Tag Archives: Running

More Tales of Ultra Running

03 Wednesday May 2017

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This was my second attempt at the 100k distance at the Canyons. At least it wasn’t raining this year. But after leaving Cal 2 and reaching the river with what I thought might be food-poisoning like nausea, something loud came barreling down the mountain through the understory – headed my direction.

“What now?” I thought.

A large brown bear landed squarely on the trail not ten feet in front of me and gave me a good looking over.

Fortunately, California bears are mellow – not like the grizzly bear in Alaska who still carries a grudge about the extermination of its cousins (ursus arctos californicus). I actually said “hello” out loud. Correctly reasoning that I was friendly, the bear executed what to my eye looked like a perfect pirouette and charged off in the other direction. I once heard it said that bears are not good down-hill runners. I am now in a position to refute this assumption.

But one-quarter mile later, I was on the ground for a different reason. The nausea was not improving, and I had abdominal pain. So I sat down. Then the rapid and shallow breathing that precedes a good technicolor yawn started. So I lay face down. That’s when other runners started coming by.

And this is what I find most endearing and comforting about the ultra-running community. To a person, everyone stopped and asked what had happened. Was I alright? Did I need water, s-caps, anything? Did I want them to stay and help in anyway? Runners were willing to give up their goals of finishing before cutoff to assist, which is why this is such a noble sport.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you. Just nauseous. If you could mention that I might need help at the aid station. Don’t let me hold you up…I need to rest for a while before I get moving.” Since brevity is the sole of wit, I condensed things a bit to “nauseous, resting, will get going, thanks!”

It was relaxing in a way to lay face down on the trail. The river was making river sounds, there may have been some birds chirping…there were lots of mosquitoes (but again, California mosquitoes are mellow compared with Amazonian mosquitoes). I did, however, notice it was getting cold and dark. This thought had me sitting-up debating which direction I should start to walk. Where would help be coming from?

Do I head uphill for two and one-half miles in the dark, or west along five and one-half miles of nice rolling trail? Well, I knew what the answer had to be. It was just hard to convince the body that help would come from Cal 2 (uphill) rather than Rucky Chucky.

Within five minutes of moving, Lesley Dellamonica and Naomi Plasterer came barreling down the hill charging in a way that would have made that bear nod gently in reverent praise. Afterwards, they said my face was white as a ghost, which is a hard look to pull off with a sun-burn. But they placed me between them, and we slowly made our way uphill, occasionally trying to get me to drink some flat soda, and occasionally, me pausing to sit on the trail for a moment.

I could go into minutia about how the rest of the evening went, but I’ll just end by expressing my immense gratitude to everyone who assisted along the way. There was never any doubt that I would get back up that hill. And that was mainly due to the optimism and encouragement of my companions, Lesley and Naomi. They kept me moving. There was also Bill Hunter at Cal 2 who checked that I would be fine and eventually drove me and another bedraggled runner back to Foresthill. There was Carrol Lindsay, the nurse at Foresthill who let me rest on a cot with a warm blanket and tried to feed me various edible tidbits – all the while saying I was looking better as time passed. There was the volunteer who retrieved dry clothes from my car. And finally, there was the Race Director, Chaz, who showed compassion at Foresthill and put on one-hell-of-an-awesome event. All these precious pieces of the chain that pulled me up from the river and the darkness, all these awesome people, these awesome runners…these are the kind of people who get things done! Thank you for making the world a better place…

Will there be a third attempt next year? The adventure continues…

Since there is no photo of me laying prone on the trail, you’ll have to make do with this…

the-hill

“Running? up that Hill.” Photo courtesy of Naomi Plasterer.

The Map of My Heart

20 Tuesday Oct 2015

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This heart’s geography’s map—this limitless small continent—this soundless sea…
-Walt Whitman

First of all, let’s get all the Latin and cursing out of the way with right at the start. SVT is supraventricular tachycardia which is Latin for Fucking Fast Heartbeat. There!

In my case, my heart clocked in at 238 on September 9, 2015, sometime after five in the evening after five and one-half miles of a planned sixteen-mile run, just as I was beginning to ascend ball bearing. I was running with a heart rate monitor that would do an electrocardiogram (ECG) in case this very thing happened. It was a hot day – probably 95 when I started my run at Quarry parking lot near Auburn. My hydration pack was filled with ice. The moment I felt my heart rate spike from 130 to 238, I pressed the transmit button which sent my ECG to somewhere in Florida, then back to California, and I sat down to concentrate on breathing.

