madcity girl

I’ve wanted to participate in the Madison Mini-Marathon since it’s inaugural run last August. Unfortunately, I was out of town during last year’s race so I was unable to participate. Afterward, I heard nothing but great things about the race. I definitely wanted in for 2010.

Several aspects of the race were appealing to me—the proximity of the start line to my apartment, the post-race party at the Memorial Union terrace, last year’s fabulous race t-shirts, and the timing of the event (just three weeks out from Ironman Wisconsin). All good reasons to sign up. So I did. And the race took place on Saturday, August 21.

Unfortunately, I had a bit of an injury scare the day before the race. I had raced my last Aquathon on Thursday night (which included a 5k run) and felt some stiffness in my left knee the following morning. By Friday afternoon, my knee was completely locked. I couldn’t straighten it and had trouble simply walking across the office. As you can probably imagine, I was worried sick all day—that I wouldn’t be able to run the mini. And more importantly, that my Ironman Wisconsin dreams would be crushed. But then a miracle happened. As the work day came to an end and I was able to get up from my desk and onto my feet, the pain subsided. By race morning, I was seemingly back to normal. It was time to get my run on.

I’ve come to learn that race morning is infinitely easier when you keep it local. I literally rolled out of bed, got dressed and pinned on my race number, ate a piece of toast with peanut butter, and was on my way. I biked the few blocks to the Memorial Union and joined the masses of runners preparing for the start of the half-marathon. I had a lot of friends who were doing the race and was able to see many of them beforehand.

Although the race began at 7 a.m., it took a few minutes for us to actually start moving. The first mile was all uphill as we climbed Langdon Street (Greek row) toward the state capitol. I wasn’t sprinting, but was running at a good pace and weaving between packs of runners. As we rounded the capitol, we passed by the farmers’ market before heading down State Street. I felt winded from the Langdon hill, and hoped I hadn’t taken it out too hard. My goal was to run the race as hard as possible, while keeping a pace I could feasibly maintain for 13.1 miles. I’ve had first hand experience with taking a half-marathon out too hard and bonking in the middle. All I have to do is call on that horrendous experience to keep my pace in check.

Although still early in the morning, it was already very humid. But luckily, the skies were overcast, so we didn’t have the hot sun to deal with. I took in fluids at every aid station and dumped water on my head repeatedly. Within the first few miles I was soaking wet. After weaving through the Mills neighborhood, we entered the Arboretum and ran on the roads for the next few miles. My legs were tired from training (and racing on Thursday), but overall, I felt strong. I kept telling myself that 13.1 was nothing compared to the 20+ mile training runs I had done the previous two weekends.

Once we emerged from the arboretum, we ran by Camp Randall stadium and then toward the Lakeshore path. My legs and feet felt increasingly heavy (probably partially due to my wet running shoes), but I knew that the finish line was in sight. It was great to run along the lake and take in the beautiful sights of campus and the sailboats gliding across the water in the distance. With one mile to go to the finish line, I locked my jaw and kicked it into high gear. As I rounded the Memorial Union, the big crowds of people cheered me through the elaborate finish line arch. The announcer said my name and commented that my running posture was excellent. Whatever that means. My official time was 1:36:33. Which made for a 7:23 pace and personal record for me at the half-marathon distance. I was the 21st female overall (out of 1,767).

I was happy with my performance, but even more happy to be part of such a great Madison event. I would definitely recommend the Madison Mini-Marathon for anyone looking for a late-summer race (there are both 5k and half-marathon distances offered). The half-marathon course highlights the very best parts of downtown Madison, and everything throughout the weekend was phenomenally well-organized. And you certainly can’t beat post-race beers on the terrace.

This past Saturday, I rode the Dairyland Dare 200k. And unlike last year, I actually finished the ride. All 125.2 miles plus some. I had intended to do the ride alone, but ended up running into a few friends at registration on the morning of the ride. They invited me to ride with them, and I figured I could use the company. Plus, I knew they would push me. The three friends I rode with are all notably faster than I am, so I knew it would be a great challenge to try to stay with them for all 200 kilometers.

