I can't believe that it has been nearly 2 weeks already but that is what happens when you go away for a week...you have a week of catching up to do PLUS the normal day-to-day life things waiting for you to return. And though I am nowhere near caught up yet, I don't want to let this go too much longer. In a whole chicken/egg sort of way I spent the holiday weekend participating in the Western States Training Camp (thanks to Rodale - publishers of , Montrail, and of course Greg Soderlund the Western States Endurance Run Race Director) paying tribute to the memory of those soldiers who paid the ultimate price in service to this country as part of RunningBull's Run to Honor America's Veterans in support of the New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans. The Training Camp consisted of 3 days worth of trail running across 70 miles of the infamous Western States Trail that ultimately cumulate in the town of Auburn, CA.
And though I did not bring my camera along with me on these 3 runs, you can get an idea of the terrain from the photo tour (complete with topographical reference map and course profile) available at the WS100.com site. However, these photos don't quite capture the true experience of our first day spent running nearly 28 miles through a constant rain; constant if you don't include the segments spent above 5700' elevation when the precipitation was actually freezing rain mixed with snow. Strangely enough, running in and out of misty fog banks through mud and puddles, wet pine needles, poison oak, and jagged rocks on a narrow trail hugging the side of a mountain with 2000+ foot drop was an incredibly introspective experience. Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my mind found other things to do while I was running/hiking for 5 hours in a borderline hypothermic state.
I found myself reflecting on the experiences of my father in the jungles of Vietnam, of the early colonial militiamen in the deep forests of New England and Canada during the French-Indian War, of the soldiers both Confederate and Union in the Appalachian Mountains during the Civil War, and of soldiers in all the other conflicts great and small throughout our nation's history. I thought about how they might have felt, cold and wet and hungry, marching/running through unfamiliar lands under a constant state of anticipation and trepidation. I thought of how their simple actions helped shape the course of history in creating our nation and how that would allow me the freedom to undertake this opportunity to dwell upon these cultural ancestors of ours.
The Foresthill Bridge is the highest bridge in California, 730 feet above the valley below. I drove across this bridge twice a day traveling between my hotel and the Camp and admit to being unnerved by it each time. I ran down a slope that descended about 100' more than this bridge is high within the first 5 miles of my run...and then the real hills (down and up) began.
Fortunately(?) it only rained that first day. Our second day was bright and sunny and though a bit chilly at the start it quickly warmed into the upper 60's and 70's as we descended from the town of Foresthill to the Middle Fork of the American River on a soft yet firm trail with many many rocks and a couple of minor stream crossings. Unlike the actual 100 Mile Western States Run being held later this month, we did not get/have to ford the river. Instead we were treated to a nice 3 mile long uphill climb under the midday sun to await our 20 minute bus ride back to the base camp. By this time I had logged nearly 50 miles of running over a 26 hour period and in that time I came to realize that I am actually relatively good at downhill running. Of course the alternative being trip, fall, and probably break something (if I was lucky) I had great motivation to
become a good downhill runner. The drawback to this of course is that although I minimized the negative effects on my ankles, knees, and feet (from sliding friction in my shoe), I did a tremendous disservice to my quadriceps. On the third day, Memorial Day, I was really starting to feel the cumulative effects of all of this running.
Though you wouldn't know it to look at me at the finish; because my stupid grin doesn't reflect my actual collected experiences from the previous 3 1/4 hours in which I lost the trail twice, slipped and fell for the one and only time (while going up hill), and reached true dehydration. This last came in a revelation with about 7 miles to go as I was running through a charred and blackened meadow and with the scent of the recent wild fire strong in my nostrils and my thoughts still wandering. My head was cold. The sun was beating down nicely on this 70-degree day, but the sweat that had been drenching me for hours was now chilling me. That and my motor reflexes felt about 1/2 second behind where they should have been. Fortunately, the feeling passed after a quick 20 oz of water, a Gu Roctane packet, and 5 minutes with my hat firmly planted on my head. I made sure to take advantage of that final aid station at No Hands Bridge while savoring the scenic views before starting the final ascent 3 miles from the finish.
Thankfully the mud of Saturday became the dust of Sunday and Monday because even with my new pre-release edition
Left/Right Technology PowerSox and my pair of Vasque Blurs with the sticky rubber soles it was a tough run with treacherous footing over some truly difficult terrain (trail or not). No, that is not a tan line but a demarcation of where the poison oak stopped carressing my ankles. Happily I can report ZERO blisters, bunions, caluses, or lost toe nails from this encounter.
Thank you again
Jim Rigney for your words of inspiration and personal examples of determination and dedication which led me to enter the Essay Contest that made this experience possible. I hope to some day form an
Asha'man or
Shen an Calhar running team of other like minded individuals to participate in some of the trail relay events in thanks to your contributions and in honor of your brothers-in-arms. You are not forgotten.
And neither are the 4600 American soldiers who have died in Afghanistan and Iraq for our current War on Terror, or the hundreds of thousands who fell in service before them. At least, not by me on this day of picnics, ballgames, white sales, and the like.
