Debi Jamison is my wife and accompanied me on this adventure. She wasn't "crew" in the classic sense, in that I wasn't depending on her for anything in particular at any of the aid stations, just general support and encouragement. This is her story.
This is my story of the 2005 Western States 100 race from the perspective of the worrying (but not too much this year) spouse. In 2002, Steve had never run a 100 mile race and the race booklet came with page after page of the possible medical consequences of running this long, in heat and cold and through the night, race, and the several ways you could die. No one trains for a 100 miler by running anywhere near that number of miles in one stint and there is no telling what your body will do in the last 50 miles even if it is used to running 50. Your kidneys can fail, your digestive system can quit, you mind can go, you can be lost at night or attacked by a mountain lion. Since Steve didn't want a "crew" and the aid stations (unlike Angeles Crest 100) are either more difficult to get to or not accessible at all, I decided in 2002 to visit some friends near Auburn for most of the day and get my mind off the worrying, and just meet him at the finish line. This year I was pretty sure he'd survive and decided to go to a few of the aid stations to experience the race and cheer him through.
The afternoon before the start, I spent about 10 or 15 minutes massaging each of Steve's legs and buttocks. I did the same before Angeles Crest despite Steve's reluctance to do anything new or different, and it seemed to help. Maybe the massage is at least partially responsible for both of these successful race experiences and quick recoveries.
After the 5 am start, I went back to the room and fell asleep on the couch. In 2002 I spent the morning hiking up the 5 miles or so to the big ski recreation complex above the Squaw Valley Lodge. But this year, after running 5 miles on asphalt the day before, with my foot (which underwent a complex surgery in September) still hurting, and not knowing how much snow I'd encounter on the trails at 8000 feet, I decided to take it easy. Unfortunately I didn't do the math of mileage and car speed to figure out what time I'd have to leave to make it to Robinson Flat in time. After packing up and loading the car, I was on Hwy. 80 before I realized that there was no way I could get there in time. I read the aid station description and map and decided to go to Dusty Corners instead, a 24 mile windy road excursion from Foresthill (which itself is 18 miles from Auburn) plus 5 miles of what was described as a dirt and gravel road not recommended for regular cars. So there was a distinct possibility that I would drive the mountainous 24 miles and decide that the dirt road was too rough for the Prius. I decided to go anyway. When I got to the dirt road turnoff, it was actually paved for 2 miles, and the remaining 3 were not bad at all, so I proceeded. The line of parked cars, including many other regular cars, was rather long, but I managed to get into a space fairly close to the action. I packed up my reading materials, snack and binoculars, and positioned myself on the ground with a view of the dirt road the runners were coming in on. Now the life of a crew member, or just family or friend who wants to greet their runner, involves long waits. You don't know what's been happening, or even if your runner is still in the race, so you have only the vaguest idea of when to expect him or her. I couldn't read and chance not being ready with the camera when Steve appeared around the bend, so I kept my binoculars fixed on the first point where runners could be spotted and waited and waited for the visual clues that the next runner was him.
When he did arrive, later than his predicted time, he spent a minute or two grazing the aid station food, taking the bandana I always keep in my fanny pack (unfortunately left in the car but not too far), and off he went. He said he had been feeling weak for awhile, but I know "it doesn't always get worse" so wasn't too worried. And off I went back to Foresthill - 29 long, windy, narrow miles. I arrived at Foresthill and decided to cruise up and down the two parallel main streets scoping things out, when none other than Scott Jurek came trotting down the street with his pacer, having gone through the aid station just a minute before. I quickly parked alongside the road in a non-legal spot, ran across the road, and snapped some photos of him juggling with his newly filled water bottles. What luck! Later that evening I missed him crossing the finish line while I drove around and around trying to find a space close to the Placer High track.
