Western States 100 Race Report
“In the time I ran this race with Tim [Twietmeyer], he said there (as he pointed southwest). There is the journey. There is the destination. Auburn.” Race director, Craig Thornley announced in front of a crowd of 369 runners. “Many of you have dreamed of this moment for weeks, if not months or years,” he said. “And now. Now is the moment you will find out if you have it within you to complete this journey. May you remember to run with love in your heart and companionship for the people around you. Good luck. We will see you in Auburn.”
The crowd of hopeful runners began counting down in unison, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one,” and BANG went a shotgun to signal the start of the 2025 Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run. The moment I had waited 16 years so dearly for, was now here. Now, is the moment I would find out.
The race began with a steep climb up Emigrant Pass. 4.5 miles with 2550 feet of vertical gain. It was not the hardest start to a 100 mile race I have ever completed, but it was a humbling one. It was the start I needed, to calm my nerves and withhold my adrenaline from starting out too fast.
The initial climb took place on a mix of dirt and asphalt road that began climbing uphill immediately. The grade was mostly runnable with a few steeper sections that required hiking. Not that the leaders would hike any of this. Standing two short steps in front of me at the starting line were elite athletes I look up to like Kilian Jornet, David Roche, Adam Peterman, Rod Farvard, Marianne Hogan and Hans Troyer. It was a very cool feeling to be lined up so close to ultrarunning royalty. When the gun went off, they all shot into the distance. Even still, I ran the first mile of the race within twenty yards of Jeff Browning and Jamil Coury.
The first miles of the race were run at a 12-16 minute pace, with some hiking dispersed between what was mostly a slow run up a 500-700 foot per mile grade. It was good to be forced to hike so early on, to help the energy conservation process. Hiking at a slower pace also made it easier to take in the beautiful views of the sun slowly rising over Lake Tahoe. As we runners continued to ascend from the Olympic Valley ski resort, huge panoramas unfolded in front of us. In our direct field of vision was the steep trail, full of pine trees, dirt trails and wildflowers. Behind us was a red and orange sunset over Lake Tahoe. To our left stood the Escarpment, which runs over the top of Emigrant Pass along with snow covering the nearby peaks, which made for a colorful contrast.
As the first climb winded its way uphill, the climb began leveling out to a runnable grade. The trail turned to singletrack trail and winded through a field of wildflowers with spectators lining the side of the trail cheering us on. The trail then turned to dirt road again before passing multiple chairlifts and eventually turning back to a very steep singletrack trail that would take us to the part of the climb, formally known as “The Escarpment.” The Escarpment is one of the more well known parts of a course in US ultrarunning. Many famous photos have been taken here of Western States champions, as they crest Emigrant Pass with the sunrise over Lake Tahoe behind them. It is this part of the first climb, where most spectators line the trail like it’s the Tour de France and yell and scream and encourage participants for a job well done on the first climb. When I got to this point, I tried my best to be present and take it all in. It was really cool that so many ultrarunning fans were so dedicated to wake up at 3am and climb this mountain to cheer us on before the race even began. People yelled and screamed all around me. Some people wore onesies; another offered a box of donuts to runners going by. On top of the Escarpment, I saw my friend, crew and pacer Joel Gartenberg, who dapped me up with a great high five and loud cheers. I clocked 53 minutes on the dot and was in 69th place through the first climb. Joel was excited to tell me I was in 69th on top of the Escarpment when he would later pace me.
After running over the Escarpment, the trail began descending into the Granite Chief Wilderness, where it was much quieter than the first few miles of the race. Outside of overhearing a few small conversations, there seemed to be less talking among participants than usual. I think people were feeling the pressure of making the most of their Western States opportunity. Most people only get one shot every 5 – 10 years, and a lot can happen in that timeframe. What if this is your best training block and you are in your prime (like myself at 30 years old)? I don’t think running Western States is a “once in a lifetime opportunity” for most people; if you continuously qualify, you will continue getting in. But, it is once in a lifetime in the sense that you only get one opportunity to take advantage of that great training cycle (if you had it), or running WSER now before you have kids, or running it at 50 instead of 60. These are big differences. I think the quietness of my time on the trail (compared to other ultras I have run) reflected that everyone was deep within themselves and focused on their goals instead of making friends.
As the trail started winding through Granite Chief Wilderness, it became increasingly wild. It was technical in that the trail was rocky, loose, full of tree roots and wet in many spots. So wet, that small parts of the trail were equivalent to running through miniature streams. There was no way to navigate parts of the trail without getting your feet wet. I tried my best to step on rocks and roots to avoid the water, but it was to no avail. This early in the race, I was inside a conga line of runners who were all focused on their pace. There was no time to slow down to make sure a foot didn’t slide into puddles or streams of water every here and there. Maintaining an adequate 24-hour pace on this technical terrain was difficult enough. This went on for the majority of miles 4.5 – 8.5, before the trail began to smooth on out.
With this said, the Granite Chief Wilderness was very pretty. There were lush green trees, tall grass and wildflowers everywhere. The dirt was moist and healthy. The trees were tall and covered in neon green moss. Those familiar with Lake Tahoe know this moss very well. I thought the beginning miles of the race (until Duncan Canyon) were the prettiest of the course.
After mile 8.5, the trail began to smooth out. It was still singletrack but not as loose or wet as the previous miles had been. There was also more space to pass other runners (or be passed), so the game of leap frog with the surrounding runners, that ultrarunners know so well, began here.
I rolled into the first aid station, Lyon Ridge at mile 10.3 in 2:12. This was about 12 minutes off my projected time but only 2 minutes behind the Western States website’s recommended 24-hour pace. I figured this was time I could make up later in the race and that starting conservatively was better than not. When I arrived at Lyon Ridge, a volunteer hastily helped me fill my bottle with water and another the packet of Tailwind I had brought. It was obvious these volunteers understood the pressure of the moment: being at Western States, because even at that first aid station, it was evident that volunteers were there to get us in and out of the aid stations as quickly as possible. This was not like other ultras. For example, at the San Diego 100, the first aid station at mile 10 consisted of a Tiki Bar that served margheritas and fireball. There, smiling volunteers were eager to chat. At Western States, the volunteers were eager to keep you moving. After filling bottles, and grabbing a few chips at the aid station table, I was off.
The trek to Red Star Ridge at mile 15.8 was fun and very reminiscent of my time on the Pacific Crest Trail while running Cascade Crest. The trail consisted of smooth singletrack and followed Red Star Ridge the entirety of the section. Panoramic views of mountains in the distance covered in pine trees are what reminded me of Cascade Crest; the views were cool but not like Colorado with huge 14,000 foot peaks in the distance. I also continued to enjoy seeing the many tall pine trees that are common in Tahoe (with the neon green moss of course). The section brought back memories of my time hiking on the Tahoe Rim Trail a few years back. Along with the large pine trees, there were enormous pine cones scattered along the trail too. They were football-sized, but I guess that’s what it takes to produce such a tall tree.
When I got to Red Star Ridge, I did my best to make the aid station transition quick. I did a mostly good job, except for fumbling with the sunscreen spray, which would not open. It was kind of funny when the volunteer, who was trying to get me in and out of the aid station as possible, couldn’t understand why I couldn’t open a bottle of sunscreen. But then, I gave it to her and she couldn’t either. I found it comical and filled my arm sleeves, buff and hat with ice while she figured it out. The temperature for the day was beginning to rise and although it wasn’t bad yet, I wanted to get ahead of the heat and make sure I stayed cool. After filling everything with ice, I walked back over to the volunteer to get sprayed and left with a few chips in my mouth. Onwards to Duncan Canyon!
