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Squaw Valley-Auburn race 'the Holy Grail of Ultra' ©2002 San Francisco Chronicle.
Foresthill, Placer County -- Shambling and stumbling like a procession of the damned, a line of runners battled up out of Volcano Canyon. Streaked with sweat, dirt -- sometimes even vomit and blood -- participants in the Western States 100 were just midway through a quest to run from Squaw Valley to Auburn in less than 30 hours. This mountain race is granddaddy to all Ultramarathon runs. At its 29th anniversary, it remains one of the most challenging amateur athletic events on the globe. By Saturday afternoon, the runners had seen the worst of the trail: most of the gain of 18,000 feet and loss of 23,000 feet involved in the 100-mile course, rugged rock mazes and five steep canyons that became pressure cookers under a blazing sun. Participants had already completed 2.4 end-to-end marathons on this rugged course. But they still had the equivalent of 1.4 more marathons to go before reaching the finish. "Murderous!" panted Dean Karnazes, when asked to describe conditions down in the canyons. "Full of hot, stagnant air. Much tougher than last year." Karnazes, 39, a San Francisco business executive for Yamanuchi Pharmaceuticals, was on a crusade to win his seventh Western States silver buckle, which are awarded for finishing the race in less than 24 hours. Anyone who finishes within 30 hours gets a brass buckle. Those who fail to make that cut-off have participant bands snipped off their wrists, getting only an invite to try again. "I've set my run up as a benefit, with pledges from family and friends to raise $10,000 for the Special Olympics. I'll finish, no matter what," Karnazes said. He entered the runners' aid station on Bath Road near Foresthill, gobbled snacks and sponged down his legs. Then he crammed ice cubes under his hat and set off once more. Karnazes, an endurance event veteran, believes only half the Western States is run with your legs. The rest depends on your mind. His grin was not nearly as broad as 11 hours earlier, when he turned to friends at Squaw Valley to say, "Hey! Let's go run a hundred miles." The race blends arduous physical demands with whimsical tradition and a route of striking beauty. Predawn light made a swath of violet and indigo in the east at 5 a.m. Saturday. A pale moon shed light on Broken Arrow and Squaw Peak. The lean, prestigious group poised on the start line included Tim Tweitmeyer, 43, male winner of five Western States and holder of 20 silver buckles; Ann Trason, 41, winner of 12 previous Western States and defending female champion, and Scott Jurek, 28, winner of the past three and defending male champion. Race medical director Dr. Bob Lind blasted his vintage shotgun into the sky. Front-runners bounded like greyhounds up the dark slope, trailed by nearly 400 other contestants. Their broad stream of white singlets and hats, strobed by camera flashbulbs, snaked up into a blue dusk veiling the high Sierra. Their race had actually begun months -- even years -- earlier. Holly Hollenbeck, 28, a Bay Area native, traces her preparation back to short fitness jogs along the Embarcadero to the Golden Gate in 1996. On one of these, Chris Hollenbeck, 34, an investment banker and her former boss, invited himself along. Chris, who had caught the bug on local Envirosports trail runs, was then in training for his first marathon. As the couple dated, then married, distance running gradually grew into a shared passion. "We win quality time together," Holly said. "More than my other married friends. We talk during training runs. And sharing intense experience helps us bond, it brings us closer." They progressed through classic, 26.2-mile marathons. Next, they ventured into the wild world of Ultras -- runs of 50 kilometers, 50 miles, 100 miles or more. Holly had crewed for Chris during his first running of the Western States in 2000. It opened her eyes to possibilities. This 2002 event would be their first Western States as a running team. "It's a big draw, the Holy Grail of Ultra," Holly said. "It's what Boston is to marathoners. The Western States isn't the toughest 100-miler out there. But it's the oldest, and the most legendary." Launch of the Western States -- and the whole Ultra boom -- came from a bold stroke by mountain man Gordon Ainsleigh. He had ridden horses in the Tevis Cup (Western States Trail Ride) over this course several times. In 1974, Gordy decided to try it sans horse. He finished in less than 24 hours, astounding medical professionals, the running world -- and himself. Today, much more is known about extremes the human body can achieve, and what's required to approach these safely. Training is crucial, with a long "taper" that allows runners to get to the start line with few injuries and full energy reserves. Good equipment choices are also essential -- from sun hats, sunscreen and sunglasses to hydration systems and task-specific trail shoes. The North Face (the Western States' lead sponsor) began to address the fastest-growing running trend in the U.S. in 1999. Now it offers five types of trail shoes -- including the "Karno," a light, stable, lugged-soled, double-lace item that Karnazes helped design. However, the most crucial element is the ability to stick to a wise race strategy. "Over the next 48 hours, you'll go through the most intense experience of your life," Lind warned runners before the start. Facing prolonged exertion in 90-degree heat, participants could lose -- and must replenish -- up to 30 percent of their body fluids. Depleted sodium can produce swelling in the brain, then cause gran mal seizures. Dehydration can prompt heat stroke. Destroyed muscle fibers can clog kidneys with long strands of protein. Immune systems will rally to combat the strain, but then plummet in effectiveness. To cope with these threats, race directors provide 26 aid stations on the course staffed by volunteers, 200 of them medical personnel. But nothing can replace the ability of runners to set a smart pace, take on proper nourishment and listen to feedback