The nice thing about the Dairyland Dare is that there is no formal mass start.  The race begins at Harris Park in Dodgeville and riders can begin at any point after 6 a.m. I rolled out of bed at 5 a.m., drove to Dodgeville (a little less than an hour’s drive from Madison), and was riding by 6:30 a.m. It’s kind of fun how the volunteers organize small group starts. Essentially, 4-5 riders line up behind an official start gate, the volunteers ring a cow bell and drop a ribbon, and you’re off.  That way it still feels like an official start, but without the crowds and jostling. It’s really a great way to deal with crowd control out on the course.

The Dairyland Dare is well known for its extreme terrain and killer hills. There are several course distances to choose from - a 50k, 100k, 150k, 200k, 250k, and 300k. I chose the 200k ride because the distance is longer and the terrain more extreme than the Ironman Wisconsin bike course. I wanted something that would test my physical limits and make next month’s Ironman course seem easy in comparison (if that’s even possible). But I do have my limits, and I think anything beyond a 200k would probably push me over the edge.

The 200 kilometer course features 13,547 total feet of elevation gain (yes, Wisconsin has hills—lots of them) and eight stages, with aid stations in between each. The aid stations offered water, HEED, bars, PB&J, fruit, cookies, meat sticks, and other necessities. The course was well-marked and the volunteers were wonderful. The roads were also great—smooth with very little traffic. Definitely a great day weather-wise and a really well-organized event.

As I predicted, my friends Tom, Mark, and Jackie pushed me hard throughout the day. According to Tom, we maintained an 18mph pace for the first 100 miles. Which is just amazing to me considering how much of that time we spent climbing. I’m sure it helped that I was oftentimes in the back of the pack drafting off the others. But it was anything but easy. In fact, I was working so hard I could barely keep up a conversation. Just like any endurance event, I had highs and lows—at some points I felt great, others I felt completely out of it. Tom informed me that the gearing of my bike (an 11-23 cassette) was in no way ideal for the course, or for Ironman Wisconsin for that matter. Apparently, I had less gears to work with, which made it more difficult for me to climb. So I’ll definitely be looking at swapping out my cassette for Ironman Wisconsin.

One thing that really helped me get through the day was the silliness of Tom and Mark. They added a lot of comic relief to the day, engaging with other riders, riding “no handed” for the photographers, and high-fiving every volunteer in sight. Although I was struggling and in pain, they kept me laughing. My favorite memory is when they saw another rider sporting a yellow US Postal Service jersey and started yelling at him in French accents and racing after him like he was Lance Armstrong at the Tour de France. It was classic.

We were all very tired during the last 20 miles of the race. The ride seemed like it was never going to end. I was sweaty, smelly, tired, hungry, and my legs were cashed. But I was excited when we hit the final aid station and were told we only had 8 miles to go. As we approached the finish, we saw a photographer crouched down behind a big red arch at the finish line. We decided to all ride through the arch together and raise our right arms. But as we squeezed through the arch, Mark’s bike tapped mine, and then I hit Tom’s. Luckily, we were able to recover without taking out the photographer! We finished the ride in 8 hours and 8 minutes. Afterward, we enjoyed post-race festivities in the Harris Park shelter—a burrito bar from Bluephies, homemade smoothies, and ice-cold soda. It was a great day and an epic ride.

FYI - the great pictures above are from Brad Guck. He totally captured the great scenery and essence of the Dairyland Dare.

Earlier this month, I competed in the Ripon Medical Center Triathlon. It was my second triathlon and first Olympic-distance race of the season. I’ve done the RMC triathlon six years in a row. It’s one of my all-time favorites. Best of all is that the race takes place on beautiful Green Lake, which I’ve grown to love through countless weekends spent at my best friend’s family’s lake house there.

It’s become an annual race day tradition to drive to the start of the race at the Green Lake Conference Center by way of pontoon boat. As always, it was a beautiful morning, with the sun rising over the peaceful waters. It was Karen, Kate, Brian, and me in the boat, along with all of our bikes piled in the middle. We whizzed across the lake to pick up Karen’s friend, Julie, before heading to the GLCC beach. There, we nuzzled up to a pier and tied up the boat before unloading our bikes and gear. Talk about rock star parking.