The run to Duncan Canyon was a lot of fun and very pleasant. The trail stayed mostly on a ridge and the trail continued look very similar to itself for most of the miles to the Duncan Canyon aid station. When I left the Red Star Ridge aid station, which was in a heavily shaded section of forest, the trail began to climb up through spectacular pine trees covered in green moss. I loved it. But the course was proving to be harder than I had expected. Most of the section to Red Star Ridge was rolling singletrack and some of the short climbs did need to be hiked. This trend continued all the way to the Duncan Canyon aid station. At times, we would run through forest and at other times we would run along exposed ridge lines. Most of the time, the trail was smooth, dusty singletrack, but at others, it was rocky and loose. I thought the beginning of my Western States journey was fun and also surprising. I had never seen these views in running documentaries before, so the terrain was new to me. It was also harder than I expected, even though I was running well and feeling good. The only thing that seemed to be bothering me was some chafing in the nether regions. The ice all over my body began to melt and gravity inevitably pulled it towards my crotch. I could feel the undercarriage uncomfortably scraping the top of my tights. Tights I had worn at Quad Rock without issue, but were still relatively new to me. It was because of those Janji tights though, that I would be able to run through the canyons section without a running vest. The pockets on the sides provided ample space for me to store my phone, extra contacts (which I never run without during a race), and even some food.
Somewhere along the section to the Duncan Canyon aid station, I met a guy named Sam. He was the only other runner I had a real conversation with the entire race. He was a school principal from Michigan and was running his second Western States. He asked me my story and goals for the race, and I told him about my journey of quitting my job in corporate America to pursue grad school and my career as a Dietitian. I mentioned how difficult my internship was and how afterwards, when I got into Western States and Leadville this year, I decided to focus on accomplishing my dreams of running sub-24 at both events and put work priorities to the side for the time being. Sam told me I was on track to do it. I appreciated the validation but didn’t need it. While telling him my story, even I took a lot of inspiration from my own life. For a moment, it felt like achieving my dreams and running sub-24 were my inevitable destination in life. It was a cool moment.
One the short descent to Duncan Canyon, Sam and I naturally shifted apart. When I arrived at the aid station, a volunteer happily greeted me and said he recognized me from Bighorn a few years prior. I was impressed he remembered my face, considering how bad my memory is with names and faces. At Duncan Canyon, I performed my usual aid station duties for the race by refilling one bottle with water, another with Tailwind and water, and throwing ice into my arm sleeves, buff and hat. Before leaving, I grabbed a few chips from the aid station and took in views of the crowd before taking off. Leaving Duncan Canyon was about as technical; rocky and dusty downhill that I had seen on YouTube.
Duncan was a cool little aid station. If I am being honest, I expected it to be busier though. Online, you see videos of famous aid stations like Duncan Canyon, Robinson Flat, Michigan Bluff, Foresthill, and so on... with Duncan Canyon being the first of those more well known aid stations on the course, I kind of expected it to be louder than it was. In retrospect, I think a large portion of the crowd must be there solely for the frontrunner’s race, so they likely move onto the next aid station of the race long before I get there. Still, Duncan was a cool aid station. It will always be quitter than its counterparts: Robinson Flat and Michigan Bluff because of where it is located on the course. For those unfamiliar, the Western States course essentially starts by running along a ridgeline. Two aid stations (Robinson Flat and Michigan Bluff) are accessible from a highway north of the course and two aid stations (Duncan Canyon and Dusty Corners) are accessible from the south. Because of this, crews must either make a choice or split into two groups to support their runner at a total of four aid stations. The course (and highways to the north and south of the ridgeline the course follows) converge at mile 62, Foresthill.
I rolled out of the Duncan Canyon aid station making good time. Duncan was mile 24.4 and I got there in 4:51. A few flowy miles down the trail, I would complete my first marathon of the race in about 5:10. Considering the first 4 miles of the course were all uphill, I thought I was making good time for a sub-24 hour finish. More important than my time though was how I felt. Before Western States, I had started many 100 milers at or faster than this pace for the first marathon. Notably, I started the Zion 100 in 4:30 and proceeded to finish in 28 hours. I also started the San Diego 100 at about the same marathon time and finished in 26 hours. I started Silverheels in about that time and finished in 25 hours... The point is, just because you’re on pace doesn’t mean you’re in the right position to go sub-24. At Western States, I was much more fit due to my training regimen, and shortly after the Duncan Canyon aid station, I could tell that fitness was paying off because it was the freshest, I had ever felt at the marathon marker during a 100 mile race. This was a good and important confidence boost.
The descent into Duncan Canyon (the actual canyon as opposed to the aid station) was very smooth and I really enjoyed running through a lush forest for a few miles towards the creek. It was within these few miles towards Duncan Creek though, that the scenery on trail began to change from lush forest to dry and hot desert. This was not surprising, because I had done my homework listening to Jason Koop and AJW discuss the Western States course on the Koopcast. There, AJW said this would be the first section of the course where runners would experience Western States’ famous heat. This area tends to get very hot since there was a fire in the area years ago, which has left the area generally very hot and exposed. I remember, at one point, the trail wound out of a forest and towards what looked like an expansive view of the Sierras. I gazed in the distance and wondered where out there, my parents and Joel were waiting for me at Robinson Flat.
I arrived at Duncan Creek a little faster than I expected. The trail seemed to veer downhill and into the creek quickly before it started climbing up again. I was surprised the creek was only a little higher than my ankles. I expected it to be waist high from the podcasts I had listened to, and snowmelt in the Sierras this year. There was no snow, so I assumed the creek would be at its highest. In an attempt to take advantage of the cold water, I tried to squat down into the creek to cool off, but my legs cramped immediately. Instead, I used my buff as a sponge and doused myself in water. I knew thermoregulation would be key to continuing to run strong for the next 30 miles, and viewed the time I took to stay cool at creeks and aid stations as an investment instead of a loss of time.
The climb out of Duncan Creek was not as steep as I expected from that AJW/Koop episode I had listened to. As a runner, we all know our own strengths. Some of us are great hikers, some of us have true speed on flat sections, some of us are gritty. I am great at runnable uphills and found that I was able to move fairly well up the climb out of Duncan Creek. In fact, I was logging 11-12 minute miles uphill at mile 28-30, even with heavy/wet feet from the creek. On this section, I passed multiple runners. Though, it did extend slightly longer than I expected. While most of the climb was not particularly steep, there were a few sections I hiked and the climb did begin to feel like a maze, as it zigged and zagged out of the canyon. There were brief moments when you were in the trees but much of the climb was hot and exposed. According to my watch, the trek to Robinson Flat was also slightly longer than advertised; typical of trail running but somewhat concerning in the moment since I ran out of water maybe 10 minutes before reaching the aid station.
Before rolling into Robinson Flat, I did some mental math to double check my calories and fluids consumed for the race. I had eaten about 2/3 of a Cliff Bar (~160 kcal) on the way up the first climb and in Granite Chief Wilderness. I had also eaten a pack of Skratch gummies (80 kcal), and drained my 250mL bottle of maple syrup (~800 kcal). I had also consumed both my bottles on the first section (1L/200 kcal), about half my bottles on Red Star Ridge (500ml/100 kcal), both my bottles coming into Duncan Canyon (1L/200kcal) and both my bottles coming into Robinson Flat (1L/200kcal). This came to a total of about 1740 kcal/6 hours (about 290 kcal/hr) and 3.5L/6hrs + some extra water I drank at aid stations, so about 0.75L/hr I figured. These were good numbers to begin the first 50k of a 100 miler. I was very pleased with my nutrition strategy so far and felt like my practice in training and lessons learned from Quad Rock the month prior were paying off. At Quad Rock, I tallied my nutrition and hydration after the race and realized I did not consume enough of either in the first half of the race, which meant I needed to improve at Western States. I was doing so, and was very happy about this.
