I pulled over to the side of the road (remembering to drive on the right hand side this time) just after leaving the Whitney portal car park. Jeremiah seemed pretty pleased to see me. I rarely pick up hitch-hikers, probably one of the reasons why I'm still around. But I'd seen Jeremiah a couple of times; in the climbing shop and also just short of the summit, so I had a fair idea his reasons to be in the area were pretty genuine. He'd turned around within sight of the summit hut, probably minutes from the top, but had already started throwing-up and feeling dizzy (No wonder he didn't reply to my "Hi! How are you? Isn't the view great?!" comment as we'd passed early that morning). Turning round so near the summit is a brave and heroic move, demonstrating far more mental toughness in my mind than pushing on and then requiring rescue. Altitude sickness is sickness, not a physical challenge. I assured him Whitney would be there for a few more years and definitely not worth losing lunch over. He was a year out of high school and was taking a few months to hike and hitch up through the Sierras and John Muir Trail. It was a great plan and someday I hope to return back to do the John Muir Trail.
I opened the car windows, enjoying the oxygen rich breeze and the luxury of a seat whilst moving forward with push of a pedal. I'll never forget at the age of 17 after camping for 3 weeks in the heart of Alaska wilderness, getting on the school bus to transport the group around, the feeling of a seat with a backrest. It's pure luxury, not the ground, not a rock, not hunched over trying to get your breathe back whilst juggling a heavy rucksack on a portion of your back that isn't sore; a genuine seat. It's indeed true some things you never really fully appreciate until they have been taken away and you realise poor compromises are never as good as the real deal. Mmm, yeah the pleasant "after-burn" of hard work in the mountains definitely begins with a seat! Followed by beer and pizza of course.
As Jeremiah asked me what my plans were, I realised that I'd already indicated that I was probably going to be running an ultra just up the road in Bishop. "Well maybe I'll try to get round, or just do the 20 miler, even if I walked it, that would be a nice day out." It's amazing what a seat and some oxygen can do to your perspective.
We were back in Lone Pine, nothing had changed. John Wayne was still on the poster where I'd left him 12 hours earlier, looking back at me from the burger joint ("on the right side of the road this time?"). I dropped Jeremiah off and cruised back to the Dow Villa Hotel (thanks for the recommendation Roger!). The Dow was a quirky hotel to a Brit like me. I met my neighbour the previous evening. Probably in her 70s, I asked her whether she was enjoying her stay and if she was travelling much further North, but she quickly dismissed my suggestion of Lone Pine being a place to travel through but rather a destination, as she was now in her third month at the Dow! I suspect she is still there now.
Things to see and do in Lone Pine...
Unfortunately I wasn't able to enter... nor was Frosty
A couple of showers and one binge eating session later, I felt much better. Legs were sore but recovering well. My upper traps ached having been out of training with a rucksack (backpack) but the beer (only one!) cruised through my veins helping them to relax and further convinced me I could run the Sierras. As I headed back over the road to the acclaimed Dow Villa I was treated to some pretty neat cloud patterns as the warm air from the desert mixed with the cool of the mountains.
I was going to miss Lone Pine.
The sun beats down heavily on my face, radiating heat from the rocks around me. The air is dry and in the still of the desert it's baking hot, the altitude saps my dwindling strength. I feel empty and nauseous, my body lacks salt and food, I've messed-up, what a stupid thing to try to do. Why didn't I stop at 50 miles? Always the long way round for me, I never learn.
I'd been up since 4am that morning putting together my kit for the run. I felt good after the day of rest and food in Bishop. The US is great for eating lots of cheap carbs and calories, Denny's was a staple (my waitress knew I was not local when I asked if the 24hr breakfast diner did indeed still serve breakfast at 3pm). After registering for the 100km race I picked up some camping kit for Yosemite. I had given Jeremiah another lift into Bishop that morning as he'd lost his camera, we kept bumping into each other in the various camping shops, awkward. The race organisers had put on a pasta party for the evening, never be misled by the term "party" in that phrase. 300 nerdy ultrarunners with a lot of pasta is not a party, trust me. Smug in the knowledge that I was probably the one person from abroad, I was put in my place as some other dude had rocked up from Saudi Arabia, is that further? Not sure, but sounded it. Runners (not sprinters) are normally quite mild mannered individuals, as I have mentioned quite often a little awkward with their social skills. However, when the pasta ran out, it did nearly turn nasty. Geez hope everyone's a bit more chilled tomorrow!