We had arrived plenty early to set up our transition areas, use the restroom, and do a quick warm-up jog. Although I was tired from the week’s high training volume (I was already up to 207 miles for the week), I was ready and excited to race. It’s the only race that I’ve ever been able to come into as the reigning champion. I’d been the female long-course champion in 2006, 2008, and 2009 (the race changed locations in 2007 and there was only a sprint distance that year). Even though it’s a very small race, I was proud of my record and hoping I could live up to it in 2010.

All was going well until just a few minutes before the race, at which point I realized I had forgotten the bag with my wetsuit, cap, and goggles. The bag was still back at the house—and it was too late to do anything about that. Luckily, I was able to borrow a cap and goggles from friends. As for the wetsuit, I was going to have to go without. I was disappointed with myself for having made such a careless mistake, but at least I could still swim without a wetsuit. If I had forgotten my bike, it would have been a different story entirely.

After a few quick race announcements and the start of the men’s long course wave, I lined up along the water’s edge for the women’s start. As soon as I heard the start horn, I ran into the water and dove in. The water was both warm and calm. I knew I would have to swim extra hard to make up for not having a wetsuit. Along with another swimmer, I pulled away from the group pretty quickly. We caught up to the men’s wave within the first few minutes. At that point, I had to focus on dodging and swimming around people. After rounding the big orange turn-around buoy, we headed back to shore. I finished the swim in 21:39, which was interestingly faster than my time in 2009, when I swam in a wetsuit. Go figure.

My transition from the swim to the bike was very poky. I spent too much time fumbling around with my timing chip, which seemed to have loosened its grip on my ankle during the swim. After throwing on my bike shoes, helmet, and sunglasses, I ran with my bike through transition and hopped on once I hit the pavement. We climbed a giant hill leading out of the conference center grounds. I was passing many riders and a few men sped by me. It was an interesting mix of serious and recreational athletes from both the short and long course races. Outside of the conference center, we hit the rolling farm lands. I had forgotten just how hilly the course was. I felt like I was out of my saddle climbing constantly.

Eventually, the short and long courses split from each other, and the long course ventured further into the countryside. Suddenly, I was alone and couldn’t see any other riders around me. At that point, my legs began to shut down. They seemed to have no more power or strength left to give me. A few riders suddenly flew past, including another woman. I had seen her in transition that morning and thought to myself, I bet she’s really fast. I tried to hang with them, but quickly realized I was unable to keep the pace. I got a little down as I contemplated how tired I was from training, how stupid I was for forgetting my wetsuit, and that I would unlikely be unable to regain the lead. I was still riding strong, but my head wasn’t in it. I finished the bike in 1:12:45.

I got through transition the second time much quicker. I racked my bike, pulled on my running shoes and visor, and took off. I felt great. Unlike on the bike, my legs didn’t feel as tired while I was running. Mentally, I was able to get back in the game. The first part of the run course was relatively hilly. After the first mile, we cut over to the lake and ran along a flat road. We also did a little bit of off-roading in a construction zone. I tried to focus on passing each runner ahead of me.

At mile two, I could see the first woman ahead of me in the distance. I realized then that I might be able to catch her. I picked up the pace and slowly inched nearer. At the run turnaround, I finally passed her. She was super friendly and we both said great job and good luck to each other. She told me after the race that as soon as I passed her, she knew I was gone. After I had gotten far enough ahead of her, I eased my pace a little. I finished the run in 46:45, for a total time of 2:23:04. I think it was a personal best for me at the Olympic-distance, and definitely my fastest time at the RMC Triathlon. The race was a whole lot closer this year, but in the end, I was able to hold onto the win for another year. I still don’t know how I pulled it off. When I was announced as the female long-course champion, the race director said, congratulations…again. With that, we rode back on the pontoon boat. And then I went water skiing.

