Regardless of everything you are about to read, I’m not really into the aesthetics of baseball cards. In fact, as it stands now -- with me posting old cards to the Internet for the enjoyment of no one in particular -– the worse a card looks, the better.
That said, from like 1988 until at least 1991, Topps wasn’t even trying anymore. Just awful, awful sets of cards. I should know because I still have a complete unopened set of 1989 Topps that I received on Christmas of that year which has actually decreased in value since then. When he dropped it off that night even Santa was like “Pfftt. This set has nobody, and these cards are too bland to even generate camp value when you’re in your 30s!” And I was like, “I know dude. Just put it under the tree.”
So I was as delighted as anyone when Upper Deck came along and blew everyone out of the water. It was like going to HD. But it wasn’t until I was recently flipping through some old cards that it really dawned on me just how far ahead of the game Upper Deck was, and how little Topps cared. I would like to illustrate this point using two cards that feature an Oakland A’s pitcher. (I realize these cards are two years apart, however Topps ’89 set was probably the nicest from that era of indifference, and Upper Deck came out in ’89 with this, and Topps responded with this.)
Todd Burns, 1989 Topps
Look at ol’ Burnsie over there. Mullet blowing in the breeze. Doesn’t have a care in the world. I think Topps banged out its entire 1989 set after two days at spring training asking guys like Todd Burns to pretend like they were playing baseball for three seconds. Also, according to Wikipedia:
Burns now runs the Todd Burns School of Baseball in Huntsville, Alabama.
In my head I have an image of ol’ Burnsie standing in front of a crowd of like, seven kids, and speaking to them in an extremely slow southern drawl:
Todd Burns: Alright, kids. Do you want to learn how to play baseball?
Kids: …
Todd Burns: I saaaiiiiid, do you want to learn how to play baseball?
Kids: I guess/yeah?/*cough*
Todd Burns: Okay, then. Well, first thing you do is lift your arms over your head like this…
It should also be mentioned that the first rule of Todd Burns School of Baseball is: don’t talk about Todd Burns School of Baseball. Since I just violated that rule and now fear for my safety, I will move on.
In fact, let’s look at our next installment. I call this one: “Joe Slusarski in Three Parts.”
Joe Slusarski, 1991 Upper Deck
I’m not saying that this is the coolest card ever. Assuredly it would be much cooler if it featured someone other than Joe Slusarski. But for 1991, this was pretty awesome. I mean, ol’ Burnsie probably needed one take for his pose. Meanwhile, Upper Deck is taking their photos back to the lab. If he wanted to Joe Slusarski could analyze his mechanics with this. I mean, not really. But still. Based on these two cards, and given the choice, I would much rather attend The Joe Slusarski Camp of Awesomeness, which takes place every year during the first week of fall at alternating parks in Indianapolis.
I am also finding it quite humorous to envision what “Todd Burns in Three Parts” would look like if it involved just him bringing his glove from his waist to over his head. And now I know what I will be asking for this year for Christmas. I realize that there is something wrong with me.
Did you know?
During my college years I valiantly attempted to make the phrase “getting Slusarski’d” synonymous with getting really, really drunk, but it never seemed to catch on.
One day last week, I was clipping branches from my Indian Hawthorn plant, and on one piece I noticed a little brown spider bravely guarding her egg case (that white stuff she's on).
I didn't want to throw her away with the clippings, so I put her little branch back on the plant. Just sort of stuck it in there. There are enough other branches to hold it in place. And she's still there.
The western lynx spider has a rather similar body shape (and hairy legs!) to the Green Lynx, but it's brown, and much smaller.
Just a tiny little geometer moth, barely bigger than my fingernail. I like his wing-fringes. You can see them better if you click the photo.
Yesterday morning, when I checked on my zale caterpillar, I couldn't find it anywhere in the container. After taking out all the plants, and searching along every leaf and stem, I found it inside the lid, hiding behind the screening. It ended up staying there all day. Then, last night it came back to the leaves, and I saw it eating.
It was clinging to a little branch this morning, resting, but when I came home from the day's activities, I was bummed to see that the caterpillar had been parasitized. Those white things are the cocoons of tiny parasitic wasps that had been developing and feeding inside the body of the caterpillar, and today, they have emerged to pupate.
Another view
I picked up the little bundle of twigs and leaves that the caterpillar was on, and carried it out into the sunny yard to take the pictures. I could see that the caterpillar was still alive, still moving.
I soon realized that the wasp cocoons were not attached to the caterpillar. Some of these wasp species remain attached to the host, but this particular species apparently emerges fully, right through the skin of the caterpillar, and attaches to adjacent surfaces. After a few moments, as I was taking pictures and turning the twig bundle this way and that, the caterpillar began to crawl away from the cocoons.
I counted about 40 of them.
So here's the caterpillar, post parasite, still alive, for now. It was actually quite squirmy for a few minutes, until it settled down again. It seems to be resting. I have no idea if it will survive. I always thought the emergence of the parasites meant the death of the caterpillar. But you also have to figure that the wasp larvae steer clear of any vital organs, or their host would die before they have a chance to mature. Maybe there are enough of the caterpillar's innards left for it to survive. We'll have to wait and see....
That lucky old sun,
feel it all around,
cool cool water,
wind chimes,
good to be,
surf's up.
Tropical dreams. Wouldn't it be nice?
BIG WAVE RIDERS
STEREOTYPE DJs
Vixen VJ
Daniel (Lumiarts)
FREE ENTRY
9 pm - 2 am
@ SILTANEN
Hämeentie 13 B, Helsinki
Continuing with a look at some noteworthy student projects—which kicked off this week with thesis work by Taylor Medlin—we now look at a proposal by Anthony Lau, submitted back in 2008 at the Bartlett School of Architecture in London. For that project, Lau designed a "floating city" for the Thames Estuary, ca. 2030 A.D. This "Thames Estuary Aquatic Urbanism," as Lau refers to it, "gives new life to decommissioned ships and oil platforms by converting them into hybrid homes adapted for aquatic living."
While the idea of offshore architecture has been relatively depleted of its novelty over the last few years, the presentation and imaginative extent of Lau's idea is of sufficiently high quality to deserve wider exposure and a longer look. 
"Most modern floating architecture involves new-build modular systems for mass production," Lau writes. "Although this may be the most efficient for space planning, it often lacks character." His alternative:
- The multitude of hull shapes and sizes can inspire unique and inventive design. The proposal aims to express the beautiful forms and internal steel structures of hulls. The hulls serve as nautical reminders of the ship’s past and our previous closeness to water, which we will now embrace once again.
You can see larger versions of these images (some of which have been cropped down and recombined to fit the vertical nature of this post, which means that you will see different groupings at this link) here.
[Images: Models from "Floating City 2030" by Anthony Lau].As Lau writes: "By utilising the flooded landscape, a floating city of offshore communities, mobile infrastructure and aquatic transport will allow the city to reconfigure through fluid urban planning. Wave, tidal and wind energy will be ideal for this offshore city and the inhabitants will live alongside the natural cycles of nature and the rhythms of the river and tides."
