Cascade Crest 100 Mile 2011: Return of the Tunnel, Including a Bonus Bicycle-Riding Ex-Meth Addict

Cascade Crest 100 Mile Run, August 27-28, 2011

Having the race start at 10 a.m. has its pluses and minuses.  Two years earlier I stayed at a motel nearby, so there was too much nervous time between waking up and running.  This year I took advantage of the late start by staying with friends in Seattle, and driving up race morning.

view from my friends' rooftop patio

I suspect my drop bags were one of the last to enter the piles.

Two years ago it was cloudy.  This year clear and sunny.  The amazing views new to me this year were well worth the extra heat.  I decided early that even if I didn't meet my pre-race goals of finishing under 24 hours for whatever reason, the better views this year were more important than my time.  But having missed the one-day mark by just a half hour, I was going to shoot for it.

Most of the stretches between aid stations are 7 or 8 miles apart (aid station chart), but I only carried one water bottle, as I like to have a free hand and arm.  I managed my fluids by chugging 20 ounces of fluids upon reaching an aid station before having it filled again for the stretch to come.

I probably briefly chatted with most of the guys who finished around me.  I ascended to Goat Peak with Keith Knipling and then a local Dan for 3 or so miles out Tacoma Pass.

by Glenn Tachiyama

James Varner, RD of the popular Northwest Pacific Rainshadow Running, was I think crewing for a friend and kept showing up at the aid stations. 

photo by Glenn Tachiyama

I also saw a lot of Betsy, who I had run into with her husband Matt, running his first hundred, with whom I struck up a conversation at a local market near by friends' house in Seattle, where I was looking for something so I didn't show up empty handed (like I did at my other friends' house, where I stayed post-race Sunday night, but I guess I had a better excuse).

Headlamps should be carried on your head

The stretch from Stampede Pass (m33) to Olallie Meadows (m41) was the most runnable up to that point.  I was feeling great, when I noticed the headlamp I picked up from my drop bag at Stampede and wrapped around the top of my bottle (because I hate having headlamps on my head when it's still light out) was no longer there.

A Tanaka-Hundred is not complete without some bonus miles.  I turned around with much apprehension-- the single-track was quite narrow with the thick vegetation on both sides.  Quite possibly some plant had knocked it off, which would mean that it was lying hidden from view under the foliage.  How far should I backtrack?  How slowly should I run so as to minimize the chances of not missing it?  If I gave up, would some volunteer have a light I could borrow for the tunnel, or would I have to await and tag along with another runner?

Luckily it was only 0.35 miles per my Forerunner, so not much more than 0.70 miles bonus for the extra round trip, and no one passed me, though the next guy was approaching the Meadow Mountain aid station as I left.

The next stretch to Olallie Meadows was more uphill and technical and less runnable than the previous.  I thought it funny that I didn't readily remember the gorgeous waterfall fed by Mirror Lake from running the same course just two years earlier. This course offers so much variety-- perhaps one pass doesn't allow you to absorb it all.

The culinary highlight of the course came at Olallie Meadows-- freshly made pirogis!  After too many PB'n'J quarters, fruit and sports drink, these really hit the spot.  I downed two and carried one to go.  Since 2009 was the first of two years the tunnel was closed and runners took a painful detour up and down a ski slope, this stretch was new to me.

Downhill for three miles-- initially fun single-track, but this converted to this awful, never-ending fire road covered with small, ankle-threatening rocks.  Then ribbons led into thick forest with a steep slope and loose dirt. There was were these ropes or wires that I had to crawl under twice as I slid down maybe 100 feet. 

Chihping Fu (posted earlier today)

One tip - wear gloves during rope rappelling down to the rail trail. Very steep and slippery. Have them ready from your drop bag at Stampede Pass. You can drop them at Hyak after an hour or so.

I eventually figured out that the wires I crawled under twice were actually the ropes I was supposed to be grabbing to help me get down the hill.  Duh.  MD = Majorly Dumb...

At the bottom, it was completely untechnical, flat dirt road to the right.

