WESTERN STATES 100 HIGHLIGHTS -- PART III

learning and three dirty letters (DNF, duh!)

This post will be filled with cliches and trite musings, but hey, sometimes one has to learn by experience and doing rather than by being beaten over the head with cliches and trite musings. Let's start with what I learned. Real things learned that might help others interested in running a race like Western States:

If you are slow, you are dancing with the dreaded DNF.

After my experience at Headlands, I believed that a good attitude and enough determination would be sufficient to get a finish. Indeed, had everything gone totally smoothly with no unexpected blips, I believe I would have finished. But to finish, I needed for nothing to go wrong. You see, even if you know that you can finish under the cut-offs, even if just barely, you must also know that your lack of wiggle room means nothing can go wrong. For example, if I were several hours ahead of the cutoff at Peachstone, I probably could have figured out a way to deal with my feet. Or, more to the point, had I not been fighting cut-offs, I could have tended to my feet as soon as they felt like they needed attention. But, I didn't have that luxury. And, ultimately, it cost me. So, if you are like me, take heed: get your butt into gear and get faster. Speedwork, lose weight, run more, whatever. If finishing is important, get fast enough that you're not counting on a perfect day. Because in 100 mile race, a perfect day aint real likely.

Yes, you must watch your nutrition. NO, you can't let it slide for a couple hours until you feel better

I consider myself lucky and while the temperatures were well over 100 degrees during the race, I did not vomit or pass out or anything dramatic. No doubt, I felt queasy a few times. Namely, during the tougher climbs like up to Robinson Flat and Devil's Thumb. And sure, I got really sick of gels and really wanted that aid station soup and grilled cheese. But no, it's not smart to just stop the calories until reaching the aid station, especially when the aid station is an hour away. I don't think this was fatal to my race, but I do think it cost me time. I had a plan and I didn't execute it. A couple times I let myself get really behind and it does a number on your energy and your overall feelings of mental well-being. I don't think this particularly affected my race, but it probably would have had I made it further than 70 miles.

Expect the unexpected


This ties in with the first thing, but you might think you know how things are going to go down, but you really don't. Maybe you haven't had a single problem with your IT band ever, but your IT band might scream bloody murder at you all of a sudden at mile 68. Just saying. This is probably really a basic concept that only I failed to understand prior to the race, but it's worth mentioning. Or, maybe your feet will crap out on you. You have to know that things might go wrong -- but the flip side is that a lot of things can go right. I think you have to be flexible and build in wiggle room to deal with these things. OK, maybe this is the same as the earlier one. But even if you're not slow, I think you have to be prepared for something you hadn't thought about.

The psychology of the DNF

I've DNFed once previously, at Ice Age 50 in 2006 during my first 50 mile attempt, but I hadn't trained at all and did the race rather impulsively. I didn't expect to finish, and didn't really care. So I consider this my first REAL DNF. The kind that bugs me. The kind that I've been gnawing on since "it happened." Although I actually timed out and had no choice in the matter, I have to admit that there was a critical point that my mind keeps going back to where I made the decision to let myself stop pushing the pace and, essentially, let myself time out. I know that at that moment, the pain I felt was real, and the percieved inability to make it was real. I know that my feet were, in fact, gross and macerated. But now that I have the benefit of hindsight, and am not feeling what I was feeling then, it's easy to beat myself up. I can't stop wondering whether my experience was valid, or whether I let my manipulative subconscious trick me somehow. I know other people had foot problems who finished. I don't know how they felt, but I imagine others may have felt much worse. I've gone over every decision I made before and during the race and picked them all apart.

So what have I learned? A DNF sucks more than you might realize. The danger in putting so much importance into a race, which is, afterall, just a race, is that it stings when that finish you imagined so many times isn't realized. When you convince yourself that perservering is a test of your strength, you set yourself up to believe that maybe you're not strong afterall. The truth, of course, is that running 100 miles is just that -- running 100 miles. It is not really a true test of emotional strength or mental fortitude. Your body has a little say in it. And it really is just a race.

So back to what is it that I learned? It's actually that a race does not define me. Stuffing so much importance into a race is un-smart. Although it makes it seem so much more fun and worth devoting time and political capital to (i.e. tormenting your family, friends and co-workers with your training and running obsession), it's running. It's my hobby.

You can't always win

I was so elated after Headlands 100, and sort of still am. But the joy of success is only genuinely had when there's risk of failure. An easy success isn't that satisfying. And if there's a genuine risk of failure -- yup it's possible to fail. So to make the ups really up, the downs have to be down. Certainly, when I qualified for Boston the accomplishment was made greater by the fact that I had failed several times before. Similarly, if I ever get into Western States again, and if I ever finish, it will be much awesomer. As Paul wisely said to me (Paul was carried out on a stretcher unfortunately, though he's basically ok), our DNFs make the finishers' finishes special. A finish isn't a gimme.

It's still fun even if you DNF

This one might just be personal, but I had a great time. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to be part of that race and wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm sure I've gotten more out of the race in the grander scheme of things by having DNFed. I still like my hobby, even if I clearly take it waaaaay too seriously. And I am learning not to take it so seriously. There are so many other shortcomings in life to obsess about :p :-)