He adds that "this strategy for creating a self sufficient floating city by reusing ships and marine structures can also be applied to island nations such as the Maldives. Over 80% of its 1,200 islands are around 1 m above sea level. With sea levels rising around 0.9 cm a year, the Maldives could become uninhabitable within 100 years. Its 360,000 citizens would be forced to adapt and they could become the first floating nation."
[Image: From "Floating City 2030" by Anthony Lau].If Lau's work piques your interest, you might also want to take a look at a report released last year by the Institution of Civil Engineers and the Building Futures group, called "Facing Up To Rising Sea Levels: Retreat? Defend? Attack?"
- Looking to a 100 year horizon of climate change predictions, we will address how the urban, built environment needs to react now. Conservative estimates predict sea-levels to continue ro rise as the oceans warm and the ice caps melt. Coupled with isostatic rebound (the South sinking relative to the North) the effects grow ever more dramatic for large centers of population on the coast. Predicted weather patterns show increased rainfall intesity, leading to sever problems of surface water flooding in built up areas.
Interestingly, meanwhile, one of Lau's initiatives since graduating from the Bartlett is to form a company focusing on urban bicycle infrastructure, specifically the Cyclehoop, "an award-winning design that converts existing street furniture into secure bicycle parking." It's also quite colorful. But perhaps a Boathoop is in the works for residents of his future Floating City...
For substantially larger project images, click here.
(Follow Lau's Cyclehoop project on Twitter: @cyclehoop).
NORTHWEST:
-- Leavenworth report: The north end of Snow Creek Wall is closed.
-- Mt Erie: Anacortes Parks and Recreation reports:
"A climber called me yesterday from Snag Buttress to report that the falcons were agitated when she and her climbing partner made it to the top. She referred to this area call "on eagles' wings" as the spot where the falcons became most agitated."
-- Mark Klassen reports on the Public Mountain Conditions Report:"June 19: Sharkfin SE Ridge, Boston Basin, N Cascades National Park. Snow starts at 5000 ft and it is pretty punchy in this area above 6000 ft. Slow travel. Route has snow on the upper section which slows things down a bit. Major glide crack avalanches on steep rock slabs in this area.June 22: Tricouni Peak N Ridge, South Coast (near Squamish). One of the creeks has eroded the road at about 3500 ft. It was impassable for us in the Tacoma but a spade, pick axe and some imagination might get you through it. Snow starts just over 4000 ft. Good travel all day. The route is in winter shape with steep snow and glide cracks on the traverse from the col to the N ridge. The ridge is mostly snow free. The descent is a bit tricky to regain the S ridge after bypassing the steep section, again with steep snow, cornices and glide cracks to negotiate. Foggggy in there yesterday. "-- North Cascades NP update: Just a reminder that the Wilderness Information Center will go
to extended summer hours beginning Sunday, June 7. Hours will be DAILY: Fri- Sat 7 - 8, Sun - Thur 7 - 6. Also, starting this weekend June 25 there will be a Wilderness Ranger at the USFS ranger station in Winthrop, so that station will be able to be open DAILY as well.
-- Leavenworth report: The north end of Snow Creek Wall is closed.
-- Mt Erie: Anacortes Parks and Recreation reports:
"A climber called me yesterday from Snag Buttress to report that the falcons were agitated when she and her climbing partner made it to the top. She referred to this area call "on eagles' wings" as the spot where the falcons became most agitated."
-- Mark Klassen reports on the Public Mountain Conditions Report:"June 19: Sharkfin SE Ridge, Boston Basin, N Cascades National Park. Snow starts at 5000 ft and it is pretty punchy in this area above 6000 ft. Slow travel. Route has snow on the upper section which slows things down a bit. Major glide crack avalanches on steep rock slabs in this area.June 22: Tricouni Peak N Ridge, South Coast (near Squamish). One of the creeks has eroded the road at about 3500 ft. It was impassable for us in the Tacoma but a spade, pick axe and some imagination might get you through it. Snow starts just over 4000 ft. Good travel all day. The route is in winter shape with steep snow and glide cracks on the traverse from the col to the N ridge. The ridge is mostly snow free. The descent is a bit tricky to regain the S ridge after bypassing the steep section, again with steep snow, cornices and glide cracks to negotiate. Foggggy in there yesterday. "-- North Cascades NP update: Just a reminder that the Wilderness Information Center will go
to extended summer hours beginning Sunday, June 7. Hours will be DAILY: Fri- Sat 7 - 8, Sun - Thur 7 - 6. Also, starting this weekend June 25 there will be a Wilderness Ranger at the USFS ranger station in Winthrop, so that station will be able to be open DAILY as well.
--Forecast for the East Slope of the Cascades.
--Webcam for Leavenworth and the Stuart Range.
--Sno-Park permits are available for purchase in Washington State. To purchase a permit and/or read more about them click here.
--Forecast for Mount Rainier.-- Route and Conditions Report from Mt. Baker Rangers: Mount Baker Climbing Blog.
--Forest Service Road Report for Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.
--Mount Saint Helens, Mount Adams conditions and recreation report.
--Webcams for Mount Rainier National Park, North Cascades National Park, Leavenworth.
--An up-to-date ski and snow report for the Northwest may be found here.
--Up-to-date Pacific Northwest ice conditions may be found here.
ALASKA RANGE:
-- Our last Denali Team summited yesterday! For the most current updates on Alaska, please see our Dispatch Blog.
--Forecast for Denali.
SIERRA:
Looking down at Iceberg Lake from East Buttress of Mount Whitney on June 26. Photo Credit Ian McEleney.
Mount Whitney with the Mountaineers Couloir on June 27. Photo Credit Ian McEleney.
AAI Guide Ian McEleney, Mt Whitney, earlier this month. Photo Credit Doug Grove.
-- AAI Guide Ian McEleney reports June 28th:
The North Fork trail is 99% snow free to Upper Boy Scout Lake. From there to Iceberg there is still a lot of snow cover but it's going fast. At Iceberg there are few melted out sites. The Mountaineers Couloir still has a lot of snow, an ice axe is recommended, crampons are recommended for early morning. Ice axe and crampons are not necessary for the final couloir. The Northwest Face variation still has a lot of snow.
--Looks like there is still snow and plenty of mosquitoes in the high country. A detailed report for Lyell Lake and Evelyn Lake area can be found here.
-- A Tioga road plowing report can be found here.
-- Mt. Whitney lottery info can be found here.
--For up-to-date avalanche and weather reports in the Eastern Sierra, click here.
--Webcams for Bishop, June Lake, Mammoth Mountain, Mono Lake, Tioga Pass.
ALPS:
--Chamonix and Mont Blanc Regional Forecasts may be found here.
--Webcams for Chamonix Valley, Zermatt and the Matterhorn.
RED ROCK CANYON:
--Forecast and average temperatures for Red Rock Canyon.
--Webcam for Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area.--The late exit and overnight permit number for Red Rock Canyon is 702-515-5050. If there is any chance that you will be inside the park after closing, be sure to call this number so that you don't get a ticket.--The entrance to the scenic drive had a parking area for those who wanted to carpool up until approximately April of 2009. That lot has now become employee parking and people who want to carpool are required to park at the lot outside the Scenic Drive exit.
--The scenic drive currently opens its gates at 6 in the morning.
JOSHUA TREE:
-- Some campgrounds will close for the summer season. See here for more info.