I jumped out of bed on race morning and set to work changing into my Orange Shoe tri uniform and preparing my ritual pre-race breakfast—French press coffee, a bagel with peanut butter, and a banana. I could hear light rain falling outside, but remained optimistic that the skies would clear in time for the race start…and if not, I figured at least I had raced in the rain before. As soon as we were ready, Brodie, Lauren, and I loaded the car with our bikes and headed to the race site, which was conveniently located only a few minutes from our condo in Egg Harbor.

Once we arrived to the transition area, I racked my bike and set out my transition items on a small towel. After picking up my timing chip and getting body marked, Lauren and I headed on a short jog to warm up our legs. Halfway through, we heard an announcement that the race was going to be delayed by 30 minutes due to possible thunderstorms moving in across the lake. Lauren and I promptly ended our “warm-up” and headed back to the transition area to catch up with friends.

Luckily, the weather cleared up and there were no further race delays. I joined a group of women who were staging themselves on the beach for the second wave. Once the first was off, we waded into the water and lined ourselves behind the start banner. As soon as I heard the start horn, I dove into the water and began swimming furiously. The first few minutes were extremely chaotic with everyone in such close quarters fighting to get ahead. As we rounded the first buoy, the herd began to thin and we also started reeling in stragglers from the first wave. The rectangular course was dotted with continual buoys, which made it very easy to sight and stay on course. Eventually, I turned the final corner and swam toward shore. The water became very shallow as we neared the beach, but I swam as long as I could before standing and running out of the water. I swam the course in 29:33.

After volunteers helped me strip out of my wetsuit, I ran to the transition area. There, I threw down my wetsuit and fumbled to put on my helmet and bike shoes. I was out of transition in just over a minute. I felt tired and stiff for the first few minutes, but was able to tuck into aero position and gradually find a rhythm. The first 15 miles were extremely flat and fast as we headed along Lake Michigan on our way to Sturgeon Bay. Although I didn’t have a bike computer to gage my speed, I felt strong.

I caught two women within the first few miles, and we played leap frog for several miles. At one point, another female sped by all us like we were standing still. I didn’t like all of the back-and-forth. I was irritated by one man in particular who immediately passed me back each time I passed him (USAT rules require that you drop back out of the draft zone as soon as you are “overtaken” by another cyclist). As we rode through downtown Sturgeon Bay, I was able to break away from the other riders around me. At that point, the course became more difficult—rolling hills, a strong head wind, and poor road surfaces. I put my head down and gutted it out. I also continued monitoring my nutrition, which consisted of Power Bar gels, Gatorade, and electrolyte pills.

During those last several miles on the bike, it occurred to me, that for the first time ever, I was not being passed left and right by other cyclists. I was holding my own. I told myself that no matter what else happened during the race, I was so proud of the progress I had made on the bike this season. I had always felt like I had the potential to be a good cyclist, but had never been able to put it all together. It was clear that my new bike and race wheels (not to mention countless training hours in the saddle) were giving me the confidence I needed to break out from my “weakest link.”

As I neared the transition area, I carefully slipped my feet out of my bike shoes. At the dismout line, I jumped off my bike and ran through transition. I had biked the course in 2:37:30 (21.4 mph). I re-racked my bike and helmet, then quickly pulled on my socks, running shoes, race bib, and a visor. Again, I was out of transition in just over a minute. I grabbed cups of Gatorade and water on my way out. I was able to find my running legs relatively quickly and tried to maintain a pace I could hold for a half-marathon. I had hydrated quite a bit during the bike and felt like I needed to use the bathroom early on. But when I got to the first aid station, the Porta Potty was occupied. I decided to hold off. And as I suspected, eventually I didn’t have to go anymore.

It was fun to run through Egg Harbor because there were crowds of spectators at and around Shipwrecked Brewery. Over the course of the run, about ten people (both racers and spectators) yelled to me, “Go, Lauren!” Lauren is one of my closest friends, and although we were wearing the same orange uniform during the race, we don’t look all that much a like (she’s like two feet taller than me.) It was kind of funny—even our good friend Julie mistook me for Lauren. But Lauren is really fast, so I took it as a big compliment.

