Pacing Western States
He ran slower than the 24 hour pace but spent negative 28 minutes in aid stations.
I said that jokingly about Andy after pacing him at Western States, but it is probably the best summary I can give overall. After each aid stations the same people would usually pass us again. We would then leave the next station before them and be passed again later. I was ready for this after my experience pacing him at AT100 in 2005. In fact, I’ve taken that lesson and applied it well.
It was clear to me when I first saw Andy two days before the race that he was ready. He appeared lean and ready to go. I didn’t ask, but I knew he was thinking about that silver buckle. And with a cool weather in the forecast, it was something that really didn’t need to be said. I had planned to meet him at Robinson Flat and Michigan Bluff before starting to pace him at Forrest Hill. His times through those stations would tell me more than anything he could have said anyway.
In my small set of experiences, I’ve found crewing to be more work and stress than pacing. The trip from Squaw Valley to Robinson Flat proved that to be true. Andy had not asked for me to bring him anything at the stations. Well, he hadn’t until he realized at the start that he left his hat in the condo. No problem. The crew instructions stated to allow 2.5 hours from Squaw to Robinson Flat. That would have been about right if it weren’t for the traffic. Cars line up and are led in 20 at a time. After they loop around and park facing out, some are allowed to leave and then the next set of 20 allowed in. I eventually made it, and Andy got his hat.
Then I was off for Auburn for food and maybe some sleep. Food wasn’t too hard. Sleep was impossible. I left my car at the finish, changed, packed what I needed and left with his wife and kids for Michigan Bluff. I had been tracking his progress by calling my wife in Texas to check the webcast. Things weren’t looking good. Based on their estimates, Andy was losing time off the 24-hour pace. Luckily, something in the system was wrong. Not only was he not behind the 24-hour pace, he was actually a little ahead.
After a day that seemed full of waiting, I had no waiting left. It was a short trip to Forest Hill. I filled the bottle I was carrying, ate a little, and slammed an energy drink. I felt I was barely ready when Andy arrived early adding another few minutes to his buffer. I was excited to hit the trail and quite nervous. Andy had been running a great race. The only thing going through my head at this point was “Don’t screw him up.”
Unlike Andy’s start early in the day, my first three miles with him were downhill. I ended up leading much of this but was trying to feel out his pace. I eventually fell in behind and just followed a while. In general, I felt he was running a very smart pace and I just wanted him to keep at it. I also got a real sense of how his energy was flowing. When it was up, he would cruise the downhills and most of the flats with an energy I know I couldn’t muster after 62 miles in the mountains. When it was down, the running wouldn’t quite last to the bottom of the hill. The scenery was beautiful, and I was enjoying the ride. Through much of the evening we could see the American River below us. I also saw a lot of poison oak along the trail. That would leave more than a memory.
Andy eventually wanted me to lead. For all the moaning, whining, and naming calling that came out of that, I must say in my defense that I was only trying to keep the same pace that was being set earlier. Actually, there was very little complaining out on the course. He did call me “slave driver” afterward, but I’ll take it as a complement. His energy level continued to wax and wane, but we made good use of the daylight we had.
I think the highlight for me was Rucky Chucky. It was cold and refreshing, and I could have easily stayed in that water a while. It also cleaned a lot of dust and dirt out of my socks and shoes. I had socks in the drop bag on the other side, but we time-warped through another station. I think this was a good choice. The air is so dry my socks were not wet more than 10 or 15 minutes. (I normally don’t need a river or even a creek to get wet socks, and drying is just not possible with the humidity here.) Also, I just hate to sit down at an aid station.
By this point we had worked ourselves to 40 minutes ahead of the 24-hour pace. There was talk by the runners around us about being on a 23-hour pace. I told Andy we needed to go another 10 miles. Then we could talk about if 23 was possible. He was running very well for someone who had gone almost 80 miles, but now we had a few hills left to climb, and the rest of the way would be in the dark.
Andy was slowing but still maintaining a good pace. Soon we had climbed for two miles to Green Gate. I looked around for my friend Mike who was working there, but as I stated earlier, we didn’t spend much time in aid stations. There are so many volunteers at the aid stations there, finding one person is almost impossible. By the time we reached Auburn Lake Trails, I had given up on avoiding the poison oak. My only hope was that the dust I was covered in would act as a protective coating.
Approaching Brown’s Bar was extremely deceptive. You hear the music getting louder as you get closer then start to fade away. After you are well past it you turn and eventually hear it getting louder again. But again it fades away as you pass. I believe it was the fourth approach that was the final one. Even then, it seemed to take longer to actually get to the station than the music would lead you to assume. Both ALT and Brown’s Bar had funny tasting water. I drank little in these sections and had to really tank up when we got to highway 49.
The section between Brown’s Bar and Hwy 49 was the low point. Even on the downhill and flat sections, Andy just didn’t have the push. By the time we started the long climb to the aid station, I think we were both dragging quite a bit. I had pointed out that he was losing his cushion on the 24-hour pace. He assured me it would come back and he would run the downhill after the next station.
By the time we crossed 49, the 40-minute cushion was approaching 20 minutes. One of the aid station volunteers tried to weigh me instead of Andy. I’m not sure how they handle that situation, but the medical staff there probably does not look upon gaining 40 pounds favorably. I stood there slamming fluids as quickly as I could, but Andy was ready to go. He took the lead again and kept his word about running the next downhill. I’m not sure if the silver buckle motivation kicked in, or he wanted at least one chance to punish his pacer as a small retribution. I actually had a hard time keeping up for a while. Not only was he really pushing it, we was also kicking up a lot of dust. I guess it had been a problem all night, but this section seemed really bad. By the time we reached No Hands Bridge, he had rebuilt his cushion, and the silver buckle was a lock.
I’m sure if we had arrived at No Hands a little later, Andy would have pushed through to the end. I think that once he was assured of his goal, the motivation for a 23:30 or 23:25 just wasn’t there. We walked almost all of the last three miles. Andy handed me his pack as he entered the track and picked up his pace one more time. I went the other way to try to get pictures.
Soon we were at the hotel, showered, and devouring their breakfast buffet. It looked like we were eating for 6.
A few random thoughts I should probably add here. I paced this looking to attempt it one day myself. I have been shocked back to reality. I ran only the easy part of the course, but I also saw the mountains it climbs over. If I do get to do it myself, I need to lose the weight and be prepared. I think I would have completed Rocky Raccoon in February had I not gotten sick. I wouldn’t have finished WS had everything gone well.
I also experienced a bit of crowd support, which I’m not used to seeing in ultras. In fact, as a pacer it is a bit odd. Should the pacer acknowledge when people are shouting “Great job!”? I never had to consider it before. There was part of me wanting to say, “Damn straight he doing a great job!” Me? I was just along for the ride. And what a ride it was.
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