-- Joshua Tree Park Ranger Don Roberts reports: "...temporary closures known as Towers of Uncertainty, The Seitch and Rattlesnake Canyon have been rescinded by the Superintendent. Thank you for observing these closures as it is very important for the nesting of some of the park's wildlife. At this time, you are welcome to resume your activities in these areas."
--Forecast and average temperatures for Joshua Tree National Park.
--Webcam for Joshua Tree National Park.
Geese in flight - Hungary
Sometime I look around me and think that the world is completely mad. After a moment's reflection I realize that in fact it is.
There is a forum called Virtual Vienna Net where expatriates exchange ideas and information and general banter.
A week or so a go someone posted - saying that they had some friends coming to Vienna and were there places they could go that were smoke free.
This prompted a few rational responses before the Smoking Fascists arrived and I watched in fascination as the usual diatribe ensued from the wingnuts:
Smokers have rights; A Big Mac can kill you too; why don't you ban guns in America; car exhausts are just as bad; if you don’t like it here then go back to where you came from etc etc.
It is a strange country. You just cannot have a sensible conversation about smoking. Even non-smoking Austrians will go to the barricades to maintain the rights of smokers to pollute every corner of the country.
I used to think that it was because Austrians just don’t want to be told what to do, wanted to be independent, and demand the right to make their own decisions.
Nowadays I just think they are Fuckwits.
Anybody who demands the right to be poisoned does not deserve the right to be able to make their own decisions.
But things are looking up marginally.
I July is the date that smaller establishments have to decided whether to be smoking or non-smoking - and larger ones have to have a separate smoke free area.
Well the first will work just fine and our favorite cafe, Cafe Diglas in the Wollzeile has gone entirely smoke free. Bliss - you will see me there a lot from now on.
Having a smoke free area in most restaurants is like having a pee-free area in a pool. It does not work.
But that’s Vienna. Austria is different.
As I am suffering from random.org post traumatic rage syndrome, and having just survived the Year 1/2 School Disco tonight, I was delighted and thankful to find this little beauty waiting for me in cyberspace.
I have spoken before of the evil and hysterical MummyDiaries blog, whose writer has a way of always bringing her privates into every post. She is a sassy weekend waitress on leave from the media biz while raising a baby and a toddler. No wonder she drinks! I love her, and I know you will too. Check her out here then head over to MummyDiaries for more laughs. BYO Depends Pads.
MUMMYDIARIES GUEST POST
This afternoon I decided it was high time I cleaned out my wardrobe.
If you are imagining some kind of romantic Carrie Bradshaw moment where I open up my walk-in closet and sigh as the sequins on my Manolo Blahnik's twinkle, their gleaming shine bouncing off the crisp white fabric of my vintage Chanel suit..forget it sista. I'm just not that kinda gal.
Instead imagine me, pawing through 6 drawers of clothes all of which appear to be either:
a) Tracksuits - NOT Juicy Couture.
b) Floral dresses
c) Big floaty floral tops with sequin embellishments that look as if they've jumped off the pages of a "Big and Bold" clothing catalogue. And incidentally..why are big-gal clothing stores always called things like "Bold Personality"? Like as in you're fat so you must also have a huge mouth and be really, really loud? Maybe all the big-gals out there are sick of being compared to Rosie O'Donnell and Kathy Bates and just want to be like "Big and Shy" or "Big and Bookworm"
d) Skivvies - A big fat "WHAT WAS I THINKING? I am neither a member of an orchestra nor have I been the props girl for my local community theatre production of "Oklahoma", so why the skivvies LOSER?
ANYWAY..I realised that it was completely weird for a 30 year old woman that does not frequent the local Baptist church every Sunday for an intensive session of happy-clapping to own so many floral dresses. So they are GONE.
Not only are they daggy, but they all are made of non-breathable fabric that results in my underarms smelling like a cabbie at the end of a long summer's day shift. I resisted the urge to type "indian" before cabbie because it would be totally racist and besides, I've come to the conclusion that all cabbies, stink regardless of race.
Cabbie BO sees no race, color or creed apparently.
ANYWAY..so as I waded my way through 5 year's worth of ridiculous clothing choices, I decided that if the garment didn't make me feel sexy, I needed to banish it from my life forever. No more "mumsy" fashion for me.
Dark green trackies with stripes down the sides - GONE
Grey quarter length trackies that make my little lady look like a massive, meaty beaver - GONE
I am not being dramatic, honest. Try being me, at the gym doing biceps curls, concentrating on my form, only to look down at my crotch mortified to find that grey trackies seem to make my pachanga look ten times the size. I mean, I know the mags say never to wear horizontal stripes but where is the "what not to wear" guide for your vagina? Nobody, I repeat nobody wants to be displaying a fat beaver at the gym. It's just plain distracting.
Grey trackies with hole near the crotch - GONE. Much to Scott's disappointment.
Maternity clothes..hmm they are staying. Just in case I resist the urge to stab myself in the ovaries and one day produce another cherub faced, poo smearing, stay-up-all-night-and-drive-me-crazy baby. Or on the off chance that I get terribly drunk and forget the contraception.
The latter of course is more likely.
Jag vet inte vad det är med kombinationen löpning och musik, men den framkallar känslor som inget annat. Oftast glädje och eufori, men ibland lockar den fram de där välbehövliga tårarna som behöver få komma fram då och då.
Idag fartlekte jag mig fram medan regnet strilade nedför armarna. Lät tårarna blanda sig med regndropparna och konstaterade att inget är som då, men att nu och sen också kommer bli bra. Grät en skvätt men gladdes samtidigt åt att kroppen börjar minnas hur man springer, åt att pulsen var mer normal och åt att det faktiskt är skönt med vatten som rensar undan.
Kom hem och välkomnades av solsken, både på utsidan och insidan. Löpning och musik gör mig lycklig.
Jag älskar böcker och har en ganska stor bokhylla som nu svämmar över. Tyvärr har jag inte plats för ytterligare en hylla där jag bor just nu, så snart blir det till att börja packa ner i kartonger och sätta upp på vinden, hemska tanke. I nuläget har jag minst tio tolv olästa böcker som ligger och väntar på mig medan jag kämpar för att hålla mig vaken tillräckligt länge för att orka läsa åtminstone ett kapitel varje kväll. Semestern kommer vara mer än välkommen!
Just fram till semestern jobbar jag i butiken som ligger i ena änden av en bokhandel. Förstå vilken lycka för lilla mig. Förstå vad farligt för mitt visakort. Jag vet inte vad det är men jag har alltid älskat att läsa och också gillat att skriva. Jag tror det har något att göra med någon slags fascination för hur enskilda bokstäver blir till ord, meningar, stycken och hela historier. Det är ju också därför som jag bloggar. För att jag gillar det skrivna ordet.
Något annat jag gillar!
Förövrigt sörjer jag lite att Hultsfredsfestivalen nu läggs ner. Det var länge sedan jag var där nu, men under en rätt stor tid i livet var det en av sommarens höjdpunkter. Och snart ska jag springa lite sommarregnet.
Jerry is painting part of the trim on our patio cover.
