madcity girl

A pace runner is defined as a ‘trail companion’ who may accompany a runner along designated sections of the trail. Pacers are allowed solely as a safety consideration for fatigued runners in the remote and rugged territory of the Western States Trail. Pacers should be experienced trail runners in excellent physical shape and conditioned to adequately run 40 miles over rough terrain. Most pacing will be done during the night time hours and early morning; so pacers should be warmly dressed, used to running with flashlights, and familiar with the trail. —from the Western States Participant’s Guide

I knew I had a big job on my hands once I signed on to pace my brother during the Western States 100 Endurance Run. My brother had ambitious goals—obviously to finish, but he also hoped to finish under 24 hours and earn a coveted silver belt buckle. Kelly had been well ahead of goal pace all day, but by mile 62, it looked like the terrain and heat were beginning to take their toll. I could see it in his eyes and in his stride.

Yet it was amazing to me how well he had held up so far. As a result of injuries and work commitments, he hadn’t exactly trained to his full potential. In fact, a 30 mile run had been his longest effort leading up to the race—which I’d venture to guess made Kelly the most under-trained runner there. And so while Kelly’s experience and heart would need to pick up where his training left off, it was my job as his pacer to make sure he was safe, moving forward, taking in enough calories, and making good race decisions.

Kelly and I walked through the Foresthill aid station and eased into a slow jog. We were on roads for the next mile or two before hitting the trail. Running on the trails was absolutely exhilarating to me—the rugged terrain required intense concentration, but every time I glanced up, I was amazed by the incredible views. Within the first few miles, we passed a waterfall, crossed a small stream, and peered over the edge of a mountain to the depths of the great valley and river below. I was so happy to be out there—with my brother, in the the mountains, at one of the most prestigious ultras in the world.

The single track trail required us to run single file, so Kelly and I switched off leading. Despite my excitement and well-rested legs, I tried to be mindful of the fact that Kelly had already run more than 60 miles. I also tried to do a lot of talking to take my brother’s mind off his tired legs and the heat that seemed to linger in the valley well into the evening. I filled him in on some of our crewing adventures throughout the day, and also gave him the big sister approval on his girlfriend of eight months whom I had just met on the first day of my trip. Definitely lots of great brother-sister bonding time out there.

We came to the first aid station relatively quickly. It was literally perched upon a mountain. I helped Kelly fill his water bottles and asked what he wanted to eat. His stomach was still unsettled, so all he could muster was a few sips of diet coke and chicken broth. I had no problems taking full advantage of the aid station offerings, which included a wide variety of cookies, pretzels, and other snack foods. It was probably one of the first times during a race that aid station food seemed appealing to me.

After a long, arduous climb accompanied by a steep decent, we arrived at the next aid station, which was brilliantly lit by white Christmas lights strung through the trees. Kelly promptly plopped down in a chair, while I helped the volunteers fill his water bottles and grab cups of chicken broth and coke. Kelly still couldn’t stomach solids. That made me worried, but Kelly assured me that he was still getting the calories he needed through liquids. We took our time at the aid station—Kelly sat back, slowly sipped the chicken broth, and made friends with one of the volunteers. After a while, the volunteers strongly encouraged Kelly to get up and keep moving. They told us it was only four miles until the next aid station. With that, we were up and moving again.

At that point, the sun began to set and we took in the last few moments of daylight before turning on our headlamps. It was eerie and strangely exciting to run through the mountains at night, with only the light of our headlamps to guide the way. The nighttime sounds made me jumpy—I kept looking behind me and assumed that a bear would jump out and attack me at any moment. With the added challenge of navigating in the dark, our pace slowed considerably. I could tell Kelly was struggling. Our walk breaks increased in length and frequency. In an effort to keep him on pace, I’d let Kelly walk for a few minutes and then gently suggest we try running again. Four miles seemed like an eternity. Kelly became increasingly frustrated when every turn revealed more barren darkness. We became convinced that the volunteers at the previous aid station had provided us with an incorrect mileage estimate to the next aid station. Luckily, we knew we were on course because of the frequent trail markers (yellow plastic tape and glow sticks draped from tree branches), but for Kelly’s sake, I hoped we’d get to the next aid station soon.

