Erin Quinn

I don’t know about you, but these are my symptoms post Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WSER) live feed binge in no particular order: irritability, fatigue, restlessness and delusions of grandeur. There was a moment, albeit brief, when I thought that maybe I could be in the top 10 if I locked in on my heat training.

In my WSER-haze I began hearing broadcasters Corrine Malcolm saying “bonkers” and Dylan Bowman talking about “snow in the high country,” in my sleep. Walking into town to grab coffee I found that neighbors and strangers could quickly turn into Courtney Dauwalter herself, flashing that porcelain-white smile, waving to the (non-existent) crowds while one of her crew members squeezed a sponge-full of ice- water over her head. There was one moment when I thought I saw her lift up her trademark sunglasses and give me a wink. Was she asking me to pace her? I couldn’t last a 1/2 mile at her clip!

Are these the hallucinations ultrarunners talk about? Can you get them without actually doing the running? What defines endurance-induced hallucinations anyway? Could I have gotten them from watching the live stream uninterrupted for over 24 hours? Am I the only one feeling this way or has Aid Station Fireball, (both the @twitter handle and Instagram ultrarunning meme sensation) become part of your lexicon and social media feed?

The Live Feed

Are you well versed in what determines a silver buckle (under 24 hour finish,) from a regular buckle (sub-30 hour finish?) Are you moved to tears by the beauty and heartbreak of the WSER golden hour (the last hour that runners have to get make it across the finish line) that ends at the Placer high school track in Auburn, California? Did you watch Ashley Bartholomew, the 61 year old Australian and father to elite runner Lucy Bartholomew valiantly attempt to make it across the finish line on time, bent in half, with the entire livestream feed, his family and crew and even Choose Strong Coach Sally McRae cheering him on? How about the 62 people that finished their 100-mile journey in that last hour including the final finishers, a 48 year old social worker, Jennifer St. Amand of Minnesota who made it with 15 seconds to spare?

If not, I’m guessing you had a normal weekend and did normal things, although I honestly don’t know what that entails. Maybe you had to work, or had to mow the lawn? Went to a graduation barbecue or on a bike ride or maybe you paid attention to your kids? There were probably social engagements and projects and meals involved along with sleep and some form of productive labor?

I, however, was glued into WSER for a majority of the 30-hour feed, leaving only to go for a run myself, walk the dog, get some work done, feed my family and even attempted to address a pile of laundry during the few, yet quite exhilarating, HOKA shoe commercials, “Fly Human Fly,” that featured many of the pro-ultrarunners competing at WSER.

What in God’s name are you watching?

People actually try to win these things? My son Taj asked me. “Isn’t just being able to finish one of these runs the whole point?” Those were big questions. Loaded questions. At the moment, I was way too focused on a drone shot of Tom Evans (a British long-distance runner and a former British Army Captain,) burst out of the woods and onto a dirt road wearing a bucket hat to protect him from the beating sun, that wound down to the Rucky-Chucky river crossing where he had to be rowed across in a boat. I didn’t have time to pontificate on my son’s questions (not that he necessarily wanted me to,) and I tried my best to ignore the snickering of my other two kids who were cracking jokes about the quality of the programming I was watching with such zealotry.

Did they understand how remote areas of this race were? How challenging it was to get any Wi-Fi or reception of any kind? I was watching a YouTube feed that was supported by a spotty drone, stationary cameras planted at aid stations or cell-phone videos capturing brief clips of footage as the runners made their way in and out of areas where there was any service at all. It was an old-school, Walkie-Talkie type of set up and because of the lack of any steady or clear visual content, Dylan (otherwise known as “Dbo”) and Corrine had to talk almost non-stop being fueled by intel from a few members of their crew stationed throughout the course and of course a steady stream of obscure, yet interesting Western States statistics being funneled to them by Aid Station Fireball himself.

Spotting a runner coming into an aid-station was the equivalent of catching sight of a celebrity entering a night club through a back door or identifying a specific star or planet on a foggy night. Those of us at home had no entry point, no feet on the ground. Our only portal was through Dylan and Corrine and thank God for them and the shaky cameras chasing runners and the ultrarunning livestream pioneer, Jamil Coury, of Aravaipa Running, operating that drone.

During my long runs,I had listened to countless ultrarunning podcast interviews of WSER athletes, preview shows of how the top 10 might shake out. There were episodes that discussed how deep the snow pack was in the high country, how hot it might get in the canyons and what a miracle it was that they could have the race (in it’s 50th year) at all, due to the Mosquito Fires that ravaged part of the course and nearby communities back in January.

I had become so intimate with the prognosticators and course descriptions and training regimens of the pro athletes leading up to the event that without even realizing it, I had become totally and completely invested in a race that I would likely never run (the odds of getting in are less than 1% and require a yearly qualifying race and lottery system.) My steady diet of ultrarunning podcasts, articles, blogs, magazines, books (yes, there are way more of these out there than most people would imagine on such a niche sport) had prepared me, I think, to be an educated ultra-fan. I enjoyed being able to pick out certain “kits” (the outfits the runners wear,) by the color and/or sponsored brand like HOKA Northface, Craft (my personal fav) Adidas, Salomon, Nnormal and the list goes on.

Hope and Carnage

In fact, ever since learning about Craft’s sponsorship of runner Tommy “Rivs” Puzey whom they signed right before he nearly died from lung cancer and continued to support him and keep his contract intact throughout the depths of his health crisis, I’ve become a big Craft fan. I’m not a big consumer, but if I was or could afford to buy nice running gear, Craft would be my brand. They have a classy look, but it’s more that they treat their athletes so well and have now put together an intriguing team of rugged individuals that hail from all over the world including Arlen Glick, a Mennonite from Ohio.