It was 6am and as with most ultras the start was modest subdued affair. Most people holding back or too embarassed to run too quickly from the off, we are a shy sort. I felt good so I thought I'd make my way up through the field (having politely held back for a bit). I was soon running along with the first 6 or so runners. The pace was comfortable and the views stunning. The first 20 miles was uphill from a height of 4,500ft to 9,500ft. That I knew was going to pay me back later. The conditions were perfect though except for the uphill element. I stretched out on the downhills and so we began some leapfrogging over the next 15 miles. Fernando (from Mexico) and Ryan (local to Bishop) kept me company for those miles. Top guys and great runners. The scenery was spectacular and the sky a deep blue. We chatted together and soon we were the top 3 in the field as a few others unfortunately for them, burnt out. From about mile 40 Ryan who was still looking fresh and ran on ahead. I kept going steady, aided by my poles which helped with stabilising my feet on the downhills and unstable rocky paths. For 13 miles we ran down through the desert and dusty tracks. The heat of the day really taking effect now. My only fears twisting an ankle or stepping on a rattlesnake. At mile 49 Fernando went on ahead with a second wind. Reluctant to give up 3rd place I fought hard to keep up but had to walk. I now realised I'd just missed the opportunity to opt for the shorter race of 50 miles. I thought about that for every step left. 110 runners had opted for the 100km option, I'd come this far, I just had to keep going. However, I knew already this was going to hurt and I was going to be giving back places, not that I'm normally that fussed about placing but I was the only Brit here, didn't want to let the side down!
I started to feel really low, I decided to dedicate this run to my nephew Joe, I knew that would be a good way of creating a backstop mentally. Couldn't let that little guy down. Uncle Dimon ("d" for an "s" when you are 3 makes sense) runs and climbs mountains. The miles dragged by, and I was going uphill, away from the finish to get these extra 12 miles. It was hot, so hot and I was hungry as well as starting to feel sick. What a mess I was in now though. I fake heaved stretching the poles in front of me. Nope not going to stop. I could not see anyone ahead but at least there was no one behind either. Sage Summit at 52 miles was an oasis. Every aid station was amazing with very helpful people, but they all commented on my use of poles. I don't think people use them in the US, but it was almost as if I was deaf the way they analysed out loud how I held them, or had them on my bag. Did they help? Did they hinder? Nothing helped much at the moment! One of the helpers asked "Are you managing your salt levels?" "Yes great thanks", fearing some kind of time penalty if I wasn't. I made a huge mistake I pushed on without taking more food, just a handful of crisps. 2.3miles out to a marker and 2.3miles back to Sage Summit. Mentally crushing. Worse, downhill out, and therefore uphill back. Steep. I stumbled down and saw Ryan running back up towards me having done the out and back. He encouraged me to keep going - he didn't realise how close I was getting to quit. Soon Fernando was there too. They had awesome runs finishing first and second, they are great guys, well deserved. At the bottom of the steep switch backs which I was too tired to run, I stumbled another mile up to the checkpoint to collect my poker chip to prove my distance. Dust was kicking down the switch backs and my heart sunk, I was going to get overtaken, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was running on empty and at the moment, I wasn't sure whether I was going to be able to finish. It just seemed too far. I broke it down, get back to the check point. Then work it out.
Another 2 clouds of dust were being kicked up on the switchbacks down to the desert floor. Not long after I'd picked up my poker chip from mile 54.5 the first runner overtook me. The other 2 followed me back to the check point of Sage Summit. At least every step was nearer geographically to the finish. I realised then too, that walking downhill in a running race is mentally tougher than walking uphill, as you know that you should be able to run the downhill, and others will. I sat down, I knew I had to sort myself out for the last section, if I wanted to make it back. Even the handful of crisps from earlier started to help so I knew it was food and salt I needed. I crammed crisps into my mouth whilst guzzling coke. A cheese quesadilla sealed the deal. I got up knowing that staying longer would mean I'd never get up (Elan who overtook me at that point later told me he thought I was never getting out of that chair). Another runner came in, at least I knew there was 5 miles between us. I started off up the hill, back tracking the route I'd painstakingly walked and hobbled for the last hour. My blood sugar started to rise, my brain zoomed into focus, at first I hobbled and stumbled along for a couple of miles. Then the cheese hit home, I started running (geez if only I'd fuelled properly earlier!), I felt good. I passed lots of runners now coming towards me, "much further?", "a couple more miles I think" I replied, downcast faces in response, well no one needs a false summit. They don't know the half of it. I spent a few seconds at the last checkpoint guzzling mountain dew (and acknowleding that sometime poles do help), before trying to play catch-up, at least to finish in under 11.5hrs.
