Western States 2019

Summitting Squaw. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Sometimes I look back on the things I loved in childhood, where my favorite novels were wilderness survival stories and my favorite TV show was High Mountain Rangers (That link will take you to a fuzzy version of a particular HMR episode about a woman in the overall lead of a 100 mile trail race across the Sierra.), and it seems like I must have just sprinted out of the womb with a desire for adventure, wilderness, and endurance sports. I don’t know how a girl becomes such a thing at a young age, but when I first heard about the Western States 100 as a kid, I knew I wanted to run it one day.

My first actual encounter with the race was to volunteer at one of the Memorial Day Weekend training runs in 2004. I’d never run an ultra before, but I was supremely ultra-curious. I’d lived in Truckee, very close to the race course, for a few years, and I needed to see this thing with my own eyes. I would be working the Michigan Bluff aid station, but I and the other volunteers had arrived much earlier than necessary. So Shannon Weil brought us all back to her place to hang out for a while. 

I had absolutely no idea who Shannon was at the time, but I felt so welcomed into the Western States community by her. When I saw the Wendell Robie Cup sitting in her living room, with Ann Trason’s name engraved 14 times, my eyes about popped out of my head. We drank cold sodas and lemonade on her porch while Shannon shared stories from past races and from recent training days when she had hosted Scott Jurek. This was back in Scott Jurek’s heyday, and I was honestly like, “Umm, you know Scott Jurek? He stayed at your house? You are the coolest person I’ve ever met. Tell me everything!” I just sat there soaking it all up. I could not possibly have gotten a better introduction to the world of Western States! 

Fourteen years later, and I was a 5-year loser in the lottery for Western States. (It had taken me 5 years to get in the first time, but I never actually won the lottery - I just got shuffled in under the now defunct Two-Time-Loser rule to run the race in 2011.) I am typically very matter-of-fact about the Western States Lottery. Don’t expect to get in, and you won’t be disappointed! But 2018 was different. This was my 6th year in a row, I had 32 tickets in the hat, and I was sitting in Sean Flanagan’s lucky seat. (I am sworn to secrecy about exactly which seat this is, so don’t even ask.) So when Shannon Weil stepped onto the stage to pick the next 20 entrants, I had a good feeling. I’m totally in to the whole symbolism of these things, and I felt it would be rather poetic if Shannon pulled my name.

And then she did.

With Sean and Jenelle, at the lottery.

Coming full circle, my growth as a runner, developing my own roots in this historic community. These turn out to be the themes of Western States 2019 for me. For most of my running career, I have always been about faster or farther. I am unashamed of my competitive nature. But this year would bring me no improvement on either of those fronts, and I am happy to discover I’m finding joy in my running and racing in spite of that.

Western States is an incredibly special race for everyone, and I am no different. Just winning an entry makes you feel like the whole universe loves you, even if it denied you on 9 of 10 previous occasions (which it did). One result of the excitement that surrounds the race is that I immediately had the support of my best running friends for crewing and pacing.

Jenelle. In addition to running hundreds of training miles together, we had attended the lottery together for the last two years where she won in ‘17, and I won in ‘18. There’s something awesome about sharing that moment with someone who completely understands the significance. She has run the race twice herself, in addition to crew and volunteer duties on other years, so I knew she was the perfect person to have as my crew chief. I would trust Jenelle with my life. (Plus, as you’ll notice in this race report, she’s an incredible photographer.)

Jamie. This woman has finished Western States six times, including one top-ten finish, and she is the one who originally showed me the ropes by taking me on countless training runs on the course. If there was anyone I wanted coaching me through this race, it was Jamie. I asked her to pace me, but after a significant injury prevented her from running all spring, she teamed up with Jenelle to help crew.

Donald. Over the years, we’ve shared a connection through races, writing, adventure runs, and epic pacing gigs. Donald has been my pacer at both my fastest 100 mile race and my slowest, and he keeps me entertained with dad jokes, Harry Potter trivia, and showing off his knowledge of Hamilton lyrics. He’s the perfect mix of low key, knowledgeable, entertaining, and supportive.