Eventually, we saw lights through the trees and heard voices and the sounds of a roaring river. We knew then that we were finally approaching Rucky Chuck, the aid station at mile 78, and also the point at which we’d need to cross the American River. There were aid stations on both sides of the river. Kelly checked in at the first aid station, which required a weigh-in so volunteers could determine if Kelly was maintaining a healthy weight (almost every other aid station required a similar weigh-in). Kelly sat down and took in more liquids. After a few minutes of rest, we headed to the river’s edge to begin our journey across. I was super excited.

Normally, runners are required to ford the river—literally wade through the river while holding onto a rope strung across. Since the water was notably high this year, the race organizers changed the course so that runners would cross the river by raft. Volunteers helped us strap on life vests, and we hopped into a raft with a guy who quickly paddled us across. Our paddler was very friendly—I told him he must be tired after padding runners across all night. He said, you must be tired! I’m a professional rafting guide—this is nothing! The river crossing, although very short, was one of my favorite parts of the race. It was so strange to experience it in the middle of the night—it felt like we were on a ride at Disney World, like the Pirates of the Last Caribbean. Once we hit the other side of the river, volunteers helped us exit the raft, and we were excitedly greeted by our crew members, Ben and Kathy.

To be continued. The third and final installment of this post will cover mile 78 through the finish.

Crewing for my brother during this past weekend’s Western States 100 Endurance Run is an experience I’ll never forget. It was a long day, but one filled with inspiring athletes, great adventures, and memorable bonding time with my brother and his closest friends. I have so much to share from the experience that I’ve decided to split my post into two installments—the first will cover pre-race through mile 62 and the second will cover the rest of the race. So here’s the first installment…

We woke up at 3:30 on race morning to the sound of three different alarms ringing in our ears (you never can be too cautious). I think it was the earliest I’ve ever woken for a race, which was even harder to swallow knowing that I’d need to be awake for at least the next 25 hours. We drove 20 minutes from our hotel in Truckee  to Squaw Valley (the site of the the 1960 Winter Olympic Games), where we gathered in a ski lodge with 450 runners and their loved ones. Ten minutes before 5am, everyone slowly made their way outside to the start line. It was chilly and dark. Ben, Kathy, and I wished Kelly good luck before he made his way into the crowd of racers. A shotgun signaled the start and runners began their long trek into the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Ben, Kathy, and I went back to the hotel to check out, before hitting the road to Duncan Canyon aid station at mile 24—the first aid station accessible to crews. Amazingly, it took us nearly three hours to get there. The distance wasn’t great, but it took us a long time to wind through the mountains. The scenery was incredible, but the drive and constant switchbacks made me feel nauseous. Finally, we arrived and race volunteers directed us to park on the side of the road. We removed our big cooler from the trunk, which was filled with various drinks and loads of ice. We couldn’t decide what to take, so we opted to haul the whole thing  to the aid station. What we didn’t realize then was that it was a quarter mile hike up a very steep hill. And the cooler was extremely heavy. It quickly became apparent that we should have purchased a smaller cooler (in addition to the larger one) to transport select items to each aid station. Obviously we were rookies in this ultra marathon pacing business.

After arriving to the aid station, we barely set our things down before Kelly came running through. We were totally caught off guard and unprepared for his arrival since he was ahead of goal pace. He seemed happy to see us and only a little frustrated that we were so unprepared. Little did he know we had almost missed him completely! We helped Kelly re-fill his water bottles and exchanged a few words before he set off again. He seemed to be in good spirits and was moving fast.

Back in the car, we made our way to the next aid station (Dusty Corners) at mile 38. Luckily, it was a much shorter drive. It was still a bit of a hike from where we parked our car to the aid station, but this time a nice guy insisted upon taking my place carrying the cooler with Ben. We set up camp in the shade and quickly made friends with several aid station volunteers and spectators.  It was nice to sit back and take in the whole scene. We spotted Jen Shelton, ultra marathon extraordinaire who is featured in the book Born to Run. Of course I was star struck. We also observed the preparations of other crews and were most impressed by that of Kilian Burgada, whose crew had carefully set out a blanket on which drinks, food, and running shoes with various treads were meticulously arranged.

Eventually the race leaders came flying down the hill into the aid station. It was Anton Krupicka and Kilian, neck-in-neck. Interestingly, Kilian took very little from the blanket that was so carefully prepared for his arrival. A few minutes later Geoff Rose came through, trailed by two-time defending champion, Hal Koerner.  The women’s leader was Tracy Garneau, who had already amassed an impressive lead over the other women. Not long after, Kelly came through and this time we were sufficiently prepared for his arrival. He was still doing very well, but appeared to be feeling the heat. By that point, the sun was beating down and temperatures were rising into the 80’s.

