Western States 100: Plan Z

There's a post-it on my computer that states, “Go through the pain. Don’t give any energy away to it. Stay focused.” In the quest to support more folks in a health and fitness lifestyle many professionals in the fitness industry have gotten away from advocating pain in training, or, the “No Pain, No Gain” mentality. For average Joe fitness buff, a No Pain attitude can be healthy and effective, but for hard-core athletes it’s a bunch of crap. If you want to go long and hard you best embrace pain, or don’t toe the line. I glance at my post-it daily. I believe that pain can be a strong ingredient to epic events and shape and mold experiences such as the one I had this past weekend at the Western States 100.

The Western States 100 mile Endurance Run starts in Squaw Valley, travels through the Granite Chief Wilderness, and includes altitude, rivers, and deep canyons enroute to the finish in Auburn, CA. Runners are on remote, precipitous trails and fire roads for about 98 of the 100 miles ascending over 18,000 feet and steeply descending even more in temperatures that can sour into the 100’s. The Trail is rich in history and beauty and each year it offers a substantial quad pummeling for runners who take on it’s challenge. The event cut off time is 30 hours and on average only about 60% of the starters make the finish line in Auburn. Though finishing the course in the allotted time is a huge personal win, completing the event in under 24 hours and obtaining the coveted silver belt buckle for this feat is a special and highly respected accomplishment.

Though snow and mud in the high country slowed the pace for all this past Saturday, the first third of my race was enjoyable and scenic. The wildflowers were out in full force and the trail was quiet and dramatic. But despite my training and preparation, my body wouldn’t cooperate during the last half of the course. As the miles moved into night it was apparent that I had lost ground on a personal record time (Plan A) and was losing even more time on the desirable 24 hour mark (Plan B). Although my efforts and mental tenacity were high my legs would not respond positively.

No matter how the cards play out in an event, I'm wired to give it my absolute best shot on the day (Plan Z). If I know I gave it my best shot, no matter the result, I can walk away satisfied. Satisfaction can come in different colors in our lives and I've realized it's an important essence to who I am as an athlete and what I offer others. I'm of the belief that if you're going to put in the work to toe the line, you may as well hang it all out on race day. Why would you not?

I've also learned through giving my “all” time and again that the “all” can become ever more richer than I've seen before. As I realized I was losing time on my Plan B goal I went inside and turned on Plan Z to try and hit the elusive 24 hour mark. Throw it all down and see what you come up with. With 4 miles to go and a steep climb ahead I turned it on.



Looking toward the start at Squaw Valley from mile 30 on the Western States course....

When I hit the track at the finish area just before 5:00 AM I could not see the clock to know how far under the mark I was but I could tell by the crowds’ huge response that it was going to be scary close. Who would have thought that it was structurally possible to go anerobic for the last 4 miles of a 100 mile race then make a last ditch effort sprint around a track to the finish. The pain was so great it was irrelevant. I had flash backs of track workouts and intervals and despite my crippled legs somehow I convinced myself I was a fast runner. My ultimate time of 23:59:33 left the crowd cheering, my legs like jello, and my satisfaction level high.

What a unique, rewarding, trip - a small novel experience for which to raise the bar of human possibility. Or, at minimum raise the bar of what is possible for me and those I shared that with.

It appears that my effort to get the silver buckle took a bit more of a toll on me physically than I expected. In the hotel parking lot after the race, my heart rate shot up and I thought I was going to vomit. Then I blacked out. I woke up a few minutes later as my sister and a crew member were carrying me into the hotel room. I was reduced to crawling around last night due to blisters and leg pain. I have a feeling my recovery might be slower than hoped for.

I'll be back for more. My suffer-fest may not have played out the way I wanted it to but it proved to be a hidden gift—“Go through the Pain”, and it will show you new colors of self and transcendent experiences. Amen.

The Art of the Rested Mind

Squaw Valley, CA: Over many years of racing some crazy long events I’ve taken notice of the chatter in my head during races. I’ve found there is a direct correlation between positive chatter and how much solo “chill time” I acquire pre-race. By chill time I mean a compete un-plug from the civilized world. Remote place, minimal phones, email, computer etc. I’ve noticed that the longer the chill time the more improved the chatter gets come race day.

I decided to test this theory yet again, last year before the Western States 100 Endurance Run. So I packed up the Landrover and heading up to the Sierra a week before the race for some undefined solo time. “What WILL you do by yourself in the mountains for a week?” friends asked. “Nothing,” I responded.

I’ve realized the pattern is the same during chill time. The first couple days I was still fretting. Did I call that company I was supposed to call? I forgot to send that proposal I promised. Damn. Are my clients emailing me with important issues? Oh man. I need to connect, I need to connect!


Terri contemplating the
Western States 100 Course...

After about 2 days, seemingly important tasks stretched their distance from my brain and I settled into my basic routine. Get up and stretch. Go for a short jog, jump in the lake for a swim, make coffee while diving into my latest Paul Theroux novel, eat something, do yoga. Living out of the car and/or backpack made simple tasks significant. As the hours eased on, my mind became calm and focused. My attention had shifted from everyday life stuff to the battle at hand in a few days.

Four days into my chill time I was in full on warrior mode and had all but forgotten “real life”. I visualized the race course. Staring up at the mountains seeing myself meld with their test felt invigorating. The mind gradually created more space for taking on the unthinkable as if I were meticulously cleaning the canvas to white for a fresh art project.

Friends would call. “What are you doing with all your time, are you ok, are you bored?” they’d antagonize. “I’m resting my mind,” I’d reply. They didn’t get it but I didn’t feel inclined to explain. It all felt so perfectly sublime.

Come race day I was singularly focused. My execution was uncomplicated and I was able to attach to my purpose with ease. The result—a truly satisfying race experience.

I’m back for more pre-race chill time this year this time throwing in some specific activities to aid my cause—meditation and some poignant reading. I’ll let you know how the battle plays out.