Finally, after climbing for what felt like a long time, you could hear the crowds at Robinson Flat in the distance. The last little section of trail to the aid station was uphill through the woods into aid. The trail flattened out, and right before arriving at the aid station, I turned up the pace a little bit. I knew I would be able to rest and sit in a chair for a few moments at Robinson anyway. Also, I wanted to show off how good I felt for my parents, Joel and the crowd.
One of my worries before the race was how difficult it would be to identify crew at the aid stations. I had never run an ultra with as many spectators as Western, and thought it might be hard to find them on course. Instead, it was actually easy, and I found my parents and Joel quickly when I was running into the aid station. When I arrived, I flipped a chair around, sat down and began to very quickly perform the aid station transition I had mentally practiced many times before.
Very quickly, my first order of operations was to change shoes and socks, which were still damp from the creek crossing. The secret to doing this effectively is to clean your feet with a dry towel or rag before putting on your new socks. This is because wet feet often “stick” to new socks if you don’t dry them before putting on new socks. It also helps the skin dry off and prevent blisters. While changing shoes and socks, my parents asked me how I was doing and I was able to get them a few updates. I told them I loved the first 25 miles of the course and that I felt great. It could not have been a better start to my dream race. While changing shoes/socks, my pacer, Joel began taking off my running pack and stuffing items into my waistbelt. It was hard for him to do so while I was sitting down changing shoes, so when I stood up, I made sure I had my important items: a new 250ml flask of maple syrup (about 800kcal), 4 new packets of tailwind and two fresh bottles (that were pre-made for me before I arrived at the aid station). The last thing I did was take a selfie with mom before giving them a high five and leaving to grab some ice and chips at the aid station. I left Robinson Flat in around 6:20 (11:20am) after arriving there in 6:12. It was a quick turnaround and I was happy to be on the road only slightly behind my anticipated pre-race splits.
Leaving Robinson Flat, I knew the next half-marathon of the race was going to be fast. What surprised me was how much of it was on a dirt road that led out of the aid station. It was dry, exposed and very dusty (especially when cars or motorcycles drove by which kicked up lots of dust). The road out of Robinson Flat started slightly uphill, which I used to eat some extra Skratch gummies I had on me while powerhiking. Then, for about 3 miles, it veered downhill and made a giant U-turn around the mountain the road traversed. It was all flat and downhill which was good, but I wanted to make sure I paced myself on this section instead of burning too many matches too early in the race. In retrospect, I wish I ran this 13 mile section faster, because the Dardanelles (where I was originally planning to start burning matches) were harder than I expected, thus not saving me as much time as I anticipated. It did not help that starting around mile 30, my knees started hurting which slowed my running pace for about 5-8 miles. Generally, this has been a normal phenomenon for me. Usually around mile 30 of a 100 miler, one or both of my knees will start hurting (like runner’s knee/tendonitis type pain), but then it goes away for the remainder of the race. This has happened to me many times during 100 milers. Though it is a weird thing, it seems to be normal for me. However, at Western, this pain persisted longer than usual, from about mile 28 – 35. It definitely impacted my pace on this downhill section which was frustrating. I ran slower and walked more than I otherwise would have.
Around mile 33, the course veered left off the dirt road and back onto singletrack trail. The trail started out rolling and was very hot and dusty. I very quickly arrived at mile 34.4, Miller’s Defeat, where I grabbed a few chips and restocked my arm sleeves, buff and hat (now bucket hat to store more ice) with ice. It was at this point where I realized I was already starting to hate the process of stocking myself with ice. I began this process on Red Star Ridge, mile 15.8 and had now been wet for 18 miles. The thought of having to continue being wet for another 30 miles through the canyons, to Foresthill sounded terrible, but I knew it had to be done. At Western States, the key to success is adequately thermoregulating. You can’t run fast if you’re overheating. You can’t eat if you’re not thermoregulating either. This had to be done, and as much as I didn’t want to, there was no question about it.
I left Miller’s Defeat not feeling my best, which was frustrating since I wanted to make good time on this downhill section. On the bright side, I was maintaining 12-minute pace, or 5mph which was still sub-24hr pace. Despite not feeling my best, I was still moving well. Often, I am learning, that is the key to running a good race. There will always be lows during a 100 mile race. The question is: Can you run decently, as opposed to poorly when those lows occur? You can’t win (or achieve your goals) in a 100 mile race with a few good miles, but you can lose it in a few bad ones. The key is to not let those miles get away from you. Most of the way from Miller’s Defeat to Dusty Corners, mile 38 consisted of dusty, windy singletrack. The trail was mostly smooth downhill, though flat at times. I moved consistently; not great but not poorly either. After passing through Dusty Corners, which was a relatively shaded area, the trail wound around what felt like the side of a mountain (or more likely canyon). Though the canyons section doesn’t technically start until after you leave Last Chance at mile 43, during miles 38-43, you can really begin to feel the furnace and true heat of this race. Because the trail is on the side of a canyon wall, you are now technically “in the canyons.” Or at least I would think you are. This section was shaded with trees surrounding you everywhere. Through the trees, expansive views of canyon walls and rivers below you begin to be visible every so often. This was also a gentle reminder that heat rises and the trail on this section is only slightly lower than the top of the canyon wall you are running by. After a frustrating section from Robinson Flat to Dusty Corners dealing with my knees (which were now better) and running slightly slower than I anticipated, I wanted to make up time, but now my stomach was bothering me. I felt nauseas, bloated and didn’t want to eat, which was frightening since I wasn’t even on the hottest part of the course yet. In the moment, I thought my issues were being caused by the contrast of ice in my arm sleeves, buff and hat (from the stop at Dusty Corners) and its contrast with very hot sauna-like air, I was inhaling on this section. The cold on my skin contrasting with the heat in my lungs made me feel nauseas. Again, I tried to remind myself to run decent miles, as opposed to “bad” ones. I was still on track for a 24-hour finish and maintaining my 12-minute miles. Finally, around mile 40, I passed gas... a lot of gas, and immediately felt better. It was actually pretty funny. I had never had so much GI distress immediately dissipate after farting a few times.
By the time I rolled into Last Chance, I was feeling myself again, confident and excited yet nervous to be tackling the canyons. I knew I needed to be smart through them. Per usual, I had chips and watermelon at the aid station and continued to refuel my bottles with water and my own packs of Tailwind. It helped refilling bottles at aid stations with cold water and ice because of how quickly bottles heat up in 100+ degree temperatures. On my way out of the Last Chance aid station, I didn’t spot the ice and almost left without it, but made the smart choice to turn around and stock up before entering what would be the hardest (on paper) part of the course: Deadwood Canyon. I left Last Chance with two other runners. We chatted briefly on a wide trail through the woods. It was hot (110 degrees) but I felt cool with ice all over my body. About a mile out of the aid station, the trail took an abrupt right and began descending a very steep, rocky, dusty and loose trail. Tree coverage began to disappear and the heat of the canyon began turning itself up. I did my best to do this descent conservatively, which was difficult considering its steep grade; more than 1,000 feet downhill in about a mile. Sometimes on descents like this, it feels like going faster is actually better for preserving your quads than being tedious and straining them more. On this section, I passed a runner who was already complaining of quad pain, which was not a good sign. We weren’t even down the first canyon. I also passed the other two runners I was with, which surprised me, since I tried to take the descent slowly. Though the descent was steep, it went by quickly, in what felt like a mile. At the bottom of Deadwood Canyon, sits the swinging bridge, which does not actually swing. This was a disappointment. Right after crossing the bridge, I found a small spring with water flowing and used my buff as a sponge again to cool myself off. Another runner caught up to me while I was doing this and sat right in the pool of water to cool off. Both methods work.
