#westernstates100

[murch68]

So if you're wondering if it's worth getting up at 3a to climb four miles and 2,200' to watch the start of the original 100 mile trail race that hasn't been run for two years with many of your friends some of whom you hadn't seen in 15+ months, the answer is most definitely "Yes!" #wser #wser2021 #donnerpartymountainrunners #trailrunning #ultrarunning #nosleeptillauburn #westernstates100 (at Western States 100) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQl3tMDLy0k/?utm_medium=tumblr

[dreamsbeyondreality1]

Contemplations While Tapering ~ 10 Days Until Western States 100 And so begins the taper. Which is, arguably, the most difficult phase of training. Mere days before, I was desperately squeezing real life into an unrealistic running schedule. Searching for time where no time was to be found. When I wasn’t running, I was either preparing for or recovering from a run. A beautiful, building chaos that suddenly... ends. Like losing power during the climatic part of rock song. So much potential energy and then nothing. The taper. So on this, my first taper day before #WesternStates100, I found a sunny patch of grass in a public park. Glorified by an unobstructed view of #MtVitosha and a gentle, #Bulgarian breeze carrying the sweet smell of #Banitsa. I thought a lot about how blessed I have been to be in this place and time in my life. To have this beautiful mountain in my backyard and the ability to utilize it. It is interesting how much training changes us. And in more than the obvious physical sense. It is as if we become part of a place and the place reciprocates. It splices and reworks DNA and something new emerges. Over the past few months, I have ascended about 100,000 feet. Traversed over 1000 miles. Fucked my shit up on more rocks and roots and paved places than I can remember. Destroyed two pair of #Altras and gave up on running no less than 20 times. The mountains were simultaneously my savior and tormentor. But one particular day is the epitome of training for this monumental race. A day that began in the darkness of cloud-cover. Rain pelted the metal parts of our apartment while we waited anxiously for the sun to overpower the storm. “Bad weather, at the beginning of a run, is usually a bad omen.” I told Cassandra “It makes it harder to muster the necessary optimism.” When it became clear that the rain would not let up, I made my way out the door and toward the trailhead. When I got to the trailhead, it became obvious that it was going to be a hard day at the office. Rushing water covered the places that trail once was. Each step was to be taken in direct opposition of the current. I pushed the start button on my #Suunto and began my ascent. (at Vitosha)

[andynoise]

Posted @withregram • @larrygassan Ann Trason, 1998 WSER100, Michigan Bluff. She was leading, and a roaring profane chainsaw. Streaks are a photo lab/emulsion chemistry issue. Original color-balance prior to correction was Smurf-blue. C: Olympus Infinity II P&S F: Kodak Gold 400-6 . . #wser100 #westernstates100 #ws100 #anntrason #1998 #michiganbluff #film https://www.instagram.com/p/B_AkqgmHPQm/?igshid=1ha6im0dwnse9

[chapello]

No Sleep ‘til Auburn

On Monday, June 12, I got the email: I was in.

I was going to run the fabled Western States 100, the world’s oldest 100 mile endurance run. There was a catch: the race began in less than 12 days.

Part 0: My Journey to Western States

My journey to States had begun more than a year prior when I ran the Canyons 100K, which occurs entirely on the WS100 course. All of the volunteers there had been enthusiastic: “this race is great, but you need to run Western States. It’s the show. It will change your life.” I took them at face value, and used my finish to submit my name into the Western States lottery in December 2016. With one ticket in the lottery, I had less than a 2% chance of being selected. More than 3,500 people enter the lottery hoping for one of 200+ entries that are selected via the lottery (the others runners chosen with different methods). Honestly, I didn’t believe that I had a chance; I only submitted my name to begin building up tickets to be selected in 4-5 years. I had had friends who had waited 6 years to be selected, and they had run at least one qualifying race of 100K or longer each year. Why should my fate be any different? 

Then again, my friend Paul Braa had been selected with one ticket the year before, so I had reason for hope. For some reason, I hoped. 

On December 3, I was racing the North Face 50 mile in the Marin Headlands. i knew that the drawing for States was happening during my race, and I hoped, but I didn’t expect that I would get in. When I approached the aid station at mile 42, my pacer (Paul Braa, the same friend who had run WS100 the year before with only one ticket in the lottery as a “One ticket wonder”) who I was picking up at that point was jumping up and down and yelling “thirty-six! thirty six!” I immediately corrected him to tell him I was at mile 42. 