The run course was relatively flat, but we hit very steep hills at miles five and nine. I was able to run up the first hill, but was reduced to a walk for the second (I guess that’s why the race’s tag line is “Can’t bluff the bluff”). Just before the second hill, another racer (an acquaintance from Madison) yelled to me, “Go, Kristin! The second place female is about two minutes ahead of you.” As I walked the hill at mile nine, I could see the 2nd place female just ahead of me. I wasn’t sure if I could catch her, but figured I would give it a shot. I ended up catching her at mile 11. As soon as I passed her, though, I could feel my legs begin to cramp and tighten. Just my luck I’d blow up right before the finish line. I quickly popped two electrolyte pills and eased into a more conservative pace. Please let me finish, I pleaded.

Luckily, I was able to keep the cramps in check. I began to get excited during the last two miles as I realized I might finish well and set a personal record. I ran the last two miles with a very nice guy from Appleton, who encouraged me to push through my fatigue and finish strong. As we ran through the final aid station, I downed a cup of Gatorade as a final precaution against cramping. Finally, we descended a long hill into the finish line. I ran the course in 1:38:58 (7:33/mile), with an overall time of 4:48:25, a personal record by more than 26 minutes. I was ecstatic.

I found my friend Brodie across the finish line in the midst of an ice bath. He, too, had raced strong and finished with a big PR. I was super proud of him. We cheered for several of our friends as they crossed the finish line. Then I waited for a turn to hop in the bucket of ice water. I was intrigued since I’d never taken an ice bath before. It was awesome—my legs felt numb and wonderful. I could have stayed in there all day.

After our ice baths, we made our way through the post-race buffett and filled up on BBQ sandwiches and roasted corn. We sat and enjoyed a decent cover band while catching up with friends and waiting for the awards ceremony to begin. At the awards ceremony, I was called up for 2nd place in my age group and the 2nd overall female, for which I was given a crystal lighthouse trophy. I have no idea what I’ll do with the thing (likely stuff it under my bed), but it sure makes me proud.

I headed to Door County this past weekend to compete in my first triathlon of the season—the Door County Half-Ironman. It’s one of my favorite races, primarily because of its great location along Lake Michigan (there’s few places in the world I’d rather spend a summer weekend), but also because it’s an extremely well-run race. And luckily, I was able to share the weekend with two of my closest friends, Lauren and Brodie.

Since we arrived to Door County early on Friday, we had plenty of time to take in the sights before our big race on Sunday. On Friday, we enjoyed a Viking Inn fish boil, ice cream at Wilsons, and a leisurely drive along the penninsula. On Saturday morning, we woke up early and cheered for friends who were competing in the sprint triathlon. Later in the day, we picked up our race packets and enjoyed a pool-side potluck dinner with Brodie’s team, Madison Multisport. I’ll share a full race report in my next post—but for now, here are a few of my favorite pictures from the weekend.

Lots of bikes piled into our condo!

Enjoying ice cream from Wilson's after a fish boil at Viking Inn.

Lauren and Kristin serving as Dailymile spokesmodels during Saturday's sprint triathlon.

Attacking Brodie with the sharp point of my aero helmet.

UW tri team alums make a strong showing at Sunday's half-ironman.

Lauren and Kristin enjoying post-race festivities on Sunday afternoon.

I apologize to those of you who are most interested in reading the next installment of my adventures from WS 100…but I need a break. And I also need a chance to catch up on a few other posts before they become completely irrelevant. So I promise to resume coverage and finally wrap up the WS 100 posts early next week.

For the last several summers, I’ve participated in the Aquathon Series, a monthly local race series that consists of a 1,000 meter swim followed by a 5,o00 meter run. The events are low-key and fun, extremely well-organized, and provide the perfect opportunity to catch up with other local athletes while getting in a nice mid-week race effort.

Last year my friend Beth, who I’ve known since I was 8 years old (we were on the same swim team growing up), came to Madison from Naperville to try one of the Aquathon events. Despite a sprained ankle which prevented her from participating in the run portion, she loved the event and was instantly hooked. This year, she registered for the entire five-event series (I think she may win the award for longest commute to the race). But as a teacher with summers off, Beth’s schedule allows her much greater flexibility to make the trip. Which is awesome—I get frequent visits from Beth and we get to race together all summer long!