My training went about as well as could be expected, given our epic winter and my inability to leave work at a reasonable hour most days. Luckily, Truckee, Tahoe City, and Squaw Valley plow their bike paths, and I spent most of my mid-week runs on these trails. I blew through two pairs of YakTrax, and I discovered that when the weather is so bad that driving anywhere is simply not an option, I can actually run a whole lot of laps on the 1.5 mile loop in my neighborhood. I had a nice, progressive race schedule (WTC 50K, Sonoma 50, and Miwok 100K), and Jenelle and I went down the hill most weekends to train on the course.

Running stormy laps in the 'hood.

Finishing a long run in the rain in Auburn with Jenelle.

Nonetheless, I knew I was not in the same kind of shape I had been in back in 2011. I was not expecting a PR for the race, but I thought sub-24 was probably possible. Everyone likes to tell me how 2011 was a really fast year. Yeah, okay. They are probably right (jerks). But you know what else was faster in 2011? Me. So my finish time goal was simply “finish as fast as I can.”

They say everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame in this life, but when you run Western States, you are a rockstar all damn day. And night. Being relatively local, and having spent the last 16 years meeting other ultrarunners in the community certainly helps in that regard. This was one of the many differences from my race in 2011. I believe there was only one aid station the entire race where I didn’t personally know the volunteers. Even if you don’t know anyone, the volunteers at States are THE BEST and will treat you like a queen, but nothing keeps a girl going like being greeted with smiles and hugs from friends every few miles.

Mugshot at check-in.

Ready to rock on race morning.

I wore my now famous “I Love Butter” hat. I’ve yet to have any ultrarunners recognize as band merch from the band Hot buttered Rum, but I love wearing it to races because I always get a ton of smiles and positive comments on it.  Well, the fans at Western States blew my mind with their awesome love for my hat. And for butter.

Summiting that first climb at Squaw Valley might be the pinnacle of those rockstar moments. It’s hard to believe the number of people who make the four mile hike up at 4:00 in the morning to watch runners crest the mountain at the same moment the sun peeks above the horizon. I’d been chatting with Kelly Barber and Curt Casazza on the climb, but when I reached the summit, all at once I felt both completely alone and surrounded by a raucous crowd. 

Celebrating the rockstar life at the top of the Escarpment. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

The beauty of the sunrise and the cheering crowd filled me with energy. I saw so many people I knew and heard so many people cheer my name that I can’t recall all of them. Jenelle, who had also given me a ride to the start, was there, along with countless running friends, coworkers, and even parents of students. Like getting my name pulled in the lottery, it was an outpouring of love and support that I’m not sure I earned, but I soaked it up and smiled all the same. I knew I needed to carry their energy with me, fuel to get to the finish line.

I enjoyed the high country, even though it was snowy and slow. It’s the one part of the course I had never seen. The weather blessed us with cool, overcast skies, and I kept my long sleeves and gloves on almost until Duncan. Although it was well-marked, the intermittent snow made the course a challenge to follow. I practiced some team route-finding with the runners near me as we picked our way across snow fields, creeks, and downed trees. Looking at my splits, it’s clear that I lost a lot of time between the Escarpment and Red Star at mile 16, which is where most of the snow ended. Alas, those would not turn out to be the slowest miles of the run for me. 

The high country.

Getting the full treatment from the amazing volunteers at Duncan.

The climb up to Robinson at mile 30 might have been my favorite part of the day. The bird song rang through the trees and the perfume of wildflowers floated on the wind. I made some of the climb with Tom Wroblewski, and it was during these miles I met Cris Francisco. Cris and I ran together all the way to Last Chance before parting ways. These auspicious meetings and making of new friends are some of the greatest joys of racing.

The climb to Robinson.

Jamie’s daughter, Clara, ran me through the aid station at Robinson. When I first started running with Jamie, Clara was just a little kid, so it was pretty awesome to see this young woman now a full-fledged, capable part of the team. 

Clara guides me through Robinson. We both have our game faces on! (Photo: Jamie Frink)

Jamie was there with food and supplies, which I shoveled down so fast that I didn’t realize I had eaten too much until it was too late. I trotted out of the aid station feeling weighed down and bloated, grateful that I was in for a long stretch of mellow downhill.

