Thorpe Mt / Mount Rainer - Photo by Glenn Tachiyama
Okay, time to finish this off before I forget all the pain 
Following Stampede Pass (33) the course continues on the PCT all the way to Olallie Meadow (47) – with one other aid station in between Meadow Mountain (40). The stand out is simply the trail – beautiful. It’s meandering single-track filled with huckleberries and views you really can’t beat. Captivating wonderful forest aside, it’s damn hard doing 2 back-to-back aid stations that are 7 miles apart! And there were some bees before Meadow Mt. – ouch!
Darkness hit about the time I made it to Mirror Lake, just outside Olallie. There were campers just off the trail that yelled, “How much farther ya have?” To which I replied, about 55 more miles! Glancing across the glassy lake, in the solitary ‘hush’ of the forest, I replayed what I said in my head. And it hit me, WOW I’m gonna run through the night… and then some.
I continued on without a headlamp, savoring my night vision – sneaking up on other runners. The trail leading to Olallie was a wonderful rolling forest trail. The night invigorated me; I was feeling great. I made it to Olallie and was welcomed by my wonderful crew that immediately sat me down and taped my right foot (I had told them at Stampede my right foot was next – and damn I had to wait a long time for it). I ate freshly sauteed periogees YUM! I was feeling great here and pumped at being almost 1/2 done. Off I went to meet my crew “just down the trail” at Hyak (53).
This is where the course got phenomenally hard and defined, via example, what a hard mountain course is. Immediately out of Olallie the trail turned into dry creek bed overgrown with shrubs. It was ankle twisting mayhem that eventually emerged onto a dirt road. Thinking I only had a few miles to Hyak it was monumentally disappointing to peer hundreds of feet down the mountain to see the minuscule car headlights tracing out Highway 90. I’m talking 1,500′ down. And Hyak lay down there, literally on the highway. In previous years the course would drop down the hill via a ropes section (yes, you rappelled down ropes!), then through an abandoned train tunnel. Not this year, it was “the rock slalom” because the tunnel is condemned. I reached the summit when my headlamp caught the outline of a ski tram. Following the glow-sticks we went down. Way down and FAST. There really wasn’t a trail, only a series of glow-sticks setup near boulders that outlined a psuedo-switchback like pattern. The only evidence of another runner was a faint halogen light bouncing 500′ below me as we shared the barren underbelly of an off-season winter wonderland.
Fifteen minutes or so passed and I caught up to my sole competitor on the hill. As it turns out it was one of many North Carolinians in the race – Gumbie, his trail name. We exchanged quick comments about the hellacious nature of the trail behind us. Realizing he was short with words I pressed forward leaving him with his peace. Ten steps out of the conversation my race would twist into an entirely new experience. Gumbie’s silence erupted into a heaving of the god’s lunch seemingly evoking thunder from the skies. The barren hillside above captured the sound waves and projected them to a focal point at the center of my brain. My stride lengthened and my cadence increased yet I still heard Gumby’s guttural upheavals echoing from the trees as I darted into a pine forest. As if instinctual my stomach began slowly tightening one knot after the next. Nausea swept my mind and I pressed forward faster while cycling my mind through pointless crap in an attempt to flush Gumby’s presence from my evening with the stars.
Gumbie at CCC100 - Photo by Chihping Fu
My body stopped short of vomiting – for better or worse. Yet I was left with cycling bouts of nausea and churning stomach pains. It was about 10:00 PM and the true mental component of running 100 miles had begun NOW. A quick transition from dirt road to a paved ski retreat road place me running through a vacation house neighborhood. I was greeted with cheers by a family having cocktails on their 2nd story patio. I somehow managed a, “You guys are awesome!” To which they replied, “We know!” Nothing like a few glasses of wine cure a case of the humbles! It was a welcomed mental diversion.