Beth and I actually skipped the first event of the year, which was scheduled for May 20th. The lake water was pretty much still freezing at that point. And even I have my limits. So instead, we began our series run with the second race on June 17. Beth drove up that afternoon and we completely lucked out with beautiful weather and super pleasant lake temperatures. We arrived at Warner Park beach plenty early to check in, get body marked, warm up, and set up our transition areas.

The race went really well—I felt great in the water and relatively strong during the run, too. Usually the fast girls are able to reel me in during the run, but this time I was finally able to hold them off! I finished as the first female in 35:05 (swim 12:24, transition 0:32, run 22:10). It was my fastest Aquathon ever, and maybe my first win, too! Beth did awesome, too—she looked really strong and had a great smile on her face the entire time. Afterward, I ate a lot of the post-race pretzels and animal crackers, and took pictures with Beth, Brodie, and my great co-workers from Endurance House. Then Beth and I caught up over burgers at the Weary Traveler. It was a perfect night.

Tomorrow (Thursday, 7/15) is the next aquathon. Interestingly, it will feature the “Quaker Steak and Lube Wing Eating Bonus.” Which means that for every wing you eat, you earn a 30 second deduction from your finish time (up to five wings may be eaten). Many of you know I am just as competitive about eating as I am about triathlons…so you know I’m going to stuffing as many wings down my throat as possible. Should be interesting…

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.

And then we were off. I started somewhere in the middle of the pack. My goal was to conservatively ease into the pace. The first ten miles were a loop of the Nordic Trail—a wide, grassy trail with rolling hills. I was surprised how quickly the group dispersed. I fell into a pack of mostly middle-aged men, who reminisced about previous ultras and peppered me with questions about my training. I was clearly one of the youngest runners out there. Everyone else seemed experienced and confident. I felt like a wannabe ultrarunner. My pink compression socks also made me feel silly…but they kept my legs warm in the cool temperatures.

By the end of the first loop, I felt tired. My stomach was unsettled. Which was all very disconcerting, considering I still had 40 miles to go. Luckily, at that point we emerged from the forest and I was able to see my parents and Karen. I can only imagine what my crew was thinking as they read my facial expressions at various points during the race. After a few quick words, I made a beeline to the Porta Potty. Slightly re-energized, I hopped back on the trail and took off running alone. As I glimpsed at my watch, I realized I would be running for many, many more hours.

The next few miles were flat and fast, winding through a beautiful pine forest that led to the start of the Ice Age Trail. That’s when the degree of difficulty increased substantially as the trail became single track, with large rocks and roots contending every footfall. From then on, the hills were brutal and incessant. Thankfully, I had run part of the Ice Age Trail with friends just a few weeks beforehand and had some idea of what to expect. And thankfully those same friends had instructed me to conserve energy and walk the hills. I knew that approach would pay off in the long run.

Honestly, the hills were difficult to even walk up. Especially with the muddy trail conditions—which a friend likened to “congealed peanut butter.” I made much slower progress on the hills than others, which I like to blame on my unusually short legs. I’d be leading a small pack of runners, only to come to a hill and watch them all walk by me like I was standing still. This is what happened as we climbed a hill leading to the aid station at mile 17. I was relieved to see my crew members again as we emerged from the woods. That’s also when I ran into Paul, a friend from Dailymile who greeted me with a big hug. I made another beeline for the Porta Potty, after which I grabbed two PowerGels from my parents and also refilled my hand-held water bottle with Gatorade. My parents said I looked much stronger than the last time they’d seen me. I definitely felt stronger. And most importantly, from that point on, my stomach issues were no more.

The worst part of the course began at around mile 25. I think my friend Paul said it best: this is when nature opened up a can of whoop ass. The trail featured twisting and turning single track and 30+ degree hills populated with railroad ties, which kept you on your toes continuously like an Irish dancer. It was difficult to even take a drink of water from your bottle since your eyes had to be on the trail at all times. As soon as I gathered any kind of momentum or rhythm, I was instantly halted and forced to walk up a rock-studded hill. At that point, the race leaders also began to loop back on the trail, which meant yielding the single track to the faster runners. Some of the leaders were very friendly and encouraging, others were completely focused on the trail. Overall, the field was very supportive.  I made a point to cheer on every runner I passed along the way and to enjoy the camaraderie.