I passed what I thought were two teenagers right before entering the tunnel.  

I was a little disappointment with the buckle the first time I ran the race, since we didn't go through the tunnel.

This time, I liked it better

MY UNIQUE AND DISTURBING TUNNEL EXPERIENCE

I had been playing classical music on one of my iPod since about mile 35 (aside note-- that particular Nano has only two types of recording on it-- classical music, and downloaded podcasts of NPR's This American Life and SMART EM (an evidence-based excellent way to try to keep atop topics in my field.)  I was never feeling good enough to concentrate on the podcasts.

As I entered the dank, dark tunnel, I thought to turn off the music.  I was feeling a little tired.  Indeed turning off my headlamp resulted in complete and utter darkness.  I was warned by another ultrarunner on facebook that the tunnel was exciting for about two minutes, then it turned into just a lot of flat running in the dark.  I was thinking that I would be able to appreciate the sensory-deprived experience for what it was.

Unfortunately, I never got a chance to find out.

I started hearing a crazed screaming from behind.  Undoubtedly one of those two kids I'd seen at the entrance.  Probably what a lot of people do when they enter the tunnel-- shouting and hearing your echo.

Pretty soon I realized he was yelling at me.

"Hey runner!  I'm coming after you!  I'm fucking going to kill you and chop you up!  I'm a crazy serial killer!  I've love murdering runners!  You can't fucking outrun me!"

So do I REALLY think this guy was going to chop me up and kill me?  If I were to bet money on it, no.  But, the kid was crazy, maybe on drugs, obviously, and his idea of fun MIGHT actually involve bodily harm to others.  I was exhausted and alone, and years since I last practiced martial arts, and so I was feeling nervous....

SIDE TRIP-- LASSEN

Speaking of tunnels, I took my family camping for a week a couple months back in Lassen National Park up north near the border with Oregon.  One of our day hikes was up Cinder Cone.  

I was especially proud of my then 3-year-old for doing this hike.

On the way back, we stopped by some lava flow caves.  My older son was a bit spooked when I had him turn his headlamp off.

BACK TO RACE-- CRAZY GUY IN THE TUNNEL

When the loser finally caught up with me on his bicycle, it was clear he wasn't going to really kill me.  But he could screw with me.  Or try to screw me.  (Incidentally, one of these days I should blog about all the mostly urban situations I've been in while running when I REALLY did get concerned about my life.)

Soon, he was telling me about his former methamphetamine and multidrug addiction, and how he liked to ride his bike now as a healthier alternative.  Normally, I am inspired by stories like this, of people turning their lives around for the better.

But, it felt more like I was out of the frying pan into the fire-- of his irritating incessant chatter.   His family owns a restaurant in Hyak (the next aid station).  I had to answer questions about my pace and where I was in the race.  Maybe it was just the way he talked, or his freaking me out prior, but HE WAS DRIVING ME NUTS!  I REALLY WANTED TO KILL HIM.

Out of the tunnel, he kept on going, and it was a little easier to ignore him.  I think I started breathing more loudly so that he might think I was too out of breath to talk.  It worked; the dumb-ass finally left me alone.

At Hyak I traded my small headlamp for a more powerful one (Petzl Myo RXP) and put on my Ultimate Direction Wasp pack, with lots of pockets (but I took out the bladder to hold liquids).  I was now fully loaded.

I had developed an intolerance to sports drink, and switched to water (this has happened to me in several 100 milers).  The potato soup at Hyak was so good, I had three cups of it.  On the seven mile stretch to the next aid station, the saltiness of the soup made me increasingly thirsty, and, after my bottle ran out, increasingly nauseated.

Up and down a big hill.  Mostly nontechnical fire road.  At times I turned off my light to enjoy the night sky with the Milky Way.  I downed a Clif 100mg caffeine gel I'd packed to stave off my first bout of sleepies.