11hrs 27 minutes I crossed the line. 6th place. I was elated! Mt Whitney and what was probably the last ever Bishop High Sierras 100km Ultra, all in the space of 72hrs. Thanks Joe, little dude you got me to the end. In a haze I heard my name being shouted, it was my cousin Rob and his girlfriend Edie. It was great to see them, unfortunately they had to see me in the mess I was, but it was a lovely end to a great day in the mountains. Thanks guys, it meant a lot.
Onto Yosemite!
I opened the car windows, enjoying the oxygen rich breeze and the luxury of a seat whilst moving forward with push of a pedal. I'll never forget at the age of 17 after camping for 3 weeks in the heart of Alaska wilderness, getting on the school bus to transport the group around, the feeling of a seat with a backrest. It's pure luxury, not the ground, not a rock, not hunched over trying to get your breathe back whilst juggling a heavy rucksack on a portion of your back that isn't sore; a genuine seat. It's indeed true some things you never really fully appreciate until they have been taken away and you realise poor compromises are never as good as the real deal. Mmm, yeah the pleasant "after-burn" of hard work in the mountains definitely begins with a seat! Followed by beer and pizza of course.
As Jeremiah asked me what my plans were, I realised that I'd already indicated that I was probably going to be running an ultra just up the road in Bishop. "Well maybe I'll try to get round, or just do the 20 miler, even if I walked it, that would be a nice day out." It's amazing what a seat and some oxygen can do to your perspective.
We were back in Lone Pine, nothing had changed. John Wayne was still on the poster where I'd left him 12 hours earlier, looking back at me from the burger joint ("on the right side of the road this time?"). I dropped Jeremiah off and cruised back to the Dow Villa Hotel (thanks for the recommendation Roger!). The Dow was a quirky hotel to a Brit like me. I met my neighbour the previous evening. Probably in her 70s, I asked her whether she was enjoying her stay and if she was travelling much further North, but she quickly dismissed my suggestion of Lone Pine being a place to travel through but rather a destination, as she was now in her third month at the Dow! I suspect she is still there now.
Things to see and do in Lone Pine...
A couple of showers and one binge eating session later, I felt much better. Legs were sore but recovering well. My upper traps ached having been out of training with a rucksack (backpack) but the beer (only one!) cruised through my veins helping them to relax and further convinced me I could run the Sierras. As I headed back over the road to the acclaimed Dow Villa I was treated to some pretty neat cloud patterns as the warm air from the desert mixed with the cool of the mountains.
I was going to miss Lone Pine.
The sun beats down heavily on my face, radiating heat from the rocks around me. The air is dry and in the still of the desert it's baking hot, the altitude saps my dwindling strength. I feel empty and nauseous, my body lacks salt and food, I've messed-up, what a stupid thing to try to do. Why didn't I stop at 50 miles? Always the long way round for me, I never learn.
I'd been up since 4am that morning putting together my kit for the run. I felt good after the day of rest and food in Bishop. The US is great for eating lots of cheap carbs and calories, Denny's was a staple (my waitress knew I was not local when I asked if the 24hr breakfast diner did indeed still serve breakfast at 3pm). After registering for the 100km race I picked up some camping kit for Yosemite. I had given Jeremiah another lift into Bishop that morning as he'd lost his camera, we kept bumping into each other in the various camping shops, awkward. The race organisers had put on a pasta party for the evening, never be misled by the term "party" in that phrase. 300 nerdy ultrarunners with a lot of pasta is not a party, trust me. Smug in the knowledge that I was probably the one person from abroad, I was put in my place as some other dude had rocked up from Saudi Arabia, is that further? Not sure, but sounded it. Runners (not sprinters) are normally quite mild mannered individuals, as I have mentioned quite often a little awkward with their social skills. However, when the pasta ran out, it did nearly turn nasty. Geez hope everyone's a bit more chilled tomorrow!