I imagine people experience SVT in different ways. For me, there is a brief instant just before tachycardia when I know – a feeling of what I later learned is a sort of skip in the heart beat preceding a beat so fast that my brain loses oxygen and I begin to feel light headed. An event in medical parlance. So I sat down to breathe…now that I knew. What I knew was that I didn’t want to pass out at the base of ball bearing at that moment.

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Near the base of Ball Bearing (Maine Bar Trail).

Here is how my medical team reported the event:

Cardiology was notified of your event and it showed a supraventricular tachycardia. They recommend you be evaluated further by our cardiac electrophysiology specialists to discuss the best treatment options for you.

Specifically, my diagnosis was AV Nodal Reentrant Tachycardia (AVNRT), the most common type. Essentially, this is an electrical short circuit near the center of the heart.

The heart has a natural pacemaker called the sinoatrial node (SA node) which kicks off this wondrous sequence of events that is the heartbeat (your pulse is simply the number of signals the SA node generates each minute). Starting near the top of the heart, this spark of life begins at the right atrium and travels down along electrically conducting pathways.

cardiac-conduction-systemThe first signal tells the heart to contract and pump blood. Electricity then flows along two pathways (the fast and slow pathways) to the AV node, where there is a slight pause to allow the right and left ventricles to fill with blood. It is here that an extra pathway may cause the signal to loop in a circle (the reentrant in AVNRT) and override the SA node’s normal pace-making duties, greatly speeding up the heartbeat in the process.

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The reentry circuit – AV node

So, one week later, I was patched into an IV and getting hooked up to all kinds of wires, after having undergone various blood tests and electrocardiograms, in preparation for a radio-frequency catheter ablation of my heart. What you should keep in mind, is that SVT is not considered a disease of the heart and is usually not life threatening. And neither is it caused by running. Although in my case, running triggered SVT. Other triggers can include caffeine, antihistamines and stress. But the underlying cause is an unknown abnormal electrical circuit.

Toward the unknown region…

April 11
During runs earlier in the year, symptoms sometimes presented as difficulty breathing and tightness in the throat. As I was in the midst of allergy season, this was what I naturally thought of as the cause. It even seemed that a bad day at Lake Sonoma on April 11 might have been down to having received the second of three doses of the rabies vaccine the day before (another tale). “Headache, nausea, abdominal pain, muscle aches, dizziness,” are the possible mild problems associated with this vaccine. Yet they are also indistinguishable from the “mild problems” associated with running an ultra marathon. But in retrospect….

Lake-Sonoma

At Lake Sonoma 50 – photo by John Evans

There was a moment during Lake Sonoma around mile thirty-five when I could not take another step. A tightness in my throat (a symptom of SVT) made breathing difficult, so I sat for a moment. I am going to have to drop, I thought. But to do so, I had to get to the next aid station at Warm Springs Creek, three miles distant. No one could help me get there. So I dumped everything left in my pack into my body. This consisted of two packets of Scratch, two GUs and some Endurolyte tablets. Minutes later, I was moving again and feeling optimistic. Thoughts of dropping were gone.

But wait…weren’t you wearing the heart rate monitor that came with your Garmin? A good question, to which my answer is…no. It took a run on May 28 on Quarry Trail when my throat tightened up and I had to stop short at Brown’s Bar that made me think I should strap the bugger on again. And then nothing happened, until June 16 on a run from the Overlook just before starting up K2.

I stopped to catch my breath, which was short and rapid, and glanced down at my Garmin. It read 235 bpm. Well that’s my max…hold on, isn’t it that less your age? Must be something wrong with the watch! I later saw that my heart rate was 235 for four minutes that day.

There followed three other events: June 23rd, 226 bpm for five minutes; August 23rd, 230 bpm for nine minutes; and August 24th, 233 bpm for seven minutes.

When I met with my primary care physician, I expressed concern since I was planning on running Rio Del Lago on November 7. “Well then, we better figure out what’s going on,” was her response, and she gave me a heart rate monitor to wear for thirty-days.

Since I was wearing only the Kaiser provided heart rate monitor during the pivotal event on September 9, I can’t tell you how long I sustained a rate of 238 bpm. It was probably around nine minutes. I had trashed my Fenix 2 the week before taking what Bob Halpenny called a most spectacular fall which gave new meaning to Garmin’s metric “ground contact time.” Thankfully, x-rays confirmed nothing was broken except the Fenix 2. My doctor, no doubt, was wondering what I was up to again and gave me what I considered to be sound medical advice…“don’t fall.”