I came more prepared for the Trail from Hell (Lake Kachess to Mineral Creek).  I remembered if unsure about where to go, to turn right, though this was more clearly marked this year apparently. I also carried my handheld light in addition to my headlamp this year.  This definitely made the trail less dangerous, and I didn't stub my toe once, whereas two years ago my feet got bruised from all the roots and rocks I hit.  Also I didn't slide out of control like I did my first time.  Nonetheless, I didn't get through this section THAT much faster, accounting for my bonus miles second-guessing myself and backtracking the first time.

Probably two runners passed me through this section, but fueling up at the Mineral Creek aid station, I could have sworn that 3 to 4 guys that came in after me left before I did.  Still, not as bad as two years ago.

My new goal was to try to break 24 hours.  I remembered the last time leaving No Name station with my headlamp and only a few minutes later wishing I'd left it in my drop bag.  This year I was still feeling it was necessary or longer, though I could have done away with the handheld.  Since I finished almost half an hour over 24 hours last time, I figured I could make 24 hours if I kept working and nothing bad happened.  I did calculations in my head based on my split pace, the time and the estimated mileage left.

Then I hit the first needle.  They call them needles because they seem like they go straight up and down.

As my pace slowed to a 30 minute mile, I remembered what these needles were all about-- working hard, not going very fast.  Maybe sub-24 will happen, I thought.  Or maybe not.

Finally I got to Thorp Mountain, mile 86, where Glenn Tachiyama await us all and take stunning pics. Luckily I was slow enough this year that I get there around sunrise, so got some cool GT shots.

by Glenn Tachiyama

sunrise by Glenn Tachiyama

by Glenn Tachiyama

by Glenn Tachiyama

I ran into and passed Keith Knipling again right before the descent.  Earlier when he passed me (can't remember when), he didn't believe me when I told him we could make 24 hours, but now he realized I was right-- and all gung-ho about cracking it.  (He ended up being to last to make that cut-off, at 23:48).  By the way, there is no 24-hour buckle, so it's only a virtual special honor.

Keith finishing

Keith stalking me at the airport

My finish compared to two years ago:

2009:  24:28:08, 24th overall, 9th age-group

2011:  23:25:08, 14th overall, 3rd age-group

I had a volunteer take a staged picture of giving of RD Charlie Crissman handing me my finisher's buckle. Unfortunately, the iPhone camera is a little tricky and in my exhausted and exuberant daze, I forgot to check to see if it took.   It didn't.   Oh well, guess I'll have to sign up for the race again and run those 100 miles again to get that photo with the RD!  (And then you'll have to wait another two years to read my report....)

race schwag.  coffee mug is larger and heavier than average.

I was, as usual unpaced and uncrewed.  Volunteers, you were my lifeblood.  Thank you so much!

GPS recordings:

mile 0-47

mile 47-68

mile 68-100

results

other year's results and splits

race website

To avoid the almost-missed flight disaster, I booked to return Monday rather than Sunday, so saw a friend from my emergency medicine residency and her family at their new house.

I miss many of my old friends.  I don't see enough of them.
Maybe I should run less.

Cut-Off Confusion at the Cascade Crest 100 Mile (Pacific Northwest race #2)

Depending on how you count (here not counting timed races or that 150 mile ordeal), tomorrow's H.U.R.T. 100 will be my 18th 100-mile run.  If I finish (see previous short post-- I would normally assume I could), it will be only my third time finishing the distance over 24 hours.  Here was my second time missing the one-day cutoff.

Cascade Crest 100 mile, last weekend of August, 2009


PRE-RACE

This was my first race to which I flew myself for no other reason than to run the race. Felt a little guilty and ungreen. But I got over it. I got a view of Seattle and the Cascades to the east, where I would be running.

.

I drove my rental out to Easton and checked into the Silver Ridge Ranch, probably the closest lodging to the race start.

The guy who checked me in is the husband of the woman I had made the reservation with months ago. He had gone blind a few years ago, after a really fulminant, severe Staph infection, he explained to me when I asked. Orbital cellulitis, I figured, a relatively rare problem that I must rule out with every patient who comes to the emergency department complaining of pink eye or atraumatic eye pain (99.9% of the time it's not, but I can't miss it once.)