I misunderstood him - I had been drawn 36th in the new Western States waitlist, out of 50 spots. I wasn’t in, but I was one step closer. What needed to happen after that for me to enter the race was for 36 people to either pull out of the race or withdraw their name from the waitlist. 

The waitlist was implemented to solve a simple problem: Western States has a permit from the US Forest Service that allows 369 entrants. In the past, they had given 369 runners entry into the race, but inevitably there were runners who were unable to start because of injuries, inability to travel, or other commitments. The waitlist was added to ensure that this race, which so many people want to run, always has exactly 369 starters. 

Even after being placed on the waitlist, my odds of actually running were slim. Of the past five years, in only one year did more 36 people not start the race. Many friends in the running community encouraged me to find a backup race, and to not get my hopes too high. I would have other chances to run the race, future years where I could put my name back in the lottery. 

And yet, I hoped for this year. I hoped that the incentives that the race administrators implemented would encourage injured runners to give up their spots. More than anything else, I hoped that the intrepid spirit of this strange and wonderful sport of ultrarunning would shine through. This is a sport in which the leaders and those at the back of the pack regularly socialize and cheer for one another. This is a sport where the winner regularly spends time meeting with fans long after he or she has crossed the finish line. This is a sport where all are equal in suffering. I suppose I hoped that runners who were contemplating dropping from the race would consider the fact that if they dropped, another runner would get a chance to run - and I hoped that they would see the beauty in that that I did. 

And because of this hope, I trained. I trained like I never had before - I put a lot of mileage and stress on my body. I did my first 100 mile week. I traversed the last 70 miles of the course during Western States training weekend. I explored the Cascade range east of Seattle. I trained around the island of Hawaii. I wore sweatshirts during 90 degree runs, and I spent hours sitting in the sauna. Training is a rite of passage, and I wanted to earn the privilege to compete at Western States.

Many people asked me if this training would be worth it if I did not get in - I always had the same answer, that of course it would be worth it. I considered it a great honor to have a shot at racing WS100, and if I got a shot I wanted to respect the distance and the race. If I didn’t get in, that was OK too, because I would still learn a lot about myself in racing. That’s an overly simplistic explanation - of course I would have been bummed if I hadn’t made it into the race - but I had convinced myself that no matter what, the process of training was going to make me a better athlete and better man, and that was worthwhile. Throughout the beginning of the year, it looked as if I was not going to get lucky. The waitlist moved a few names, but not tremendously. But still, I hoped. Then, in mid-May, runners seemed to make a decision: it was six weeks out from the race, and if they were injured, it was likely they would not be able to compete. Many began to withdraw, then many more. Before I knew it, I was in the top 10, then the top 5, then I was in the race. I was tremendously lucky to be selected as the third-to-last entrant from the waitlist. With only 12 days to finish my preparations, I was in!

Saturday, June 24, 3:30AM, Squaw Valley, CA. I had already been lying awake in bed for more than an hour in nervous anticipation before the beginning of the race. Six of my friends had signed on to be part of the crew that would help me get from Squaw to Auburn that day, and I was thinking of them. I was thinking of the 3,300+ lottery entrants who had wanted my spot in the race. I was thinking of my fellow runners. I was thinking of my training. I was ready. 

The day before, Friday, had been electric. I spent the morning and early afternoon chatting with friends, meeting new runners, and soaking up the atmosphere of the best environment in the ultrarunning world. As I did my shakeout run down the Squaw Valley bike path, I saw at least 10 runners with whom I would be toeing the line the next day. Still, I tried to keep my energy in check for the big effort on Saturday. I checked in, went to the pre-race meeting, and then spent the rest of the afternoon preparing and relaxing.

Finally, it was time to go. I was on the start line. There were nervous jitters, sure, but mostly i was excited to get out an roam the Sierra, and to experience this race that I had dreamed of running for years. Three…two…one…and a blast from a double-barrelled shotgun. We were off up the Escarpment. 

Part 1: Disaster in The High Country

The first four miles of the race are directly up the ski hill at Squaw Valley. That is to say that they are essentially straight up. Most runners choose to hike this section, and I was no exception: I wanted to be very conservative the first 30 miles, and not use much mental energy. When I reached the top of the Escarpment at 1:10 elapsed, I was right on schedule. 