I had predicated Arlen to take 1st place and was so concerned when mile after mile he remained behind the top 10 that I even jumped into the live-chat asking what had befallen him? Was his nutrition off? Did the snow in the high country wear out his legs? Did he twist an ankle, spike a fever, was he getting enough electrolytes? Last year Arlen came in 3d place at WSER and with subsequent big 100-mile wins under his belt was poised to have a shot at the Cougar this year (the coveted 1st place statue.) Because of his religion or maybe just his personality, he has no social media., but after signing with Craft and giving a bunch of interviews I was convinced he would win. Maybe it was that sweet midwestern cadence to his voice, his absolute kindness and humility or the fact that his hair, combed so tightly to his head, is never out of place and gives off that wax-museum sheen?

Corrine and Dylan did not seem to share my concern nor did those in the live chat. There was a lot of concern being expressed for Camille Heron

I did feel bad for Camille, who normally owns the stage when she’s on a track breaking world records but suddenly finds herself slipping and falling in front of cameras on the first few miles of the Western States race which takes place on a snow-encrusted escarpment above Olympic Valley.

I was rooting for Dakota Jones because he has a cool name, an avid environmentalist, active member of the athlete-powered activist group POW (Protect Our Winters,) as well as well as Ida Nillson–a bad-ass Swedish sky-runner who doesn’t have perfect teeth and in a world of people looking like they have perfect teeth, I feel more connected to someone whose teeth have some personality. Ida (also a Craft athlete,) was crushing her first 100-mile race, moving up steadily from the chase-pack and eventually coming in 3d place behind Courtney and Katie Schide, who both went well under course-record pace.

Dakota and Evans were running together for the first 60-miles of the race and I was wondering what they were talking about? The tragic impacts of global warming? Swopping Vo2 Max numbers? Sharing their favorite Marvel hero or offering each other energy gels? Were they talking? Was it like a World War 11 bromance?

At some point Dakota started falling off the pace that Evans was throwing down, while Tyler Green, another cool ultra-dude from Portland, Oregon reached down and picked that pace up, looking like he might chase Evans down but sliding into a solid 2nd place victory.

That 100 Mile Death and Redemption Machine

That’s the thing about a 100-miles. Anything can happen. You can come in, fit as a fiddle, with a training block that rivals the solidity of the trusses holding up the Brooklyn Bridge and still you can buckle. The body can come unhinged. An ankle could roll, a tendon could snap, muscle cramps could conspire, stomachs can go south, knees can tweak, feet can blister, heat exhaustion and dizziness can ensue. There is so much discomfort in a 100-mile run that the mind, at any point, could dive into the devil’s campground and call it quits and a few miles later, break out of Lucifer’s lair and head towards the light shining in Auburn.

The aid station crews were absolutely lit, dressed as Bananas and Santa Klaus and turning ice-buckets into drums for impromptu jam sessions in between feeding and hydrating the 350 runners in the race who had to traverse 100.2 miles from Olympic Valley to Auburn through remote canyons and woodlands.

The crews were dialed in and attacked their runners like Formula 1 cars coming into a pit-stop. It was like watching Edward Scissorhands with one person on shoe duty another on blister care a third one on kit-change, bottle refills, spooning in food and dribbling in a few sips of Coke before they tied an ice-bandana around their runner and sent them back out onto the trail looking shiny and new. We had some prime viewing from the aid stations and got to see how long it took runners to get in and out and what they were asking of their crews.

There was a moment watching this when I had the same envy I used to have when I would take my first child and then my second in a baby jogger (eventually double-baby jogger with a front pack when number 3 came along.) They’d be bundled up in the crisp autumn air, leaves turning crimson and magenta and canary yellow all around them as they fell peacefully asleep to the sound of birds chirping and the wheels turning along carriage roads in the mountains as I slowly jogged. Throughout those sleepless years, I would fantasize that someone would push me, in an adult-size jogger, in the woods until I fell asleep. I kind of wanted a crew designated just for me.

I’d had the privilege of having a world-class crew at my 1st 100-miler this past Spring and I wondered if it were possible to have one without having to run a 100-miles? Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a crew waiting for you when you got home from work, or back from a run, or even to help you do the grocery shopping? Don’t we all want that team waiting for us in matching shirts, eager to help us, address any ailments, encourage us to just keep on going one more step along the trail you’re attempting to tackle? Does it have to be a real trail or can it just be that you have to do heaping pile of dishes and clean the bathroom and want someone to tell you that you’re doing a great job?

I’m a sucker for watching the GOATS be GOATs and knowing that they weren’t born into that greatness, that they’ve earned that greatness and yet there’s still something that sets them apart from the rest of us. Malcolm Gladwell would call them outliers, others might point to genetics or the 10,000 hour rule and Joe Rogan might imagine that these endurance athletes are running away from some inner-demon, but I think they’re all running towards that endless horizon. I like to sit back and admire the sheer human poetry of someone doing the thing that they love most at the highest level and making it look easy. Courtney Daulwater, who has almost single-handedly brought ultrarunning to the masses, did just that at WSER. With her brilliant smile, easy-go-lucky attitude, penchant for candy and nachos and gratitude for everyone along that trail she brought women’s endurance running to another planet, possibly another galaxy, besting the course record by well over an hour and running so fast the drone could not keep up with her.

Western States is the oldest ultramarathon in the US and seems to bring out the very best in people, whether they’re volunteering, crewing, pacing, commentating, or running the race. It was a beautiful thing to behold, even from the blurred corners of my screen.

Erin Quinn