I blew through the next two aid stations without eating anything while my body worked on digesting the Robinson Flat Buffet. I cruised the downhill with Cris while we traded stories of some interesting training runs we’d each had in the spring. He asked me about what was coming up in the course, and I took pleasure in sharing my knowledge. From that point to the finish line, I’d done countless training runs on the course, so I knew those miles intimately.

Once we hit Last Chance, I was home. The Canyons. My favorite. I felt amazing through this section. Like I was flying. Like sub-24 was definitely going to happen, and maybe even faster. Thus, when I make the comparison to my 2011 splits, it is hilarious because it turns out I was most definitely not flying. I passed a lot of people and did fine, but I was significantly slower than this same section of the course eight years ago. Regardless, I had a blast in the canyons. 

Jamie and Clara found me again at Michigan Bluff, and before I knew it, I was at Foresthill (mile 62) with the whole gang. Donald ran me from Bath road into the aid station where John Trent was on the microphone showering me with accolades. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but I do recall that at one point I turned and blew kisses at him. My advice for this race? Have fun, and don’t take yourself too seriously, even if you are serious about the race itself. (Also, did I mention you’re a total rockstar as a Western States runner?)

Heading into Foresthill (mile 62). (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Jamie, Clara, and Jenelle. "Team Gretchen!" (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Kaycee Green escorted me through the aid station where the rest of the Strider family had everything ticking like a well-oiled machine. It was a blur of smiles and hugs and tutus, until I departed with Donald to find my crew. Now I had Jamie, Clara, Jenelle, Donald, and Sean Flanagan at my service. This race is seriously a 100 mile party, and I love it.

My stomach had turned a little sour, but I dutifully ignored it. My super power during 100-milers is my ability to eat. I once ate a hot dog and a cup of chili at mile 60 of a 100 and never had a problem. So I shoved a few things down my throat and a few more in my pockets, and Donald and I ran the gauntlet of the cheering throngs on our way out of town.

Heading out of Foresthill with Donald. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

My legs felt great, and the 16 miles to the river have a lot of nice, runnable downhill. I kept a decent pace all the way into Cal 2 as darkness set in, and I was pleased to see that I was still on-track for a sub-24 finish. What didn’t please me was the deteriorating state of my stomach. 

“Gretchen’s in the house!” Mike Holmes announced upon my arrival at the aid station. After giving me a much needed hug, he gave essentially the same commentary that John had in Foresthill, but Mike doesn’t need a microphone to hold the attention of the crowd. Another chunk of the Strider family was holding down operations at this aid station, and I was joyous at seeing JoAnn, Andy, Marisa, and the crew.

“What do you need?” JoAnn inquired as I looked over the smorgasboard with distaste.

“My stomach does not want food,” I said, making a face and finally beginning to feel concerned. Sure, it was mile 70, and these things were bound to happen. But 30 miles is way too far to run with no calories. 

“Ignore it and eat something anyway,” JoAnn offered, which, frankly, is the same advice I would have given in her place. I popped a few peanut butter banana bites in my mouth and didn’t linger.

“Donald, I’m leaving!” I called over my shoulder as I shuffled down the trail. I knew he would catch up whenever he was ready.

Looking back, I think of Cal 2 as the beginning of the end of sub-24 dreams. The trail to the river crossing continues to be fairly mellow, and as the miles ticked by, my nausea ticked up. It felt like I slowed to a crawl - the only thing that seemed to keep it from getting worse. Voicing my status to Donald just made me feel depressed about it, so I tried my best not to whine. Mentally though, I knew I was entering a dark place that was brand new to me.

I was anxious to arrive at Rucky Chucky because I was in serious need of a bathroom. I had one final hope that emptying my bowels would alleviate all the problems, and I could also tell that I had started my period. I’d known this was imminent, so I was prepared, but it did seem like a less than auspicious moment for it. 

It must have been near midnight, and I felt immense gratitude at seeing Jenelle waiting for me at the aid station. She led me through the maze of crews waiting for their runners to the bathrooms. I nearly cried when I saw they were all occupied. Then someone else’s pacer guided me to a hidden, unoccupied bathroom, and I nearly cried again because runners are so awesome. Seriously, I clearly had my own guardian angel showing me an unoccupied bathroom in that moment.