I took a moment to savor the sunrise over Lake Tahoe: this was really happening. I high fived my friend Misha, said hi to Ultrarunner Podcast host Eric Schranz (who was playing his signature Alpenhorn) and began to descend through the undulating High Country. I had never run this part of the course, but had heard that parts of it were quite technical, so I decided to settled in on a pace that felt easy. I figured that this would turn out to be 11 or 12-minute miles on technical terrain at altitude, but I was in for a rude awakening. 

For the first 15 miles, there were snowdrifts that had been packed down covering almost the entire trail. The ice on top of the drifts made it almost impossible to run easy, and we were constantly falling over and sliding from side to side. I was using a lot more effort than I expected, and I’m pretty sure I ate it at least 15 times on the ice. I rolled into the first aid station at Lyon Ridge having worked harder than I had wanted but I still figured I was on about 24 hour pace, which was my goal for the day. 

DEAD WRONG - I was already about 45 minutes behind 24-hour pace, and was dangerously already 15 minutes behind 30-hour pace. That is when I realized that this was going to be much harder than I had imagined, and that all of plans were out the window. The next 10-15 miles were quite muddy - where the ice had melted, the water found the lowest place (as it is wont to do) and settled in the trail. Running in streams is not such a bad thing if you’re only doing it for 10 or 15 minutes, but when you’re going to be running for 24+ hours it’s not a good idea.

Many would-be finishers were cut off at the early aid stations. I ran past Camille Herron, who just three weeks earlier had won the Comrades Marathon and who was one of the favorites heading into race day. She had dropped. I knew that many of the runners behind me were not going to make the early cutoffs, and my heart ached for them. Especially for Wally Hesseltine, who was running again in 2017 after missing the finish by just one minute in 2016.

This was the hardest part of the race mentally and emotionally for me because of the effort that I put in running in the snow and mud. I had convinced myself that I wanted to drop at mile 15. The chairs there looked very inviting - I could have easily ended my day. But then I thought about all of the other lottery entrants who wanted my spot. I thought about my buddy Chris Mocko and all of the other front-runners who had to brave the same conditions and were still many miles ahead of me. I thought about Ben Koss, who had to drop one week before the race with an injury.

And then I my crew and friends waiting for me down the trail, and that my fiancée had gotten shirts for the crew - I really wanted to see what those shirts said. 

And with that, I convinced myself to continue. At mile 24, I got to see my crew and my fiancée for the first time. Man, did I need it. She had made shirts that had a picture of me at the finish line with the words “You know you want me” written on it - they were AWESOME and were just the mental boost I needed. 

I was still behind 30 hour pace but had picked up time on the pace since the last aid stations. I adjusted my goals to finishing the race under 30 hours (anything over 30 is not an official finish) and headed down the trail. For the rest of the high country, I cruised along and made up a lot of time. By the time I got to Last Chance, I was 30 minutes ahead of 30-hour pace and feeling good. The day was getting HOT - I heard that the high was 108F - so I had been loading up my pack and arm sleeves with ice at every aid station. After I left Last Chance, I was feeling good - I was moving well, had managed to stay cool despite the intense heat of the middle of the day, and was looking forward to a long dip in the creek at the bottom of Deadwood Canyon. 

I had officially turned a corner and was beginning to look at my race in a positive light. 