Back in the car, we made our way to the Michigan Bluff aid station at mile 56. On the way, we stopped at a gas station to pick up more ice for the cooler and popsicles (a special request of Kelly’s). Kathy thought Kelly might also like a slurpee, so she filled up a large cup and we carefully positioned it in the cooler. Once we arrived at Michigan Bluff, we parked the car and hopped on the free shuttle bus to the aid station. The aid station was extremely crowded—there were spectators everywhere. We found a nice patch of shade and asked a few fellow spectators there if we could share the space with them. They snottily replied no, and explained that they were waiting for their runner. But weren’t we all? Surprised and somewhat disheartened, we found a nearby patch of grass on which to sit and set our cooler. Luckily, there was a small snack bar set up near the aid station, so we were able to enjoy our first decent meal of the day—burgers and chicken sandwiches. I had to keep reminding myself to hydrate and eat in preparation for my upcoming pacing responsibilities.

It was probably an hour or two before Kelly made his way through the aid station. He was still under pace to finish the race in 24 hours, but it was the first time I could tell he was struggling. Just minutes before, we had observed two top runners drop out of the race as they entered the aid station. It was clear the heat and terrain were taking their toll. Kelly sat down on a metal folding chair in the aid station. We dug into the cooler and realized the popsicles had melted. But luckily, the slurpee was still good and Kelly’s eyes lit up at the site of a frozen beverage. He sat back in the chair and slowly sipped the slupee. He complained about how hot it was out on the course. Eventually the aid station volunteers came over to check on him. They asked if he was okay. He replied, yes, and explained that he just wanted to sit there for a bit, cool down, and drink the slurpee. The volunteers continued to hoover and encouraged him to start running again. They were afraid that he would get too comfortable in the chair to continue. After twenty minutes or so, Kelly got up and started running again.

We knew we had to rush  in order to make it to the next aid station in time for Kelly’s arrival (Forest Hill at mile 62). Luckily, we quickly caught the shuttle bus and were back on the road in less than ten minutes. During our drive, I changed into my running clothes. Mile 62 was the first point at which runners could pick up a pacer. Kelly and I had planned that I would begin running with him at that point. I was very nervous to begin pacing—I feared that I wouldn’t be able to keep up  provide Kelly with the help he needed. When we arrived at the aid station, we were lucky to snag a parking spot directly across the street. The aid station was set up in the yard of an elementary school. I pinned on my yellow pacer number and waited anxiously for Kelly. I was so nervous that I kept having to run to use the bathroom. Eventually Kelly came through and he seemed genuinely excited for me to begin pacing.

At 5 a.m. tomorrow morning, my brother Kelly will begin the Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile adventure through the rugged Sierra Nevada mountains. The race is one of the oldest, most challenging and prestigious ultras in the world. My brother’s goal is to reach the finish line in Auburn, California, before 10:59 a.m. on Sunday (the official cut-off time) in order to be awarded a coveted finisher’s belt buckle.

The course follows the original trails used by the gold and silver miners of the 1850’s, and climbs approximately 18,090 feet and descends another 22,970 feet from start to finish. Most of the trail is accessible only by foot, horse, or helicopter. Temperatures typically range from below freezing to over 100 degrees. Bears, cougars, and rattlesnakes inhabit the area. The race also involves fording the American River at mile 78. Furthermore, Kelly will travel almost half the distance of the race at night.

Luckily, my brother is no stranger to ultra marathon running. Amazingly, this will be his 7th 100-mile race. It will be my first time sharing the experience with him and serving as part of his race crew. I’m extremely excited for the adventure and for the chance to help him along his journey to Auburn. Kelly’s other crew members will include his best friend, Ben, and his girlfriend, Kathy. Our job is to assist Kelly throughout the race, particularly at each of the 11 aid stations open to crews. Our duties will include re-filling his water bottles, helping him change his shoes, providing words of encouragement, and other duties as assigned. As of now, I’ll also be pacing Kelly beginning at the Foresthill School aid station, for the final 38 miles of the race. It will be a very unique and memorable adventure for sure. I’m very exited, but also very nervous about the sleep deprivation and the huge responsibility of making sure Kelly gets to the finish line safely.