I dealt with my various needs, and made vigorous use of the handwashing station before Jenelle led me back toward our stuff. I took only a few steps before pausing.

“Ooh, I don’t feel good,” I moaned, giving Jenelle a panicked look.

“Here, sit down,” she said, guiding me toward a chair.

“Is this your chair?” I asked her.

“No, but it’s okay.”

I just gave her a wide-eyed look and giggled. With no energy to argue, I plopped down into the anonymous chair.

“Do you want to try eating something?”

“I don’t know,” I whined. I seriously was at a loss. Typically, I can tell my crew and pacer what to do and what I need, but at that moment, I felt like a lost little kid. Take care of me! I wanted to cry. Fix it! Whaaaa!

Jenelle handed me a sea salt & vinegar kettle chip, which is one of this world’s greatest pleasures. I took a tiny mouse-nibble and waited to see what would happen. Immediately I knew it would be nothing good. 

I looked at Jenelle in alarm. “I think I’m going to be sick.” My eyes darted fearfully around, taking in the fact that there were people and their belongings everywhere. Where should I go? I didn’t think I would be able to stumble away from the aid station in time. “I don’t want to puke on this person’s chair,” I squeaked.

“It’s fine. It’s okay,” Jenelle assured me, and then she quickly and quietly alerted the people nearby that I was going to be sick. They grabbed their stuff and fled like I had the plague, which was fine by me. Then, I tossed my cookies. 

Gross, and not super fun, but it was over with quickly. I felt pathetic, near tears, but when I looked up to see Jenelle snapping photos, I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yay! Western States!” she said with a tentative laugh.

I knew exactly what she meant. Like, don’t forget to enjoy this. But also, you worked so hard for this race, have been anticipating it for years, and puking is totally not unusual, isn’t ultrarunning a great sport, lol? As well as, you know it could be worse, so don’t complain. But mostly she just meant, isn’t this thing we do beautifully ridiculous?

“Yay! Western States!” I celebrated, returning the laugh. I mean, you have to laugh. You know?

Immediately post-puke. The low point of the race, for sure. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

"WTF, Jenelle, are you taking photos??" (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Double thumbs up. "Yay! Western Sates!" (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

I spent what felt like forever at Rucky Chucky, but who knows how long it was, really. All my concerns about time were left in the dirt along with the contents of my stomach.

I felt quite good by the time we walked the steps down to the river crossing. Weak, but no longer nauseous for the moment. I was so pleased about this that I was completely giddy and ridiculous, saying all kinds of silly things to the lineup of volunteers who were there to outfit us with life jackets and get us safely loaded into the boat. 

If you ever want to witness a precision operation by a fleet of well-trained volunteers, you should check out how they do the river crossing at Rucky Chucky sometime. They have volunteers guiding you down the steps, putting your life jacket on you, snapping the buckles, guiding you into the boat, and unhooking the boat from the anchor. Then, a master oars-person ferries you swiftly to the other side where another volunteer quickly hooks the boat to the anchor, and still more volunteers guide you out of the boat and take off your life jacket. It’s probably faster than doing the river ford.

I bounced happily on my seat as we flew across the water. “Look! We are just sitting here and we’re moving down the trail! This is the best part of the race so far. Do you think you could just head downstream and row us all the way to No Hands Bridge? Please?” Like I said, I was kind of giddy.

On the raft. Totally delerious. (Photo: Donald Buraglio)

The remaining 20 or so miles of the race were simply an exercise in moving forward as well as I could and staying positive. The only real calories I took in came in the form of whatever electrolyte drink they were serving, and they only way to keep the nausea from totally taking over was to keep my effort level low. 

“You mean you’ve never puked in a race before?” Donald was amazed. (After our Western States cheer, I’d also cheered to Jenelle, “My first puke in an ultra! Yay!”)

“No. Never.” I assured him.

“Wow, I get sick in pretty much every 100,” he said.

“God, then why do you keep doing them?” I absolutely could not imagine doing this again if I thought I would get sick. I guess we just fool ourselves that way. As Mark Twight famously said, it doesn’t have to be fun to be fun!

Donald kept me entertained on the trail, and Jenelle showed up at Pointed Rocks with papaya enzymes for my stomach. The enzymes helped a bit and tasted pretty good, too. 

