White River 50 Race Report

There's a dumb joke I like that goes like this: An old fish swims by two younger fish in the ocean. "Hey boys, how's the water?" says the old fish as he passes by. Once the old fish is gone, the two young fish look at each other, and one says "What the fuck is 'water'?" 

This illustrates my mental state during the running of the White River 50. It's very easy to take one's surroundings and circumstances for granted once they are accepted as 'normal', and we spend most of our lives with part of our 'normal' being physical stasis; prolonged periods of inactivity punctuated with moments of movement towards the next station of rest and inactivity. For this race, I had to reverse this relationship, and make my accepted state of normality one of forward progress and running so that when someone asked me five hours into the race "how's the running?", my reaction would be "what the fuck is 'running'?" Thinking about resting, relaxing, and not-running would just be a discouraging waste. Instead, my focus had to stay solely on moving forward. The passage of time and my progress on the course were irrelevant at any given moment until I finished. The only beneficial thought was to keep moving ahead, regardless of proximity to my final destination.

View from the starting area, looking up at one of the mountains on the course.

The race started at the Buck Creek campground in the middle of Mt. Rainier National Park. When I drove in, I immediately felt a blow to my ego as I had stayed in a hotel the night before, but it looked like I was coming into the Tent City at Woodstock. The 300 other runners milling around didn't necessarily look like superior athletes or born ultra-marathoners. They mostly had the physical dispositions of someone you’d see loping around the park at 7:00 AM on a Saturday – capable and hearty, but not intimidatingly so. More than anything, they just looked poised and ready; which was appropriate because I later found out that about half of the field had run this race before, and thus, were better mentally prepared than I was for what was ahead.

Despite my lack of specific experience, I had studied the course description, and I had trained on similar mountainous terrain. I felt I knew what was ahead. Whats more, the weather was ideal, starting in the high 50s, and climbing up to the high 70s in the afternoon, without a cloud all day.

We began a little after 6:30, and not with a starter’s pistol from an honorary guest or with any kind of fanfare, but instead, with a shout of “GO” from the race director standing at a chalked start line. Fortunately, the field was experienced enough to not let the excitement of the start take over and impact the pace on the beginning 4 mile stretch of flat trails. I won’t go into a detailed section-by-section description of the race here, but will include one below.

Elevation Profile

I started focusing on this race over half a year ago, almost as soon as I had recovered from the Rock & Roll Arizona Marathon. In the frozen depths of the New York winter, I regularly put in 75 mile weeks through the single-digit windchills and blowing snow. In the Spring, I tuned-up my conditioning with a ‘training run’ at the North Face Bear Mountain 50k over a nasty, gnarly mountainous trail that gave me the confidence to build a foundation on. In the summer, I moved to Boulder, CO to expose myself to altitude, mountains, and a more serious caliber of runner. Three seasons of preparation for a single day, and finally, I could do something about it.

That inspired my central mantra for the race. When my mind began to drift away from the task at hand or get intimidated by distance ahead, I told myself “just keep chipping away”. Every day since January, I knew I had 50 miles of racing left before I achieved my goal. Now, with each passing moment I was a little closer to the end – just 49 miles to go, 40, 30, and so on until I could think about it in terms of feet. After spending 7 months with the gauge stuck at 50, it was thrilling to have it finally change. And I thrived on this change.

Corral Pass - Mile 17

I never reached a significant low point, and I credit that entirely to the planning and execution of my nutrition strategy. Starting with the aid station at mile 17, and at everyone thereafter, I tried to choke down about 300 calories, diversified across the glycemic index. This meant watermelon, boiled potato, and Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwiches, plus an electrolyte tablet to ensure I could absorb enough water. I feel this kept my energy levels high and mental state strong. My stomach was what did me in during my last 50 miler, but was a complete non-issue this time.

I also kept from getting too low by telling myself that this would be the last time I’d ever subject myself to this kind of suffering. I had to say to myself that I was done with ultra-marathons after this race, so no matter how unpleasant conditions became, I’d never have to do it again. I've used this trick before in marathons & ultras, and each time I believe it to be true, even though it has never been before.

Sun Top Mountain - Mile 37

[Insert cliche-laden paragraph here about how beautiful the course was - trees, high altitude views, Mt. Rainier, woodland critters, bright happy sunshine, nature, nature, nature, etc....]

I never let myself sit. An inviolable rule I made for myself was no sitting and no stopping; Relentless Forward Progress. Once I exposed my body to rest and relaxation, I’d give it a taste for something that I’d have to continually deny it until the end. Instead, I just eliminated the option of ceasing forward momentum. An extension of this rule was the development in my training and in my strategy of making it an involuntary reaction to run when the terrain was flat or downward sloping, and only slow when the course took me uphill. Again, I kept myself from being lazy when the temptation to slow down would have been counter-productive and unnecessary. If you give a mouse a cookie…

The moment when I really felt that I had ‘won’ the race (morally, not literally) was at the Sun Top Mountain aid station. That marked the end of an 8 mile climb, and the beginning of perhaps the 13 easiest miles of the whole race. From there, I just had a 6 mile downhill run, and 7 miles of shaded, flat trail to traverse. Each step cut down on the gap between me and the fruition of a long-term ambition - 50 miles was becoming more of a reality than an obstacle.