It was 6am and as with most ultras the start was modest subdued affair. Most people holding back or too embarassed to run too quickly from the off, we are a shy sort. I felt good so I thought I'd make my way up through the field (having politely held back for a bit). I was soon running along with the first 6 or so runners. The pace was comfortable and the views stunning. The first 20 miles was uphill from a height of 4,500ft to 9,500ft. That I knew was going to pay me back later. The conditions were perfect though except for the uphill element. I stretched out on the downhills and so we began some leapfrogging over the next 15 miles. Fernando (from Mexico) and Ryan (local to Bishop) kept me company for those miles. Top guys and great runners. The scenery was spectacular and the sky a deep blue. We chatted together and soon we were the top 3 in the field as a few others unfortunately for them, burnt out. From about mile 40 Ryan who was still looking fresh and ran on ahead. I kept going steady, aided by my poles which helped with stabilising my feet on the downhills and unstable rocky paths. For 13 miles we ran down through the desert and dusty tracks. The heat of the day really taking effect now. My only fears twisting an ankle or stepping on a rattlesnake. At mile 49 Fernando went on ahead with a second wind. Reluctant to give up 3rd place I fought hard to keep up but had to walk. I now realised I'd just missed the opportunity to opt for the shorter race of 50 miles. I thought about that for every step left. 110 runners had opted for the 100km option, I'd come this far, I just had to keep going. However, I knew already this was going to hurt and I was going to be giving back places, not that I'm normally that fussed about placing but I was the only Brit here, didn't want to let the side down!
I started to feel really low, I decided to dedicate this run to my nephew Joe, I knew that would be a good way of creating a backstop mentally. Couldn't let that little guy down. Uncle Dimon ("d" for an "s" when you are 3 makes sense) runs and climbs mountains. The miles dragged by, and I was going uphill, away from the finish to get these extra 12 miles. It was hot, so hot and I was hungry as well as starting to feel sick. What a mess I was in now though. I fake heaved stretching the poles in front of me. Nope not going to stop. I could not see anyone ahead but at least there was no one behind either. Sage Summit at 52 miles was an oasis. Every aid station was amazing with very helpful people, but they all commented on my use of poles. I don't think people use them in the US, but it was almost as if I was deaf the way they analysed out loud how I held them, or had them on my bag. Did they help? Did they hinder? Nothing helped much at the moment! One of the helpers asked "Are you managing your salt levels?" "Yes great thanks", fearing some kind of time penalty if I wasn't. I made a huge mistake I pushed on without taking more food, just a handful of crisps. 2.3miles out to a marker and 2.3miles back to Sage Summit. Mentally crushing. Worse, downhill out, and therefore uphill back. Steep. I stumbled down and saw Ryan running back up towards me having done the out and back. He encouraged me to keep going - he didn't realise how close I was getting to quit. Soon Fernando was there too. They had awesome runs finishing first and second, they are great guys, well deserved. At the bottom of the steep switch backs which I was too tired to run, I stumbled another mile up to the checkpoint to collect my poker chip to prove my distance. Dust was kicking down the switch backs and my heart sunk, I was going to get overtaken, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was running on empty and at the moment, I wasn't sure whether I was going to be able to finish. It just seemed too far. I broke it down, get back to the check point. Then work it out.
Another 2 clouds of dust were being kicked up on the switchbacks down to the desert floor. Not long after I'd picked up my poker chip from mile 54.5 the first runner overtook me. The other 2 followed me back to the check point of Sage Summit. At least every step was nearer geographically to the finish. I realised then too, that walking downhill in a running race is mentally tougher than walking uphill, as you know that you should be able to run the downhill, and others will. I sat down, I knew I had to sort myself out for the last section, if I wanted to make it back. Even the handful of crisps from earlier started to help so I knew it was food and salt I needed. I crammed crisps into my mouth whilst guzzling coke. A cheese quesadilla sealed the deal. I got up knowing that staying longer would mean I'd never get up (Elan who overtook me at that point later told me he thought I was never getting out of that chair). Another runner came in, at least I knew there was 5 miles between us. I started off up the hill, back tracking the route I'd painstakingly walked and hobbled for the last hour. My blood sugar started to rise, my brain zoomed into focus, at first I hobbled and stumbled along for a couple of miles. Then the cheese hit home, I started running (geez if only I'd fuelled properly earlier!), I felt good. I passed lots of runners now coming towards me, "much further?", "a couple more miles I think" I replied, downcast faces in response, well no one needs a false summit. They don't know the half of it. I spent a few seconds at the last checkpoint guzzling mountain dew (and acknowleding that sometime poles do help), before trying to play catch-up, at least to finish in under 11.5hrs.
11hrs 27 minutes I crossed the line. 6th place. I was elated! Mt Whitney and what was probably the last ever Bishop High Sierras 100km Ultra, all in the space of 72hrs. Thanks Joe, little dude you got me to the end. In a haze I heard my name being shouted, it was my cousin Rob and his girlfriend Edie. It was great to see them, unfortunately they had to see me in the mess I was, but it was a lovely end to a great day in the mountains. Thanks guys, it meant a lot.
Onto Yosemite!
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