Sunrise at Pointed Rocks aid station. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Jenelle and Sean were both there to run me in the last mile from Robie Point. It’s pretty awesome to have your own cheering section following you in. 

Stoked to be arriving at Robie Point. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

One mile to go! (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Crossing The White Bridge with Donald and Sean. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Just past the white bridge, a woman walking toward us cried out, “There’s butter at the finish line!” I gave her a genuine smile. I’d gotten cheers like that all day. I told you that hat was a brilliant idea.

I was happy to duck across the line in just under 27 hours, and happy to be done.

Kaycee not only led me through Foresthill, but she was there at the finishline, too! You can't tell from this photo, but she was still wearing her tutu. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Full Circle.  (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Western States 2019 wasn’t my best race or my fastest race, but it was also far from my hardest race. I picture it in my mind as this experience with a multitude of branches, roots, and curling vines, reaching out to other days and people in my life, connecting me to the many moments that came together to form the adventure of Western States. The friends who were out on the course volunteering, the friends who crewed and paced for me, the friends I trained with, the people at the lottery with me (and the ones who went through years of losing the lottery with me), the family who supported my training, the other runners who inspired me, the non-running friends who were excited for me, the new running friends I met on course. The days of running in the dark, on the ice with my YakTrax, on snowmobile trails, in dumping snow, driving hours to the trailhead for weekend long runs. Those branches reach all the way back to that afternoon sipping lemonade on Shannons porch listening to stories, all the way back to that ridiculous episode of High Mountain Rangers, all the way to a high school girl in Southern California dreaming about a trail race through the Sierra Nevada. It’s a race that permeates an entire year of your life, and for many of us, an entire lifetime of running. A lifetime of following passions and developing a community that surrounds it. This year, I found the love from that community to be the greatest reward I can imagine.

With my pacer on the best day of the year: at the track in Auburn, CA on the last Sunday morning in June. (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Sean and I cannot contain our excitement waiting for the awards ceremony to begin. (Photo: Helen Pelster)

They say you're not a true Western States runner until you have BOTH colors of buckles. Okay, I might have made that up, but I love my shiny new bronze buckle as much as I love butter! (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)

Western States, Hardrock, CIM, Oh My!

It’s Saturday morning, 8:30 AM, and the Placer High School auditorium is packed with skinny people chatting excitedly to each other. On stage, a handful of people sporting silver belt buckles double check their laptops, paperwork, and the functionality of the PA system. It’s probably the best non-running running event of the year: Western States lottery day!

I’m crammed in the seats with friends, iPhone in hand, keeping a close eye on the Twitter feed of @Hardrock100, where they’re updating the results of their own lottery. Occasionally I flip over to check on iRunFar's coverage of the TNF 50 where Rob Krar and Magda Boulet are already churning up the mud out front. Jamie is sitting next to me, constantly clutching my arm, the suspense of the whole day causing her to bounce constantly in her seat.

Both Jamie and I are in both lotteries. Certainly, the chances of either of us getting chosen for either race are slim. But who cares? The electric air of possibility fills the room. We’re not out of the running yet!

I know this scene will be pretty accurate for the first part of our morning (well, except for who's in the lead at TNF, but that's my prediction), but how the lottery results will play out is obviously unknown. (According to this guy, I have a 29% chance of getting into Hardrock! Information on the Hardrock site says 25.6%. Regardless, either is better than the 9% chance I have of getting into States.) I know that some of my friends will get chosen in each lottery (maybe some in both!), and that I will be pretty darn excited for them. I also know that I will not be disappointed to walk away empty handed myself. I certainly go into the endeavor hopeful because that’s part of the fun, but with the odds so slim, I like to keep my actual expectations realistic. I’ve already made my plans for what I’d like to run should I get into neither Western States nor Hardrock, and I’m aware that’s the most likely scenario.

The only thing I really want to avoid is any of the whiners. I don't mean the people who feel disappointed - that's fair enough. I mean the people who are always bitter and pissy because they didn’t get chosen. I think (hope!) most people are over this by now and have accepted the reality of the situation. But there’s always someone! Someone who thinks the rules are unfair and aren’t afraid to let you know. I want to slap these people and tell them to get a grip, but what I really want to do is simply not talk to them at all. Take it somewhere else if you’re going to bitch and moan. Lottery day is for fun!