He got dangerously close to the little nest box that I put up, which now has 4 baby finches in it. We had some tense moments, but he was only painting near them, not right where the box is.
But while he had the ladder up, I couldn't resist to take a peek in there.
This mess is the by-product of a rampant mealybug infestation that is hitting the araucaria trees hard at the arboretum right now. They are losing lots of needles and branches over this.
See all the little white things all over this tree? You can click the picture to see them better. They are all juvenile Mealybug Destroyers, (Cryptolaemus montrouzieri), a beneficial insect that eats the mealybugs. Recently, they have been all over the trees in great numbers. I'm not sure if they're coming or going. They are of a size that they might be ready to pupate soon.
Their bodies are covered with white waxy secretions that resemble their mealybug prey. I couldn't find any actual mealybugs, just the mess all over the branches and stuff.
Here's a profile of a young destroyer on a pine needle. You can see his little legs.
There were also some adult mealybug destroyers, although nowhere close to the number of juveniles. This little beetle is a cousin of the lady bug family.
Pardon my fat pink finger :P
Ok, so I spent an hour working out how to do it and it cost me $4.95 to conduct this draw via RANDOM.ORG and a few meltdowns but I am pleased to announce the 3 winners of the Baby Origami Giveaway! The stress of the whole thing has made me question giveaways.... which is a shame as I have a Benefit Cosmetics Giveaway ending soon........
Diary of a Madcow, Debbie, (whose sneaky double entry was deleted before the draw - so something I would do!) and Ellie who used Woogsworld as some sort of chatroom with another reader, are the winners of the amazing Baby Origami Wraps, an unique Australian design that is wrapping babies up all over the world. Mark my words, you will see this on Oprah soon. Please email me at mrswoog@hotmail.com asap with your details and address.
In other news, my 4 year old son J has been advanced into the pre-primary ballet class. His "Ballet Studio" is a full on professional academy full of wafer thin teens who dance full time. I feel like a baby hippo every time I go there. Anyway, Sherioney, the ex-professional ballerina come receptionist at the school told me that his class would now be on a Saturday morning from 9.30am.
I said that was fine, as it would give me a chance to shake off my hangover. She looked at me pitifully. I then asked her if it qualified me getting one of those Ballet Mum stickers to put on the back of the Mazda.
For J's reward for doing so well this term, I took him to the doctors for his 4 year old jabs. So proud.
Vienna sunset today
Annie has pointed out that the first salvo fired at Julia is because she is in a de facto relationship and this may encourage other women to do the same. Then they will be trapped without children when they discover that their partner does not want to have children. So she is a bad role model. WTF?
The entire article is complete rubbish - but the writer Bettina Arndt is not noted for her brain power in matters of practicality. Of course she has been battered senseless by letter writers who have taken the time and trouble to point out that is is a steaming twit.
The more unfortunate thing is that the Sydney Morning Herald would publish such ill thought through antediluvian rubbish.
I am now waiting for the Church Brigade to march in the streets about an unmarried couple occupying the prime minister’s Lodge and fornicating in there!
And incidentally - if there are any problems with Julia - we can use the excuse that she was in fact born in Wales. No - not Kenya like President Obama - Wales.
It is a small plot of land located somewhere in the British Isles and where the people play Rugby and talk an incomprehensible dialect.
What a day batman!
I'll spare you the details from the week before the race in and around Lake Tahoe with my family and random runner friends, but suffice to say it was restful, scenic and thoroughly enjoyable.
For the race itself, I had lined up an all-star cast to help me out with crewing and pacing duties, and I was fortunate to have a mix of old hands and thoroughly energized 'new blood' to help me out on my journey from Squaw to Auburn. Nick Pedatella and Justin Mock would be working the crew access points from the north side of the trail, while Dana, Alistair and Joni would be working the south side, meaning I had as much coverage as possible in terms of allowable crewing outside of that on offer at the aid stations themselves. This proved to be crucial in my race effort.
While the race organization, hoopla and general epicness of the event fell short of what I had been expecting (on a number of levels), the Western States Endurance Run remains by far the biggest 100-miler in the country. With the 2010 lineup looking to be the stoutest on record, I was completely unsure of how things might shake out for me in terms of placement and such like. So while I was there to be competitive, I had decided in the weeks leading up to the event to focus entirely and unreservedly on my own race, and let the chips fall where they may, regardless of what was going on around me.
Looking a little less goofy than the actual Webcast pic. Photo: Justin Mock
Last year's top ten, plus qualifiers from Ultra Cup races on stage at the pre-race meeting. Photo: Olga Varlamova Given the advice I had received from race veterans prior to the event, the basic game plan going in was to go out conservatively and then hammer the back half of the course from Foresthill in, while hopefully picking up carnage along the way.
From the gun up the opening climb, I settled into what felt like a very moderate training pace. Considering the ease of the effort, I was excited to see that I was keeping pace with the lead pack. While I hadn't had a whole lot of nervous energy coming into the event, any nerves I had been harboring disappeared pretty much immediately once the running was underway and it was an absolute pleasure to be running seriously again after a long taper while also enjoying the stunning views of the fog encrusted Squaw Valley from on high.
The climb up to Emigrant Pass is in the 2,500'/4.5 mile range, and it went very quickly. There were about ten of us within shouting distance of each other as we approached the top of the climb. Killian Jornet, the much-hyped, much discussed, yet thoroughly likable Spaniard was out front once we hit the first snow field before the short, but steep grunt to the summit of Emigrant. He was the only one from our pack to fully run the final few hundred feet of steepness, and I have to say it was a joy to watch - this kid is amazingly light on his feet.
There were still a good nine to 10 of us within sight of each other as we descended on a nice stretch of clear singletrack before heading into the trees and snow of the Granite Chief Wilderness. I was running with Josh, Zach and Hal, while Geoff, Anton and Killian had put a small gap on us. Hal seemed pretty eager to bridge the gap to the lead three, so I was happy to let him go as I stopped to unburden myself of early morning coffee.
The trail would reappear from time to time, but more as creek than actual dirt. The early going was wet, sloppy and slippery to say the least, and it was, I think, the primary reason for the foot blistering that would plague me for much of the run.
About nine miles in to the run, we rounded a gate and headed off down a snowy jeep track that would lead us off towards the course re-route on the lower side of the French Meadows Reservoir from the standard high-ridge route on the other side of the reservoir. My two other Pearl Izumi teammates in the race caught up to me somewhere in here and we ran three abreast in our fancy team jerseys Tour de France style, laughing at how we were working as a team in a sport that is essentially a solo endeavor when it comes to racing. Leigh Schmitt, a strong and decorated runner from the east coast caught up with us here too, and it was soon the four of us picking up a pace that I felt was a little on the hot side. In fact, I felt it was lot on the hot side. By the time we caught back up with Hal, Zach, Geoff, Anton and Killian, I was sure we were moving too fast.
We hit the next aid station en masse, with some of the guys stopping, others passing straight through, but all of us gathering back as a rough group for the long road down to the Poppy Lake Trailhead. Killian’s media crew was on the side of the road shooting photos shortly thereafter, and the vehicle they were traveling in would trail us for the four to five miles that we continued on the dirt road before we turned off onto a section of asphalt that finally/thankfully brought us to the Poppy Lake trailhead and some gorgeous running along the banks of the reservoir.
