Western States 100 Pacer Report
Part of the appeal of pacing at Western States is being able to taste some of the excitement and drama of the event without actually, you know ... having to run 100 miles. If you’re also a little bit self-serving, the appeal of pacing somebody a few weeks before your own 100-miler is that is gives you an opportunity to practice things like moving through aid stations and running through the night all while getting in a nice long training run.
Of course, there’s an intangible benefit to pacing as well, which I’ll explain towards the end of the post. In the meantime, I figured I’d share some of my own observations from Gretchen's night while she’s dragging her feet to write an official race report. (**UPDATED! Gretchen's report is up now.)
At Western States, your role as a pacer begins at Foresthill, the mile 62 aid station which is also the primary access point for crew and spectators throughout the entire course. I got there early enough to sit and watch the front runners come through before grabbing a quick nap in the grass later in the afternoon.
Montrail girl: You’re not going to pace somebody in those shoes, are you?
Me: Actually … yeah. I am.
(long pause)
Montrail girl: No, seriously.
Me: Seriously.
Montrail girl: So what are those, anyway?
I started my little spiel about Soft Star and the whole minimalist thing, but I’m pretty sure she lost interest about 30 seconds in. I guess I’ll just consider that to be planting the seed, and let someone else cultivate it later on.
Pacers have the option of running 1.6 miles up the course to the Bath Road aid station to meet their runners a little bit ahead of Foresthill. For some reason the road to Bath left me a little more tired than I had anticipated, but I figured I probably shouldn’t complain about that to Gretchen when I saw her, seeing as how she had just run 60 miles through the mountains to get here.
After she emerged from the trail, Gretchen gave me a quick status report (the short version: she felt great) on our way to Foresthill, where she made a quick aid station stop, and we set off down the beautiful, gently sloping single track on our long descent towards the American River crossing at mile 78.
Gretchen had run the course fast enough that nearly all of our journey to the river was done without headlamps. We saw the river almost the whole way down, and enjoyed an evening chorus of frogs, ducks, and crickets alongside the sound of the flowing water. It was just another night to them, and their symphony represented life going on all around us, regardless of what happened in this crazy race. That seemed comforting – and it may have been my favorite part of the night.
One thing that really impressed me about Gretchen was that she almost never stopped moving. She was in and out of aid stations in a flash, and whenever I took a few extra seconds for pictures or to make gear adjustments, she was gone. This photo just before the river crossing was the only time she willingly stopped – and even then, as I was checking the photo and loading my camera back into my pack, I soon heard an aid station volunteer shout, Hey, dude – your runner’s already left! I scrambled down the riverbank to catch up, and was barely able to jump in the raft before Gretchen pushed us away from shore. She claims she wouldn’t have left without me. I’m not so sure.
Brown’s Bar aid station at mile 90 is a cross between a cool Halloween party and a cozy New Year’s Eve bash. When we pulled into the aid station, I commented to Mr. Raggedy Ann that I was working fairly hard to keep up with my runner. He started to tell me about a race where he paced a runner who eventually dropped him; unfortunately, I never got to hear the end of it, because by the time he was ten seconds into his story, I looked over my shoulder and noticed that Gretchen had vanished.
This was a cool touch: in the neighborhood surrounding the Placer High School finish line were a couple groups of intrepid fans who thought pulling an all-nighter to cheer the runners home was a perfectly reasonable idea. The level of enthusiasm that people – both participants and spectators – have for this race is truly admirable.
That’s part of the intangible benefit I took from this experience as well: admiration for all the runners who competed, and inspiration for when I take on a similar challenge in a few weeks. I enjoyed spending a fun night with a good friend, and I'm hoping that some of her success rubs off on me when it's my turn to tackle 100 miles. It was a privilege for me to be a part of Western States – especially since Gretchen didn’t need me any more than I needed a pair of Montrails – and it turned out to be a perfect boost of encouragement and motivation at just the right time.
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