Scott Jurek in Foresthill
I had decided to make my way to Michigan Bluff to cheer Steve through that aid station, much easier to get to, but I still had several hours to kill. I bought a map of Foresthill at an historic grocery in the middle of town, and checked out the historic Protestant cemetary on the edge of town overlooking the canyon that leads down to the middle fork of the north fork (or something like that) of the American River. It was a nice shady space to walk around, view the old tomb stones, but at least on this afternoon, not see any good birds. Then I went to the other side of town to check out the big park with a History Museum and related buildings (like the old jail house, a small, one room windowless structure). It was just after the 4 pm closing time when I arrived at the Museum door, but two older volunteer ladies were still there just shutting off the lights, and they invited me in for a private tour! Turns out they had grown up in Foresthill and I asked a lot of questions about what it was like to live there, back then and now. The exhibits stimulated a few more questions about the history of this gold mining town. One interesting fact was that the two parallel streets are a result of the early town founders figuring that Foresthill was destined to be bigger than San Francisco because of the gold, and they needed an extra wide main street. After I said goodbye to the ladies (and helping them lock the front door to the museum with a tricky lock and key), I walked around with my binoculars and spotted Western Tanagers and Black-headed Grosbeaks eating cherries from fruit-laden trees. There was a group picnic going on, and a big wedding reception at the large log-constructed community hall. Life goes on in Foresthill despite the hundreds of racers and visitors lining the main and side streets.
It was then time for me to leave for Michigan Bluff. I figured that there were so many cars and people at Foresthill waiting for runners that no one would be left for Michigan Bluff. Boy was I wrong! Hundreds of cars had made their way down canyon and were parked for miles (it seemed) along two roads that intersected with a third road that lead down to the small village of Michigan Bluff where the aid station was. Again, I lucked out and got a space that was being vacated by another car fairly close to where the shuttle bus was ferrying people down the hill. I decided to walk down and when I arrived, there was a party going on! A local organization was grilling burgers, people were milling around, and the trail and aid station cordoned off from non-runners. After viewing some of the historic markers and learning that Leland Stanford (founder of Stanford Univ.) had run a retail store in Michigan Bluff in the mid-1800s (supplying gold prospectors no doubt and starting to amass his fortune) I managed to find my way to a side yard behind the aid station where I could sit on the grass right next to the cordoned off race route and wait for Steve. I recognized some of the same people that had run in before him at Dusty Corners and could predict when he was likely to make his appearance.
At the aid station I ran into Andy Black, an Oakland runner not running this year. The last time he saw Steve was on our hike around Lake Chabot the week before. He said that at the time he was was surprised to see Steve walking, but now realized that it was part of his pre-race taper. Steve fooled around with his foot for awhile trying to find that elusive stone, but soon took off again. Not so easy since the line of people waiting at the shuttle buses door were completely blocking and hiding the race route! What is wrong with this picture? Why are we all there? To party or to support the runners? Geez. Turns out one poor racer missed this invisible turn completely and ran all the way up the hill to where the cars were before being turned around. We saw him from the bus on the way up running the wrong way. I told one of the traffic volunteers at the top that I understood exactly how this happened and that she should tell the bus driver to pick another place to stop to let off and pick up passengers.
Back at Foresthill I again found a good parking spot right before the aid station, and walked around behind the school studying the differences between two female blackbird species that can be hard to distinguish (cowbird and Brewer's) that were feeding on the lawn. I also met two Jack Russell terriers and their owners, and decided to walk up the road that the runners were coming down rather than to wait for Steve in the crowds around this major aid station. Again I saw some of the runners that usually preceded him, and when he came up Bath Rd. (where last year I spent an hour or so talking to local families) I ran with him back down to the school. He said he couldn't eat anything and I told him he had to. I was a little worried at this development. When he went back to the aid station and found some M&M's to his liking, I felt a little better. There was a bit of a panic and disappointment when it appeared that my new iPod shuffle wasn't working, but for a switch from the usual techno wizard in the family, I was the one who turned it on and adjusted the volume properly. which improved Steve's spirits. I sent Steve off with the thought that now that night was falling, he was in his element and his performance would improve.