My room was called the Duke room. If I had never heard before that John Wayne was called the Duke, well it became obvious.

I finished the dinner I took out from Trader Joe's on the way. I started having the runs. Or rather, I continued having the runs, but they got pretty frequent. I sat on the toilet about seven times by the next morning. I had been having messed up bowel movements for the past few weeks, since getting sick at mile 76 of Headlands 100 three weeks earlier. It then occurred to me that maybe I picked up Giardia during the swim portion of Vineman the week before Headlands.

I hid this fact from Bay Area runner Sean Lang, here with his family. He had barely missed finishing under 24 hours the year before (in 2008). At Headlands he ran the 50 mile race with a heart rate monitor, while I got to the 50-mile mark before he did. He obviously was taking Cascade Crest more seriously, and I knew his times this year at many races was faster, so I felt he would do really well (and he did, finishing 5th overall).

Perhaps I had cleared everything out of my system, because my bowels didn't bother me during the entire race.

The 10 a.m. start works well for people who live in Seattle.  They can get up at a normal hour and drive out  to the race relaxedly. For people like me already staying nearby, it was just a painfully late start. But at least there was time to hang out, eat breakfast (freshly made pancakes), and even attend to my personal hygiene, which is so often neglected at these long events. Really wanted to start my race with clean teeth. Oral-B / Braun should sponsor me.

THE RACE

Map of the course, a big clockwise loop:

First half:

Race started up. Lots of guys darted ahead. I could tell quickly that I was still recovering from Headlands, because even holding back, I felt that lingering fatigue that normal mortals still feel three weeks after a 100-miler.

I met Trey Barnes, who had entered the race with a bunch of his ultrarunning buddies from North Carolina, although he had just moved to the South Bay (of San Francisco). Goat Rock (mile 3.7) came sooner than we expected; passing it was marked by Glenn Tachiyama shooting a picture of every runner. Here's me, with Trey right behind.

On the descent to the 2nd aid station, Cole Butte (mile 10.8), I managed to trip forward, scraping both my knees and muddying my hands and bottle, but fortunately no serious injury.  Hours later I would put duct tape over the right knee after repeatedly irritating it passing through stretches of tall grass.

At mile 16, the course was supposed to go onto the Pacific Crest Trail. I had stashed a copy of the course directions from the runner's manual available online for each section in all my drop bags. The directions said that we would get on the trail in one mile after the Blowout Mountain (mile 15) aid station.

So naturally, running alone, I was really nervous when after more than 1.5 miles, I still hadn't gotten to the described junction. It turned out that point is almost two miles after the aid station. This would not be the last time the directions confused or misled me.

During miles 20's and 30's, a pattern emerged. Runner caught up up with me, we talked for a variable amount of time, then the runner left me behind.

As an example, I chatted a few miles with James Varner, of Rainshadow Running, which holds several ultras in the Washington state.  He demonstrated to me that the ubiquitous plant on the trail that I initially thought might be poison oak (I saw very little of it during the race, in contrast the races in California)-- mulberries.  I wasn't as adept as he in picking the berries without breaking my stride.

James pre-race. He had to drop at 80 miles, but showed a great positive attitude post-race.

Another Glenn Tachiyama photo, me coming into Stampede Pass (mile 33)

At Stampede Pass there were lots of people, with a big cheer for each runner as s/he came in-- it felt like a big party. I stupidly had left needed batteries into my drop bag there, and didn't want to carry them almost 30 miles until I would need them later. Luckily, as I left the aid station I found Catra Corbett and Jessica Devine, crewing for Andy Kumeda, and they told me they could stash the batteries into my drop bag at Hyak (mile 53). Thanks!

Another runner to catch up with me, talk a while and then leave me behind, was 100-mile rookie Samantha Sigle from Boulder. She would maintain her lead in the women's race to win in 23:18, 18th overall).

photo maybe after she won Steamboat 50.

