Wasatch Front 100

I ran the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run in Utah last weekend, and finished!! Feels really good!, except for my swollen feet right now, but that will go down. Buckles are forever. It’s a hard race, as hard as advertised. Very doable--for sure if I can do it--but very hard, just the same. And gorgeous, amazing, awesome, worthwhile too. My memory is spotty. but here’s my story and a few things I would pass on, to whoever comes this way.
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Race starts at 5 AM Saturday morning. Pre-race meeting is the day before in a park in eastern Salt Lake City. The start of the race itself is north of the city quite some way, on a dirt road. It’s cold in the morning, and dark. You catch a bus downtown at 4 AM, so it’s an early AM morning, leading to a long weekend on the trail, with a 5 PM cutoff on Sunday. Lots of places to stay near the bus departure point—this trip can be planned without crew, without car rental. I rented a car and spent the week before in Moab, which is also highly recommended. A few pics of the Moab/Arches trip are in the previous post.
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The day before, at the park, they weigh you, and then you get weighed three times during the race. You will weigh more than you think. There are opportunities to buy hats and shirts, with the apropos slogan 100 Miles of Heaven and Hell. Drop bags are deposited on Friday, and it is quite the exercise figuring out what you might need when, especially if you don’t have a crew. Totally killed my Friday morning, but as they say, the 7 Ps---prior proper planning prevents piss poor performance.
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(Just to clarify, if you know me, you know this is a total joke--I'm not a planner. I leave that to my friends at the city.)
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The first water stop on the course is roughly 13 miles in. They give you a free bottle of water at the start, Talking Rain, filtered, I think, and some nice folks will collect the bottles about 3 miles in. It’s a good idea to bring a headlamp or flashlight for the beginning of the race, since it is pitch black dark. If you don’t, like Someone did this year, you’ll have to become a Light Bandit, and follow annoyingly close on someone’s heels for a couple hours, or run slow in front of them. Making friends!
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I suggest talking to someone about the race before you do it. That is, someone who has done it. I got all sorts of good information from a few veterans. Veterans, thank you.
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At around 9 miles, you hit the original “Chinscraper”. I run a hill in the Chuckanuts a few times a week called Chinscraper, but the Wasatch Chinscraper is the real deal. You can cut your chin, and you can kick rocks down on the people below you. This one guy kicked a rock down, young guy, and I looked at him to see if he’d yell out a warning to the people below. He said he’d only yell a warning if it really looked like someone was going to take a hit, because otherwise you become the complete object of derision, a trail scandal, for your sloppy footwork. He probably didn’t say it quite like that, but that was his message. Nobody took a hit so I guess he handled it right.
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This race is hilly. That is so understated. It has 26,000+ feet of ascent, total, I think. 26,000 feet of descent too, and some just mean pitches at that. All at higher altitudes than what I’m used to, sea level guy.
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So, up over Chinscraper, and then a beautiful skyline over Salt Lake City, with the Great Salt Lake to the west. Life is so good! The sun will come out, and it will be big--- it was really pleasant on Saturday. The trail is supposedly dusty, but it wasn’t that bad this year, because of a recent rain. Folks were saying “ideal conditions!” Happy trails!
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The first real aid station, with drop bags, is at a place called Francis Peak. Johnny from Kelowna helped me out! Francis Peak has a golf ball type radar/cellphone/somethings on top of the hill. Again, there are many peaks and passes in this run. They never stop coming. This race is really really hard. Also, there are many dives and plunges---really steep downhills. I’ve been having the weirdest nightmares the last couple nights.
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My Dad said I should have my heart checked before doing this race. I didn’t, but I think this is reasonable advice for anyone over 40.
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Of course, then my Dad’s wife said I should have my head checked. She’s such a card.
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Honestly, I don’t remember much for the next 20 miles. There was a nice family with popsicles, and I declined on the banana flavor. There was this friendly young gamer named Tyson that I kept trading places with, and a few other regular faces. Lots of long runs along stretched out ridges, where you could see runners a ½ mile ahead. I switched from the camelback, which was perfect for the first 17 miles (with food tucked inside—long day ahead!), to handheld water pistols for this section. Much better, and doable, b/c of the more frequent aid stations.
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My running was good. Around Mile 48, I stopped and ate some bananas with a vial of salt, and got really nauseous for the next 3 miles. I know not to do this, but I keep doing it, thinking it should work. 3 very slow miles followed, just waiting it out. I fell in a hole at Mile 49, because I didn’t have a light, again. Other than that, my running was good.
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The aid station at Big Mountain at about Mile 40 is awesome. Western theme. This one couple was the All Time Best at helping me, Ever. They filled my bottles, got me tuna fish, helped restock my GU, just amazingly good people—cheered me up. Trail saints. All over the course….this was the story—the aid station worker up at 4 in the morning, talking on the radio, serving up hot drinks and soup, having done this 8 years straight. The bonfire at Desolation Lake, mile 60something. The hashbrowns and sausage at Brighton. The pancakes at this one aid station after Catherine Pass (10400 feet--slayed me), a touch burnt, which I thought was cool—campfire hotcakes. Great OJ. It’s readily apparent that Wasatch is a shared love for many involved.