Although the hills were killer, I started feeling really strong around mile 30. My pace was very consistent. That’s also when I noticed I was beginning to slowly reel in other runners, which definitely bolstered my confidence.  I was thankful for all of the Ironman races and long training runs I had under my belt, which had all taught me how to run on very tired legs. At that point, I had a revelation—not only am I going to finish this race, I think I might be able to finish well. As a result, my focus shifted a bit—from just finishing, to seeing what I was really capable of.

What stands out most to me from the later parts of the race were the drastic variations in weather patterns. For about an hour, it was literally hailing one moment, and then sunny the next. Luckily, the hail was small and painless, and the canopy of trees above helped to lessen the blows. The rain also felt cool and refreshing in between spurts of hot sun. But it was all so strange, I just had to laugh at the entire situation. This is crazy, I am running 50 miles with all of these other yahoos, and we’re being attacked by hail. Oh, but there’s the sun again. Oww…spoke too soon,  more hail.

I was able to see my parents and Karen again at miles 37 and 44, at the Horse Camp aid station. The first time through, I hit the Porta Potty for what felt like the 10th time that day. Although I very much wanted to dive into the M&M’s and potato chips prominently displayed at the aid station, I thought better of it and instead grabbed a couple PB&J triangles from the table and refilled my water bottle with Gatorade. That, along with electrolyte tablets and Powergels, made up my race fuel. Realizing I only had 15 miles to go emboldened my pace. Throughout the race, I had mentally broken up the mileage into manageable segments. Compared to 50, 15 seemed like nothing.

Once again on an out-and-back trail, I passed by the entire field of runners on the way to and from the aid station at mile 40. The leader positions had changed a bit since our last loop, and those towards the back of the race seemed to be struggling a little more. As I neared the 40 mile mark, I realized I was maybe 7th among the females, and thought I could perhaps catch one or two more in the last ten miles. At that point, I experienced the only unpleasant interaction I had all day. Just as I was about to pass by another female who looked a few years younger than I, she yelled to me, which age group are you? I was too tired to even process, so I merely replied, I’m 28. She sped off and replied, Oh, you look younger than you actually are. Her actions seemed so out of place and unnecessary. Maybe she thought I was going to catch her, but she was at least a mile ahead of me—so unfortunately, that didn’t seem likely.

It was very exciting to get closer and closer to the finish line. Climbing the hills became easier as I realized they would be among my last. Only a few miles separated me from the coveted finisher’s belt buckle and the food and beer tent. The most exciting part of my race was about a mile from the finish line, when I saw another female just ahead of me on the trail (not the same person I mentioned previously). She had been significantly ahead of me the entire race, so it was exhilarating to know I was so close to catching her. I strategized for a moment, and decided I would speed up to pass her and then try to hold the pace into the finish line. But at that point, she started walking, so I easily ran by and offered her words of encouragement. Still wanting to finish strong, I ran as hard as I could up the last two hills and to the finish line.

Crossing the finish line felt amazing. I ended up finishing 34th overall and the 6th female with a time of 8:53:51. It was more than I could have ever hoped for my first ultramarathon. I was so proud. After changing into some warmer clothes, I hit the post-finish buffet and celebrated with my parents over a plate of BBQ and a beer.

Without a doubt, I loved my first ultramarathon experience—the atmosphere, the competitors, the course, and just being outside in the middle of nature among the elements. I was lucky to have an amazing crew—my parents and Karen, who followed  and cheered for me for almost 9 hours. Without their help and support, I wouldn’t have been able to feel and finish so strong. So what’s next? Although my focus will shift toward triathlon training for the next few months, I’ve already begun contemplating my next ultramarathon. And I’ve had a change in heart—I’m no longer ruling out a 100 mile race from the realm of possibilities. I realized I can run a lot further and stronger than I ever thought possible.

For another take on the race, check out the article written by Tom Held of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.