I was not only thankful to be off the road, but also delighted to be out of sight of the guys in front who had been pulling us along at a forceful low six-minute pace. For most of the long straight road section, I had been running with Nick and Anton, while watching Killian, Josh, Hal, Leigh, Zach and Geoff grow a bit of a lead up ahead. However, with Nick pit-stopping in the bushes soon before the trailhead and Anton zipping through the aid quicker than me, I was finally left to run my own race and not worry about others around me.
I immediately slowed the tempo and focused on finding a more reasonable effort that I thought would be sustainable all day (the all-day pace), as I knew full well that the previous effort - while comfortable at the time - was suicidal over the long haul. Thankfully, the trail was scenic and non-technical, so it was easy to get into a groove and find a comfortable effort.
Before I knew it, the trail had outrun the reservoir and it was taking us up the hill towards the Duncan Canyon aid station. On this rough and recently cut section of trail, which moved us through a recent burn area, I got my first taste of real heat for the day. Nothing too ominous, but certainly a good blast and a sign that things were getting ready to heat up significantly.
Nick and Justin were there waiting with fresh bottles and gap splits, letting me know that the lead pack were no more than three minutes up on me, with Josh a minute ahead. I dropped the waist pack I had been carrying in favor of more accessible and less annoying handhelds; a setup I would keep for the rest of the run. The boys had me through the pit stop in under 90 seconds stocked up on fruit, refilled on the EFS Liquid Shot I was fueling on, and with two full water bottles. I was really beginning to feel the run, and was cautiously optimistic that I might be setting up for a good one.
Climbing out of Duncan Canyon, I caught sight of Josh and was soon passing him. He didn’t look like he was in a particularly good head space, but he assured me that he was just trying to find his 100-mile pace. As it turned out, he was already dealing with major blister issues, and while he would later be tempted to drop at Foresthill (62 miles), he would soldier on to get the job done with the help of tall stories and acts of nudity from his pacer and fellow PI teammate Scott Jaime. Nice work guys!
On the climb up to Robinson Flat, I was really beginning to find a rhythm, running effortlessly and enjoying the day. While my feet were starting to give me some grief after hours of sogginess from the creeks and snow, everything else appeared to be firing well. Coming in to Robinson (29.7, 4:21), I got a good cheer from the assembled masses, a kiss from my wife, a cheer from my son and mother-in-law, and a stock up on supplies, all of which equaled good energy.
Coming out of Robinson. Photo: Auburn Journal.
The road up and out of Robinson was snowy, which was annoying, but after a turn onto the Western States trail at the top of Little Bald Mountain I was soon out of the snow and descending on a beautifully switchbacked section of trail down to the Miller’s Defeat Aid Station, and then on fast fire roads down to the Dusty Corners aid station (38, 5:18). Nick and Justin were there waiting and once again they got me through very efficiently. Justin informed me that Zach and Leigh were 5 minutes up on me, but no other intelligence was offered, which led me to believe that the top four were way off the front already.
Coming into Last Chance (43.3), I caught a glimpse of Leigh’s vest a minute down the road, which provided a boost to the energy levels. However, I was determined to keep to the pre-race plan of getting my ass to Foresthill in one piece before worrying about chasing down places, so I continued my aid station routine of refilling the bottles with cold water, eating a couple of pieces of fruit, drinking a couple of cups of coke and taking some good cold water down the back of the neck, all of which was typically taking me no more than a minute.
The route out of Last Chance descended gently for a while before descending sharply on switchbacked trail a couple of thousand feet into Deadwood Canyon, the launching point for the steepest climb of the day up to Devil’s Thumb. I was looking forward to the climb as a rest from the last 16 miles and 4,000 feet of descent. More importantly however, the Devil’s Thumb crest (48), while not exactly halfway would mark that point for me psychologically.
Just before the bottom of Deadwood Canyon, I caught up to Leigh and Zach (a two for one) and we would run/hike the climb up to Devil’s thumb together. They were both chatters and eager to engage in conversation, and while I'm usually happy to chat and share a good time on the trail during local races, I really wanted to maintain a focus on this day and not lose track of fueling, hydration and salts, so I wasn’t the greatest of trail companions for the miles we shared.
We hit Devil’s Thumb pretty much as a group, with Zach a few ticks up and Leigh a few ticks back. Leigh and I soon caught back up to Zach on the 2,700’ drop into the next canyon and we again proceeded as a trio all the way down to the Swinging Bridge over El Dorado Creek. We let Zach lead, and given the pace it was evident that he wasn’t hitting the downs too well. I was happy to conserve however, reminding myself to remain patient. I finally popped out and took the lead near the river, but on the climb back out and up to Michigan Bluff, Zach resumed the strong climbing he had been showing on previous ascents and gapped both Leigh and I again.
By the time we were out of the canyon and up to the aid station at the small village of Michigan Bluff, Zach was already gone. While at the aid station, not only did I get refueled, doused and weighed, but I also got a kiss from my wife and my son, plus a slap on the ass from Scott Jaime who imparted some motivating words of encouragement, telling me to get after Zach and start hunting. This is pretty much were I flicked the switch on the run and started focusing on the race.
I was finally able to drop Leigh on the dirt road climb out of Michigan Bluff before the route hit singletrack again, and while he was close to being back on me by the the time we spilled out on to Bath Road, I wouldn't see him again during the race from there on in.
I ran up the road with Nick who filled me in on what was going on up front. To my surprise, he said that he had run with Geoff a bit (20 minutes up on me) and learned that he was hurting and not doing too well. A little spark of motivation on that news. I told Nick that I was going to switch out from my Pearl Trail Fuels into a dry pair of road Fuels and a dry pair of socks at Foresthill in hopes that I could ease some of the pain coming from my soggy blistered feet. Nick raced ahead on the Foresthill road and had that all set up for me when I arrived. Justin was there too and between the three of us, the pit stop can't have been more than three minutes.
Justin was ready to roll, and I could feel his energy as we got going on the road. I've never used a pacer in a race before, and Justin had never paced (or finished) an ultra, let alone run more than 30 miles in one shot, so I was a little unsure of how the dynamics would work out. I did know, however, that Justin had a similar competitive bent to mine, so I figured he would be effective in keeping me focused on the race, which was after all just getting started. As it turned out, he was crucial to my race effort and helped take me to the outer limits of my outer limits (a place I was looking to find this weekend) in - by far - the most excruciatingly painful finish to a race I have ever experienced. And that is a good thing. More on that later.
I told Justin that I was confident that we'd be reeling in Zach pretty soon on the drop from Cal Street on the Western States Trail, and within a couple of miles we picked up his yellow jersey and were soon passing. Zach hung for a little bit, and came into Cal 1 a half minute behind me, complaining somewhat comically that he was being treated like chopped liver with all the aid volunteers swarming around me at that point. The day was really beginning to heat up here, and unfortunately the guys at the aid station had nothing but a mist bottle for cooling purposes. After a couple of squirts from that, I realized that it was a complete waste of time, so I headed out figuring I'd cool down at an upcoming creek crossing. Zach was slower getting out and we never saw him again.