Part 2: Steady in The Canyons 

It was around 4PM as I began to descend into Deadwood Canyon, and I was enjoying the steep descent with Charlie, a man about to get his 10th WS100 finish (and a fancy new buckle!). We lead a train down into the canyon, but it was slow going as my quads were shot. After the 2-mile descent, some runners proceeded immediately to the 1,800 ft steep climb to the top of Devil’s Thumb, but a group of about 5 of us split off to spend some quality time in the creek at the bottom of Deadwood. This turned out to be an amazing decision: after 5 minutes in the creek I was feeling my core temperature decreasing, and like I had the energy to take on the hill. Sure enough, I passed about 15 people on the climb, many of whom were dry heaving due to the heat. At the top of Devil’s Thumb, I re-iced, re-fueled, and got a popsicle as promised, and proceeded to El Dorado. El Dorado Canyon is much deeper than Deadwood at about 2,500 ft, but the descent is much less steep. At some point in the descent, I let myself celebrate: I was halfway done and more than 60 minutes ahead of 30 hour pace! It was slow going on the steep parts of the descent as my quads would still not allow me to run hard, and I began to have another low moment. How was I going to fare on the downhills of Cal Street and the end of the course? I still had almost 50 MILES of running to do. But I would not let myself be overcome by these thoughts, and proceeded on. At Michigan Bliuff at Mile 55, I was so relieved to see my entire crew, including several friends who had driven from San Francisco that morning to see me. I told them I was not doing well, but after a long swig of red Gatorade, the gave me a headlamp and I was off. It’s a bizarre feeling, beginning to run at night when you have been running all day. In between Michigan Bluff and Foresthill I moved slowly but consistently. I did my best to do math - If I arrived at Foresthill before 10PM, I could “run" 20 minute miles to the finish. That seemed more than doable. Foresthill was a breath of fresh air, and I set my sights upon it. I picked up my pacer, Matt, and changed shoes. My feet were destroyed from the High Country and Canyons, and my crew amazing washed them and bandaged my blisters with duct tape. There was no hiding it: the next 38 miles were going to HURT. And yet I was thrilled: I was really doing it, I had a good chance of finishing Western States! 

Part 3: Consistency on Cal Street 

With Matt in tow, I was ready to roll down Cal Street. This portion of the course is famous for its easy downhills, so I was excited to be out of the canyons and past the toughest parts of the day. The sun had also gone down so it was now dark and cooling off. 

So, was I running fast? NOPE. I just didn’t have the energy to spin the legs at anything faster than 15 min / mile pace as we made our way from Foresthill to the river. That said, I was in pretty good spirits and picking up time. Matt and I chatted about anything and everything in life (thanks, buddy!) and the time flew by. By the time we arrived at the river, I had about 75 minutes on the 30 hour pace and was feeling good about my finish. 

Crossing the American River at 3AM in boats was quite the experience. In low snow years, the race orgnizers set up a cord and runners ford the river, but because there had been so much precipitation in the Sierras this winter we were crossing in rafts. At this point, all I had to do was run 21 min / mile pace to the finish to make it there before the 30 hour cutoff at 11AM. 

Part 4: Grit to the Finish 

Right after we exited the river, my troubles started. I had stopped taking ice overnight as temperatures fell to 70 degrees, and I think I was overheating. I also may have been drinking too much water. In any case, by mile 85, I was extremely lightheaded and did not feel like I had full control of my body. 

I stopped at mile 85 at Auburn Lake Trails and against my better judgment, sat down in the medical tent. 

Doctor: “What’s wrong?”

Matt: “He’s feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

”Doctor: “I would be, too, after running 85 miles.” 

The doctor continued to ask me if I was keeping food down (yes) if I was keeping water down (yes) and if I was peeing (yes). He told me I was fine. I wanted to shout back at him “NO, I am NOT fine” but I didn’t have the energy to do anything more than haul myself out of the chair and continue what felt like a march to Auburn. 

Must. Finish. Race.

I can’t tell you how hard it is to explain what goes through your mind 26 hours into a race. I couldn’t think clearly, I couldn’t do math, and i was convinced that my pacer Matt was lying to me about how much time I had left in the race (turns out he was right - sorry, Matt! #ultrabrain). 

The next 5 miles or so I began to feel better after eating some electrolytes, and I made it to Pointed Rocks at Mile 94, where my fiancée, Lisa, was going to pace me to the finish. I was SO excited to see her, and to have her bring me home. 

Crossing No Hands Bridge at mile 97 was surreal - I had dreamed of that moment many times, but when it actually came it felt like I couldn’t quite grasp its significance - after all, I had been awake since 3AM the day before. We made the final climb up to Robie Point, and it became clear to even my addled brain at that point that I was going to finish and get a belt buckle. 

Man, I wanted that buckle. I made that my focus as we ran/walked the rest of the climb up to Auburn.

When I got to Auburn, I was greeted by an unexpected sight - my entire crew, plus a gang of friends had gathered to accompany me the last mile to the finish. That mile was the most satisfying of the entire day - I still couldn’t run all of it, but I got to enjoy the company of many friends who I had trained with and who had helped me get to the finish line. I found myself incredibly grateful. 