The climb out of Deadwood Canyon was difficult and I was surprised at its intensity. All year while training for Western States, I had heard about “smooth California singletrack,” but the Granite Chief Wilderness, parts of Red Star Ridge and Deadwood Canyon were proving that Western States is not all sunshine and rainbows. This trail is much more difficult than people make it seem, and just because a race is “net downhill,” that doesn’t mean it’s easy by any means. People forget that Western States still has 18,000 feet of vertical gain, despite its 23,000 feet of descent. Almost 2,000 feet of that vertical gain comes in the section from the swinging bridge to mile 47.8, Devil’s Thumb. My watch clocked the first mile out of the canyon at 1,200 feet of gain, and then there were still several hundred more feet to be climbed before reaching the aid station.
In reality, this climb should have been incredibly difficult, considering how I felt on an easy section from miles 30 – 40, but I felt great in the canyons and pushed the climb up to Devil’s Thumb, relatively hard. I power hiked very quickly and efficiently, making sure to continue eating maple syrup for dense calories and drinking fluids as I worked my way up. Almost all of this climb was hiked due to its steep grade. There were few runnable spots, but most only lasted for a few feet. It reminded me of my time climbing 14’ers, and surprised me, because I thought the canyons were going to be a more runnable grade than Deadwood Canyon was.
Although the beginning of the climb felt like it was the steepest, you can see the Devil’s Thumb aid station for a good half mile before arriving there, and you are still a ways beneath it when you can see/hear it. The last part of the climb isn’t as steep, but it is more exposed, as there is less shade from canyon walls the higher you get. It should also be noted the Western States course is more like 101 miles than 100, and my watch said I was there (mileage-wise) before I actually was. I clocked Devil’s Thumb at more like 48.5 miles.
When I arrived at Devil’s Thumb, I was stoked. My energy was high, and I really enjoyed myself through the first (and hardest) of the canyons. There is no feeling like doing what you love at a high level, and I felt like I was doing my best on that section. When I reached the aid station table with food, I briefly chatted with volunteers and told them how much I was enjoying the canyons so far. It sounded like I was the only one who was enjoying themselves that much, and they seemed to thrive off my positivity which was cool. At the aid station, I did my usual bottles/Tailwind refill, snacked on watermelon, chips and m&m’s and refilled all my usual spots with ice. A sponge bath helped top me off before leaving.
I left Devil’s Thumb assuming the rest of the canyons would be as difficult as Deadwood Canyon was, but they weren’t. The canyons got progressively less steep as I continued, but I was skeptical of that in the moment.
After leaving Devil’s Thumb, the trail winds through the woods for about two flat, runnable miles before it begins descending again. There, the trail is mostly shaded (though it is always relatively hot at this point). In that time, I took a leak in the woods and noticed my urine was healthy and flowing, which was good. It was important to me that I keep an eye on physical signs of hydration status like this while in the canyons, which are notorious for causing rhabdo (due to the heat + descents) effect on one’s quads.
I hit the mile 50 marker in 10:20, slightly slower than I anticipated and hoped for. Because of my experience at previous 100 milers, I thought I would need to run closer to 10:00 hours or faster to give myself a shot at breaking 24-hours. With still two canyons to go through in the heat of the day, I wasn’t sure if 13:40 would be enough time to run another 50 miles.
At this point, I had an honest conversation with myself. I thought about all the long hours spent in the sauna, the PT exercises completed, the miles run, speed workouts finished, the long runs and hill repeats run... I had invested so much time and emotional energy in this race; put so much pressure on a sub-24 hour time. I knew this was my best shot because who knows? Maybe the next time I get into Western States, 5-10 years from now, I might be a dad. But for the first time in my whole training cycle, the idea of not finishing in under 24-hours sounded acceptable. Not in the sense that I wasn’t going to keep pushing, but in the sense that if I tried my hardest in these last 50 miles, that I would still love and be proud of myself. It was a profound moment, and I let myself feel the emotions. One tear streaked down from my left eye. I guess the rest of the fluids in my body were being saved for sweat, because that’s all that came out, and I kept running forward. To the second canyon...
The run down El Dorado Canyon was a much softer grade than Deadwood Canyon had been. This made it much easier to run downhill at a decent pace, though it was still rocky and loose in spots. Also, El Dorado Canyon was proving to be hotter than Deadwood Canyon was. After about 3 miles of running downhill from Devil’s Thumb, the ice in my hat, buff and arm sleeves had totally evaporated. Now, I thought, is where all those sauna sessions will shine. As I continued to run though what felt like a furnace, I was impressed with my body’s ability to mitigate heat. I knew I was likely losing many fluids, but it never felt like it.
About 2 miles out from El Dorado Creek, while I was filming a video of the canyon on my phone for YouTube, I came to an abrupt stop. The trail in front of me looked muddy and wet and buzzing around me were an uncountable amount of hornets. They were huge. I searched for a way around the danger, but there were no options. The trail down El Dorado Canyon is composed of pure singletrack trail. To my left was a steep embankment of the canyon I was descending, with black, burned trees and bushes covering the hillside. To my right, was a cliff. Forward was the only way. “There is no way I don’t get stung,” I thought to myself. I wouldn’t have gambled a dollar against someone who told me I would get stung on this section; they would surely be right. I took a deep breath and began running forward and hoped for the best...
As I took my run of faith through the buzzing bees, I thought about the three times in my life I had been stung. The first time was in elementary school, when a bee stung my right hand between my thumb and index finger at summer camp; being right-handed, the sting left me unable to write for a week. The second time, I got stung on my leg while out for a run in my youthful New Jersey suburbs. And the third time, I was actually stung twice on my left ankle at the same time while out on a trail run in Colorado. For a moment, I thought I was bitten by a snake, but none were present at the scene of the crime. As my ankle swelled, and two miniature sting marks were present, bees were the only logical culprit.
Western States 2025, I was sure would be my fourth time being stung. At least I figured it would make a good story, and that I wasn’t allergic. But to much surprise, after what felt like a hundred yard dash with inevitable pain, I somehow escaped sting-free. At one point, I felt a wasp’s wings scrape my left leg and shrieked like a little girl watching her first horror movie, but that was the closest I came to a bite. I could not believe it and would unsurprisingly later learn that others did not escape unscathed.
The rest of the run down El Dorado Canyon consisted of hot, dry temperatures on increasingly steep and rocky singletrack. When I reached the bottom, I whipped out a packet of tailwind and asked a volunteer for a refill in one bottle with water in the other; my normal routine for the day. When doing so, the volunteer looked at me quizzically and said, “This whole packet in one bottle? That’s a lot.” I didn’t have time to explain and said, “I’ve taken a sweat test and know what I’m doing, trust me.” and I escorted myself to the snack table to grab some chips and watermelon. Before leaving, I refilled my arm sleeves, buff and hat with ice, took a sponge bath and began my departure out of the aid station. “This climb will take you about 55 minutes,” a volunteer told me. “I’m going to do it in 54” went through my head.
The climb out of El Dorado Canyon was steep but not as bad as Deadwood Canyon had been. A strong professional runner would likely be running this, I thought to myself as I power hiked my way up. While walking up, I couldn’t help but think about the volunteer’s offhand comment about my electrolyte intake. “Was he right?” I thought to myself. Who knew how much sodium I had consumed over the course of the race so far, and I still had so far to go. Is this healthy? What if my math is off? Although I had studied the science, it was still my first time racing an entire 100 miler with this fueling plan. Still, everything had checked out so far. I had not experienced any major GI issues (aside from some gas), I was not experiencing any edema (a sign of hypernatremia; high electrolyte intake) and I was peeing more frequently and clearer as the race progressed; another sign I was hydrating adequately. I told myself to remain calm, confident and believe in my training and education. I had done my homework and now it was time to believe in it.