A mile to go and I arrived at Hyak, mile awesome (aka 53). Mrs. Claus ran me in wearing a skimpy Santa outfit to which I was elated to see Jen, Sona, and Hao in a Christmas backdrop of twinkle lights. Unfortunately my stomach wasn’t in a festive mood. If ya gave me a bucket with a million dollars in it I probably would’ve just puked in it then carried on up the road. I ate what I could then paced out slowly with Jen and Hao who were able to walk with me for a good 15 minutes. It was so nice to hear and see Jen – I missed her. We talked about politics (not really – I hate politics) and how I was feeling. Hao offered superb advice on how to tackle the climb ahead. Eventually it came time for them to depart for the drive to Kachess Lake AS (67).
On the climb to Kecheelus Ridge I just existed. One foot following the next slowly climbing the hill before me. I was passed plenty with little drive to re-claim my spot in the finishers line. My caloric tank was empty and my body was refusing fuel; I continued to drop into an energy deficit hole. I made Kecheelus Ridge AS (60) and re-gained a bit of an appetite. As luck would have it, the inside of the AS tent smelled like vomit. Like a boxer I was forced to stick (grab food) and move (run out of the tent) for fear that my nausea would again build. I did this a few times then ran, actually ran out of the aid station. My feast was paying immediate dividends. I was also extremely excited that the next aid station was Kechess Lake (68) where I’d see Jen and pick up my friend and pacer Hao.
The "Chair" at Kachess Lake
Kechess Lake couldn’t come soon enough. I rolled in at 2:20AM (~16 hours running) exhausted. I came in earlier than Hao expected giving me some extra ‘chair time’ – no complaints from me. The trail to follow is called “The Trail from Hell”. Contrary to it’s name, or maybe because of it, I really enjoyed it. Hao and I were crawled through downed trees, down hills, up hills, constantly re-finding the trail (it has a tendency to disappear on ya) while jumping glow-stick to glow-stick. Nobody uses these trails except us crazies – I found it therapeutic. One of many beautiful sites on the trail was peering across the lake and seeing the reflection of another runner’s headlamp smeared across it… and the silence all around.
We eventually hit a real river crossing, as opposed to the many little ones along the Trail from Hell. I mentally marked where I should step to avoid soiling my feet. In retrospect I have no idea why I bothered – next time, just plow through! The Mineral Creek AS (73) beckoned just beyond the river. I crossed, then Hao. I mentioned to Hao, “I guess this guy didn’t make it”, pointing to a severed foot on the ground (don’t worry, it was a Halloween prop). I emerged from the woods into the aid station and just sat. There was little desire to eat or drink. Hao and the aid station volunteers frantically raced to grab my drop bag. They hurried their hearts out to get me that blessed bag as fast as they could. When they finally did, I said “Thanks, but I don’t want anything out of it.” What an asshole! Hao was awesome and grabbed some soup and watermelon for me. I nibbled and just sat – dazzed, tired, lost. If it weren’t for the draw that Jen and Sona were in the car 2 miles up the dirt road I may have never left that chair.
They were, thankfully. Hao and I left for a long early morning march up hill to No Name Road. At this point I was at a loss as to how I could fix my ailing stomach that continued to cramp. The idea pushed to the forefront of my mind while weighting my situation was: SLEEP. That was it! I’d sleep for 10 minutes and all would be well with the world. About 1 mile up the road I saw 2 figures walking towards Hao and I, one cloaked in a familiar red blanket. Wait a minute, it was Jen and Sona out for a morning Franz finding hike. Seeing them as day broke was such a mental jolt of positive happiness. We jabbered about each of our unique adventures beginning YESTERDAY, sharing smiles and laughter all around.