As I rounded the final turn onto the track at Placer High, emotion took over and I began to run faster than I had in many hours. That victory lap was filled with high fives, peace signs, and friendly greetings. I even passed a runner en route to the finish on the track. I finally crossed the finish line in 29 hours and 35 minutes, more than 5 hours after I had hoped to finish. But it was still a perfect day. I had survived the snow and mud of the high country, I had braved the heat of the canyons, and I had traversed Cal street across the river. Most of all, I had fought my own doubts about whether I could ever reach the finish - and I had won. I couldn’t be prouder of the day I had at Western States.

If you’d like to see the (slow) data of my day+, here is the Strava file.

Final Thoughts

I want to say thank you to everyone who helped me get here, especially my crew - Lisa, Steph x 2, Matt, Katie, Sam, and Kristyn. thank you to all of the friends who gathered in Auburn at the finish, and everyone who congratulated me or asked for a recap. You made this one of the highlights of my life.

I had always heard that the 100-mile distance was like living your life in one day. I’ve now learned that that statement is very true. I experienced every emotion: anger, sadness, unbridled joy, worry, exhaustion, contempt. I watched the sun rise twice in one run. I experienced snow and 100+ degree temperatures. I met at least 100 new people who were going through this all at the same time.

Which leads me to my final point. 

Why? 

Why did I run the race? 

Many of my friends who do not run have asked me. It’s a simple answer, really. I ran to prove to myself that I can. Before doing it, all I had was a belief that it was possible, and stories from friends who had done it. I ran for the same reason anyone settles on a big goal: to strive for something further, something better, something that makes you stare in awe. That awe changed my perspective, and my life. I now know that I can do it.

I couldn’t be prouder.

[elcoyoterubio]

Two...more...months! Goal #1, don’t get hurt! #2 keep on trainin’! #zanegrey50 #wser #westernstates100 #maskorima #squirellsnutbutter #borntorub #runlikeasquirrel #oldguysrule #seeyouinsquaw #aravaiparuntribe #allwedoisrun #borntorun #mcmillianrunning

[jontheropes]

Worth a shot, eh? #ultrarunning #westernstates100 https://www.instagram.com/p/BpubQ9wlKPu/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=14l1stin7kr2g

[nolimitsendurance]

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”

~ John Muir

The top of Squaw Mountain.

I lived one of my long-time dreams as I climbed the snowy face of Squaw Mountain on my way to Auburn with 369 new friends, each of us inside of our dreams for the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run.

After summiting Squaw Mountain, the field of runners separated as conditions deteriorated quickly from snowy trails to foot-sucking mud, thanks to the 800 inches of snow this past winter that was now melting rapidly down the mountain. We crossed several mountain passes and streams and each vista seemed more beautiful than the one before.

It’s a good thing I did not have a camera with me because I don’t think I would have made the 30 hour cutoff time. Around each turn, I was in awe of the topography in the high mountain country of the Sierra Nevadas of California. Words cannot describe the beauty; it brought me to tears often in this 100-mile adventure.

As I ran the opening miles, my thoughts were of my wife Maria, my crew in this new adventure. I also thought of my family and friends who followed along from near and far. And, I thought about my recently deceased coach Steve Pye.

Minutes after I heard my name called during the lottery back in December 2016, I developed aggressive plans and goals for Western States. Who doesn’t, right?

But, my goals for this race changed when my coach and mentor Steve Pye was struck and killed on his bike on June the 8th. The emotional stress coupled with some physical stress, as I grappled with an old back injury that threatened to keep me from even toeing the starting line. I realized I had to adjust to my circumstances. So, that’s what I did.

As we continued to climb along the trail ridges, the mountain flowers burst to life all along the sides of deep melting snow drifts. I felt myself in this moment – and I loved it.

Out of seemingly nowhere a large butterfly flew right next to me at head height for several hundred yards, staying in perfect pace with my every step. I’ve always felt a deep connection with the outside world but this moment felt extra special–as if the butterfly was there for me.

Further down the trail, I took a moment to get some a lot of mud out of my sneaker. As I did this, a large hawk landed just yards from me, on a giant downed pine log. We looked at each other for a few seconds. He flew off, but hung just overhead for what seemed like minutes, flying above me with the snow capped mountains in the background.

Climbing in the early miles.

At the top of the escarpment, taking in the experience with UltraRunner Podcast Host, Eric Schranz.