I moved well out of El Dorado Canyon and as I crested the ascent, another area that consisted of burned trees appeared. It reminded me of that scene from the Wizard of Oz where the castle for the Wicked Witch of the West stood, surrounded by dead trees. At night, this section would surely be creepy. Towards the top of the climb, parts of the singletrack trail began to level off and become runnable again. I did my best to take advantage of all the runnable terrain I could. From time to time, I checked my watch; 55 minutes for this section was approaching. Although I was moving well, it seemed like I would be slightly over my 54-minute time goal. But finally, just a few minutes afterwards, I reach the summit of my second canyon. The singletrack trail to the top of the canyon popped runners out onto a gravel road where a tent with volunteers and a HAM radio crew stood. They asked for my bib number and I took off, running down the now downhill, gravel road into Michigan Bluff.
As I ran into Michigan Bluff, a man in a banana costume at the end of the road was jumping excitedly up and down to greet me. It took me a moment to realize it was Joel, and my first question was: How did he fit a banana onesie into his small backpack for the trip here? I was impressed.
I greeted Joel quickly and made a sharp right turn into the aid station. While my nutrition routine for the day consisted of primarily maple syrup and Tailwind, I had adopted a routine of eating a handful of potato chips, watermelon and salted potatoes at the aid stations for a few extra calories and sodium intake. As much as I wanted to update Joel, and my mom (who was now simultaneously filming and greeting me), my focus was on chewing as fast as I could so I could get out of the aid station. Before leaving, I stuffed my body with ice again. The aid station didn’t have a sponge readily available, but Joel told me there was a pool with ice and water down the road we could use, so off we went. A few feet later, Joel was right. A giant tub of water and ice was waiting for runners to dive into. As good as my legs felt for being 50 miles into a race, the idea of leaning over to gently let myself into the pool back-first, sounded like a cramp waiting to happen, so instead of diving in, I asked Joel to dump water over my head and back.
The town of Michigan Bluff was pretty small. In retrospect, I only remember running about 100 yards, if that down the main street before turning back onto a dirt road that winded its way towards Volcano Canyon. Per a podcast episode I had listened to with Coach Jason Koop & AJW, this was the canyon to be feared. Physically, I felt good and mentally, I was ready to tackle this last challenge before picking up Joel as a pacer at Foresthill. I ran all the flats and downhills the dirt road had to offer on my way to Volcano Canyon. Many sections of the road consisted of that annoying grade of vertical gain that you don’t want to run at this point in a race, but don’t want to walk either. It was a bit frustrating, but the miles were not necessarily slow either. I continued ticking off 15-ish minute miles on average, which I knew would get the job done this late in a 100 miler. “4mph as long as I can,” I told myself would set up the latter 38 miles of this race for success, I told myself. That last 38 miles is always so much harder than the first 100k of a 100 miler, as all experienced ultrarunners know.
After twisting and turning on dirt roads away from Michigan Bluff, the trail eventually veered left and you could tell the descent into Volcano Canyon was nearing. Stuffed with ice, I felt like the heat could not penetrate my icy armor and heat training. This was good, with a challenge nearing. Before descending the canyon, I stopped to take a leak. When putting my junk back into my pants, I couldn’t help but notice my balls were chafing. It turns out your junk being exposed to water all day without lube, is maybe not the best idea.
The run down Volcano Canyon was not nearly as bad as I anticipated. In fact, it was even less steep than the run down El Dorado Canyon. It was also much shorter. Upon reaching a single track trail, I felt like I was running around Flagstaff, Arizona. Lots of dry pine trees surrounded me in what felt like a peaceful nature setting. When I reached a slightly steeper and more technical part of the descent, I was mentally prepared for a more difficult section than it was, but I reached the bottom quicker than I’d anticipated. There, a small creek flowed so I wet my buff and gave myself a small sponge bath before continuing. The trek out of Volcano Canyon was about the same grade as the descent. Usually, these inclines are my forte in shorter races, but at this point I was hiking many of these grades. Once again, it was slightly easier than El Dorado’s ascent and I made sure to run some of the flatter sections of the climb. As mile 60 clicked on my watch, I knew I just needed to push two more short miles to get to Foresthill.
About two miles from the aid station, the singletrack trail popped us runners out onto a slightly inclined concrete road; Bathe Road. I knew Joel would be waiting for me at the top; the intersection of Bathe Road and Foresthill is where pacers are allowed to begin running with their runners. I ran/powerhiked my way up the hill. Along the road were chalk-written messages to the elite runners. “Huzzah” was written for David Roach. “Go Marianne Go” was written for Marianne Hogan. I thought this was very thoughtful as I ran past the nice messages.
Sure enough, at the top of Bathe Road, was Joel clapping and yelling my name. I had made it to Foresthill, where many times in training I had envisioned myself running strong and confidently through huge crowds of spectators late in this race. It was time to show off a little.
Joel and I began running together and catching up on the run into the aid station. I told him this was about as good as one could feel at the 100k mark of a 100 miler. Nutrition was on point, thermoregulation was spot on, and my legs were still able to put down decently fast miles; 11-minute pace was my new comfort zone. Not fast for a fresh runner, but a strong pace for someone this deep into a 100 miler.
Soon into running together, Joel spotted the Buff tent on our way into the Foresthill aid station. I had filled out a notecard the day before the race with fun facts about my journey to run Western States, and they repeated them to me. After punching a “power-up” button sign one of their volunteers held up, the girl at their stand from the day before started running with us and said “Do you remember reading Ultramarathon Man 16 years ago in high school, which cemented this as a dream for you? How cool to be living out your dreams. Make sure to keep running for your cat, Zep who is named after Led Zeppelin too!” It was a nice gesture and brought back good memories.
About a hundred yards later, I would clock in at Foresthill in 13:26. This was slightly slower than I had anticipated for a 22-hour finish on my pace chart (where I had predicted arriving in 13:05 + allotting 10 minutes for a stop). I probably shaved off 5 minutes because after munching on watermelon, chips and potatoes at the aid station, I only spent about 2 minutes with my crew. When walking out of the aid station, a guy with a camera, who I assumed worked for Mountain Outpost was livestreaming the event. I asked him if spectators had audio, to which he replied yes and I blurted out the most inspirational thing I could in the moment. “Dream big and never stop believing in yourself,” I said, hoping that would resonate with someone watching at home. Literally a second later, I heard my parents yelling my name to my left and I hastily walked over. Standing with my parents were college friends Rachel and Ben, who had come out from Sacramento to watch. When I got to their setup, I quickly took off my running belt, drank the rest of one of my soft flasks, put on my running vest (which was already full with everything I needed for the next section) and swapped hats. Before leaving, I put ice in the usual spots and rolled out. It was the quickest and most professional aid station stop of my running career, considering what we did in such a short time. I was able to quickly say hi to Rachel and Ben and apologize for them coming all the way out to see me for only 2 minutes, but I think they understood. I had made it clear during our pre-race meeting that chit chat was to be reserved for after the race.
Joel and I took off through Foresthill and I did my best to take in the scenery. Compared to the mass crowds you see at this aid station (or on the Escarpment), the aid stations do tend to die down later in the race, since many spectators and crews are busy accommodating the front runners at later points in the event (like the finish line while I am at mile 62 lol). Still, crews, volunteers and spectators clapped and cheered as Joel and I ran through the aid station. It was cool. Before the race, I told Joel it was important to me that we take these experiences in rather than focus on performance; offer high fives to kids and be present. There are only so many aid stations in ultrarunning like Robinson Flat, Foresthill or even Twin Lakes at the Leadville 100. It’s important to enjoy them. At one point, a few kids were holding up a sign on the side of the road, so I offered them a high five as we ran by. After the boy got one, the girl wanted one too which was cute.
At one point on Foresthill, GU had a sponge bath present so I had Joel sponge bathe me for extra cooling with the ice already on me.