I arrived in Auburn and even though I'd been snacking on trail mix, fruit, and various drinks all day, broke my intention not to eat anything else and stopped for a chicken sandwich and coffee at McDonalds. The traffic and parking scene around Placer High was mobbed. The relatively quiet, dark H.S. parking lot in which I had spend the night in 2002 was off limits this time. I drove around and around and finally found a space close to the track and later found out, close to the bathrooms as well. This was fortunate since I was spending the night in the car and having a short trip to the toilets was going to be much better than a long hike. I spent some time at the track, but since Scott Jurek had just come in, and the second runner seemingly still far off (turns out 27 minutes), I got ready for "bed", prepared my car with window shield, my ears with plugs, and my eyes with a headband over them, and attempted to fall asleep. With the track loudspeaker announcing a runner every few minutes, and the train whistle blaring just a few tens of feet away, and cars coming and going from the nearby parking spaces, it wasn't easy. Every once in a while I'd check Steve's Treo Palm to see if the race web site had been updated with his times through some more aid stations through the night, but it was stuck at Auburn Lake Trails that showed a time of 2:20 am. That gave me no new clue for when to expect him at the finish.
I emerged for the last time from the car around 5:30 am, got cleaned up, and decided to walk through the Auburn neighborhood on the way to Robie Point. On the way I saw a family of wild turkeys walking up one of the streets. This area of Auburn is very quaint, with interesting, mostly small houses and properties. It was a pleasure to be up early and enjoying the cool morning air. I saw several runners come down the street, only one of which I recognized as one that usually preceeded Steve. Then all of a sudden, there he was, way early according to my adjusted prediction based on when I had last seen him! He was looking strong, feeling good, and I could barely keep up with him. I decided to run to the top of the stadium to make a movie of Steve running around the track and crossing the finish line, but he was moving so fast and my fumbling with controls of the camera resulted in nothing getting filmed at all. Darn!
I missed Steve's finish, but I got the Auburn turkeys!
Steve sat at the finish line for awhile, got weighed, his heart rate checked, and a little later, blood drawn for a medical study. He was stiff, but much more mobile than in 2002 when I didn't think he'd ever get up and move again. I got to calling him "stud" and saying "I'm not worthy", to commuicate my profound admiration and I must say my astonishment at his achievement. How does he (and the others) do this?? One of the post-race challenges was my assignment to find where the showers were, if they existed. Their location was apparently a secret, and when finally found at the gym, the door said "exit only." Note to race organizers: announce that there are showers available, where they are, and put out proper signage.
Steve may not have had an appetite for the big breakfast being served, but unfortunately I did! We collected all of the aid station drop bags that were left off on the track field, but no sign of the special bandana that Steve had dropped.
Meeting Peggy Smythe, to this day the Dipsea record-holder for fastest woman, giving massages, was a real treat. We learned a little about her life since her Dipsea days, and she seemed very pleased to be recognized and respected for her running accomplishments. She recently moved to Auburn, has a horse, and may start training for ride-and-tie races.
I also spent some time at the podiatry tent looking at a collection of the most horrible looking feet I'd ever seen. Not just blisters upon blisters being drained and dressed, but black and distorted toenails that tell the tale of years of long distance running and racing. I wanted to advise all of these terrible looking feet to take a year off, soak in epsom salts 3 times a day, and moisturize continually!
By now it was very sunny and warm, so we took refuge under the big tent that the organizers had erected for the award ceremony. Steve and I both laid down for awhile, only to arise for some ice cream popsicles that were being given away. Scott Jurek announced that he was taking a break from WS100 next year, so the field was wide open for the next winner (just like Lance Armstrong, 7 wins in a row was enough). Gordy Ainsleigh was properly honored for being the founder of this race, the first one to run the course in 1974, and in under 24 hours! Now 31 years later, he managed to do it again, in under 24 hours! Amazing! Every finisher, and even those who didn't, was recognized and applauded. Every one has a personal saga of how they came to the start line the day before, and the adventures and challenges of getting to the finish. Every one is awesome!
We were both pretty tired but couldn't collapse yet since we had a 4 hour drive back home. That night, and part of the next day, I caught up on my sleep. Not running 100 miles can be exhausting!