I’m sitting here in Tahoe at 6am Sunday morning outside on our deck, pondering just what went wrong. This one in particular is going to take a while to process and come to grips with. There’s still 5 hours to go in the race for Pete’s Sake and here I sit. Broken, left wondering why am I still not out there, right now, finishing the job?  What is it about Western that makes it such a nemisis, so elusive for me?  I suppose, it is a test. A test of my spirit. And once again, Western succeeded in breaking me down, cracking my spirit, defeating my will.

The short version is a number of things conspired against me, none alone enough to stop me but when presented to me together, caused me to play defense and catch up almost from the start.  Eventually, I couldn’t keep up with managing all the issues they got the better of me.  Inability to consistently train in steep, long and demanding terrain, lack of heat and altitude training and it just being a bad running day for me all contributed to the derailment.  Separately, I might have managed them effectively but together, they put me into defense mode and I’m an offense runner.  The Mountain was in no mood to make peace with me on this day……………

I began the run following my plan exactly.  I lined up in the rear at the start and proceeded up Squaw Valley at a nice slow pace, low HR. By mile 13 I felt a twing in my left hamstring, a harbanger that it was going to be a long day.  This happened to me at the last VT50 early on but then, as opposed to now, I was moving too quickly back then. I remained on my plan of slow and steady.  By mile 16, at Red Star Ridge all my toes were being crushed into the front of my sneakers from the relentless downhills. I could feel, in spite of a thorough lubing and taping of my feet, both my big toes were developing blisters. Another harbanger.  By mile 23, I began to back off my plan, due to the blisters now interfering with my gait. As I arrived at Duncan Canyon aid station and saw my crew for the first time, I was experiencing dead legs. The heat and altitude was working me over and I had stopped peeing to top things off. I weighed in at Robinson, mile 28, 4 pounds over my starting weight.  I was on the verge of hyponedremia yet again. I then lost my stomach and had difficulty eating any food, at a time when I most needed to ingest salty foods and potassium. So the vicious cycle continued to Miller’s Defeat where I felt the first toe blister exploid, sending an inexplicable shooting pain up my leg. I could feel the blood squishing between my toes. I stopped, re-lubed my feet for the third time and pressed on, now only able only to limp. 10 minutes later the other toe exploided.Now hobbled, I limped into Dusty Corners at mile 38. By now, the lack of peeing, inability to ingest food which I’m guessing was partly a result of the altitude, heat and pain from the blisters, was becoming an issue of dehydration since I had to cut back on fluids to try and prevent the hyponedremia.  That all led to a rebandaging of the feet which enabled me to finally run again.  From Dusty for the 5 miles to Last Chance,  I actually was moving well at 12 minute miles and a nice steady low heartrate. I had recovered.   But now the cramps began to show up, first in the hamstrings, later the quads.

Ironically, I never heard from my Achilles’ heel. It was completely fine. Nor from the plantar faciitis.

It was the ugliest ultra I’ve ever run. It was Western. The Diesel was derailed.

I’ll be mulling this one over and over in my mind for sometime to come. It’s already begun. I went to bed at midnight and was up at 5 am this morning. I an disappointed and frustrated, but not defeated. Rounds 1, 2 and 3 go to Western. But this fight isn’t over.I’ll be back, even smarter and more determined than before.

Bob