| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
1997 Angeles Crest 100 Miler Pasadena, California Somewhere East of Pasadena, CA, September 28, 1997, Mid-Morning - I finished the Angeles Crest 83.75 mile race, and I've got a picture to prove it. Troy Rondot, my pacer, and I are standing in front of the Idlehour Trail checkpoint sign, grinning and shaking hands. I had just been pulled from the 100 mile race for missing the cutoff time by 15 or 20 minutes. Larry Gassan, the aid station captain, had told us that we could try to make the final checkpoint's cutoff, but we would have to acknowledge and understand that there might not be any support on the trail if we didn't make the next cutoff. That was a major consideration with the heat of the day settling into the mountains and the canyons.  Larry was overruled by a mountain rescue person, I believe, so I sat down for good and contemplated my now useless medical bracelet and my first DNF in 25 years of racing.
I said, *Aw, shit.* once, and then a warm feeling came over me. I had DNF'd, but I hadn't quit. I was ready to run if they had let us go. Whether I could have made it or not is another question. Then, another feeling swept over me - relief that I was finished. Then, guilt for feeling that relief took over as my primary emotion. Overwhelming fatigue and sleep deprivation were probably contributing factors to all this emotional bouncing around. The aid station folks at Idlehour were great to us. Two other runners came in after me to DNF there, and they treated all of us like winners. That snapped me out of my funk and I was in better spirits when the aid station was broken down and we got a ride to Johnson's Field, the finish area. I applauded every finisher I saw coming in, especially Jay Hodde, who was completing a remarkable summer. He became only the 7th person to finish *The Last Great Race On Earth*. One runner came across the ball field in front of the finish line doing an excellent dance rendition of Sammy Davis Jr.'s *Mr. Bojangles*. He then kissed the ground under the banner, much to the delight of the gathered crowd. The next finisher sprinted across the ballfield, waving his victory cigar in the air. I marveled at the seemingly limitless human endurance I was witnessing. My own race had been a running battle with cutoff times. I took my time climbing Mt. Baden-Powell, early in the race, and ended up with only a 15 minute cushion after that. Troy picked me up at Chilao, about 53 miles into the race. I began to pick up time on the cutoffs, and my spirits rose. Troy was a perfect pacer, leading me from the front and pulling me along as if I were attached to him with a rope. He did all the trail navigation at night on an unfamiliar course, and never missed once. I had some bad luck in an aid station when I gashed my shin nicely on some kind of electrical box sticking out of the ground in the dark. It needed a bandage for me to continue, and I had to wait for the medical person to finish working on someone next to me. Troy and I had one funny experience with *wildlife* on the course. At one point, maybe at about 3 in the morning, the trail wound through an occupied campground. There were no lights other than our headlamps, and there were large rocks all around as big as the tents. All of a sudden, an inhuman sound rang out into the darkness. I thought Troy had been jumped by a mountain lion, for sure. After a split second, I realized that it was the loudest snore I had ever heard coming from one of the tents. Scared the death out of both of us. Shannon Lyons, an ultrarunner from Altadena, had volunteered to help Troy and I with the logistics of moving him and my rental car around. Much to my surprise, Shannon showed up at all the accessible aid stations with encouragement, efficient hands to help with water bottles, and some critical Pocket Rockets when I was going through a bad patch. Without her help and Troy's, I would not have made it to Idlehour. Thank you both for your tireless efforts. The AC course has some cruel tricks up its sleeve. The aid stations would seem to be within reach, when all of a sudden you would be faced with a significant climb. Cloudburst Summit and Chantry Flats were two great examples, but the best was saved for last. When Troy and I left Chantry at 75 miles with 2 minutes to spare on the cutoff, we entered the Mt. Wilson Trail as the sky was beginning to lighten. It did not escape me that I was now the last runner still in the race. The trail began gently, then the switchbacks steepened. We felt like we were making good progress, though. Suddenly the trail turned downhill and took us nearly back to where we had started, elevation-wise, to begin the *real* climb.
We broke out of the treeline finally, and I looked right and up to see the most discouraging sight I have ever seen in my life. The real summit of Mt. Wilson was still way above us. I looked at Troy and he must have read my mind, which was screaming, *No way, Jose, there is no way I can climb that. My legs and mind thought we were near the top. I can't do it. This is the end. Where do we go so I can quit? F**k this shit.* Troy said quietly, *You gotta dig deep. You're the only one who can do this.* That was enough. Troy turned and off we went. I proceeded to kick Mt. Wilson's butt. Very slowly, mind you, but I was back in control of myself, the trail and the mountain. We passed the 69 year old guy who finished Hardrock this year, but missed the cutoff by 20 minutes. He was in rough shape and we told him we'd tell the aid station folks where he was. He would make it into Idlehour under his own power later. When the climb was made, Troy and I shook hands and we headed downhill towards Idlehour. I could still run downhill, but I couldn't muster any speed. My walk seemed to be as fast as my run. I didn't want to look at my watch, because my heart was telling me I was going to miss the cutoff. I couldn't remember what it was anyway. Troy still led with his usual enthusiasm, but we both knew that we were nearing the end of our race. When we entered the remote canyon where Idlehour is situated, the long faces of the volunteers told me before I asked. A lot of things went right for me during the race. I used CLIP as my fluid replacement, carefully combined with electrolyte caps. I grazed at the aid stations, but didn't feel the need for huge amounts of solid food. Chicken noodle soup, as always, provided a welcome boost at night. I never felt any symptoms of dehydration, although there were several segments where I could have used a third water bottle. My weight remained constant at all the medical checkpoints. The altitude of Mt. Baden-Powell didn't bother me, nor did running with steep exposures on one side in the dark. Best of all, no blisters. Not even a hot spot. A selection of John Vonhof's solutions worked perfectly. I think I know what I need to do to finish an AC type race in a reasonable time. Run the downhills faster, pay early attention to cutoffs, and don't let the climbs psyche me out. I also need to train on more strenuous terrain than I have available to me locally in North Carolina. As I was driving out of Pasadena early Monday morning to catch a flight home, I could see lights blinking on the summit of Mt. Wilson. That reminded me that I have unfinished business in Southern California, and I'll be in Wrightwood next September. This just may have been the dose of humility I needed in my ultrarunning career. If these things were easy, everybody would be doing them. (Ron McBee quote) I'm going to wear my AC T-Shirt (s) with pride, and I'll be back next year to add a buckle and the finishers T-Shirt. Will Brown Raleigh, NC wbrown2@dhr.state.nc.us |
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