Steps away from the finish

I wish I could say I crossed the finish line (after 10 hours, 23 minutes) with fireworks and fanfare; but instead, it was a few dozen people politely clapping for a stranger and a race volunteer handing me a souvenir water bottle and trucker cap. The gratification upon completion came from the completion of my work and the camaraderie with other finishers as I recovered in the finish area. This is my favorite aspect of the Ultra community and what separates Ultra Runners from every other breed of runner. It didn’t feel like we were competitors at the end of a battle to establish a pecking order (though we were); but rather, the last few left standing after a terrible shared ordeal that few can relate to. Rather than being the castaways voting each other off the island in Survivor, we were the cast of Gilligan’s Island after they got rescued.

To the victor goes these spoils. Not quite a finisher's medal, but I guess I'm supposed to manifest my satisfaction 'within', or whatever.

I ate BBQ with the two people I ran most of the last 6 miles with (see below: Candice and James), met Barefoot Ted of Born to Run fame, and shook hands with Uli Steidl, the winner of this year’s race and former course record holder. I didn’t know any of these people 2 hours before, and I’d probably never see them again, but we all were linked through a common ordeal, and felt a connection as such. It was like the 50 miles we had just run was a really good mutual friend between all of us (or perhaps more appropriately, a common enemy), instantly validating the other as worthy and respectable in each other’s eyes. Not many people know pain, fatigue, and psychological stamina as intimately as someone who had just trained for and run a 50 mile trail race; but the finish line of such an event is the rarer-than-rare occasion when there is a critical mass of these people. I was awash in a sea of my own kind, which made the achievement simultaneously euphoric and pedestrian. I was OK with this.

Finishers Board - making it official.

Cast of Characters

I met a lot of people out on the trail. Some were my companions for hours, some I only spent a few miles with. But their differences highlight the kinds of people who undertake these sorts of challenges.

• Bird Nerd – I remember her most for her proclamation of how excited and relieved she was when the course turned upwards. She thrived on the climbing. I wasn’t sure if I should have been impressed or concerned for her. At one point close to the end of the first ascent, she was running behind me and started talking about the ‘beautiful thrush song’ she was hearing. I had no clue what she meant and thought it was a little early for her to be speaking in tongues, but it turns out a Thrush is a kind of bird, and she is an ornithologist at the National Parks Service. She quipped she was a ‘bird nerd’ as she mentioned this, and the name stuck. We’d leap frog a few times over the next 40 miles, with her finishing just a minute or two after me.
• Blue or The Tough Old Man – Late in the second climb, I heard someone behind me say “I’m too old for this”, and I thought I was witty when I replied “I’m too everything for this.” 5 minutes later I looked behind me, and felt embarrassed when I saw it was the Tough Old Man whom I'd said this to. He first passed me early during the second ascent. I was hiking, and he was running. I estimated he was probably in his late 50s and dressed completely in blue. I lost sight of him after he passed me, but caught and passed him about an hour and a half later as the relentless climbing had taken its toll. We hung together for the next few miles of climbing towards the top of the second ascent, then for the first few miles of the subsequent descent. I got to see him finish about half an hour after me – he looked hurt, but I admired him for struggling through and defying his age.
• Beeper – This guy was fast. He passed me going the other way on the out/back portion of the course between miles 11 and 22. He was probably in about 3^rd place overall, and I just remember him because as he was approaching me (and everyone else going my same direction), he’d yell “BEEP BEEP!”, as we were on narrow switchback trails, and we needed to get out of the way. Strange, but effective.
• Potato Chip Girl – I ran behind her for the second half of the first ascent, and she provided me a great service by being my rabbit and helping me keep the pace up. All I remember was her backpack, and that she carried a bag of potato chips in her left hand the whole time.
• The 100 mile couple – Candice and James. The three of us left the last aid station together, and they kept me honest during the home stretch. They’d get a few dozen yards in front of me, and I’d put my head down and try to catch up. I talked with them a lot more after the finish, and learned James had just run the Hard Rock 100 (which explained his jovial disposition in miles 44 to 50), and Candice was training for her own 100 miler a month away. Before I knew this about them, I made myself look weak when I said I couldn’t imagine ever running anything longer than 50 miles. Candice taught me a lot about perspective and ambition, which I hope to expound upon more in a subsequent post.
• Barefoot Ted – The eccentric figure from the book Born To Run, and he lived up to the reputation. I’d seen him at a few aid stations early on, but didn’t realize who he was. He ran the race wearing compression shorts, some kind of leather backpack/satchel, and sandals. Repeat for emphasis – he ran the race in sandals that he made himself the day before. I talked with him a little afterwards, and he explained that his preparation for this race and the Leadville 100, which he’ll run in 3 weeks, consists of maybe a few 2 or 3 mile runs a week, plus maybe a casual 20 miler, maybe. No more than 25 or 30 miles a week, tops. He called it ‘experimenting’ with his own physiological limits, I called it F’ing amazing.