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Normal ECG waves.

Which takes us to September 16 and the cardiac ablation…

The map of my heart…

September 16
Before the ablation, there is the electrophysiology (EP) study. Since heart tissue will be destroyed during an ablation, it is nice to know that nothing critical is being zapped, which might result in implantation of a pacemaker. The EP study is the process that maps the electrical pathways of the heart, and points to the precise spot of the abnormal circuit.

Access to the heart is gained from an artery or vein near the groin (good grief!). Since I must remain awake during the procedure, something special is dripped into my IV to keep me calm. Conscious sedation is the medical term. Which works well. In order to get the catheter into the artery (think of a plastic tube not unlike spaghetti), some lidocaine is used as local aesthetic. After this, I feel more like an observer than a participant.

The tachycardia must be triggered to identify my aberrant circuit. My heart is now in my doctor’s hands. He controls its beating – as like a switch he effortlessly turns on and off. Painlessly, I feel my heart being fiddled with, speeding up and slowing down, as my electrical circuits are mapped. At one point, my heart feels like it is trying to leap out of my chest. “That’s nice,” I think, without a bit of concern. Then some ablations begin which I sometimes feel as warmth in my chest. Afterwards, for sometime, I will occasionally feel as if someone has the barbeque on when I take a deep breath. After two-hours, the procedure is done. Several spots were ablated.

normal-sinus-rhythm

Normal sinus rhythm from 12 lead ECG.

Recovery takes four hours. My doctor turns my heart from his hands into the hands of my nurses. Poetry is insufficient to describe their care. I know, because I have searched for some to use in this piece, and the words always fall short of what I feel. Nursing is one of the noblest pursuits. A major complication during recovery is bleeding from the puncture sites in the groin (good grief again!). But I am well looked after, and there are no complications.

This precious heart set in the silver sea…

September 24
One week later, I laced up my Altra’s to take my first post ablation run. The first mile was good, but there followed a skip, and my heart rate instantly spiked to 220 bpm. Pressing briefly on my femoral artery, I was able to bring the heart rate down and walked home – feeling blown about like the fall leaves that swirled in the warm Sacramento breeze. That was the moment I knew I should drop from Rio Del Lago.

After another consultation with my cardiologist, we both felt it was worthwhile to go back into my heart and take another look around. He doesn’t like to be too aggressive when he does these procedures. There is no line over which he can backup if he goes too far. He had ablated about one-dozen spots in my case, which is quite a lot. I have a stubborn heart, he noted. So, the usual blood tests were ordered and another date set.

You again…

October 7
Glenda and Jack instantly recognized me when I walked into the Cath Lab. We proceeded to have a grand time – like old friends. The preparation and electrophysiology study were done as before, although the procedure took longer at two and one-half hours.

My doctor accessed my heart from arteries on both sides of the groin this time (good fucking grief!). Despite this, I felt more relaxed in recovery. My pulse was hovering in the 60s, and somewhat tired, I took a yawn. My heart rate leapt to 120, and the alarms started ringing.

Oddly, every time I took a deep breath, my heart rate jumped, sometimes up to 130. A 12-lead ECG was ordered, but the rhythm on the monitors looked different from that of supraventricular tachycardia. The doctor said he ablated quite a few spots for a total of nine minutes of burn time. At one point, he said he didn’t think he could do anymore without risking a pacemaker. In my consciously sedated state I thought “hmm…” But then he took another look and zapped a few more bits after which he was unable to induce tachycardia.

The general consensus was that after two ablations close in succession, my heart was essentially saying WTF (latin again)! A stress test on the treadmill was scheduled, and I was temporarily prescribed some heart medication.

October 13
Although it was no Goat Hill, the stress test did get my heart pumping. Strapped into all sorts of wires again, and with a blood pressure cuff on my arm, the treadmill gradually increased its speed and slope. Thankfully, the technicians were unable to induce SVT. Although I did have palpitations and some skips in the heart beat originating in the atrium. These may be a result of bruising and swelling from the procedure and should subside. Looking over the before ablation and after ablation ECGs with my doctor, he pointed out that these skips were happening before the first ablation.

