 23rd week of my training:

Monday: 5.05 miles. Note to self: don't eat cheese at the charity board meeting you attend right before the race. Your stomach will thank you later.

Tuesday: 5.29 miles.

Wednesday: 5.15 miles. And the legs are still heavy...

Thursday: 8.11 miles. In an effort to break free from the lead leg syndrome gripping me since Memorial Day, I hit the track...four of them, actually, after the first one had a lacrosse game, the second one was torn up for football field construction, and the third one had a local running store's speed night featuring what appeared to be no fewer than half a million runners. I ended up on the blacktop track of the local middle school for 5x800s in 2:51, 2:47, 2:48, 2:49, and 2:44. It was hot, and even moreso, it was humid, but I knocked out the workout and reminded my legs that they in fact could run fast.

Friday: 5.15 miles.

Saturday: 17.18 miles. I ran from the house to a state park a few miles away, did a four mile loop on one of its trails, and then took the scenic route home. Overall, a solid workout.

Sunday: 14.12 miles. What a difference the cooler weather made! I actually felt like I could run for the first time in two weeks!

Total Week 23: 60.05 miles. I'll cut back about 25% this coming week, with one final track workout.

Two weeks to go. Unreal.

Brown's Bar to Highway 49 (Miles 89.9 to 93.5) (16 days to go!)

2011-06-09T09:12:00.005-05:00

The 22nd stage of the Western States course takes runners from the party at Brown's Bar to an aid station on the other side of the first paved road we've seen since Foresthill at Highway 49. While less than 5 miles in length, this section involves a descent and climb that does not compare in any way to the canyons we pass through earlier in the day.

In fact, looking at the photos I found of this stretch, one would think this was a walk in the park. There's a nice wide trail, a river to the runners' right, and trees everywhere. Remember, however, we're 90 miles into this race!

Thanks to Joe Mahoney (Mojo!), Jeanne Haske, Kevin Suhanic, Kate DiNardo, Erin O'Keefe, and Tim & Kristin O'Rourke for their donations to the Wounded Warrior Project that sponsor this leg of the course tour. Special thanks to Tim for his service in the Marines, and special note of gratitude for the ultimate sacrifices paid by Lance Cpl. Sean Maher and Sgt. Chris "Dirty Squirrel" Hrbek, in whose honor Erin and Mojo made their donations respectively. I'll run proudly in their memory in just over two weeks!

Much of this section is very runnable, if it wasn't Mile 90. I was surprised how effortlessly I moved along this section on the third day of the Memorial Day Training Camp. With paths like the one below, it's not surprising!

Many of the photos for this section capture the unique rocks found here. Of course, it'll be dark and I'll be guided by the light of my head lamp.

One element I haven't mentioned much of is the high rate of hallucination among ultrarunners toward the end of races. Many tell tales of seeing small animals darting across the trail, or mistakenly believing other runners are running right there with them when it's just the runner and perhaps his or her pacer.

Before long, and after a little climb, runners will see the bright flashing lights of a police car directing traffic at Highway 49. I stopped in the shadows of the ridge across the street from the aid station last year so my runner, Fernando, could chug what remained of his Gatorade and water. This was important because his weight was down enough to draw the attention of medical personnel, and Highway 49 is the last medical checkpoint of the race until a runner finishes. We made it through that night with only a little hassle, helped perhaps by my report of a recent "potty" he'd had a few miles back. Yes, they really are asking about your bathroom habits before letting you go forward!

The leaders will depart the Highway 49 aid station around 7:55 PM, with 24 hour runners really starting to show the difference between them and the elites with a 3:10 AM departure. 30 hour runners leave at 9 AM, and the aid station will close 20 minutes later. The finish line is less than seven miles away!

Auburn Lake Trails to Brown's Bar (Miles 85.2 to 89.9) (17 days to go!)

2011-06-07T12:37:00.007-05:00

Stage 21 takes runners from the spacious campground-like aid station at Auburn Lake Trails to the remoteness of the Brown's Bar aid station just before mile 90. Thankfully, since we'll be 85 plus miles into the race, this section is fairly runnable again. There is a climb along a narrow single track, and as the elevation map shows, it's a rolling stage that will utilize all of a runner's leg muscles.

Thank you to Daniel and Kristie Clinard, Drew and Brooke Lais, Tom Allen & Molly Norton, Lisa Corcoran, Stacy Slat, Jason Fudala, Steve Berrones, and Dane and Toni Skillrud for their donations to the Wounded Warrior Project that sponsor this section of the course tour. Special thanks to my college friends Lisa and Stacy, as well as their husbands, for their service--Lisa and her husband Shawn serve in the Army, while Stacy and her husband David serve in the Air Force. Jason's donation is in honor of Jessica Poe. As always, I'm proud to run for all of them, and particularly grateful for the service of my friends.
The above photo captures the trail in this section quite well. It's almost desert-like, though I won't really see that since it'll be pitch dark.

To my right, if I could see it, I'd find the canyon. As I recall, this stretch of trail was memorable last year because we looked off across the canyon and saw the dancing headlamps of other runners on the trail. In an exercise in isolation, just the runner and pacer, there was a strange bond with other runners that those moments brought me last year.

I love this photo because it makes the run look like a cruiser in the local park...and if we weren't so far into the race, it probably would be.

Runners will still have to deal with creek crossings, which become tricky at night. Even worse, no one likes wet shoes when their feet are battered with blisters and sore from the miles.

