Wasatch Front 100 Race Report

Here are a couple thoughts on my 2010 Wasatch Front 100 adventure, in no particular order:

• A quick look at the elevation profile indicates that the first ~8 or so miles are uphill, with the final push being the infamous “Chinscraper” section, so named due to how steep it is. My sense was that Chinscraper is the welcoming committee for the race, to give you a sense of what you’re really in for. “Welcome to the Wasatch Front 100! Think you’re tough? We’ll certainly put that theory to the test. Have a nice day!”
• Learning to run on tired legs is CRITICAL to the successful completion of this race. Even by the long, relatively non-technical descent into Francis Peak at mile 18, my legs were already twitching. Chinscraper just crushed me right from the get go.
• Early on I made the decision that the only way I was going to finish the race was to gingerly jog the downhills, and walk the uphills and flat sections. The climbs were so long and steep that I needed to bank as much energy as I could to get through them.
• If I hadn’t picked up my trekking poles at Lamb’s Canyon (mile 53) I probably would not have gotten through all the brutal climbs in the second half of the race. Big thanks to my mom and my older sister for meeting me at Lamb’s Canyon to give me my trekking poles! I was not comfortable leaving them in the drop bag in case they “accidentally” got picked up.
• Despite running all summer in near triple digit temperatures, it was freezing on day 1 of the race. There was fresh snow covering the trail (and the rest of the mountain too) before we even got all the way up to Chinscraper. Chinscraper itself was freezing cold and wet from all the runners who climbed over it before me. My fingers were blue by the time I was done climbing over all the rocks, maybe this indicated some medical issue besides coldness, but at the time I remember looking at my blue hands and thinking it looked kind of cool. Blue hands, right on!
• By day 2 of the race, it was considerably warmer, probably a lot more representative of late summer weather in Utah. This wild swing in temperature, coupled with the extreme stress of running a mountainous ultramarathon in a sleep deprived state, wreaked havoc on my body’s ability to regulate its temperature. During the race I was okay, but for almost a day after I finished, I varied between being freezing cold, to sweating bullets. I went through this cycle probably once every 20 minutes.
• Part of my elevation acclimation in the week prior to the race included doing the climb from the Brighton ski resort (mile ~76) up to the high point of the race, Catherine’s Pass at about 10,400 feet. I did this hike on Labor Day and the trail was packed with people, including many kids. In particular there was a little girl about 5 years old who was having the time of her life with her friends and parents. This girl was as sure footed as a mountain goat. When I did that climb during the race at about 7 in the morning, I kept thinking about how if that little girl could climb that mountain, there was no reason I couldn’t do it too.
• On my Labor Day climb up to Catherine’s Pass I hooked up with a woman who has 5 Wasatch finishes and was a Grand Slam finisher in ’09. She was doing that climb as part of her training for the Bear 100 in two weeks. During our brief time together she gave me some invaluable advice on how to complete the race (1. Don’t get sucked into the campfire at Desolation Lake aid station, and 2. If you can make it out of Brighton before the sun comes up, you’re golden.). She said she would be the weigh-in lady at Lamb’s Canyon on Friday night, so I showed her the gap in my front teeth as a way to identify myself, and told her I would show it to her again when I saw her at Lamb’s. When I re-identified myself to her during the mandatory Lamb’s Canyon weigh-in I got the warmest welcome ever and it boosted my spirits tremendously.
• Although not the longest or steepest, the climb up to the top of Sessions Pass crushed me.
• When I die, mix my ashes with that of the dog’s ashes and throw them off Catherine’s Pass at sunrise. I would include my wife in the mix but I would imagine she’s probably got more formal plans for her remains. I forced myself to stop at Catherine’s Pass at sunrise, down 2 gels, and watch the sun come back up while standing on top of a huge mountain. I don’t think I will ever be the same.
• Is anyone actually still reading this?
• I thought western trails were supposed to be wide, and relatively free of the annoying obstructions we have in the east (rocks and tree roots). Evidently this is not true. Not by a longshot. At the awards ceremony after the race I shared this sentiment with the race director of the Squaw Peak 50 and he reminded me that after all, these are called the Rocky Mountains.
• Made the impromptu decision to pick up a pacer at Upper Bigwater (mile 62), who took me into Brighton (mile 76). He was a real good soul named Dan who was scheduled to pace somebody else, and that person ultimately decided he didn’t need it, so Dan I think was just sort of hanging around to see if anybody wanted to be paced. I am usually anti-pacer but for whatever reason decided I could use the company. I warned him that under normal circumstances, I don’t usually have that much to say, and when I am running an ultra, I will have even less to say. Further, I said that if he asked me any questions I probably won’t even have the energy to answer him, but if he could just hang out with me for a while I would be very grateful. This dude was a saint. He religiously reminded me to eat a gel at the top of every hour, and then again at half past the hour. Then, for whatever reason when I decided I wanted to switch to the “quarter after/quarter till” gel-eating schedule, he was right on that as well. When I told him I wanted to sit at Desolation Lake for no more than 5 minutes, he set his watch and had me out of there in 5 just like he said. We had a grand time counting the shooting stars on the climb out of Desolation Lake, and the descent into Brighton. He really helped the time go by in the wee hours of the night and morning by asking about my work, although I don’t know if he was prepared for the conservative rant that he got. He has a 3 year old son and told me all about how great being a parent is. I think he said he is training for his first Ironman. GOOD LUCK DAN AND THANKS A MILLION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• Finally found the caloric intake formula that works for me: a gel (Hammer or Gu, whatever is closest) every 30 minutes, supplemented with whatever solids I can get down at the aid stations. I really didn’t crash once during the race, which is a first for me. It took me two marathons, two 50k’s, four 50 milers, a 70 miler, one 77 miler, and two hundreds to finally nail it. Important lesson learned though, at some point if it feels like a gel won’t stay down, don’t try to chase it real quick with Gatorade. This will lead to stomach badness!
• My favorite part of a 100 mile race, besides the finish, is the countdown to the start. You have no idea how it will unfold but you can be certain that what you are about to experience is something you’ll never, ever forget.
• Apparently in Utah, any climb under 1,000 feet counts as downhill. I was told by one of the aid station workers that “it’s all downhill” after mile 87, but I guess they forgot about the last little punch-in-the-face climb out of Pot Bottom at ~mile 91. But hey, who doesn’t love a surprise hill at mile 91!
• Distance from last aid station to the finish is 7 miles. Due to delirium I thought I only had 2.5 hours to complete it in, and that included one last small hill to climb (the rest being downhill, actually, truly downhill). At that point I did not think I could make it before the official cutoff time of 36 hours, but felt obligated to give it everything I had. I was pushing as hard as I could up that last hill, knowing that I would have to essentially sprint to the end to just make it inside the cutoff. I was RELIEVED when I realized that I was reading my watch incorrectly, and actually had 4 hours to do 7 miles. At that point I made the decision to casually walk it in, which is exactly what I did. Of course I had to muster up a run the last 20 yards though.
• During the course of the preparations for this race, I spent an enormous amount of time, effort and money making sure I did everything I could to be ready. I sacrificed my entire summer. I would do it all over again, in a heartbeat. It was definitely worth it. At some point in my life I will revert back to the state where I’m getting more applesauce on my bib than in my mouth but I will always know that I completed a monumental task like the Wasatch Front 100.
• This effort is dedicated to my three favorite girls, in no particular order: daughter, wife, and dog.