I made it to the van and attempted to crash. Granted it was nice to lie down but my mind wasn’t about to turn-off nor was my stomach going to give up it’s complaints. As the universe would have it, my cell phone was in the car with the alarm still set for 6:30AM from yesterday and 2 minutes into my nap, guess what time it was. Yes, 6:30AM. ::Beep::Beep::Beep:: I ignored it momentarily then popped out of the van in disgust (with the alarm still going off). Okay, so the nap wasn’t meant to be. It was time to roll. I think I had some Ensure here, but I definitely took some with me and it was a life saver. I had so few calories in me that I was dragging along. Every calorie in at this point absolutely kept me up-right on the trail. I said my farewells to Jen and said see ya at Silver Creek AS (96). Yup, I had 20 more miles until I’d see her again. 20 miles of the most difficult part of the course: The Needles and the ascent to the highest peak of the course, Thorpe Mountain.
No Name Ridge Ascent
Hao and I shuffled up No Name Road as the sun rose and the temperatures transitioned to a toasty August day. At this point my right Achilles was tightening giving me a nasty limp. Fortunately it loosened up after we got moving (aka mostly hiking). From No Name Ridge AS (80) to Thorpe Mt AS (84) the real course began. The temperature began to ratchet-up compounded with the fact that we were mostly exposed on sparsely wooded ridge lines. I was faced with the Needles ahead. I didn’t conjure the quote at the time but re-reading the runner’s manual this quote holds very true: Springsteen says, “Don’t call for your doctor, even he knows it’s too late. It’s not your lungs this time, its your heart that holds your fate.”
When at mile 80+ and you face inclines akin to Devil’s Thumb on the Western States course… except they go straight up the hill – what switchbacks? It’s an unquantifiable energy reserve that pulls you forward. Something deep inside propels one foot in front of the next in deep plodding steps that rumble your body from head to toe. Thump, thump, thump on the pine needle covered single track below. The drive to contract and release your leg muscles saps glycogen from your brain sending thoughts spiraling into a stupefied abyss of lack less attention. I proceeded 4 steps then stopped and wobbled, dizzied with absolute depletion. I would then re-group and repeat.
Somehow, even with a little running on the downhills, we made it to the Thorpe Mountain AS (80). One hundred meters out I heard a yell, “Hey redhead, what’s your number?”. I thought to myself, “Ohhh yea, I have red hair? Oh yea, I do.” I took my brain a good minute to process the demand until I yelled out my number. When summitting into the AS a volunteer presented Hao and I with a 2 choice decision. To me, it was like he was speaking Spanish – I could understand some words but couldn’t capture the complete thought. Hao stepped up and answered, “We’ll summit first, then hit the aid station.” Forward to Thorpe Mountain we climbed, about a 2 mile up-and-down side trip up the main trail. Since the start of the Needles I had my gaze locked onto the trail directly in front of my feet. When I pulled my head up I saw Mount Rainer plastered majestically across the dream-like landscape surrounding me. Wow. The ranger station at the top has to be THE best office in the world – particularly on that day. I signed the registry and commented, “Breathtaking, literally.” Returning to the AS I mentioned this is my first 100, with a smile! The AS volunteer, obviously a hardened ultramarthoner himself, laughed and said, “He just doesn’t get it does he? He’s still smiling!”
After descending the peak we had to tackle one last Needle then a LONG downhill to Silver Creek (96). I had some energy now but my legs were in the initial stages of barking back. Mainly my feet began to ache from the 25 hours of pounding. My body cycled through a game of what hurts more: my right Achilles or my feet. Each pain having it’s say every 20 minutes or so. Hao reminded me it’s going to hurt either way walking or running – you may as well run and get it over with. I sounded like a wounded animal in heat grunting and groaning in these Cascades. Every single downhill step hurt firing through my forefoot convincing me that my foot strike location was now raw flesh. We rolled into French Cabin (86). I had a Starbucks Mocha drink – heavenly – and sparked up a bit.