October 20
It was not without some trepidation that I went on my first run following my second ablation today. At the start, my heart rate jumped to 150, and you probably have a good idea what I thought…I stopped and walked whenever it spiked. But after three-quarters of a mile, as I deepened and slowed my breathing, it started to stay below 130 in my aerobic range. I still experienced palpitations, but I managed four miles, which was all I set out to do. In two weeks, I’ll take another heart rate monitor from Kaiser out for a spin, and we’ll see if the ECG has calmed down.

Until then, keep the trails warm for me. I have big plans for 2016 which include a 100-miler. The trails and ultra community are lodged deep within the map of my heart.

Supraventricular-tachycardiaSaint-Exupéry was a pilot in the early days of aviation. He was also an author. Although he was writing about flying, to me, this quote captures an important reason to run “…it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things.”

Heart and ECG graphics are courtesy Life in the Fast Lane.

Almost Skunked – American River 50 Mile Endurance Run

21 Monday Apr 2014

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The line of runners was being held up by a skunk. Our fearless cat from Kauai had recently tangled with a skunk and had come out on the wrong end of things. He required a good dousing with Skunk Odor Remover followed by a vigorous bath. This thought was on my mind as I was somewhere along the last ten miles of the American River 50 on Saturday, April 5, 2014.

Kekoa from Kauai

In the later stages of an ultra, you tend to swap places in the line with the same runners. You come to know them as they pass you and then you later pass them as walk breaks are taken. The process is repeated a number of times – somewhat like the instructions on Skunk Odor Remover – rinse and repeat.

Stopped ahead on the single track trail were two runners with whom I had been keeping company. They were pointing at something just ahead in the middle of the trail, and there was an odd smell. With a precipitous drop to our right and a steep slope to the left covered with poison oak, there wasn’t anyway to get around the skunk which had its back to us – tail up.

AR-50-1

What it feels like to finish sans skunk.

“Throw something at it,” was suggested by a voice from the group that was now piling up behind us.

“Don’t kill it!” was appended to the first request by another.

The lead runner tossed a small rock in the direction of Pepé Le Pew who moved to the side of the trail but still with tail up ready to fire.

“It’s unusual for them to be out at this time. Perhaps he is ill.”

Great…now we have to deal with a rabid skunk.

One of the two runners ahead of me uttered an expletive and started to run up the left bank.

“You’ll get poison oak!”

“I’m probably already covered with it.” True, leaves-of-three were vibrant along the trail all day.

As I was weighing the merits of poison oak versus skunk spray, the other front runner made a dash for it. I instantly decided to match his stride reasoning that the first runners past would confuse the skunk before action could be taken. This proved correct. And as far as I know, the rest of the pack came through unscathed.

It was another superb day on the trails. Perfect temperature, outstanding volunteers and flawless organization on the part of Race Director Julie Fingar. Several news articles repeated a remark that AR50 is now the largest 50-miler in the country. Well done!

P.S. Much to my surprise, I did not get poison oak on me…Next up, the Canyons 50k on May 3.

pepe le pew

Way Too Cool, It’s the Real Thing

22 Saturday Mar 2014

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On my way to Goat Hill on the Auburn Lake Trail.

“I don’t usually drink coke, but man…this tastes unbelievable.”

I can tell you that this was said to me by a comrade in ultra running at the Auburn Lake Trails aid station, 21.1 miles into my second running of Way Too Cool 50k on Saturday, March 8, 2014. At nine minutes past noon, to be precise.

The runner was enjoying his refreshing beverage. After all, Coca-Cola Revives and Sustains, according to its 1905 advertising slogan.

Now, ordinarily, I’d be right there with him on this. I love coke and have been a two to three can a day man. But back in June, it seemed to me that my weight should have been somewhat less than the figure indicated on the scale…what with all this running.

Contrary to popular belief, us runners do need to watch what we put in our bodies. And all that daily sugar was just so many empty calories adding to the tally. So I resolved in June to give up sodas for awhile – just cold turkey it. I had no plan on how long this would last, but at 12:09 on Way Too Cool Saturday, it had been just over nine months…

So as I was draining the contents of my water bottle and inhaling one-half of an orange (these taste unbelievable as well), I glanced back at the table that was covered with cups of coke, The Pause that Refreshes. All I had to do was back up a few steps, and they were mine for the taking. No one would notice, and no questions would be asked.

In fact, I recalled that at my first running of the Dick Collins Fire Trails, I asked for more coke and was handed the bottle to finish off. Talk about The Best Friend Thirst Ever Had! Since You Can’t Beat the Real Thing, you can understand my dilemma.