We had picked up a good head of steam by now and we lit up the rolling section between Cal 1 and Cal 2. At the aid station, we got the news that Hal was now no more than 15 minutes up on us and that Geoff was 10 minutes ahead of him, which meant that we were picking up ground, and added to the adrenaline that was now fueling my run. A few turns from the Ford's Bar aid we heard cheers from the volunteers, which we assumed was for Hal, and true enough he had gotten out just a minute or two ahead of me. Despite the scent of blood, I was still diligent in sticking to the aid station routine. Justin would find cold water or sponges to douse me with, while I would scoff fruit, down cokes and eat S-caps, with the volunteers attending to our bottles. Again, we would typically be out within a minute.
It didn't take us long to pick up Hal, and it was quite evident that his day from a racing perspective was over. He had and his pacer courteously stepped off the trail and wished us well. I was now running in fourth, feeling tired but strong and wondering if there was more carnage to come. A podium finish was now beginning to seem like it may be in the cards. However, at the river, I got the news that Geoff's lead was back up to 30 minutes, while Anton and Killian were a good 45 minutes ahead. I told Justin here that the mission now was to not implode and hang on to fourth, although I knew he was still anticipating the possibility of carnage and that he wanted to keep pushing.
Closing in on Hal
On the short boat crossing, I took the opportunity to lean off the side and splash water over my head and then on getting out of the boat I continued the dousing. It was just feeling so good that I wanted to stay for a while, but Justin as ever was on me to get moving. We hiked a fair portion of the early climb up to Green Gate, and I was fine with that as I really needed the rest. About halfway up, we met up with Nick and soon after we were back running again. The road up from the river was very exposed and the sun was really beginning to hurt, so I took a little extra time at Green Gate to make sure that I was thoroughly cooled off with lots and lots of cold water over the head. I knew it was roughly 20 miles into the finish, and while I was tired I also knew I had good legs left to get the job done in a respectable time.
Thankfully, the trail on the next five miles was rolling and relatively easy, and while I wasn't killing it here, I was able to maintain a decent effort. Coming into Auburn Lake Trails at 85 miles, we got a race update from one of the volunteers. He told us that Geoff and Anton had come in together, and so we assumed that Killian had taken off in the lead. Au contraire. The volunteer informed us that in fact Killian "had fallen apart."
Wow, 15 miles to go and 20-25 minutes to make up on what Justin was now referring to as 'dead meat.' Looking back, it appears that Killian was actually a half hour up still, so when we got into Brown's Bar (90) and were told that Killian was still 20 minutes ahead of us I figured that the game was up for third. I had pushed with pretty much everything I had in the five miles to Brown's Bar only to (mistakenly) find that I had made no ground on Killian. I assumed he had rallied, and so I told Justin that I was done chasing and that it was now about getting home comfortably under 17 hours. The reality was that I had closed 18 minutes on Killian between the two aid stations and he was actually 12 minutes ahead. The lesson? Never stop pushing and take with a pinch of salt gap estimates from aid station volunteers.
So we lolly-gagged our way to Highway 49, and I indulged with a fair bit of hiking on the ups. I could still tell that Justin wanted to get after it, but I just didn't have the motivation any more. That all changed the instant I got to Hwy 49 (93.5) and checked in with Nick. He informed us that Killian was only seven minutes up and that he looked like shit. There was no doubt in his mind, he said, that we could catch him. I immediately got a huge adrenaline rush and we were off and running absolutely everything as hard as possible.
The trail through this section was stunning and it was just surreal to be passing through this beautiful open meadow after so many hours in the forest. The sun was beginning to set, the hues of yellow were off the charts and there were a couple of elk to our right looking upon us in a very bemused manner. The beauty of it all, and the proximity of the finish spurred me on more than ever.
I didn't care about the pain any more. I had 10 kilometers worth of hurting left to endure and I had the chance to track down and pass one of the most respected endurance runners in the world on the most storied trail course in the country in the toughest 100-mile field ever assembled. That kind of stuff may not do it for you, but it was doing it for me. I was hammering with everything I had left.
The way we were moving, I knew it was just a matter of time before we caught up to Killian. I was just hoping it would be sooner rather than later so it wouldn't come down to a sprint or anything silly like that. We blasted straight through the no-hands aid station and Justin got a gap split of 90 seconds to two minutes from the crowd there. There was no doubt now that we were going to get him. The only question mark left was whether or not he was going to put up a fight.
Quite comically, we caught him on perhaps the steepest part of what was left of the trail on some rugged singletrack. I say comically, because here I am blasting by perhaps the best steep-course mountain runner in the world 97 miles into a grueling 100-miler. Killian and his pacer saw us late, and had just enough time to step off the trail and let us through. I heard Killian let out an expletive in French (a tongue I am familiar with) and I was just praying that I was showing enough strength that he wouldn't bother chasing.
To his credit, Killian was immediately back into race mode and he set about chasing me down. On what was left of the trail we swapped the lead a couple of times, and at one point I had to tell his pacer to get behind me as he literally cut right in front of me after Killian got a step on me. Killian was power-hiking here in this crazy two-step style about 50 percent faster than I was running. Wow!
I followed Killian up on to the road that would lead us into town and to the finish. I was putting a bit of a gap on him here if I remember correctly, but he wasn't breaking, still hanging tough no more than 10 meters back on me. Justin was trying his best to keep me focused and pushing. I have kind of lost track in my mind of how things played out here through the last mile and a half, but I know that we ended up shoulder to shoulder through the last aid station, both blasting through to massive cheers from those watching.
Having never run the course before, I had no idea what lay ahead through the last mile so I was somewhat distraught to see a long stretch of hill ahead. With one last throw of the dice, I pushed again with whatever it was that I had left to at least make the crest of the hill within striking distance of Killian to see if maybe I had something left for the last bit of down into the finish. I heard Justin dry heaving behind me as I got back on Killian's shoulder, but the Spaniard had just enough left in the tank to hit the gas one more time and leave me on the drop to the finish. I immediately knew the race for third was over. Justin caught back up to me and tried to squeeze one last ounce of effort from me, but I told him that I was done and that I wanted to cruise in with my son. And that's what we did. A very proud way to finish up.
Excuse the salty language:
For a pacer's perspective, check out Justin's report here: http://justinmock.blogspot.com/2010/06/ws100-pacing-report.html
There were still a good nine to 10 of us within sight of each other as we descended on a nice stretch of clear singletrack before heading into the trees and snow of the Granite Chief Wilderness. I was running with Josh, Zach and Hal, while Geoff, Anton and Killian had put a small gap on us. Hal seemed pretty eager to bridge the gap to the lead three, so I was happy to let him go as I stopped to unburden myself of early morning coffee.
The trail would reappear from time to time, but more as creek than actual dirt. The early going was wet, sloppy and slippery to say the least, and it was, I think, the primary reason for the foot blistering that would plague me for much of the run.
About nine miles in to the run, we rounded a gate and headed off down a snowy jeep track that would lead us off towards the course re-route on the lower side of the French Meadows Reservoir from the standard high-ridge route on the other side of the reservoir. My two other Pearl Izumi teammates in the race caught up to me somewhere in here and we ran three abreast in our fancy team jerseys Tour de France style, laughing at how we were working as a team in a sport that is essentially a solo endeavor when it comes to racing. Leigh Schmitt, a strong and decorated runner from the east coast caught up with us here too, and it was soon the four of us picking up a pace that I felt was a little on the hot side. In fact, I felt it was lot on the hot side. By the time we caught back up with Hal, Zach, Geoff, Anton and Killian, I was sure we were moving too fast.
