Monday, July 6, 2009

WS100

It's been a several days now and I've had much time to reflect on my WS100 attempt. I'll tell you up front that I did not finish. I made it 62 miles to the Foresthill A/S before I dropped out of the race. But like much in life, getting there is the story...

I've trained and raced the last 2 years with Western States as my focus. The fires of 2008 forced the cancellation of the race so I had one additional year to prepare. I made it to the starting line in the best shape of my life and was ready to run.


Western States is filled with history and I took it all in. It was the very first 100 mile trail race in the country. This is ground zero -- where it all started. On Friday afternoon before the race, I had to privilege of meeting the very first person to run the race -- Gordy Ainsleigh. He is a legend in the sport and paved the way for the rest of us.

Steve, Gordy, and Me (thanks, Gordy!)

Western States is a first class event (1500 volunteers), over a historic and beautiful course, and is a distinct challenge. I had a terrific friend and pacer lined up - Steve Bernhardt - who flew in from Wisconsin to run the last 40 miles with me. I had my Mother, wife, and best friend Nathan as my Krewe (we spell it differently - family thing). I had an amazing support team and I was primed and ready to run this race. I also had another ultra running buddy in the race -- Matt Crownover. He and I have logged many training miles together and have basically trained together for the last year and a half. It was his first WS100 as well - and I am proud to say he finished and ran a very solid race!


Drew (Matt's pacer and 2006 WS Finisher), Matt, Me, and Steve

The race starts in a very humane way. It sounds kind of crazy, but the first 3.5 miles are straight up the mountain to the top of the Squaw Valley ski resort. It took me roughly 1:10 to get to the top at Emigrant Pass. When I say it's a humane start, it's because if it wasn't uphill everyone would run out insanely fast due to all the pent up excitement and energy from the start. The climb to the top kind of gets you focused on the business at hand, which is to get to Auburn, CA in less than 30 hours.

Krewe Krejci - at the race start (Nathan, Me, V, and Mom)

Race Start -- ready to GO!

After reaching the summit at Emigrant Pass, I looked backwards towards Lake Tahoe for an inspiring view. The next 8 miles or so of the trail was literally amazing. Everywhere I looked was beauty. I tried to take it all in as I ran. It was something special that I won't ever forget. It was high country running and I loved it!

The Krewe - on the road - they drove roughly 250 miles supporting me during this race!

Lots and lots of waiting for the Krewe

Coming in to Robinson Flat - mile 30

The Krewe springs into Action!

I would love to tell you that I thoroughly enjoyed this race. However, by 9am it was getting hot. We were in an exposed area during the mid morning and it was affecting a lot of runners. I saw many folks who were struggling by this point. I was determined that I would not be one of the poeple suffering. I just had to manage the heat of the day and then it would cool off at night. That was my plan anyway.

I started to get leg cramps about 25 miles into the race. I have not had leg cramps in over a year, and they have always been because I wasn't drinking enough or taking enough salt. My weight was still at my starting weight - 160 - but I felt that I must not be getting enough water and salt. So I started to really pound both water and salt trying to stave off the leg cramps. The good news is the leg cramps mostly stopped. The bad news is I was taking in way too much salt and fluid.

The race started to fall apart for me around the canyons. I had been taking 3-4 electrolyte tablets an hour. I also was eating 2 GU Roctanes an hour which contain the equivalent of 3 electrolyte tablets each. So I was probably taking about 8-9 electrolyte tablets each hour. This sounds insane, right? Well, I clearly was not making good decisions by that point. The cramping issues in my legs made me believe I wasn't drinking enough. So I started to pound even more fluid (taking in 5 bottles between each A/S). And when you drink that much water, you have to have more salt - or so I thought. Bottom line, I believe I took in about twice the amount of salt that I needed and my stomach finally said "you've had too much, Mike. I think I'll make the decisions for you for awhile". My weight went up 6 pounds, but I knew I wasn't anywhere near hyponatremic. I'd had too much salt for that to happen.