Early river crossing – take 1

Early river crossing – take 2

Early river crossing – take 3 – ah! that felt good.

  I imagined these animals as spirits of my family and friends who have left this world, who came to hang with me for just a few moments, to help me on my journey.

Okay. Are you high? You might ask.

Yes: high in the mountains!

I have no doubt that these moments were time spent with spirits.I felt a deep state of gratitude as I saw Earth’s beauty along with her creatures in harmony. For me, each of these moments was a sign: a sign that everything was going to be okay. I needed to just relax and be present.

I felt like I was running with my coach, even though we had never run one step together in this life. This experience brought me to tears as I ran. I almost had to stop running and catch my breath from the almost overwhelming feeling of loss, and yet gratitude for the limited time we had.

I may have also been aided in these sensations and feelings by the Grateful Dead cranking on my iPod. Possibly?

When I saw Maria for the first time at Robison Flat mile 30, she looked off. The first thing I thought she asked me was: “Do you think you will finish?” After she read a draft of this report, she corrected me. What she actually said was: “How is your back? Do you think it will hold up?”

The scene at Robinson Flat.

The first of the sock changes…

That gives you a sense of ultra-brain. But, when she asked me that question–whatever it was–I knew in that moment that nothing was going to stop me–except my head if I let it. So, I shut off the brain and put one foot in front of the other.

I left Robinson Flat, and the next time I would see my crew would be Forest Hill, where I would find Maria, and our friends Karen, Tom, Kiki, Christine, and Vince, my pacer.

After Forest Hill, which is mile 62, the race went south–and so did my stomach. Due to the heat, my body was using most of my blood to cool itself, which was not helpful for digestion.

I recognized my body’s signals from previous experience: dizziness, sleepiness, apathy, vomiting. I responded to these signs and did what I needed to do: I slowed down, and took every opportunity to douse myself in cool water.

Mile 62!

Crew spectating at Forest Hill.

Maria & Kiki getting punchy.

Crew waiting @ Forest Hill

Trench foot.

Boat ride at Rucky Chucky (mile 78) – Zombie stare.

Confirmed: Zombie Status.

From Forest Hill until No hands Bridge at mile 97, I stopped to cool off at every river crossing and every aid station. This choice to slow down saved my race. I gave up speed to find the finish line–and it was worth it.

At mile 85, I saw two runners, both having much worse days than mine. One guy experienced severe back spasms, and was completely listing to the side. The other dude was having a complete mental breakdown, sobbing uncontrollably. His cries, “I don’t understand why this is happening…I don’t know if I can do this.”

As we left the aid station, I said to him, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and regret this moment. All the voices you are hearing now are lying to you. Don’t listen to them. You can do this. Now let’s go.”

Both of those guys found what they needed inside to finish. I watched both of them cross the line later that morning.  Their stories are inspiring. They reached their limits and kept moving beyond them. The human spirit is tougher than we realize.

Watching people overcome their demons–and overcoming my own demons–has changed me for the better.

  Above: Final two finishers at 2017 Western States 100. 

“A teacher does not tell you what to see but shows you where to look.” ~Alexandra Trenfor

When I first got my captain’s license and was about to make my first long solo trip to rescue a disabled fishing vessel, an old Boat Captain said to me, “What happens after you leave the dock and when you return, no one will ever understand unless they’ve been there.”

I’ve never forgotten these very true words. And, I find myself struggling to explain this experience of running the Western States 100, hoping you can understand. I was underway at the helm, Auburn was my heading. I found myself in uncharted waters, with a boat that felt just a little bit leaky. Those feelings of uncertainty, and the way we respond to the circumstances of the day, have all the makings for a truly epic journey.

You can feel like you’ve lived an entire lifetime in 100 miles – and you have the privilege of learning a life’s worth of lessons, if you open your mind and heart to them.

My top takeaways from Western States:

Keep chasing your dreams–they feel amazing when you catch them.

Listen to your body – it gives you all the signs you need to make the right choices for your day.

Enjoy every moment you have with the ones you love and hold them close. Tell them what they mean to you. Don’t wait. Our time together is limited. We need to allow ourselves to have a deeper connection with each other and nature.