We hit the next aid station en masse, with some of the guys stopping, others passing straight through, but all of us gathering back as a rough group for the long road down to the Poppy Lake Trailhead. Killian’s media crew was on the side of the road shooting photos shortly thereafter, and the vehicle they were traveling in would trail us for the four to five miles that we continued on the dirt road before we turned off onto a section of asphalt that finally/thankfully brought us to the Poppy Lake trailhead and some gorgeous running along the banks of the reservoir.
I was not only thankful to be off the road, but also delighted to be out of sight of the guys in front who had been pulling us along at a forceful low six-minute pace. For most of the long straight road section, I had been running with Nick and Anton, while watching Killian, Josh, Hal, Leigh, Zach and Geoff grow a bit of a lead up ahead. However, with Nick pit-stopping in the bushes soon before the trailhead and Anton zipping through the aid quicker than me, I was finally left to run my own race and not worry about others around me.
I immediately slowed the tempo and focused on finding a more reasonable effort that I thought would be sustainable all day (the all-day pace), as I knew full well that the previous effort - while comfortable at the time - was suicidal over the long haul. Thankfully, the trail was scenic and non-technical, so it was easy to get into a groove and find a comfortable effort.
Before I knew it, the trail had outrun the reservoir and it was taking us up the hill towards the Duncan Canyon aid station. On this rough and recently cut section of trail, which moved us through a recent burn area, I got my first taste of real heat for the day. Nothing too ominous, but certainly a good blast and a sign that things were getting ready to heat up significantly.
Nick and Justin were there waiting with fresh bottles and gap splits, letting me know that the lead pack were no more than three minutes up on me, with Josh a minute ahead. I dropped the waist pack I had been carrying in favor of more accessible and less annoying handhelds; a setup I would keep for the rest of the run. The boys had me through the pit stop in under 90 seconds stocked up on fruit, refilled on the EFS Liquid Shot I was fueling on, and with two full water bottles. I was really beginning to feel the run, and was cautiously optimistic that I might be setting up for a good one.
Climbing out of Duncan Canyon, I caught sight of Josh and was soon passing him. He didn’t look like he was in a particularly good head space, but he assured me that he was just trying to find his 100-mile pace. As it turned out, he was already dealing with major blister issues, and while he would later be tempted to drop at Foresthill (62 miles), he would soldier on to get the job done with the help of tall stories and acts of nudity from his pacer and fellow PI teammate Scott Jaime. Nice work guys!
On the climb up to Robinson Flat, I was really beginning to find a rhythm, running effortlessly and enjoying the day. While my feet were starting to give me some grief after hours of sogginess from the creeks and snow, everything else appeared to be firing well. Coming in to Robinson (29.7, 4:21), I got a good cheer from the assembled masses, a kiss from my wife, a cheer from my son and mother-in-law, and a stock up on supplies, all of which equaled good energy.
Coming out of Robinson. Photo: Auburn Journal. The road up and out of Robinson was snowy, which was annoying, but after a turn onto the Western States trail at the top of Little Bald Mountain I was soon out of the snow and descending on a beautifully switchbacked section of trail down to the Miller’s Defeat Aid Station, and then on fast fire roads down to the Dusty Corners aid station (38, 5:18). Nick and Justin were there waiting and once again they got me through very efficiently. Justin informed me that Zach and Leigh were 5 minutes up on me, but no other intelligence was offered, which led me to believe that the top four were way off the front already.
Coming into Last Chance (43.3), I caught a glimpse of Leigh’s vest a minute down the road, which provided a boost to the energy levels. However, I was determined to keep to the pre-race plan of getting my ass to Foresthill in one piece before worrying about chasing down places, so I continued my aid station routine of refilling the bottles with cold water, eating a couple of pieces of fruit, drinking a couple of cups of coke and taking some good cold water down the back of the neck, all of which was typically taking me no more than a minute.
The route out of Last Chance descended gently for a while before descending sharply on switchbacked trail a couple of thousand feet into Deadwood Canyon, the launching point for the steepest climb of the day up to Devil’s Thumb. I was looking forward to the climb as a rest from the last 16 miles and 4,000 feet of descent. More importantly however, the Devil’s Thumb crest (48), while not exactly halfway would mark that point for me psychologically.
Just before the bottom of Deadwood Canyon, I caught up to Leigh and Zach (a two for one) and we would run/hike the climb up to Devil’s thumb together. They were both chatters and eager to engage in conversation, and while I'm usually happy to chat and share a good time on the trail during local races, I really wanted to maintain a focus on this day and not lose track of fueling, hydration and salts, so I wasn’t the greatest of trail companions for the miles we shared.
We hit Devil’s Thumb pretty much as a group, with Zach a few ticks up and Leigh a few ticks back. Leigh and I soon caught back up to Zach on the 2,700’ drop into the next canyon and we again proceeded as a trio all the way down to the Swinging Bridge over El Dorado Creek. We let Zach lead, and given the pace it was evident that he wasn’t hitting the downs too well. I was happy to conserve however, reminding myself to remain patient. I finally popped out and took the lead near the river, but on the climb back out and up to Michigan Bluff, Zach resumed the strong climbing he had been showing on previous ascents and gapped both Leigh and I again.
By the time we were out of the canyon and up to the aid station at the small village of Michigan Bluff, Zach was already gone. While at the aid station, not only did I get refueled, doused and weighed, but I also got a kiss from my wife and my son, plus a slap on the ass from Scott Jaime who imparted some motivating words of encouragement, telling me to get after Zach and start hunting. This is pretty much were I flicked the switch on the run and started focusing on the race.
I was finally able to drop Leigh on the dirt road climb out of Michigan Bluff before the route hit singletrack again, and while he was close to being back on me by the the time we spilled out on to Bath Road, I wouldn't see him again during the race from there on in.
I ran up the road with Nick who filled me in on what was going on up front. To my surprise, he said that he had run with Geoff a bit (20 minutes up on me) and learned that he was hurting and not doing too well. A little spark of motivation on that news. I told Nick that I was going to switch out from my Pearl Trail Fuels into a dry pair of road Fuels and a dry pair of socks at Foresthill in hopes that I could ease some of the pain coming from my soggy blistered feet. Nick raced ahead on the Foresthill road and had that all set up for me when I arrived. Justin was there too and between the three of us, the pit stop can't have been more than three minutes.
Justin was ready to roll, and I could feel his energy as we got going on the road. I've never used a pacer in a race before, and Justin had never paced (or finished) an ultra, let alone run more than 30 miles in one shot, so I was a little unsure of how the dynamics would work out. I did know, however, that Justin had a similar competitive bent to mine, so I figured he would be effective in keeping me focused on the race, which was after all just getting started. As it turned out, he was crucial to my race effort and helped take me to the outer limits of my outer limits (a place I was looking to find this weekend) in - by far - the most excruciatingly painful finish to a race I have ever experienced. And that is a good thing. More on that later.