~

I also have a great distraction from the probability that I won't win a lottery on Saturday – Sunday I will be joining many friends at the California International Marathon!

I’ve run CIM twice before, and neither was an amazing experience. The first time, in 2001, I drove from Truckee through a horrendous blizzard, ran injured through hurricane-force wind and rain to my slowest road marathon time ever, and spent five hours driving home through an even worse blizzard. Thank God I had Charlie to run the race with and Andrew to drive the car. At least we have good stories to share with each other!

The second time was in 2009. I remember I was freezing during the race, and I had to drive home through another blizzard, this time by myself. The most memorable part of the weekend was that I had my first experience peeing in a water bottle in my own car. Fun! Right? At a dead stop on I-80 for over an hour with the snow gathering fast and thick around us, and of course I had to pee desperately. Thank god I had a wide-mouth Nalgene rolling around in my backseat, and the snow covered windows provided plenty of privacy. Still, the awkwardness of trying to squat with my marathon-tired legs and the steering wheel in the way made me certain I would pee all over my car seat. I didn’t! Thus, I considered the weekend a reasonable success.

Home safe after CIM 2009. Praying for a non-snowy drive this year!

I truly hope that the third time’s the charm for this race. So far, Sunday looks like the only non-rainy day in the forecast, so I am keeping my fingers crossed. As usual, I’ve had some really strong individual workouts, but not a lot of consistency in my training. I know I’m in pretty good shape, but it’s hard to tell if my goal of running a PR is realistic. I ran 3:11:42 at Eugene in 2013, with a pretty significant negative split, and I recall it feeling almost easy. (Memory is funny that way, isn’t it? Kind of like how after I finished Hardrock in 2012, I said I would never run it again!) I don’t know if I’m in quite the same shape I was in at Eugene, but I’m setting my sights on 3:10 anyway. I guess we’ll see what happens!

The fun part about CIM this year is that I know so many people running the race. This is a big change from my last two experiences there. I feel happy and reassured that regardless of how fast or slow I run, I know I will have fun with my friends.

In fact, that thought sums up the entire weekend nicely. Things may or may not go as each of us hope, but whatever happens, we will all be there to support each other and share time together (and maybe even a few beers, too).

Looking forward to the weekend and to seeing you all out there! Good luck, everyone, and have fun!

Summer Summary

It's raining in Truckee!! Hallelujah. (Okay, it was raining when I started this post. That was last weekend. But the sentiment is the same.)

I'm not just grateful for rain because of this insidious drought, but also because of that nasty King Fire. The smoke in Tahoe has been stifling the last two weeks, and folks down the hill have had to evacuate. 

Fall feels a bit in the air, and with that happy fact, I am reminded to make my usual summer wrap-up post. I may be a complete bloggging slacker, but at least I have my traditions.

Unfortunately, the short summary for this summer goes like this:

It was completely shitty.

An accurate and succinct summary, if a bit lacking on details. But truthfully, I'm tired of giving the details. 

Last weekend, my husband and I visited with some friends we hadn't seen in four or five months. I came straight out and told the wife in the couple that I was tired of updating people on the upsetting events of my life, so could we just skip the "What's been happening in your life?" question? 

She replied, "Let's just talk about trail running!"

Now that is a good friend.

So for this post, I'm going to skip all the shitty parts. I can't ignore them, but I guess I don't have to relive them here. Instead, I thought I would take this opportunity to focus on all the awesome parts of this summer.

Because you know what? Even among all the challenges - the feelings of betrayal, the injustices, the immense grief - there were still some pretty awesome things that happened this summer. Reminding myself of these things is one good way of dealing with the challenges - keeping perspective, and realizing that even a shit sandwich doesn't taste as bad when you're sitting by a mountain lake with a cocktail in hand. (Okay, I'm sorry, I will stop swearing now. Terribly embarrassing, my crassness.)

So. Awesome parts of this summer, in chronological order:



Hangin' at Western States


For the first time in several years, I was neither volunteer, runner, nor pacer. I thoroughly enjoyed geeking out as a fan.

Gary Gellin nears the top of the Escarpment.