Hans-Dieter (and 69 year old ultrarunning GOD) caught me and rolled out of French Cabin like a surgeon — in and out with extreme precision. That caught my eye. I must catch him. Each of us could taste the end and the desire to finish pulled even the most hobbled runner towards it. 2nd, 3rd, … 20th winds were being had. I didn’t want to catch Hans because he was old and I wanted to beat him; it was two-fold. 1) I thought it was be hilarious to form a “Hans and Franz” runner’s train. 2) He has a wise runners aura about him that you could feel. That was energy I could draw from. It’s that pull you get from other runner’s while on the trail.
We caught him and ran together until Silver Creek (96). Then another runner, John, joined the train. Fueling off our proximity to the finish, the amazing downhill single track, and the supreme runner’s wisdom in Hans we all just clicked and just ran. There was mild conversations – I was mainly in the back and in, what I could determine, the most pain. Occasionally Hans would check on me and ask, “Franz, are you okay?” Many times I wanted to stop but kept pressing to stick with the guys. It was amazing the energy we funneled off of each other.
About a mile out of Silver Creek the trail turned to a steep decent. The group pulled away from me due to my hobbling foot pain. I withdrew into myself as a coping mechanism. Very little talking to be had here. It was step, then grimace, and repeat. Suddenly WHAM. I remembered Hao and I were picking up Jen to run from Silver Creek AS to the finish. YES, YES, YES!!! We saw hikers coming up the trail and a dog waiting to pace his owner. This meant we were close. Then, the joyous sound of an aid station. I burst in blissfully enthralled in being at the last AS. There was Jen and Sona. And, the HEAT. All of the sudden it was so hot all around. I was overheating from a combination of the last exertion and the lack of wind from being stationary. My being shuttered with heat as I felt I was on the verge of collapse. “Ice, do you have ice?” “No” they said. Jen poured water over my head. I just stood there, confused by something – I didn’t know what. I thought I was waiting for someone – I didn’t know who.
Jen snapped to and pressed “Okay, are you going to drop here or are we going to get going?” That snapped me to attention! I said “Hell no! I just ran 96 miles to get here. I’m not dropping now!”
Four miles to go. Just walking perked me up. We laughed and marveled at what the 2 days had thrown at each of us individually and together. I took an opportunity to educate Jen on the subtle differences between “girl” pee spots and “boy” pee spots. Hey, you’re out there for 28 hours – your entertainment can emerge from strange places. I also proclaimed to Jen, “Sweetheart, I want you to know that the reason I’m not looking you in the eye right now is because I’ll cry. It’s not that I don’t love you I just don’t want to cry.” She understood.
The miles went by quickly. It’s amazing how much faster you can move on flat ground, even after running for 28 hours. With our highway crossing insight the run was on. I began picking up the pace, Hao was calling me the king of flats. We crossed highway 90 but to my dismay we were 1 exit west of where I had invisioned forcing a lengthy run along a frontage road that beat the hell out of me. I was pushing hard wearing every ounce of pain on my face in a flushed jaw knawing grimmace. I did a look back to find a older gentleman gaining ground.
The Big Finish
I pressed harder but my adreneline could only carry me so far. I pronounced, “I can’t see the finish line. I need to visualize the finish line.” Then came to a screaching walk. “I’ve got to take a break”. Hao was great as was Jen. Both were cheering me to pull in a big finish. The older gentleman closed the gap and passed with a friendly, “Come on let’s sprint it in.” Deep down, that lit a fire so deep inside. I began the ramp-up; once stopped running after 98 miles it just doesn’t happen. There’s a build-up. The finish line emerged ahead following a brief run along the railroad. I crossed filled with 2 days of relief. To the happy smiles of all around. And, in the wonderful company of those I love.
A million thanks to Jen for everything – she’s my ultragoddess, Sona for being the steady hand in helping crew, and Hao for being the greatest pacer in the world.
If asked would you do it again? The answer would be YES! The same distance, the same crew, the same race… everything was perfect. Wow, I ran 100 miles in 28 hours 46 minutes!