In life or in racing, we must find a way to keep moving forward–no matter how hard or challenging any moment may seem. Keep in mind it will be over soon. We need to remember this when we hit an imaginary wall. We need to keep searching for the door–or window, or crack, or hole. We can turn back and leave the opportunity unfulfilled–or we can search for the way forward and keep living, keep taking the steps to get closer to whatever goal we seek. I like to open those doors and keep moving, to move on especially when I am uncertain of the outcomes.

We need to get out of comfort zones to truly live life. That’s the kind of living that feeds my soul.

“It strips you down like an onion, layer by layer, until you’re to the core of who you are.” ~Ryan Sandes, 2017 Western States Endurance Run Winner.

Coming in to the finish – all smiles. We are seeing Kiki & Christine – waiting in the stands.

Much love & thanks to my pacer, Vince.

Okay – you caption this one.

The buckle.

  Above: Coming in to the finish. Thanks, Kiki for the video! 

Big thanks and Aloha to Maria, Mom, Dad, Tom, Karen, Kiki, Christine, and Vince for all your help to get to Auburn and keeping me on the trail.

Special thanks to my Coach Steve Pye up in heaven for helping me to be a better me.

We did it together!

“By the time we reach the finish we will have found, both physically and mentally, as many valleys and peaks as mark the trail. For those who come into Auburn arrive with a rare grace. The runners who press through the weary and lonely hours can get through only if they are tough and at peace with themselves. But we could not endure without the unspoken support of our companions on the trail and the palpable support of friends who waited with aid at the checkpoints, paced us through the night and kept us on the trail this day and months of training before”.—Antonio Rossman, LA Times Editorial, 1985

Living Dreams: 2017 Western States 100 Race Report "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.

[runchef]

Just finishing up my Sunday LSD, feeling good about my nagging ankle injury healing and still having some gas in the tank after some distance and some hills. I was starting to get a bit full of myself and then the universe put this in front of me to remind me that I still have a long way to go! #LongSlowDistance #marathontraining #westernstates100 #realrunners #trailrunner (at Mission Trails Regional Park)

[uthc-trailrunning]

@passortidubois: [ÉPISODE 44] Pour obtenir sa place à la wser, Elliot Cardin était allé en Arizona pour courir la Black Canyon 100k et obtenir un Golden Ticket 🤘 En prévision de l'épisode 44, je te recommande d'écouter (ou de réécouter) l'épisode 3 où l'on jase de tout ça! En ligne dès demain matin 🎧 . . . #balado #podcast #courseensentier #trailrunning #trailrunner #ultrarunner #elliotcardin #westernstates #westernstates100 #wser #ws100 #wser100 #squawvalley #auburnca #goldenticket #blackcanyon #blackcanyon100k #onruncrew #onrunning #naak #naakambassador #coros #brixalerable #bvsport #kapik1expeditions #passortidubois

[csthom]

Repost @irun4ultra ・・・ Congrats to @ryansandes on a terrific win last night at @westernstates100 --------------------- #time2run #timetofly #timetoplay #ultrarunners #ultrarunning #running #buff #trailrun #trail #trilife #SouthAfrica . #trailrun #trailrunning #trailrunner #ultratrail #ultrarunner #runner #justdoit #instarun #ultramarathon #longrun #distancerunning #runnershigh #runnerspace #runnerscommunity #runnershoutouts #worldrunners #worlderunners

[andynoise]

The best part of my #2018 #jackpotultra was doing some miles with @anntrason #Repost @billyyangpod ・・・ The great @anntrason: 14x @wser winner, 4x @ltraceseries 100 mile winner (including the current course record), 2x @comradesmarathon winner, along with numerous other wins and American records. Her list of accomplishments speak for themselves. But in this conversation, we provide some context to her storied career including: . . • how running the first 30 miles of WS100 changed her running trajectory • her thoughts on her portrayal in the bestselling book “Born to Run” • coming back to the sport she loves but left for a few years • how she manages to remain a participant despite recent illness • ...and much, much more! . Link to episode in profile 👆🏻 . Thank you Ann for your countless acts of generosity and contributions to the sport of ultrarunning! . #anntrason #westernstates100 #ws100 #lt100 #podcast #byp009 (at Sunshine Endurance Coaching)

[chapello]

Mental Recovery from Ultras

Running ultras is physically challenging. This is well understood. There are proven methods to recover from the stress that an ultra puts on your body - you need to rest from physical activity, eat well, and come back to running slowly.