The puking started in full earnest after the Devil's Thumb A/S (mile 48). I was down in the next canyon and it all started to fall apart for me. The heat was getting to me and my stomach had enough. I was in full throw up mode every 10 to 15 minutes and could not keep anything down. The awful sounds that were coming out of me where echoing off the canyon walls. Other runners patted me on the head or shoulder as they went by - most giving sympathy - others encouragement to get it together.

I finally made it in to Michigan Bluff and picked up my pacer, Steve. The krewe knew I was in very bad shape, but were hopeful that I could get myself back together. At this point, I could not eat or drink anything. Ginger, tums, Rolaids -- nothing was working. Steve did everything that he could to pick up the pieces, but I was just too far gone by then. I distinctly remember sitting on the trail, throwing up between my legs, mosquitos swarming around me, and all I wanted to do was die. It got to the point where walking was almost too much for me -- let alone running.

We finally made it to the Bath Road A/S where my krewe was waiting. They were still full of encouragement and walked with me on the uphill road to Foresthill. I could hear the trail sweep riders on horses about 20 yards behind me. They were incredibly respectful. They'd stop when I'd stop and wait for me to do my business before I could continue on. My crew wanted me to push it to Foresthill and get in under the cutoff. They encouraged me to give it everything I had left and we could then try and get my stomach settled at the aid station. It became you have to run, Mike. You have to run right now. It took all that I had to run at this point, but I started to do it. My Mom was running behind me. I could hear her footsteps and I thought to myself, my mother has not run a step in years. She is doing this for me. I have to keep it up for her. So I continued running into Foresthill and made the cutoff by 15 seconds. I then sat down in a chair and my crew tried desperately to get me back together. But it was too late. By this point, I'd been throwing up every 15 minutes for 5 hours or more. I tried soup --- wretch. I tried more ginger and coke -- wretch. I tried gels -- super wretch. I just wanted to lay on the ground and die. The ground felt like the best place for me.

After 15 minutes of this, I told them I was dropping. I didn't have enough time to make it to the next aid station and I could not stop puking. I had to walk back to the A/S and let them know. It was only about 40 yards, but it felt like miles to me. They cut off my wrist band, and that was it. I walked over to the van and laid down in the road where I continued to puke. They finally got me in the car (more puking) and drove to Auburn to the finish line where there was a medical tent.

I am insanely afraid of needles. It goes back to my childhood. I've always been afraid of shots, but getting an IV or giving blood completely freaks me out. I don't even like someone touching the nook of my arm. It is just this weird hang up that I have. I wish I didn't, but I do. I knew exactly what they were going to do at the medical tent in Auburn - give me an IV. And I wanted none of that.

We pulled up to the stadium and I basically fell out of the car back on to the ground. The ground was my best friend at this point. I emptied my stomach again for probably the 30th time and made my way down to the medical tent. My crew told them what was wrong and they prescribed an IV. I refused of course - "We have a refuser!" - so they gave me some electrolyte drink. Of course, that didn't stay down longer than 10 minutes. After throwing up twice in the tent, they basically told me to either leave or get an IV. I finally relented and took the IV.

The nurses where great and really helped me out. After 5 minutes of getting the fluid into me I started to feel better. The puking stopped, but I was still nauseous. I got a couple of bags in me and finally felt the need to urinate (it had been at least 8 hours since I'd done that). It was 3am, and we decided to head to Reno where we had our hotel rooms. We checked into our hotel rooms around 8am and went to sleep for a few hours.

I woke up to the good news that my buddy Matt had just finished the race. I could not be happier for him -- he trained hard and ran a smart race.

A few days after the race, I woke up in the middle of the night. In my dream, I was climbing Devil's Thumb over and over again -- never making it to the top. I woke up soaked in sweat. It was so bad I considered changing the sheets. But instead, I rolled over to a drier spot and tried to think of sweeter thoughts before falling back to sleep. Western States is going to stay with me for a long time. I'll be back.