I told Justin that I was confident that we'd be reeling in Zach pretty soon on the drop from Cal Street on the Western States Trail, and within a couple of miles we picked up his yellow jersey and were soon passing. Zach hung for a little bit, and came into Cal 1 a half minute behind me, complaining somewhat comically that he was being treated like chopped liver with all the aid volunteers swarming around me at that point. The day was really beginning to heat up here, and unfortunately the guys at the aid station had nothing but a mist bottle for cooling purposes. After a couple of squirts from that, I realized that it was a complete waste of time, so I headed out figuring I'd cool down at an upcoming creek crossing. Zach was slower getting out and we never saw him again.
We had picked up a good head of steam by now and we lit up the rolling section between Cal 1 and Cal 2. At the aid station, we got the news that Hal was now no more than 15 minutes up on us and that Geoff was 10 minutes ahead of him, which meant that we were picking up ground, and added to the adrenaline that was now fueling my run. A few turns from the Ford's Bar aid we heard cheers from the volunteers, which we assumed was for Hal, and true enough he had gotten out just a minute or two ahead of me. Despite the scent of blood, I was still diligent in sticking to the aid station routine. Justin would find cold water or sponges to douse me with, while I would scoff fruit, down cokes and eat S-caps, with the volunteers attending to our bottles. Again, we would typically be out within a minute.
It didn't take us long to pick up Hal, and it was quite evident that his day from a racing perspective was over. He had and his pacer courteously stepped off the trail and wished us well. I was now running in fourth, feeling tired but strong and wondering if there was more carnage to come. A podium finish was now beginning to seem like it may be in the cards. However, at the river, I got the news that Geoff's lead was back up to 30 minutes, while Anton and Killian were a good 45 minutes ahead. I told Justin here that the mission now was to not implode and hang on to fourth, although I knew he was still anticipating the possibility of carnage and that he wanted to keep pushing.
Closing in on Hal
On the short boat crossing, I took the opportunity to lean off the side and splash water over my head and then on getting out of the boat I continued the dousing. It was just feeling so good that I wanted to stay for a while, but Justin as ever was on me to get moving. We hiked a fair portion of the early climb up to Green Gate, and I was fine with that as I really needed the rest. About halfway up, we met up with Nick and soon after we were back running again. The road up from the river was very exposed and the sun was really beginning to hurt, so I took a little extra time at Green Gate to make sure that I was thoroughly cooled off with lots and lots of cold water over the head. I knew it was roughly 20 miles into the finish, and while I was tired I also knew I had good legs left to get the job done in a respectable time.
Justin and I at Green Gate, getting ready for the final push. Joe McCladdie
Thankfully, the trail on the next five miles was rolling and relatively easy, and while I wasn't killing it here, I was able to maintain a decent effort. Coming into Auburn Lake Trails at 85 miles, we got a race update from one of the volunteers. He told us that Geoff and Anton had come in together, and so we assumed that Killian had taken off in the lead. Au contraire. The volunteer informed us that in fact Killian "had fallen apart."
Wow, 15 miles to go and 20-25 minutes to make up on what Justin was now referring to as 'dead meat.' Looking back, it appears that Killian was actually a half hour up still, so when we got into Brown's Bar (90) and were told that Killian was still 20 minutes ahead of us I figured that the game was up for third. I had pushed with pretty much everything I had in the five miles to Brown's Bar only to (mistakenly) find that I had made no ground on Killian. I assumed he had rallied, and so I told Justin that I was done chasing and that it was now about getting home comfortably under 17 hours. The reality was that I had closed 18 minutes on Killian between the two aid stations and he was actually 12 minutes ahead. The lesson? Never stop pushing and take with a pinch of salt gap estimates from aid station volunteers.
So we lolly-gagged our way to Highway 49, and I indulged with a fair bit of hiking on the ups. I could still tell that Justin wanted to get after it, but I just didn't have the motivation any more. That all changed the instant I got to Hwy 49 (93.5) and checked in with Nick. He informed us that Killian was only seven minutes up and that he looked like shit. There was no doubt in his mind, he said, that we could catch him. I immediately got a huge adrenaline rush and we were off and running absolutely everything as hard as possible.
The trail through this section was stunning and it was just surreal to be passing through this beautiful open meadow after so many hours in the forest. The sun was beginning to set, the hues of yellow were off the charts and there were a couple of elk to our right looking upon us in a very bemused manner. The beauty of it all, and the proximity of the finish spurred me on more than ever.
I didn't care about the pain any more. I had 10 kilometers worth of hurting left to endure and I had the chance to track down and pass one of the most respected endurance runners in the world on the most storied trail course in the country in the toughest 100-mile field ever assembled. That kind of stuff may not do it for you, but it was doing it for me. I was hammering with everything I had left.
The way we were moving, I knew it was just a matter of time before we caught up to Killian. I was just hoping it would be sooner rather than later so it wouldn't come down to a sprint or anything silly like that. We blasted straight through the no-hands aid station and Justin got a gap split of 90 seconds to two minutes from the crowd there. There was no doubt now that we were going to get him. The only question mark left was whether or not he was going to put up a fight.
Quite comically, we caught him on perhaps the steepest part of what was left of the trail on some rugged singletrack. I say comically, because here I am blasting by perhaps the best steep-course mountain runner in the world 97 miles into a grueling 100-miler. Killian and his pacer saw us late, and had just enough time to step off the trail and let us through. I heard Killian let out an expletive in French (a tongue I am familiar with) and I was just praying that I was showing enough strength that he wouldn't bother chasing.
To his credit, Killian was immediately back into race mode and he set about chasing me down. On what was left of the trail we swapped the lead a couple of times, and at one point I had to tell his pacer to get behind me as he literally cut right in front of me after Killian got a step on me. Killian was power-hiking here in this crazy two-step style about 50 percent faster than I was running. Wow!
I followed Killian up on to the road that would lead us into town and to the finish. I was putting a bit of a gap on him here if I remember correctly, but he wasn't breaking, still hanging tough no more than 10 meters back on me. Justin was trying his best to keep me focused and pushing. I have kind of lost track in my mind of how things played out here through the last mile and a half, but I know that we ended up shoulder to shoulder through the last aid station, both blasting through to massive cheers from those watching.
Having never run the course before, I had no idea what lay ahead through the last mile so I was somewhat distraught to see a long stretch of hill ahead. With one last throw of the dice, I pushed again with whatever it was that I had left to at least make the crest of the hill within striking distance of Killian to see if maybe I had something left for the last bit of down into the finish. I heard Justin dry heaving behind me as I got back on Killian's shoulder, but the Spaniard had just enough left in the tank to hit the gas one more time and leave me on the drop to the finish. I immediately knew the race for third was over. Justin caught back up to me and tried to squeeze one last ounce of effort from me, but I told him that I was done and that I wanted to cruise in with my son. And that's what we did. A very proud way to finish up.
Excuse the salty language:
Yup, that one hurt! Photos: Olga Varlamova
That's a lot of head and facial hair in the top five. Photo: Justin Mock
I gave it absolutely everything I had and tapped reserves I didn't even know were tappable. I will remember this one for a lifetime.
What a day!