You can monitor Kelly’s progress (#272) online at www.ws100.com/home.html.

Today’s mission on Dailymile is to write about someone who “personally influenced your fitness lifestyle.” And not a famous athlete like Steve Prefontaine, Ryan Hall, or Kara Goucher, but rather someone personal and unique. When I read the prompt, I immediately thought not just of one person, but two—my parents.

My dad’s influence on my fitness lifestyle began very early on and has had a tremendous impact on my life’s path. A product of the running boom of the 1970’s, fitness—and running in particular—has been big part of my dad’s life for as long as I can remember. My dad had a pretty stressful career while I was growing up, and running was always his outlet, his sanctuary. Over the course of several miles he was able to transform from corporate to family life. As soon as I was born, my mom was pushing me in a stroller while my dad competed in the Al McGuire run. I remember as kids, my brother and I would often accompany my dad on bikes during his runs. Pretty soon, we were partaking in 5k and 10k races with my dad. I realize now how lucky I was to share my dad’s passion for running with him then, and how great it was to have that kind of role model early on. Although I most certainly did not have a passion for running back then, it grew within me overtime.

What I admire most now is my dad’s outlook on running—quite simply, he loves running for what it is. He rarely races. Even though I’ve often tried to push him to compete more because I know he would dominate the 50-55 year old division, running has never been about attaining a certain place, time, or distance for my dad. For him, the pleasure of running comes from hitting the pavement on any ordinary day—feeling the rhythm of his legs, breathing fresh air, enjoying the outdoors, and pushing his body to the limits. More than anything, though, I think he looks forward to the special runs he shares with my brother and me. Our holiday runs to the lakefront, running in the north woods at our cabin, etc. Those are the most precious runs of all.

My mom is a more recent fitness influence. Certainly my mom has been a great influence on me in a number of ways; but quite honestly, her influence rarely crossed over to the fitness realm. Sure, she was aways there cheering on the sidelines and encouraging me to reach my goals, but she was always sort of the non-athlete of our family. Initially, my mom decided to become a walker in order to loose weight. When my dad signed up for the Madison Marathon in 2003, seemingly out of nowhere, my mom registered, too. And amazingly, she tackled the same training schedule as my dad—only she walked the miles. So as he would head out on a 20-mile run, my mom would go walk 20 miles. And as if running 20 miles doesn’t take long enough, try walking them. My mom would be gone for hours on end. On race day she was ready. Unfortunately, the weather was not. It rained all day. For once, I was on the sideline proudly cheering her along. I will always remember my mom’s face that day—her smile, focus, and determination. It was cold and wet, and she was in pain. But there was no way she wasn’t getting to the finish line. She crossed the line in just over six hours, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

My mom continued to enjoy walking, but about two years ago, something ignited within her. I think she became tired of being the only one in our family who didn’t run. For so long, she had wanted so badly to become a runner, but had convinced herself she couldn’t do it. With the help of the community and support on dailymile, my mom set out on a journey to become a runner. She started very slowly. She’d run a few minutes, walk a mile. Next time she’d run a few more minutes. Over time, she was able to build herself up to greater distances. Just yesterday, my mom ran 11 miles. My mom is a runner. Which makes us a family of runners. And clearly, my mom has contributed a lot more to my own athletic determination and focus than I ever realized.

My brother Kelly recently asked if I would pace him during the last 50 miles of the Western States 100 Endurance Run, the oldest and largest 100-mile trail run in the country, on June 26-27. So what exactly does that mean—to pace a runner during an ultra-marathon? The best description is one I found from author Chris McDougall in the book Born to Run:

Pacing is so grueling and thankless, usually only family, fools, and damn good friends let themselves get talked into it. The job means shivering in the middle of nowhere for hours until your runner shows up, then setting off at sunset for an all-night run through wind-whistling mountains. You’ll get blood on your shins, vomit on your shoes, and not even a T-shirt for completing two marathons in a single night. Other job requirements can include staying awake while your runner catches a nap in the mud; popping a blood blister between [his] blood cheeks with your fingernails; and surrendering your jacket, even though your teeth are chattering, because [his] lips have gone blue.”

Despite all of this, I enthusiastically replied, count me in! It would be an honor to accompany you through Squaw Valley. (Although I most certainly will not be popping any of my brother’s blisters. Especially between his butt cheeks. That I can assure you.)