I talked to her briefly post-race, but was too disorganized and whacked out to take my own.

Unfortunately, the section from Olallie Meadows (mile 47) to Hyak (mile 53) involving ropes and the the long Snoqualmie Tunnel had to be rerouted this year.  No more tunnel-- I just missed it, my only view would be on my finisher's buckle.

RD Charlie Crissman replaced it with a climb to the top of a ski lift, followed by a harrowing, technical descent, a black diamond run ("most difficult" for those that don't ski or snowboard), largely along the lines of another lift. On the ascent I was talking with a guy who knew the founding race director well, but this was his first time doing the race himself. We must have been enough into our conversation, that we forgot to read some question left near the ski lift to verify we had done the route that we were supposed to report to a volunteer at the next aid station.

On the descent, several guys whizzed past me--I couldn't attack these very fast partly because I still felt beat up from Headlands, and partly because I'm not that good at steep descents. On the descent I turned on my headlamp for the first time.

Hitting the roads at the bottom, cheers from people living in some of the vacation houses, and several rounds of big and loud fireworks-- way cool!

Garmin Forerunner map of the first 53 miles of the race to Hyak

Third quarter:

Ready to head out, I asked someone to show me which way to go-- and it turned out to be Charlie Crissman, the race director, who walks me out of the tents and points the direction. However, I was mildly out of it and didn't really hear or register what he said. Had I listened better, or simply read the printed directions I was carrying, I would have known that it was a straight shot with no turns, first flat and then up a long hill to the next aid station Keechelus Ridge (mile 60.5). But I didn't, so when I saw a ribboned gate at the entrance of a fireroad to the left, I took it. After going up almost a quarter mile, I came to a house. There were ribbons tied to a gate, so even though it looks like someone's house, I figured I must be on course. After fumbling around someone's property, I finally pulled out the directions and figured out that I screwed up.  Fortunately no one home with a shotgun.

After climbing, it was all downhill to Kachess Lake (mile 68). Then the 5.5 mile stretch nicknamed the "Trail From Hell" that goes along the lake.   On the elevation profile for the course, it appears like a welcome break (the flat part on the right).

After literally bushwhacking through a non-trail stretch of dense forest, I soon encountered a trail completely washed out in places, littered with roots and fallen logs, and quickly learned I had to be very careful if I wanted to prevent injury and finish the race. This didn't stop one guy, apparently familiar with the "trail", and quite coordinated and fearless, who flew by, commenting "God, I LOVE this trail!"

At a more runnable part, I got nervous due to lack of ribbons, and so turned around and went back a quarter to half a mile, until I saw a light approaching. It was Shawn McTaggart, from Renton, whom I had briefly talked to in my last lap or two of McNaughton 150 mile in April. We ended up running a while together for a while until she dropped off, and I had to slog through the trail alone. Luckily two guys came from behind, but weren't going so fast I couldn't keep up. Roch Horton and his pacer armed with this humongous, bright light. I do believe pacing often IS light-muling, but had no qualms about using their lights (ahead of me) to pick up the pace and probably save 10-15 minutes. In the end, it took me 2 hours and 20 minutes to move less than six miles!

It was great finally to get to Mineral Creek aid station (mile 73.9), where this guy, among others, helped me regain my bearings.

Ben Blessing, RD of the Wild Idaho ultras

Last quarter:

At No Name Ridge (mile 81.5), I laid down for several minutes. Just had to sleep. Though not a drop-bag station (the last was Mineral Creek), they said they would deliver anything I left by 1pm, so I left my pack, which was killing my shoulders and neck by making by trapezius muscles increasingly tight. Unfortunately, I decided to keep my jacket tied around my waist, scared it would get cold at the higher elevations, but which I never used. I also brought my headlamp, which I kept on maybe 10 minutes.  I ran a little with Trey Barnes, whom I hadn't seen in almost 65 miles. He had caught up with me while I laid down at No Name.