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I had two pacers. Ray Daurelle and Keith Klundt. I posted a request on Craig’s List, and it totally worked. Claude's List, I mean, the website. These guys emailed me, claimed they had pacer experience—turns out they did—and they met me, and were just awesome, giving support, helping me stay unlost, and keeping me in good cheer, as best they could. Great people. Thank you to all who offered to pace. If you are thinking about doing this race and don’t have a pacer, think about getting one. There are many people out there who don't want to run the whole race, but would really like to run part of it, and support a runner and the event.
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Keith picked me up at Lamb’s Canyon, the midway point, and accompanied me to Upper Big Water, about Mile 60. I got all sort of info on the race, Salt Lake adventures, etc. Ray helped me through my collapse at the end of the race, patiently traveling the last 25 war zone miles to the finish, tolerating my wheezing, altitude challenges, hands-on-the-knees moments, which were pretty much all the time towards the end. He also took some great photos, a few of which I’m posting here.
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Carry a light out of Big Mountain. It may be dark before Lamb’s Canyon, and there are holes you can fall in. As I mentioned, I fell in one. And stepped in a creek. The itty bitty book light wasn’t enough. Faster people won’t need to worry about this, and I thought I’d come in before dark too, but I carried the small light just in case, which was ok, just not enough.
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Have heavy clothing for the evening. If they say it will be forty degrees, it may be a three-ply evening, due to the winds that blow through the canyons, raising the cold off the ice water creeks. I suspect a lot of people pull out because of how unexpectedly cold it can get. Saturday night wasn't that bad, but the sharp drop in temperature was still a surprise--I run in the 40s all the time in the NW. People talked about not hanging around Brighton, for risk of DNF. I think the same goes for Upper Big Water--it got warmer as I climbed out of that valley, away from the creek.
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So, after Upper Big Water, you start ascending through switchbacks in the woods, again. It’s a lot of climbing, but not as bad as I thought it would be. Just steady trail climbing. There’s also some fun nighttime downhill switchbacks. At this point, I wasn’t that lucid, and I really can’t remember that well where we were. My friend BJ—more on him later—spotlighted a bear and saw a moose, and some deer, sometime up around here, out by Dog Lake. So he claims, at least. It was late, dark, cold, and 65 miles in. I believe him.
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Green glowsticks light the way at the night, hanging from trees. People are spread out, and so company is optional at best. It gets dark and spooky, and you find a quiet place with yourself, hopefully, enjoying the stars. The bonfire at Desolation Lake/Pass/Peak/Place, roughly mile 65, was so tempting, just to stay at all night. I got out of there quick. I love campfires. If they had smore’s, I would’ve DNFed, snap, crack your back, just like that. The stars were amazing—clear Utah sky, milky way, and I’m getting to know a few constellations.
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My clothes seemed to retain some moisture---I was wearing three layers—so maybe I should’ve worn a different shell. The night is long and wet clothes are definitely a plan for hypothermia. One of the veterans I talked to, Charlie, mentioned mountain etiquette, and carrying the right clothes any time you get up there high. This might’ve been one of the best tips I got, because it goes beyond Wasatch. There are just some common sense things to do in the mountains, whether it is a race or not, and carrying a good shell is one of them. Also, a good tip was to leave empty drop bags later in the race to dump clothes, even if I didn’t need to pick up stuff at the drop location. I did, and it worked better than the postal service—my clothes are home, in the washer.
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Wrapping this up, and thanks for getting this far (Grandma? Anyone else?),….I ran a basically solid run for me until Mile 75, Brighton, the ski lodge. From there, I struggled with some sort of bronchial problem, and the next 20 miles were above 9000 feet. I probably should’ve taken a bit more time to eat a full breakfast on Sunday morning, but I wasn’t eating well at that point. After Brighton, steep pass after steep pass, like Catherine Pass and Grunt Pass—they just kept coming. Then, little climbs over rocky knolls, crazy ½ mile drops like the Plunge, the Dive—the last 20 are worthy. I hurt, but kept my attitude reasonable. I had enough time to fight my way through it, and the Homestead lawn eventually arrived. I’m really happy. The finish line was absolutely terrific, with everyone gathered on a lawn, and a great awards ceremony and dinner.
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Again, thanks to Ray, Keith, Charlie, the race people, my grandma—you guys rock.
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Hats off to my good friend BJ, pictured with me at the finish above. We look like two guys just back from a fishing trip. BJ and I were in school together, but we live in different towns now, but are still very good friends. Years ago we trained together for our first marathon, or maybe it was my first marathon. He got injured at the last minute, playing softball I think. But now we’ve kept on this trail running thing, and neither of us is exceptionally fast, but it has kept us outside, in good health and spirits. We keep plodding, and enjoying the rewards. We both threw in for the lottery, got in, and spent all year with this race in the background, preparing in our own ways. We both finished, and it just feels great.
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Next up….not sure. Potato chips and pizza, for sure. Then probably Baker Lake. A trip to Virginia in October to see the fam, do the Marine Corps Marathon with some Skagit friends, and Mount Masochist 50m if I can get in.