I’ve been secretly toying with the idea of running an ultra-marathon for a few years now. My brother ran his first 100-mile ultra-marathon during his senior year in college—that was five years ago and he hasn’t stopped since. I’ve detailed a few of his races here and here. It’s extraordinarily inspiring. And the way he’s described his experiences, it just seems to me like the purest form of running that exists. And certainly my recent reading of Born to Run helped intensify my interest. So earlier this year I decided. This is the year I will run my first ultra-marathon.

And quite honestly, I’m ready for the next adventure. I’ve completed six Ironman triathlons and am signed up for my seventh this September. I’ve run the Boston Marathon. I still love competing in marathons and triathlons, and continue to find them all very challenging, but part of me is ready for a new experience—and one that is less commercialized and more of a real adventure in the pristine back country—running on trails, through streams, and up mountains. I just can’t think of an experience more raw and real than that.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it. It’s all very scary—the terrain, keeping up with my brother, the risk of altitude sickness, the things we might encounter in the middle of the night, etc. But I’m excited to try. It should be one hell of an adventure. And I can’t wait to share the experience with my brother.

This year my mom asked me if I was too old to receive a stocking full of goodies for Saint Nick’s Day. Umm…no, I replied incredulously. Unlike other holiday traditions for which I’ve grudgingly grown too old (e.g., trick-or-treat), I will always believe in Saint Nick, or rather the woman behind Saint Nick—my mom.

As previously discussed, Saint Nick’s is my favorite holiday of the year. The December 6th celebration always seems to kick off the holiday season and whet my appetite for Christmas. I also love the idea of several small gifts, and the thought that goes into assembling the perfect stocking. And my mom has always done an amazing job of making the day a special tradition for our family. My mom quilted a personalized stocking for each of us, and now that my brother and I live away from home, she works hard to get packages out to both of us in early December. In fact, during college, a few of our roommates were introduced to the tradition and also received handmade stockings and treats from Saint Jackie.

It took a little longer than usual to get my package this year, which was no fault of Saint Jackie. Since I wasn’t home when my postal carrier attempted to deliver the package, it was instead brought to the post office for pick-up. And since I wasn’t able to get to the post office until last Saturday, there were many days in between that were filled with suspense and excitement.

When I finally did pick up my package and bring it home, I carefully opened the box to find a computer print-out anouncing “Happy St. Nick’s.” Burried underneath were all kinds of treasures—everything from a Starbucks sampler to a year subscription to Real Simple to an eyelash curler. Saint Nick was very generous this year because I’ve been an especially good girl. I called my mom immediately to thank her and tell her how much I loved everything. And that’s why I believe in Saint Nick…er Jackie. She’s always very good to me.

You could say I’m a little behind on the blog front. We’re quickly approaching Christmas, and I’m just now getting around to posting pictures and stories from Thanksgiving. Eventually I’ll catch up with my blog…and life, for that matter.

So…Thanksgiving. I took Wednesday through Friday off work, in an effort to stretch out the weekend as long as possible. And I was all over the place—visiting family and friends in Brookfield, Rockford, and Madison. I spent the first few days at home with my parents in Brookfield. My mom and I did a fair amount of Christmas shopping, coffee-drinking, and requisite girl talk. My parents and I went out to dinner on Wednesday night at a new Mexican fusion restaurant and afterwards enjoyed frozen custard at Kopp’s. The flavors of the day were Pecan Praline Pumpkin Pie and Cranberry Medley. My mom and I opted for a scoop of each and went to town on our pre-Thanksgiving ice cream feast.

The next morning was Thanksgiving Day and my dad and I ran from my parents’ house in Brookfield to the Milwaukee lakefront (~11 miles). Running to the lake is a special holiday family tradition we started several years ago. But this time was even more special because it’s been over a year since my dad has been able to participate, as a result of a serious running injury. After my dad and I finished up the run, it was of course time to eat. Since my parents had hosted Thanksgiving for my dad’s family the previous weekend, and I don’t like many traditional Thanksgiving foods anyways, we decided to make a low key meal—a nice bourbon soup (a recipe from my friend Brad). We also joined my mom’s side of the family for dessert (aka Pie Palooza). It was really nice to see my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandma. The rest of the night, I spent with my parents, drinking wine and talking.