I can't say for sure, but the Brown's Bar aid station, as I remember it, appears in a large clearing like this. Of all the aid stations, it's the one I remember the most from last year...because we could hear the rumbling noise of The Doors as we approached from the wilderness, and we were greeted by men in red dresses several sheets to the wind. If you read my pace report from last year, you may recall that I was given, on request, a beer at this aid station...by this guy:

It was a party, and all of it was dragged deep into the woods by the volunteers staffing this aid station for over 14 hours! You see, the lead runners pass through Brown's Bar around 7:15 PM, with 24 hour runners around 2:05 AM. 30 hour runners arrive at 7:50 AM, and the aid station finally closes at 9:20 AM, less than two hours before the final cut-off. Runners departing at the close of the aid station would have to run over 10 miles in just 100 minutes.

Green Gate to Auburn Lake Trails (Miles 79.8 to 85.2) (18 days to go!)

2011-06-07T10:07:00.009-05:00

The twentieth stage departs Green Gate for Auburn Lake Trails over 5 miles down the trail. It's one of the longer stretches between aid stations, something exhausted runners will notice at this point in the race.

Special thanks to Mike Lynch, Beth's grandparents Mom and Dada, Cory McDevitt (who is practically a local to the race), and a stellar trio of running friends Tom Menner, John Mullaney, and Ken Killingbeck for their donations to the Wounded Warrior Project that sponsor this segment of the course tour! Cory's donation is in honor of her sister and brother-in-law, Captains Molly and Ben Peterson of the United States Air Force. Thank you all!

The elevation chart looks more difficult than this section really is. A lot of it is runnable, though there are some twists and turns and even a few creek crossings.

By this time, runners have likely spread out along the course, and two-by-two, a competitor and his/her pacer will travel the single track through the thick woods.

For the first time, the river is to the runners' right. Far off in the distance, in the still of the night, it is possible to hear the faint rumble of the highway, a sign that our terrain is fast approaching civilization.

This stretch of trail is cut into the side of a steep mountain. This section features three threats to runners-mountain lions, bears, and snakes, though sightings of any of the three will be rare on race day. Since it's now dark for the majority of the runners, the trail is lit by a string of glowsticks set out every 50-100 yards to guide us all in the right direction. We also all are required to wear headlamps or carry a flashligh (or both) to see the path. A switchback like this can easily be missed by a runner not paying attention.

I remember my surprise when we entered the ALT aid station: a huge campfire roared in the middle of parked cars. My runner, like all of the others, had to weigh in at the medical check point, and we soon walked over to the fire, where busy volunteers brought both of us soup broth and watermelon (what a combination!). It's a drop bag spot, and since Fernando did not have a crew, he shuffled through his bag for a few items. It was the middle of the night, and the temptation to take a seat and even take a nap was high. With a little urging, we were back on our way.

The lead runners will depart this huge campground of an aid station around 6:35 PM, with the 24 hour runners making a post-midnight departure for the first time at 12:50 AM. 30 hour runners will have the sun overhead at 6:30 AM when they leave, and the aid station closes for breakfast at 7 AM. Runners have exactly 15 miles to the finish line in Auburn.

Rucky Chucky Near to Rucky Chucky Far to Green Gate (Miles 78.0 to 79.8)

2011-06-06T09:24:00.009-05:00

The eighteenth stage is a short river crossing through, or over in raft years, the American River, and the nineteenth stage takes runners on a high climb along a rocky road.

Special thanks to my college roommate Jack Schneider and his fiancee Emily Welch and two of my coworkers, Jen Whitter and Steve Pozaric, for their donations that sponsor these stages of the course tour! Steve's donation is in honor of Cal Allen.

Most years the famous river crossing brings runners chest-high into the freezing waters of the American River. Last year featured a raft crossing due to high waters on account of the heavy snowfall of the previous winter. Chances are the raft system will be in place again this year.

The trail from the river is a steep uphill climb along a fire road. This stretch of trail is one of the few spots where crews other than the pacer can accompany their pacer from one aid station to the next. It requires a 1.7 mile hike down to the river, only to turn around and head back up the incline to Green Gate. This year's competitors received an email stating that runners would be limited to one crew member and one pacer accompanying them along this stretch, but I remember little kids walking with their dad up the hill last year.

The lead runners will depart Green Gate at 5:45 PM, with the sun still high overhead. 24 hour runners will depart in the dark, at 11:20 PM, with 30 hour runners nearing dawn at 4:55 AM. The aid station finally closes after the sun will have risen on Sunday morning, at 5:40 AM. Runners have just over 20 miles to go.

Training Week 22 Recap (20 days to go!)

2011-06-05T21:35:00.002-05:00

And we're inside three weeks to race day. I just talked to my pacer, and it turns out he hasn't ballooned into as big of a fat ass as I worried he would [Insert smiley face here]

Here's what I did this week:

Monday: 21.80 miles on the final 20 miles or so of the course. Read about it here.

Tuesday: 1.70 miles. Very tired recovery miles with the dog.

Wednesday: 1.50 miles. Still very tired, and still with the dog.

Thursday: 2.02 miles. Hey, we're over 2 miles now. That's progress.

Friday: 3.12 miles. Yep, by race day, I'll have reached a marathon.

Saturday: 20.25 miles. This was on Green Rock Trail, my butt-kicking course. It was 80 degrees and humid when my buddy Brandon and I started at 6 AM, and it only got worse. I tried to turn around at the fifth mile, but Brandon kept me going. We finished it in a bit over 4 hours. Other than the company, there was very little fun about this run. The post-race highlight was an ice bath in the swimming hole of the nearby Fox Creek.

Sunday: 10.15 miles. Again, very hot and humid, and I waited until 4 PM for the run (somewhat on purpose). I ran nice and easy, but logged the hot miles.

Total Week 22: 60.54 miles.

Total YTD 2011: 1,558.27 miles. Yeah...so my previous PR for a year was 1,878.56 miles. I think I might beat that this year. Whaddaya think?

Under three weeks to go. Yikes!