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The finish.

So what did I do? I don’t mind telling you that I experienced a moment of doubt. What were all these cups for, if not for drinking? But the call of the trails beckoned, and the leaves of the trees rustled in the wind while a lone eagle soared on the thermals, or perhaps it was a scrub jay…or maybe a squirrel in the bushes. So I refrained from partaking of that Ice Cold Sunshine and began to make my way toward my old nemesis – Goat Hill – that 20% grade that feels much longer than a quarter mile.

When I finished, I had knocked ten minutes off last year’s time. But I did have the celebrated frog cupcake. Because after all, one is entitled to some indulgences.

Signature WTC Frog Cupcake

Coke

Way Too Cool

25 Monday Mar 2013

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March 9, 2013

So there I was at the side of the trail about mile fives into the 31.2 mile run with my hands on my knees, choking on an electrolyte capsule. I tried to inhale, and for one moment I couldn’t breathe. The only thing that went into my lungs was salt. Well, should this happen to you, you’ll find that the body rebels and somewhat forcefully and involuntarily tries to get everything out – as it should.

What may look to some like vomiting, is really more an expulsion of the contents of the lungs. Which in my case included a partial gelatinous capsule and some white foam caused by all the salt. The look was not unlike a mad dog frothing at the mouth.

And what flashed through my mind in that instant? Two things. The first was that I didn’t wish to keep Debbie waiting at the finish, so I had better get on with things and start moving again. The second was that runners going past me must be thinking that it’s a bit early in the race to be throwing up. A runner stopped to see that I was alright. I thanked him and explained that a capsule had gone down the wrong pipe. Of all the things that could go amiss during a run which one tries to anticipate and prepare for, this wasn’t even on the list.

Thankfully, the moment passed, as they all do. When I could breathe again, it was a glorious feeling. But for the rest of the day, every in-breath tasted of salt – and not like the fresh salt laden ocean spray that one delights in at the beach. Whenever I took a really deep breath, I felt as if the other half of the capsule was stuck somewhere, and I would start to gag.

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Making a splash at Way Too Cool and looking slightly distressed.

Despite all that, it was a brilliant day and the course was gorgeous. The weather ideal. Ultra running is about carrying on in spite of things. So if misfortune strikes…well so what…the journey must continue.

Way Too Cool 50k starts on the 8.6 mile Olmstead Loop Trail which crosses two creeks. The American River Canyon Hikes guide explains that the trail was named for Dan Olmstead in 1993, who “was a local avid mountain biker and hiker.”

From Olmstead, it is a swift downhill to the Highway 49 crossing and the Quarry Road Trail which follows the middle fork of the American River for about six miles. Gold was pulled from the river here in the 1850s. Before then, the Paiute and Washoe tribes used these trails. Tucked away behind some rocks at just after one mile on the Quarry Trail is the gated entrance to what is left of Hawver Cave. From this cave in the early 1900s, Dr. J. Hawver recovered fossilized human remains dated at 10,000 years old along with the remains of a saber-toothed cat. So these are well traveled trails.

But the descendants of saber-tooth cats still call these woods home. After Quarry Trail, the run heads uphill to the Auburn Lake Trail which is where the Auburn Lake would have been had the Auburn Dam been built. I was running behind a gentleman who had a few years on me. He asked if I wished to pass, but I told him that I was just trying to keep up. Then we passed a bench alongside the trail to which he pointed. He asked if I knew the story. It was near this spot in 1994 that accomplished ultra runner Barbara Schoener was tragically killed by a cougar. The bench is a monument to her memory. I reflected on this for some time.

And then we came to goat hill. You’ve seen goats. And no doubt you’ve seen goats on hills. At least you could hear the cow bells ringing from the top announcing the next aid station. Hope amidst goats! I had to stop twice to catch my breath, and I’m sure a moan came from my mouth at one point.

“I’ve learned to love that sound,” came a voice from behind.

“What, the moaning or the cow bells?” was my response.

“The cow bells!” was his Pavlovian answer. Like Pavlov’s dogs, distance runners begin to salivate at the sound of cow bells.

But we also salivate at the thought of the special frog cupcakes awaiting us at the finish. My official time was 6:25, placing 581 out of 853 finishers.