Trey soaking post-race

The penultimate decade (miles 80-90) included the Needles, these steep hills.  I think there were supposedly four of them, but I lost count. A deemphasis on switchbacks-- it felt like I was running straight up and down them. This late in a race, they were brutal. At some places, slipping could result in sliding down the side of a mountain.

This awesome couple hiked in (hiked up) to man the Thorpe Mountain aid station (mile 84). They told me I then had to go up and down a summit, remembering to grab some sort of ticket to give them as proof I went all the way up.

At first I wasn't too excited about this, but the views of Mount Rainier and other peaks, popping out of the clouds, like island in a white sea, as the sun came up, were stunning.

And Glenn Tachiyama was there, shooting amazing photos of all of us (including the two above and below). Well worth all the running we'd done.

Perhaps one of the only places on the course (a big non-repeating loop) where you could see runners going in opposite directions.

There were probably two more Needles to climb before the next aid station, French Cabin (mile 89) before a long, sustained 6.5 mile descent the last aid station. During this time, I was looking at my watch and noticed that I could finish under 24 hours, but should probably push the pace. It's always hard to tell how hard you need to push to make some time goal on these trail races you've never run before. I started hammering it and felt pretty good, coming into the last aid station with an hour to run less than five flat miles, which I enthusiastically told the volunteers there. Only after I leave did I switch my watch from the stopwatch mode to time of day, and noticed that it was past 9:35 a.m. giving me 25 minutes to run 5 miles.  Oops (those volunteers must have thought I was crazy).  Apparently I accidentally stopped my stopwatch for at least half an hour.

Having lost any hope of finishing under an hour, and figuring I was in 20-somethingth place, it then became difficult to try to sustain any sort of extra painful pace. It was even getting warm. I figured it was better to save what was left of my legs so I could get up and down the stairs when I returned home-- my kids' preschool was closed the week leading to Labor Day, and my parents were in town, so this was a real concern. A legitimate excuse to be a little lazy, relatively speaking.

I finished in 24th overall, 24:28:08.

Garmin Forerunner map of the last 20 miles of the race (minus the last mile or two after the batteries ran out)

POST-RACE

My flight didn't leave until that evening, so plenty of time to socialize and eat. I even drove back to the river to soak a bit, got a massage, and tried to nap on a cot.

An Unexpected Race After the Race

Fellow Bay Area runner Chihping Fu finished shortly after 3pm and I start talking to him and Hao Liu. Soon, I figured I should go-- "guys I've gotta leave soon, and make it back to the airport." Hao tells me  "I hope you can make it back on time with the large traffic backup."

What?  Traffic backup?!  Bye, guys!  I bolted. As fast as possible. As it turned out there was a huge accident pile-up on I-90 about 8 miles to the west, so the highway was barely moving. It took me about an hour to get past the accident, which was being cleared by then, during which I told my very unhappy wife that I might not make my flight and be back home that night, and could you get the exact policy on Virgin Airlines for missed flight? Aided by my portable Garmin Nüvi, which showed my estimated time of arrival at the Enterprise Rental Car, I drove an unspecified velocity faster than I legally should and would have, until I knew that not only could I make my flight, but avoid the car return late fee, and even, get this, fill up the gas tank to save even a few more hard-earned bucks.  So though I missed the 24 hour cutoff, I made all the rest, which was more important to maintain domestic tranquility.

Thanks, Hao, you saved me (barely)!

Next time I bug out earlier...

An epic race, that I'll have to retry with fresher legs.  I missed 2010, since Angeles Crest was held the same last weekend of August.  This is a maybe for 2011 depending on the results of at least one lottery.

Thanks to the RD and all the volunteers for helping to put on such an amazing experience!

official race website

race results

my Garmin Forerunner recorded maps:
miles 0-53, start to Hyak
miles 53-80, Hyak to No Name Ridge
miles 80 to not-quite-100, No Name Ridge to almost the finish

official race recap published in the Ultrarunning Magazine, November 2009

link to Glenn Tachiyama's photo gallery
(You can few his beautiful images full-sized.  Thanks, Glenn-- they are a definite bonus for running this race.)