Overall, Foresthill was a cool experience. I was surprised how short it was though. For some reason, I imagined the road going on for a few miles, but it was more like one mile (tops), before course markings veered to the left and onto a trail that seemed to run through someone’s backyard. As we passed by, Joel made a comment and the man responded by saying something along the lines of having the best view of the race. It was funny.
These first few miles (61-65) that made up the Dardanelles (or Cal Street section, which it is also called), went by easily. The scenery consisted of dry, dusty trails with lots of dead trees. Parts of the descent on this section reminded me of Mogollon Monster, since they were rocky, steep, loose and technical. I didn’t love those short descents; especially without poles this late in a race, but we got through them alright.
On this section, spirits started high. Joel was excited to tell me I was in 69th place going up the escarpment at the beginning of the race, and that I currently was in 69th as well, so it was important we not pass or be passed. It was nice to chat while we were running along a trail that now overlooked the American River from a great height. The view was spectacular and it was a great moment, to feel so good. We still had 35 more miles to run together though. Many miles (and some lows) still awaited us.
Joel and I did a few things wrong in our first few miles together. First, we talked too much which, in retrospect was a distraction to my fueling plan. I began to consume less and less calories (maple syrup) on this section than I previously had been. Also, at Foresthill, the crew forgot to add a packet of Tailwind to one of my bottles. Because of this, I ran the first few miles of the section with just water and likely became slightly hyponatremic later on. Because of this error, we did have to stop and burn a minute to add a packet to my drink. We fixed the problem, which seemed minor, but it did have repercussions in the next section.
When Joel and I reached Cal 1, evening was nearing. With it, I was excited, would come cooler temperatures. I was tired of putting ice in my hat, buff and arm sleeves all day and it felt like this was the first time all day where I could say “no” without repercussion... Wrong decision. All I grabbed at Cal 1 were a few potato chips before rolling out. The section from Cal 1 to Cal 2 was arduous and the mood of the race began to shift. Over the course of the next 5 miles, Joel and I moved well, but not to the extent we could have, had we not made our few errors together: slightly under fueling, slightly low sodium, and not thermoregulating. On top of this, the Dardanelles look like they are almost all downhill on paper, which is technically true. However, the section from Cal 1 to Cal 2 features endless rolling hills that really hurt me mentally because I had expected to make time on this section. It did not help that the temperatures remained very hot (likely in the 80’s) while we traversed this section. Not icing up at Cal 1 proved to be a mistake when I began to feel nauseas. As pacer, Joel assumed his duty was to tell me to eat more maple syrup. “Every 10 minutes,” he chirped. But had I stuck to his schedule, I felt like I was going to puke. “I need 5 more minutes before I sip more syrup,” I’d tell Joel. It turned into a bickering match in between conversations about other subjects. But at one point, I had to ask him to stop talking so I could focus. I was struggling, which also felt like a shame because the section was beautiful singletrack overlooking the American River still. It should have been a fun run with my buddy, but instead, the mood had shifted. It probably did not help that a sub-24 hour finishing time (and silver belt buckle) was on both of our minds. It was extra pressure, knowing this opportunity does not arise often in life...
When Joel and I finally made it to Cal 2, I told Joel that for the first time all day, I needed to sit down in a chair to regroup. While doing so, Joel began working with aid station volunteers to get me coke and chicken noodle soup. On the bright side, we were able to problem solve my needs (more salt) on the fly and do so correctly. While I sat down at the aid station, struggling for a moment, a cute blonde girl volunteering excitedly told me she’d seen my Moab 240 video on YouTube. I was flattered at how excited she was. Although my most recent Moab 240 video has over 8,000 views, I really have no idea who is taking the time to watch outside of a few family members and friends. And though it is true that sometimes people will recognize me and thank me for my work, it is always humbling to know something I made impacted a strangers’ life. Joel asked the girl if she wanted her picture with me, and she excitedly said yes. I apologized to her, that the one time someone wanted to see me on course (other than my family), that I was struggling so badly, but made sure to smile for a photo. She would later post on Instagram that the highlights of her Western States volunteer experience were meeting Timothy Allen Olson and myself... How I ended up in the same sentence and in the same regard as a Western States champion, I will never know.
Before leaving the aid station, I was approached by a volunteer who asked me if Mr. Universe was my pacer (Joel is jacked and was pacing me shirtless). I said yes and he called over Joel and began telling us about our next 2.3 miles to Cal 3. “There’s a climb at the end called 5-minute hill he said. It’s about a mile and a half up the trail and will take you exactly 5 minutes to climb and then you’ll be at the next aid station,” he said. He seemed intent and excited to tell us this fact. I appreciated the advice and wondered how accurate it was. “Doesn’t everyone climb at different paces?” I thought to myself.
Still not feeling great, Joel and I left the aid station. Immediately upon exiting, a downhill awaited us. It was time to begin running again. After a few switchbacks of downhill running toward the American River, we passed a girl and her pacer. From the back, it looked like Tara Dower. “It couldn’t be,” I thought. She’s too good to be back here, but I did know from Instagram she was battling the flu a week prior. When I turned around after passing her on the downhill, I was surprised to see it really was her; the Appalachian Trail record holder. But I could see why she was struggling. She looked like a ghost. I have never seen someone so pale and defeated during a 100 miler. I tried to give her some words of inspiration, telling her it was amazing that she was running this while sick and that she was an inspiration, but it was fruitless. She would go on to drop at Rucky Chucky.
After rolling along a nice singletrack trail for about 1.8 miles, Joel and I approached the beginning of what looked like “5-minute hill.” We checked our watches to see how accurate the man was, and to our surprise, he was right. We crested the top of this short but steep climb in exactly 5-minutes. It was impressive, though the aid station was still maybe a half mile up the trail and the sun was setting so it was beginning to be hard to see. It was time for night ops to take effect. Although Cal 3 was within earshot, it was time to put on my headlamp. Also, Joel and I began discussing our pace. Although I was confident in our timing to finish in under 24-hours because of my time coming into Foresthill and the first 5 miles Joel and I ran together, Joel disagreed with my comfort level. He said, “we hadn’t made up the time I thought we had.” By this point in the race, I hadn’t looked at a pace chart since mile 20 or something. Sure, I was aware of certain splits and goals I had set for myself before the race, but I found myself mostly running off feel. Although I was confident, I trusted Joel and I did need a kick in the ass like this comment to begin working hard again. After my blunder at mile 70, I had lost some time taking it easy for 5 miles and sitting down for a few minutes too long at our last aid station. We needed to focus and be more intentional on the trail with our miles. Joel had made his point.
At Cal 3, I continued my newfound ritual of coke and ramen at aid stations. It was a quick transition, and Joel focused his energy on making sure I had what I needed to roll out of the aid station quickly. After I was restocked with water, electrolytes and food, I began hiking out of the aid station with my headlamp on. Joel told me he would catch up in a moment, which he did. This next section consisted of five miles of trail that turned to a dirt road that ran along the American River. The trail consisted of rolling hills and Joel urged me to run every flat or downhill opportunity we could. In retrospect, I think both Joel and I felt a lot of pressure during this section to move efficiently. I think we both knew the stakes; how many opportunities do you get to be at mile 73 of Western States in 16-hours and-9 minutes, feeling good and knowing I have recently put in the best training cycle of my life, so this is likely my best shot ever to go sub-24 here? Running well when pressure is your primary motivator is not particularly fun. Tense is maybe the word to describe how we felt, but in turn, we began making up time again.