from their bodies. Even so, to finish by deadline, sanity must be steadily suborned by a stubborn urge to drive yourself through pain and fatigue. "If the bone ain't showin', you've gotta keep goin'," is a wry race motto. At Dusty Corners, an aid station 38 miles into the course, Jurek flew by just 5 1/2 hours after the start. He grabbed snacks, flung containers on the ground, paused to rub ice on the back of his neck, then vanished in a swirl of dust. Other front-runners swept through in a similar frenzy. Karnazes, who trotted in 45 minutes later, was the first to show up with a smile and vocal praise for the volunteers. "You guys are the best. Thanks for being out here," he said. At 1:20 p.m., the Dusty Corners cut-off for participants trying for a 24- hour finish pace, 197 runners had passed. At 1:43 p.m. Chris and Holly Hollenbeck ambled up. "We're feeling good, keeping to our plan," Chris said. "We won't push until the second half. Our race starts at Foresthill." They rested, ate snacks, got a cool mist shower from an "ag" sprayer and rubbed bag balm into inner thighs to prevent "chub rub" (friction burns). From a support crew -- her parents -- Holly snagged a secret weapon: an MP3 player loaded with Grateful Dead tunes and John Denver's "Country Roads." The Hollenbecks didn't approach Foresthill (the 13th aid station) until 8 p. m. Jurek had blown through five hours earlier. The day's heat was fading, shadows lengthening. A tendon injury in Holly's foot gave her a stab of pain with each footfall. A queasy stomach threatened Chris' ability to continue absorbing nutrition. Obviously, starting their push at Foresthill would require a huge application of will. "We'll stick together and keep going," Holly said. "We will finish in under 28 hours." Ahead lay 38 miles, a river crossing and the necessity of running through the night. But Jurek managed to reach Le Febvre Stadium at Placer High School in Auburn before darkness even descended. The post-sunset horizon was a replay of the sky at the start. Arms upraised, ponytail of dark hair flying, he glided around the track. Then he jogged backward, laid down and rolled his body over the finish line four times. With grand ostentation, Jurek celebrated his fourth straight Western States win. Other finishers wouldn't cross for more than an hour. Karnazes sailed in after midnight. He still smiled and he was not even breathing hard -- but he did fantasize heavily about getting his hands on a fresh bean burrito and a super-sized, cool margarita. Up in the reviewing stand, announcer Paul Mayer, a retired CBS broadcaster, made trenchant comments through the night as finishers trickled in. Shortly after 7 a.m. the next day, the Hollenbecks reached the stadium entrance. Chris extended his hand. Holly grabbed it as they ran out onto the stadium track. Matched stride for stride, they swept over the line with a time of 26 hours, 27 minutes, 48 seconds. They numbered 116th and 117th among what would be just 255 finishers. Chris sat down to peel off filthy socks. His wet, wrinkled feet were seamed by blisters, with raw, bloody patches between his toes. He acknowledged this damage, yet seemed to feel no pain. "Our plan worked," he exulted. "We passed a lot of people on our second half. That really kept us motivated." "We never thought about splitting up," Holly said. "It was more important
to finish together than run our best time. I'm relieved, happy and proud of us.
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---------- Going the distance -- Western States 100 -- The top four male finishers in 2002 were Scott Jurek, 16 hours, 19 minutes, 10 seconds; Steve Peterson, 17:28:43; Mark Richtman, 17: 59:59; Tim Tweitmeyer, 18:08:43. Top female finishers were Ann Trason, 18:16; 26; Emma Davies, 18:32:17; Luanne Park, 20:48:22; Francesca Conte, 22:19:04. To qualify for the Western States 100, a runner age 39 or younger must
finish a 50-mile run in less than 9 hours, a 100K in 12 hours or a 100-mile
run in 24 hours (older runners get more time). Entries must be mailed by Nov.
15 in order to be eligible for the Dec. 1 drawing for 425 slots in the
following year's event. Information: www.ws100.com.
ORIGINS OF THE WESTERN STATES 100A group of riders, sitting at a campfire, chatted about the strength of horses in the Pony Express era. Could modern mounts achieve the benchmark of covering 100 miles in a single day and night? One horseman, Wendell Robie, figured out a course using pioneer trails along the American River. The Western States Trail Ride (or 'Tevis Cup ride' - nicknamed for a trophy donated by Will Tevis) was born in 1955. A woodcutter, street counselor and college art class model named Gordon Ainsleigh had completed the ride a few times. But in 1973, he was in a bind. "In a moment of insanity, I gave my good horse to a girl who was leaving me," Gordy says. He bought a new mount from a salesmen who assured him the horse was sound. But Ainsleigh found the horse consistently went lame after 30 miles. Depressed after a training ride, he happened to pass the back yard of Drusilla Barner, the first female Tevis Cup winner. Hearing his sad tale, Barner tried to console Ainsleigh with a few glasses of wine. She told him, "Well, Gordy, each Tevis you've done, you've spent more and more time on foot. We wonder when you're going to leave the horse behind." Eureka. In 1974, the Tevis Cup gang on the starting line consisted of 198 horses and riders - and a guy in a pair of running shoes. With just six veterinary aid stations to provide support, the 27 year-old Ainsleigh covered the 100-mile course in 23 hours and forty-two minutes. "After 50 miles, I felt way better than I thought I would," Ainsleigh recalls. "I began to race the horses. As I heard them come, I sped up so they wouldn't overtake me." A remarkable physical specimen at age 55, Ainsleigh finished the Western States course last year in 23:59:40. This year -- wearing his honorary '0' bib number -- he came in 27:32:53, the 152nd runner to cross the line. E-mail Paul McHugh at pmchugh@sfchronicle.com. ©2002 San Francisco Chronicle. Page C - 1 |