Barefoot Ted and Me. I look a little too excited to be getting a picture with a sweaty shirtless guy, and I regret that.

Equipment

I really would rather never wash the dust of these guys.

• Saucony Peregrine Trail Shoes – these guys were all-stars. I wore them in the Bear Mountain 50k, all my training trail runs, and this race; all without a problem. They’re light, neutral, have great traction, and drain/dry out within only a few miles after stepping in a creek. The best thing I can say about them is that after the race, everything from my hips down screamed except my feet.
• Nathan Handheld Water Bottle – Have you every carried anything that weighed about a pound and a half for 10 hours? It better be comfortable, and it better be easy to hold. This thing did the trick.
• Zeal Maestro Sunglasses – After 10 hours, the outward-flexing springs on the hinges provided a huge relief – no constant pinching on my skull meant no annoying distraction from the already uncomfortable task of running. Super-light too.
• Zensah Calf Sleeve – I've occasionally worn one of these on my left calf since I had a blood clot in my leg 18 months ago. Usually during a hard workout (either fast or up hills), my left calf muscle will bind up and get extremely tight. I wore this as a preventative measure that worked perfectly. I also like to think it gives me a cool signature look that all the crazy ultra-endurance running kids will emulate someday, kind of like Allen Iverson’s elbow sleeve.

Section by Section Description

Section 1: Start to Camp Sheppard; 3.9 Miles – 37 Minutes

Flat, easy start. I, like everyone else, was just trying to keep it relaxed and easy. The field was pretty dense this early, like a comment I heard some guy behind me say “ Buffalo, as far as the eye can see.”

Section 2: Camp Sheppard to Ranger Creek;  7.8 Miles – 1 Hour, 37 Minutes

The first climb started immediately after this aid station, about 2900’ before the next aid station. It was mostly on runnable single-tracks and switchbacks, but also usually too steep to run. I didn’t want to burn too much energy here, so I kept a mix of running and hiking.

Section 3: Ranger Creek to Corral Pass; 5.2 Miles – 1 Hour, 5 Minutes

400’ more of climbing before the course evened out and ran along a ridgeline with some awesome views. There were some remnant snow drifts for about a mile and a half in this part, which made the footing much less stable. Also, as the elevation got higher, the view of Mt. Rainier got grander as it got taller and taller, peaking over the adjacent mountains. Eventually, it was almost blinding to look at as it was so massive, and so white with the reflection of sun on the snow.

Section 4: Corral Pass to Ranger Creek; 5.2 Miles – 1 Hour, 1 Minute

This backtracked the last stretch, and was much more fun going down than it was going up.

Section 5: Ranger Creek to Buck Creek; 5.1 Miles – 58 Minutes

Shady, very runnable switchbacks, all downhill.  This was fun to do on tired legs.

Section 6: Buck Creek to Fawn Ridge; 4.5 Miles – 1 Hour, 13 Minutes

After the aid station, the trail meandered for about a mile on soft and flat paths before the second ascent began. It may have been the burden of 30 miles already on my legs, but at times the trail seemed like it went straight up the side of the mountain. This was the beginning of what would turn into a long, steady, upward, and sunny march to the summit of Sun Top Mountain.

Section 7: Fawn Ridge to Sun Top; 5.3 Miles – 1 Hour, 28 Minutes

Same as before, but with a lot more unfulfilled hoping that the end was near. My entire mental stability was built upon the objective of getting to the top of this climb, because I knew everything after the Sun Top aid station would be much more runnable.

Section 8: Sun Top to Skookum Flats; 6.4 Miles – 1 Hour, 1 Minute

Almost entirely downhill on a partially shaded forest service road. I felt like I was flying, but in reality, I suppose I only kept up about a 9:00 pace. I had very little contact with other runners on this stretch, I passed one guy, but barely saw anyone else.

Section 9: Skookum Flats to Finish; 6.6 Miles – 1 Hour, 20 Minutes

The home stretch was a shady, winding trail along [what I think was] the White River. Ordinarily this would have been a blast to run, but there were times when I couldn’t muster more than a fast walk.  Eventually, the course popped out onto a road, then went another 0.4 miles into the start/finish village where I finally got to sit down and take a rest.