One thing that was cool about this section was that you could see the American River lit up below us and hear the river crossing in the distance. Joel and I began debating whether or not we should take the time to change shoes after the crossing. The crossing is set up in an interesting way because the Rucky Chucky aid station (with food, water and where spectators like my parents awaited us) was on the near side of the river, whereas across the river is where drop bags are left. It’s not a fully stocked aid station, but drop bags go there to give runners the opportunity to switch shoes which is helpful. What concerned Joel and I about changing shoes were two things. First, was it worth the time investment, given how close we were to a sub-24 hour finish? I thought so, but Joel did not. On the flip side, I was worried about how cold fording a river at 10:00 at night would be. When running ultras, especially hot ones like Western States, your body sends blood plasma (which is hot) to the surface or our skin to help cool internal organs and uses that blood plasma as sweat. So, when you stop moving or dive into a cold river, and your body now has to cool itself off, that becomes very difficult and your body struggles to appropriately thermoregulate. My body, from experience, is especially bad at this during and after ultras, so I was scared that stopping at the aid station, crossing a river and then immediately stopping again to swap shoes would make me shake violently in my body’s attempt to recover heat.
When Joel and I arrived at Rucky Chucky, my parents awaited with the Red Bull I had advised they take to the river crossing. I chugged it while updating them on our status. In the meantime, Joel put an extra Red Bull in the back of my pack, which I intended to drink in another 10 miles or so. It was a short stop, and I thanked my parents for their help. The next time we would see them would be the finish line.
As I departed the aid station, a wave of chills overcame me from the lack of movement. I followed Joel to some volunteers who put a light ring around our necks, and we began descending a steep set of stairs to the river crossing, which sat underneath the aid station. Although spectators were not allowed down there, my parents could see the entire crossing which was cool.
On the way down to the river, Joel told me he would do the crossing first and reminded me to always hold onto the rope with two hands. When we got to the bottom, a volunteer asked if we wanted the option of using life vests. We both declined. They told us to hold onto the rope with two hands and follow the light-up lamps that were submerged in the river and indicated where to step. It also helped that volunteers lined the entire river crossing every 10-20 feet or so and gave us runners directions how to navigate around large rocks and slippery spots. It was very cool.
The beginning of the river crossing was the toughest. One of the first volunteers in the water told us that the beginning was the deepest part of the river and to hold on tight. I didn’t see the point in wasting time being nervous, so we went right in and immediately, my breath was taken away. Part from nerves and part because the water was cold, but it was surprisingly not as cold as I expected. While my breath was taken away for a moment when the water reached my chest, it was warmer than I’d expected. Probably from the day’s 100+ degree temps by the river.
At one point while crossing the first part of the river, I saw Joel let go of the rope ahead of me with both hands. While the current was not particularly strong, I let me anger get the best of me and yelled at him to reclaim the rope. “Haven’t you seen Found on 49!?” I yelled at Joel. In retrospect, I don’t think he got the reference where Jim floats down the American River because he let go of the rope. If Jim could get swept away, why did Joel think he couldn’t?
After the first part of the crossing where the water reached my chest, the rest remained much lower; reaching no higher than my waist. Still, you had to be careful navigating some of the boulders in the river that were also waist high. I did not want a DNF at this point in the race because I was not careful crossing the river and focused intensely on every step and foot placement before putting my weight down.
Crossing the American River
When I stepped out of the river, I was greeted by many smiling volunteers and a very short but steep climb to the “aid station.” It was maybe 200 meters to the aid station, but the climb up featured a small rope to propel up a sandy cliff. When we got to the aid station with my drop bag, I was surprisingly not very cold, and Joel and I agreed we had the time to change shoes. While doing so, Joel and I cracked jokes with the volunteers who were there. I don’t know what overcame us but we were both pretty funny there. It felt refreshing to change shoes and when we exited the aid station, we were both in agreement that it was the right decision to stop. We had the time and running with dry shoes would surely save time compared to running with heavy, wet shoes that would dry more slowly since it was now night time. It was also nice to pick up my Ultraspire waistlight, whose 600 lumens made night running much easier.
Most of the first two miles out of the river crossing were uphill and rocky. Joel and I hiked these miles and for the first time in a while, it felt like the pressure to run sub-24 hours was beginning to fade. Joel and I started cracking more jokes and the tone of our conversation eased. Having crossed the river and changed shoes at mile 78 now with 6.5 hours to go sub-24, we were feeling confident. Sure, it was not “in the bag” per se, but we knew I was in good enough shape where we shouldn’t have to worry a ton.
With good conversation, the hike to Green Gate at mile 79.8 went quickly and we arrived there at 10:54pm. Green Gate is really where my night running aid station ritual of consuming ramen and coke began. From this point forward, I made sure to consume those two things at every aid station going forward. The ramen sat well in my stomach and provided a starchier, longer term fueling source while the coke continued to fuel my caffeine high and need for quick calories. I still was consuming maple syrup from my soft flask at this point in the race, but I was really tiring of the taste and necessity to consume it.
The rest of the race after Green Gate was essentially all rolling hills. With my Ultraspire waistbelt lighting the way, I ran in front of Joel, which is how I prefer running with a pacer; being the one who sets the pace. Though, a few weeks later at Leadville I would benefit from my pacer leading me and setting the pace; maybe I should reconsider this going forward. Anyways, this section was very rolling. Joel and I moved well along it, averaging 15-minute miles. Some were faster, in the 13-14 minute range when the trail was flat or downhill and I could run more, and some were slower, when we were hiking uphill. The definition of an uphill at this point in the race meant anything even remotely up. In retrospect, we were running smart and strong, but I could have pushed harder on some of these rollers. I do think I left some time on the clock in those last 20 miles. Still, we moved at about 80% of my overall capabilities which was good.
My memory of running from Green Gate to the Auburn Lakes Trailhead aid station to the Quarry Road aid station all kind of blended to gether. On a normal day of training, these 10 miles would have been very easy to fly through, but from miles 80 – 90 of a 100 miler, they were more challenging. Still, Joel and I moved well, running everything we could. Somehow, it felt like we got passed by more runners than we passed. People were finishing this race with immense strength, which felt frustrating in the moment. However, whenever we rolled into aid stations, I would chug a few cups of coke, eat some ramen quickly and move out of each aid station within a few quick minutes. Because of our aid station efficiency, I believe I passed a lot of the runners who passed me on trail. My overall position in the race did not change from Rucky Chucky to the finish line (I remained in 72nd place the whole time). These quick aid station transitions were hard on Joel though, who retrospectively was not eating enough. He began to bonk around mile 95 because he was so busy filling my bottles at aid stations and getting me ramen that he barely had time to fuel himself.
When we arrived at the mile 90 aid station, Quarry Road, we were in for a nice surprise. Greeting us at the aid station was 2x Western States Champion, Hal Koerner. He looked a lot different than he did 15 years ago when he was competing and in the famous documentary, Unbreakable. Mainly in that he now sported a burly gray beard. He also looked funny, wearing what looked like disco clothes at the aid station, which was 80’s themed I think. He wore purple pants and a tight long sleeve black shirt with sunglasses and a straw looking hat. I asked for a photo and Joel told me I couldn’t have one until I finished the cup of chicken noodle soup Hal had brought over to me. So, I slurped down that soup and grabbed my photo.
While I was drinking my soup, Joel sought help with his own bottles from none other than Jim Walmsley, who was also volunteering at the aid station. I walked over to Jim next and told him how big of a fan I was. I told him I loved the documentary, Found on 49, which Jim seemed to cringe at. This documentary is the one where he took a wrong turn at mile 91 of WSER in 2016 when he was on pace to set a course record and win; instead, he was found on highway 49 and walked in the last 10 miles for a 20th place finish. Still, I watched the documentary countless times during my training cycle and found his words of wisdom inspiring in the film; especially when he was talking about believing in yourself with Eric Senseman. Because he cringed at what I interpreted as a compliment, I also complimented his audacity to move to Europe to train for UTMB and told him I loved the film Walmsley, which covered his quest to win UTMB. He replied by saying that “winning wasn’t the only reason he moved there.” I understood what he was saying, but still.. His desire to win and willingness to move to another country for this sport is admirable. There are many athletes in this world who get the bag from a sponsorship and mail in their efforts, relying solely on their talent rather than hard work and dialing in of the fine details. Jim has proven to be different. Not only is he insanely talented, but he works hard and takes major risks to turn his dreams into reality. I love it. We got a photo together, which I appreciated.