And the finish line especially. Always a social, and very emotional place to spend time.

The Trent girls await the leader at Placer High.

See what I mean about emotions? (Pictured: Rob Krar)

More emotions! Yay! (Pictured: Max King)

Fourth of July!

The fourth is always awesome in Truckee, and this year was no different. Good friends, perfect weather, parades, swimming, barbecues, bike rides, tubing down the river. Fun!

The Dream Team at the Truckee Parade.

Family Visits

Fishing day with the boys!

Game time: "I am a Pig." "I am a Camel." (Not the most flattering pic, but certainly the funniest!)

TRT 50K

Due to the fact that I spent most of June and the first part of July injured, I dropped down from the 50M distance I'd signed up for and ran the 50K (actually 55K) at TRT for the first time since 2003. Oh wow! I think I like the 50K. No Diamond Peak climb, and it's over so fast! Plus, I won. Total bonus.

And I will tell you that staying up all night to volunteer at the Tunnel Creek AS is much easier with only 55K on your legs vs. 50M. Just as much fun though!

Pre-race with the RD

TRT 173

It seems like a lot of my adventures involve the Tahoe Rim Trail, but this one was truly unique. Five runners, four days, and 173 miles of jaw-dropping scenery. 

I don't want to say too much about this one, since I SWEAR I AM GOING TO WRITE A REAL POST ABOUT IT. I promise. I am.

But the summary is that it kind of turned out to be the gem of the summer. Two of our really big challenges were already upon me and my husband, and a third was just hitting the fan when this adventure began. I didn't know if I should even be out there on the trail for so many reasons, but it turned out to be the best decision I could have made.

I am massively grateful for the friends who put in all of the work to plan this adventure and who turned out to be amazing people with whom to share the trail!

173 Miles that looked something like this

Triumphant at the end of our journey: Me, Chris, Tyler, Curt, and Joe. (And Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.)

A New Kitchen

This is another one that I am not going to give all the details on because I really want to do a full post with before and after pictures. There was quite a process, and it looks amazing, but of course, it's still not done. (Started in April, why would we be done by October?) As soon as the back splash and trim are in, there will be lots of pictures! Pinky swear.

Here's Andrew on concrete day. This doesn't show you anything about our kitchen, does it? But just wait until you see the killer concrete counter tops he made me!!

Other Adventures

Of course there were plenty of beautiful trail miles shared with friends, (several times getting caught out in hail and lightning), and other "daily" adventures. In completely non-chronological order:


Hoover Wilderness and Yosemite with Jamie:

Jamie

Happy in the mountains

Alpine lake in the Hoover Wilderness

Running near home:

Castle Peak, Donner Summit

Desolation Wilderness with Betsy

Aloha Lake/Desolation Wilderness with Jamie and Caren

Jason's wedding with the college track crew (no running involved).

I know this was mostly a post in pictures. I don't have a lot of words these days. Honestly though, I'm hoping to find some. I miss writing.

Last summer, my sister declared it to be The Summer of Joy. We did so many wonderful things with family, knowing that with my mom's ALS diagnosis, it would be the last summer with her in good health. It truly was wonderful - three full months of family time up and down the coast.

This one was declared The Summer of Sadness. Aptly named, and thankfully in the rearview mirror.

My sister has already declared next summer to be The Summer of Healing. I'm assuming that means more family trips, and I'm all for that! In fact, I'm pretty much ready for summer right now.

Western States Weekend 2013

Heat. Bloody, ridiculous heat. The Thursday before this year’s Western States weekend, that was my biggest concern. Now, two weeks later, I just remember it all as incredibly fun, and the heat-factor as simply adding to the excitement and challenge. Easy to say, since I didn’t have to run the entire 100 miles, but still. It’s funny how that works.

As with most years, this year I did a combination of volunteering at the race, and pacing for Jamie. An awesome combination of activities for those who didn’t get a slot on the starting line.

Working the check-in table with Stan. (Photo by Chipping Fu)

Friday morning, Stan Jensen and I gave out wristbands at the check-in at Squaw Valley, allowing me to greet each of the runners and wish them luck. It was great fun because I got to chat with many friends, foreign runners, and elites alike, all of whom were excited to be there. There’s an electrical energy coursing through the runners at Western States check-in, and it’s quite contagious.