Signature WTC Frog Cupcake
Immense thanks must again go to my adoring and supportive wife, who, although she doesn’t quite understand why someone would willingly run 50k or 50 miles, nevertheless encourages these endeavors. She could have slept in that morning, but drove me up to Cool. And more importantly, back to Sacramento later that day.

Next up is the American River 50 on April 6, where I plan to carefully swallow everything I put in my mouth.

Dick Collins Fire Trails 50

03 Saturday Nov 2012

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 Saturday, October 13, 2012, Contra Costa

Somewhere along the Bridle Trail close to the half marathon mark. Photo courtesy of Pete Beck Photography.

“You should hate your pacer.”

Diane Forrest was explaining her philosophy, or art, of pacing as we were running somewhere along the last portion of the Dick Collins Fire Trails 50 mile run. She was telling me how she had unleashed a torrent of foul language at her pacer during the later stages of the Western States 100, when from behind us came a kind of proclamation.

“I am going to hurl.”

There was to be no argument with this defiant announcement. Although not a literal statement of fact, the emphatic challenge of this remark was – “I am going to walk for awhile. See if you can make me do otherwise.”

Diane was pacing Jennifer Blake over the last thirteen miles of the course, and Jennifer had clearly reached a moment when she needed to stop, dig deep, and summon her reserves. But the pacer is relentless. It’s the job.

Then my watch made a chirping sound.

“What’s that for?” – came Diane’s query, her ears missing nothing.

“That’s to remind me to eat,” was my response, although I made no effort to do anything of the kind.

“What have you been taking?” Diane inquired very reasonably.

“Usually a Gu… (awkward pause) …I suppose I ought to have one.”

You see, a pacer also thinks for you. After a time, there is no blood flowing to your brain, since your muscles are not very good at sharing. They tend to use every drop of it, leaving nothing for non-vital functions such as thought and digestion, which is a pity, because all that food you’ve been ingesting has not been digesting. Think of an air traffic controller with planes stacked up for miles attempting to land in foggy weather and you’ll have a sense of the resulting stomach nausea.

“What have you been taking for electrolytes?”

“Umm….doesn’t Gu have electrolytes?”

“You need more than that.” Digging into her pack, she handed me a few S! Caps.

“Let’s run to the next uphill!” And so it goes…

Perhaps most importantly, the pacer looks after you. It is a selfless act that is paradoxically usually not appreciated until well after the finish. But I was secretly elated to be running with Diane and Jennifer. They graciously let me tag along for the last six miles. To minimize the level abuse hurled (that word again!) in my direction, I resolved to wait until after we finished to tell Diane that I was having a good time. And, at the risk of revealing something that could be used against me during some future run, the truth is that pacers are Angels.

The day in the Bay Area was angelic as well – clear skies and moderate temperatures with beautiful views of San Francisco from the ridge line – what pilots might call “ceiling and unlimited visibility.” The Fire Trails course is an “out and back” run that winds through several East Bay regional parks. Over 50 miles the vertical ascent is 7,800 feet. Since you finish where you started, the descent is also 7,800 feet.

The most daunting hill in my mind occurs after leaving the Steam Trains aid station. Here, you begin a 1,500 foot descent to the turnaround four miles later at Tilden Park. This didn’t seem too bad on paper. But the thought rolling around my head as I carefully wound towards sea level was – I am going to have to come back up this hill. But another truth about ultra running is that most people power-walk the up hills. Perseverance and patience are the necessary skills.

The three of us persevered and finished after dark with our headlamps lighting the way. My official time was 12 hours 39 minutes – a rather nice day spent on the trail.

…………………

I would like to thank my wife who, since her leg was in cast (something to do with rescuing a cat from Kauai), was with me in spirit during the run, and my parents who let me park my weary body for the night in Vacaville.

Many thanks go to all the volunteers who are also Angels. At Sibley, I asked for two cups of coke and a wondrous volunteer handed me the bottle to finish. And thanks to Chuck Wilson, heir to the Dick Collins legacy, who volunteered at Steam Trains and filled my water bottle both times.

Lastly, to that efficacious pacer, Diane Forrest, you kept me going, and I am thankful. By the way, I also had a good time!

Ultra running makes me a better person in that I become more compassionate, thankful and understanding. At the beginning of each run, I have faith that the sun will set at the end of the day, and at that moment, I will find that I have finished the race.

The course.

Looking a bit stiff on a slight uphill just after Fish Ranch Road and about 20 miles. Photo courtesy of Pete Beck Photography.