After meeting Jim, I next spotted Scott Jurek. I told him it was an honor to meet him. I should’ve told him that I cook his chili recipe from Eat & Run frequently, but didn’t. Scott was sporting a New York tank top to fit in with the aid station theme. We got a photo together and before leaving the aid station, he looked around (presumably to see where Jim was) and told me the famous turn was in about a mile on the left side of the trail, and not to miss it. I found the comment hilarious.
Joel and I left the Quarry Road aid station energized. It was so cool meeting three Western States champions and getting photos with each of them at one aid station. Considering we arrived at the aid station at a race time of 20:43, we were also very confident in a sub-24 finish now. The question was just how far under 24-hours we would get. Joel wanted us to try for a sub-23 hour finish. I was open to it, but the final 10 miles proved to be somewhat challenging. The first challenge was climbing about 1,000 feet to Highway 49. The climb was not super steep but it was not a runnable grade at all this late in the race. We hiked up the hill very well, but it definitely slowed us down, considering we averaged 18-minute miles on that section. The climb topped out with a short, flat section that spat us out near Highway 49 around 2am. Standing by the road were volunteers, who cheered us on and shouted at us to turn left towards a trail that went back into the woods to climb up to the Pointed Rocks aid station. When the volunteers shouted that at us, Joel jokingly shouted back “turn right!?” In unison, they shouted “Left!” in what I interpreted as a worrisome tone from them. I turned to Joel and told him “What the fuck are you doing!? These people are out here in the middle of the night trying to help us and you’re worrying them that we’re going to make a wrong turn?” In the moment, I was upset that my pacer was worrying these volunteers who thought we were going to make a wrong turn. I was impressed with myself for having empathy for others at mile 93 of a race, but in retrospect, I lacked empathy for the one person who was trying to help me the most in that moment. My tone towards Joel was angry and upset, and we would later talk about how our emotions flared in that moment. Late in a race when you are frustrated, tired, emotionally vulnerable, it is hard to always speak without emotion in your voice or generally communicate effectively.
The remainder of the way to Pointed Rocks was uphill. Joel and I continued to power hike uphill strong. Right before arriving at the Pointed Rocks aid station, a child no older than 8 or 9 greeted us. Joel commented that it was probably past his bedtime and a volunteer a hundred yard sup the trail, said the same thing which was funny. At Pointed Rocks, we followed our usual coke and ramen refill. It was a quick transition, as I just wanted to finish the race. When we walked out of the aid station, I realized my belt light was dying so I swapped batteries before beginning to run downhill. We did so, but shortly after, the trail got pretty technical for being mile 95 of a 100 miler. We tried our best to run as much as we could of the two’ish miles to No Hands Bridge, but a lot of parts of the trail were rocky and loose and somewhat steep downhill. We moved well considering the state of the trail before finally being spat out onto the bridge.
It was very cool running across No Hands Bridge. Joel got a good video of me running across it. It felt great to be able to run everything that was flat at that point, and we ran across the entirety of the quarter-mile ish long bridge. I loved seeing all the flags of the world represented on the bridge. It was eerily quiet on that part of the course, but you could see the red taillights of cars on a cliff that stood above the bridge in the distance. We still had some climbing to do.
The trail after No Hands Bridge began slowly ascending. It was wide and not technical before becoming technical singletrack that was quite steep in sections. The climb was short though; maybe a few hundred feet. Eventually, the trail turned into a wide dirt road again, and Hoka logo lights lit the way to the last aid station: Robie Point, which stood at mile 99 (really mile 100 since my watch clocked WSER as a 101 mile race and so did a lot of other people’s watches). An aid station volunteer greeted us by saying “It may be 4:00 in the morning but we’re happy to see you.” I thanked them for their support but when they asked if we needed anything, I told them we were good and we skipped getting anything there. I still had some maple syrup with me that Joel was forcing me to eat on trail, and I continued sipping it until the very end.
The last mile of Western States was slightly frustrating in that I wanted to run it in. But the grade of the climb to the track is fairly steep. We ran everything that we could, but hiked a good chunk of that last mile. Supportive signs and lights lit the way for most of that last mile. Here and there, supporters in lawn chairs clapped and cheered us on. I thought it was cool locals stayed up all night to watch this event unfold and cheer on people they’d never met before as they achieved their dreams. It was very cool.
With 0.5 miles to go, Joel and I crossed a bridge and weren’t sure which way to go. There was no sign or trail marking present. We took a right turn towards some runners with headlamps on only to realize (after pulling up Gaia), that we were beginning to go the wrong way. Left it was. We turned around. It was frustrating but kind of funny the only “wrong turn” of the race I took was at mile 100. At least we only took a few steps in the wrong direction. After this, we ran down the road which now went downhill. Soon, some Hoka signs and volunteers came into sight, and we could see the track. We ran under the Hoka arches, onto the track and it was now time to finish this race up. Joel ran on the outside lane of the track, filming me while a cameraman for the livestream ran next to me on my left. I thought it was odd but funny he took up most of lane 1 on the track. He was extending the length of my race! Still, it was cool this event is livestreamed for the world. On the livestream, they mentioned me finishing Quad Rock for the third time a month prior. I saw my dad next to me on the track when we entered it and Joel reminded me to soak in the moment. When we reached the far side of the track, with 200 meters left to go, I said something like, “At the start line, we go. Just like in high school.” In retrospect, Joel had no idea that’s the spot on the track where I began/finished all of my reps in high school. In my mind though, that was the spot to start sprinting. I lengthened my stride and picked up the pace in that last 200 meters. The announcers said, “We got a sprinter, this guy is ready to be done.” Well said.
I sprinted across the finish line and did my best to take in the moment. It happened so quickly. I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, “Fuck yeah!” as I crossed the line. I then gave Joel a hug and reminded him that I loved him and thanked him for pacing me. I thought the reassurance was important given a few of our tense conversations through the night. I stopped my watch and then walked over to mom and dad and gave each of them a hug as I leaned over a barricade by the finish line. It was a great moment in my life. I will never forget it.
Now that Western States is over and I am a few months removed from the experience, I look back at the weekend and the race with much gratitude and think of it as a fond memory. In the present day of Western States, there were a lot of tense moments. I was overwhelmed at race check-in the day before the event. When the race started, runners did not speak to each other as much as they do at other events; I think everyone was in their own head about making the most of their Western States opportunity and were quiet because of that. The aid stations (including the first one at mile 10) urged you to be in and out quickly, because time was of the essence. And then there was what was going on in my own head. I had dreamed of a Western States finish for 16 years and now was the moment it would either come true, or not. I knew this was the best training of my life and that I likely won’t be able to reproduce this training in the future. Even if I do, I’ll likely be 35 – 40 years old. Older and possibly slower. These thoughts did not help later in the race when I was with Joel. I think we both felt the pressure of my strong start and this opportunity. I wanted to make the most of my opportunity, and I did. But I am already excited to running Western States again in the future. I think I will feel much less pressure, now that I have a silver buckle and have gone sub-24 hours there. I think the goal next time will be to have fun and take in the experience more so than I did this time. This time was fun in retrospect, but in the moment it was hard to be present and enjoy everything. Next time, I hope to do a better job of being present and focusing on fun over results. Anyways, achieving your dreams does feel fucking good. I wish more people could feel this way, but it requires a lot of work and risk. You are never guaranteed that your hard work in life will pay off. Mine did, and I am eternally grateful for it.