On Friday afternoon, I made the short drive to Rockford to meet up with my closest girlfriends from high school. My friend Erin’s parents hosted an engagement party for Erin and her fiance, Tim, at Carlyle, a cute downtown brewery. It was awesome to see my friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in over a year. We’re really all over the world now—Arizona, California by way of New Zealand, Seattle, Chicago, Naperville, and Madison. Sadly, our friend Christie from Seattle wasn’t able to make it, but the rest of us were there to help celebrate. And we’re definitely looking forward to a full group reunion at Erin’s wedding in Scottsdale next September!

After a few hours celebrating at Carlyle, my friends and I made our way to Second Cousins, a Rockford bar where we met  up with several high school classmates for an “unofficial” version of our 10-year reunion. We missed the official cocktail hour and dinner, which coincided with Erin’s engagement party. It was great to see so many people from high school that I hadn’t seen in years.  Later that night, Katy’s sister Jen picked us up in the “Vandango” for a late night run to Uncle Nick’s drive-through (where we obnoxiously ordered a van load gyro combo meals).  The next morning we fittingly capped off our short Rockford reunion with a breakfast of Swedish pancakes at Stockholm Inn.

I headed back to Madison later that morning, where I promptly set up and decorated my two foot Christmas tree. Later that night, I headed over to Lauren and Brodie’s house for a backyard bonfire. We spent hours out in their backyard catching up, sipping beer, and warming up over the fire. At that point, I truly realized how thankful I am for everything—my wonderful family, my great friends all over the world, and the life and home I’ve made for myself in Madison. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.

Over the weekend, my brother ran the Rocky Ridge Half-Marathon in San Ramon, California. Not only did he run the race, he won it. The whole darn thing.

How does my brother run so fast? What does his training entail? It’s all about rigor and consistency. Intervals and discipline. It’s all about the beer mile. This, my friends, is Kelly’s training plan in action.

Read more about the origins and rules of the Beer Mile here.

After some short workouts and a late lunch, Jen and I came back to our condos this afternoon for some down time before dinner. After three flights of stairs, we rounded the corner to find a tall, rectangular box sitting outside my family’s condo. I curiously bent down to examine the box and mailing address. In disbelief, I realized it was a flower box, addressed to me. Who could these possibly be from, I asked myself, as I racked my brain in search of potential flower senders. I think you have a boyfriend, Kristin, Jen joked. Nope, definitely not, I insisted, as I continued to stare at the box. Open them!, Jen demanded.

I carefully ripped open the box and found a beautiful arrangement of colorful daisies. Wow. I then found a note with the following message from several of my closest friends from high school:

Krit, we hope you know we are all cheering you on from all parts of the world. We love you, and could not be more proud of you. You are amazing, and our Iron Krit. Love you!

—Soupe, Anne, Snargs, Porps, Beth, and Mimi

What an awesome surprise. You guys are the best! Thank you so much for your love and support. It means so much to me.

Last weekend, my brother Kelly competed in the Bear 100 ultra marathon, from Logan, Utah to Fish Haven, Idaho. The race bills itself as a “Cool, autumn loop through the Pines, Golden Aspens, and Red Maples of the Wasatch/Bear River Range.” The course features 21,986 feet of climbing and maximum elevation of 9,060.

My brother finished 29th overall with a time of 29:01:57. Kelly’s friend and roommate Ben crewed for him throughout the race, and also shot the race footage above. Only my brother can make running 100 miles look so damn easy!

But Kelly said that the race was anything but easy…temperatures ranged from a stifling 85 degrees during the day to below zero at night. Kelly puked, suffered altitude sickness, punctured the water reservoir of his Camelback, lost many toe nails, and developed a number of blisters all over his feet. Accordingly to Kelly, much or the race wasn’t pretty. Still, I’m impressed.

My brother is now considering attempting the Grand Slam of ultra marathon running next year. The Grand Slam award, which was established in 1986, in recognition for those who complete four of the oldest 100 mile trail runs in the US, all in the same year—Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run, the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run, the Leadville Trail 100 Mile Run and the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run.

He’s also trying to convince me to pace him next June during Western States, an ultra marathon from Squaw Valley to Auburn, California. I must say I’m seriously considering the proposition. It would mean so much to me to be able to share that experience with my brother, and to help him get to the finish line. And I might actually be able to keep up with him during his last 20-30 miles. We’ll see…I better get through this next race before making any rash decisions.