Far less understood and discussed is the mental and emotional cycle of recovery.

The strain placed on an athlete mentally before an event is tremendous: you are faced with the daunting task of preparation. Increased mileage, vertical, recovery routines. When added to everyday stressors with work and family make for a challenging balance. After a big goal race, the shift is drastic: the schedule is much less packed because of decreased training and the sharp focus of an upcoming goal is no longer in place to motivate.

You know what this looks like. The 5:XX alarms have been replaced by the 6:XX (and let’s be honest, 7:XX alarms). The post-race food binge lasted a few days too long (maybe a few weeks too long, but hey, you ran an ultra! You deserve it). You’ve started to look for the next event, but it’s not yet in focus.

This transition can be harsh, especially if the event doesn’t go well. There can be an urge to begin training hard immediately. I’ve known a number of people who sign up for their next event before or immediately after a big goal, and then rush back into the intense training period is over. I personally have gotten caught up in the FOMO of watching friends who are on a different cycle of training getting ready for their next event, and have tried to keep up with them. Big mistake. 

Even if the race went well, this is a sport driven by achievement: the question of what’s next is never far from the tip of the tongue. 

After I finished Western States, I decided to make mental and emotional recovery a priority (physical recovery was a necessity because my ankles looked like this). The training cycle had been long, hard, and uncertain. I had sacrificed a lot through the training period, and had asked a lot of my mind. I knew I needed to hit the reset button.

So I waited. I did not run for more than a week after the race, but I did a lot of walking in the week following. I aimed for nine hours of sleep per night. I brushed off my pre-race to-do list, which had been neglected in a period of heavy training. I reconnected with friends, and spent more time with family. I planned for my upcoming wedding. 

Most importantly, I consciously gave myself time off from thinking about the next big goal and let my energy replenish. In my experience, if I try to come back too quickly I don’t handle the mental load well and ultimately lose the sense of balance in my life. Suffice it to say I don’t want that to happen again.

Even when I felt physically ready to come back, I kept waiting, because mentally I knew I was not ready to begin striving toward a new goal. As much as I love the process of training, I need to be completely stoked to begin a new process. 

As I write this three weeks after the race, I’m feeling physically ready to begin training again. The poison oak scars have healed. My ankles have returned to normal size. I can descend stairs and get in and out of cars normally.

But mentally, I’m not quite there yet. I am ALMOST ready to think about what’s next for me and begin down the path. But I’m not quite there yet. And that’s OK - I’ll get there with time.

If you’ve had experiences in which you’ve mentally recovered well (or poorly), I’d love to hear your story. If we share these experiences, perhaps we can learn to recover well.

[elcoyoterubio]

Flashback Friday, to last Sunday. Surreal. ‘Been wearing this all week. 51 years old. Smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for 20 years, from about 20-40. Quit smoking at 40, started running at 45. Ran Western States last weekend. Giddyup! Yes, you can.... #wser #westernstates100 #maskorima #squirellsnutbutter #borntorub #runlikeasquirrel #oldguysrule #seeyouinsquaw #aravaiparuntribe #allwedoisrun (at Auburn, California)

[jorgemaravilla]

Their first language is Swedish, mine is Spanish, and it didn't matter, this morning our communal language was running, dirt, endless joy, and new established friendships. . I'm looking forward to following Team Sweden's @jonasbuud (100km World Champion) and @elovolsson (Golden Ticket Winner) during their trail running quest at @westernstates100. • Su primer idioma es el Sueco, el mío es el Español, y no importaba, esta mañana nuestro idioma comunal era corriendo, los cenderos, la alegría sin fin, y nuevas amistades establecidas. . Tengo muchas ganas de seguir a @jonasbuud (100km Campeón del Mundo) de Team Sweden y @elovolsson (Golden Ticket Winner) durante su ronda de búsqueda en @ westernstates100.

[andynoise]

#2015 @sunshineendurancecoaching #Repost @andynoise ・・・ Yesterday @alisonnyu , my son and I were on trails above #SantaMonica talking about her upcoming summer #ultras and now she has a new one to the list thanks to @stravarun She will be toeing the line at the 2016 #westernstates100 #seeyouinsquaw #noisecrue http://blog.strava.com/earn-an-entry-to-western-states-100-11130/ (at Sunshine Endurance Coaching)