Checking in Tim.

Jenelle checks in with her crew.

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, and it was too hot even in Tahoe, I started to worry about the heat. Jamie, with four silver buckles in four years, has been an incredibly consist runner at Western States. She’s also good in the heat, so I knew she’d do well, but triple-digit temps are going to be a huge challenge for anyone. Like me, for example. I even started to worry about my task of pacing 40 miles in the 80-90 degree temps I’d face overnight. Unlike Jamie, I tend to wilt when the mercury rises above 80.

In preparation for my pacing gig, I skipped the start and slept late Saturday morning. By the time I met up with Jamie’s crew (her husband, Jim, and friend, Nicki) in Auburn at 3:00, I felt excited and ready in spite of the heat.

Team Jamie: Nicki, Jim, and me.

Calvin cheers on his mom with his uber cool shades. "Go Mom!"

We headed to Michigan Bluff where we happily absorbed the race drama unfolding all around us. The front of the race had already gone through, but we witnessed some of our speedier friends looking strong, as well as a few elites whose races were already coming apart. We squeezed into the shade with hordes of other crews, discussing strategy for how to help Jamie when she arrived, depending on how she was feeling. I sucked down coconut water, and generally felt that there is no better way to spend an afternoon.

Waiting patiently at Michigan Bluff.

Most brilliant aid station poster ever!

Jamie’s spirits were high, which made us all happy, but she kept apologizing for being slow. Ha! We just rolled our eyes at her and assured her she was not slow. Slow is all relative, I guess. She was about 30 minutes behind her splits from previous years, but I was actually pleased with that. It meant she was wisely dialing things back a bit in the heat.

Walking Jamie out of Michigan.

By the time she arrived at the circus that is the Foresthill aid station, she was charging. She’s a master at getting in and out of aid stations quickly, and soon we were heading down toward the river together.

Leaving Foresthill

Most of the time as a pacer, I think of my job as keeping my runner company, monitoring her nutrition and hydration, and assisting with staying on-course. None of these things is very challenging with Jamie at States, so I don’t usually find pacing too stressful. This year, however, I was also paying a little more attention to her pace because I knew sub-24 in the extreme heat would be a tall order. I also had pacing duties from Foresthill to the finish, instead of just Foresthill to Green Gate, which is my usual gig. Somehow, I felt this meant I had to take things more seriously.

She made great time to the river, and the water as we crossed felt wonderful. I even wished it had been colder since, even though it was 11:30 at night, it was still painfully warm out. I would have dunked myself completely under if not for the cell phone in the top of my hydration pack.

At the far side of the river, I calculated that we had made up 15 minutes on 24-hour pace since Foresthill. I was excited! I knew if she could make up another 15 minutes by Highway 49, she still had a chance at sub-24. Although she was still passing people and moving up in the race, I could see by ALT at mile 85 that we were unlikely to make that goal. I felt like she was moving strong, but the watch is always so damn honest.

I didn’t mention the unlikelihood of sub-24 to her at this point, for fear it would take some of the wind out of her sails. I figured my job was still to keep her positive and focused on moving forward. By the time we reached No Hands, I know it had to be obvious to her, but it wasn’t until our watches actually hit 5:00, on the climb up to Robie, that she acknowledged it. And in the predawn light above the glow of the river, we kissed her sub-24 streak goodbye with a few philosophical words. Sad, but in its own way, kind of beautiful. I couldn’t criticize her for feeling a little disappointed in spite of an incredibly impressive race because I totally understood it. I would have felt the same way. But every race is different and can’t really be held to the same expectations as its predecessors. And thank God for that, or running a hundred miles might start to get boring.

Two days later, she said this Western States was her favorite. With the exception of my one time as a racer, I think it was mine, too.

At the finishline with my badass best friend.

The finish line at Placer High was its usual, emotional site of joy. I witnessed many friends make their lap around the track, and I cried every single time, starting with Jamie.

Clare, Scott, and Jamie after Scott's finish.

Was it hot? I barely remember. I just know that Jamie kicked ass and never gave up. I was lucky to be there. One of the beauties of Western States is that, even though it’s hard to get into the race, it’s so easy to be a part of it.