I’ve never been good at writing race reports. Maybe I’d be better at an interpretive dance, or a song in the style of Ewok Celebration that combines a sort of speaking in tongues with story telling and impersonation with a driving beat. Alas, I’m really no good at those either but now I have two momentous runs backlogged that I’ve promised I would document. In a way they stand together as one feat of the feet. Here is my report on the first of those runs.
In the first report of this 4-part story I described my progression as a barefoot/minimalist runner. If you’ve read that then I’ve already given away how this ends, and since I just pointed the reader towards it I’ll let the cat out of the bag. Over the course of the last two weekends I ran a 100+ mile trail ultramarathon in Vibram Five Fingers for the first time followed by a road marathon barefoot for the first time.
I ran the “Hundred In The Hood” PCT Ultra 100 Mile Endurance Run on 26-27 September 2009. I ran it in Vibram Five Finger KSO Treks, making this my first successful 100 mile run without running shoes. I had run portions of this course many times, including three times previously in Vibram Five Fingers (VFFs). Because of the course change of the 50 mile version of the event in 2009 I had only run a full 50 miles of this course once, and that one time was also in VFFs. The early morning start provided a new challenge on the course, being the first time I had run it in the dark. I was equipped with two strong lights, the Petzl MYO RXP on my head and Petzl Tikka Plus on my waist. After kicking a log or stump or something that cracked in a way that I hoped wasn’t my little toe during the 2009 Where’s Waldo 100K, I realized that seeing the trail well would be one of the most important measures to take in running 100 miles without running shoes. I was also lucky enough to get the KSO Treks before Vibram said they would be available, and even had enough time to go for a decent run in them to get a feel for how they performed. And they performed great. At first I was a bit concerned that with their additional tread they reduced the “barefoot” sensation enough that I would run with poor form or tune out at kick another log. However, I quickly adapted and I found that felt like my KSOs and Sprints had felt on shorter ultras while giving me some extra protection. I don’t know how much they actually helped, but they were definitely a huge psychological boost to my confidence. The sun rose between the first and second aid stations, and I’d made it through the first major challenge of the day.
(photo by Jim Rustvold)
After the first out and back to Frog Lake and back to the start finish area at mile 28, I began to feel some slight hot spots behind my toes. I took my VFFs off, checked them, adjusted my socks, and proceeded. About 28 miles later at Olallie Meadows I changed my socks, and found that dirt was collecting in the areas that I felt the hot spots. I don’t know what I could have done to avoid them, but they weren’t too bad. Just as one’s legs tire on a long run, one expects some foot discomfort after running all day whether in shoes, some sort of running sandal as I think of the VFF, or barefoot. This was how my feet felt the run on this trail on this day in these VFFs. My feet felt better after changing socks, and I proceeded down the trail with my crew member Tomas pacing me to the next aid station in his VFF KSOs. I could tell that the hot spots were not going to go away though, and so I made note of their progression but tried not to think about them too much.
I dropped off my pacer at Olallie Lake and proceeded on the last leg to the turnaround. If there was one time I was glad I had the Treks it was here. This leg included some of the most technical trail I have ever run on, at times just running on large and jagged rocks covered in smaller jagged rocks. I would have slowed to a crawl without the bit of extra tread giving me enough protection to move without evaluating every step. Even though this section took longer than I had budgeted due to the technicality of the trail, I was still well ahead of schedule. I had expected to need my lights at the previous aid station, but was able to put it off until the second turnaround at the mile 65 Breitenbush Lake aid station. Even then I was able to make it about half way back to the Olallie Lake aid station, which would come at 72 miles, before needing my lights. I had calculated splits that would get me to the finish in under 24 hours, but concluded that the early splits were too long and the later splits were too short. I had now made up enough time that I was confident that I could get my 24 hour buckle unless something went drastically wrong. In positive spirits I went into the night.
Back at Olallie Lake I had my first late-in-the-run experience, as I barked at Tomas for trying to give me a second bottle for the 3 mile leg I had before me. Apologizing and recognizing that I was feeling the effects of running for a full day, I recognized that the night run had begun. While there I saw my friend Rich who seemed to be having a tough day. He had been well ahead of me earlier in the day and by leaving while he sat in a chair I had now passed him. I took off for the next aid station. I remember little about the run to Olallie Meadows Campground except that it felt like a long 3 miles. I had settled on having my headlamp on its spotlight mode with my headlamp and waist light focused on approximately the same point ahead of me. The area ahead of me was lit up like day, which is exactly what I needed. I was feeling good and on account of putting my headlamp on so many miles into the course I decided I would skip having my crew change my batteries when I would see them for the last time at the next aid station and carry extra spares instead. With my plan for the next aid station set, I descended the 3/8 mile rocky trail to the aid station. I found a bit of chaos there. This was the last point that crews would see their runners until the finish. Crews had been up all day along with their runners, and everybody was a bit frayed. I was grazing at the aid station letting them take care of my needs when my crew pulled me away to take care of my needs. Only they didn’t have my needs covered and instead were serving as liasons to the aid station where I was doing pretty well on my own. All’s well that ends well though, and we got my needs covered and some soup to boot. I climbed back up to the PCT ready for my run through the night.
In the confusion of the previous aid station, I saw that Rich was sitting in the chair looking like he’d been there a while, which confused me since I’d seen him in the same state at the last aid station. I asked him if he was teleporting between aid stations. I wished him well before heading out on the trail, and then set out for my long night of running. It would be over 10 miles to the next aid station and I settled into a couple hours on the trail. I made some good progress down the trail without much to complain about, passed some of the jugs of water that were put out in lieu of one of the aid stations, and generally shuffled along at a pace that increased my buffer time ahead of a 24 hour finish. Maybe half way to the 86 mile Pinheads aid station who came running up behind me but Rich! He was running faster than I was but sitting for 15+ minutes at a time at the aid stations. We arrived at a large climb and settled into our hike up a big hill catching each other up on our days. It was good to have some company and it definitely made the long climb more pleasant. Another runner who I had been leap frogging with, running faster than he but taking longer at the aid stations, passed us like we were standing still. See you at the finish Tim! Everybody’s definitely reaping the fruits of their training and race day strategy at this point. I’m feeling steady, and am continuing to increase the buffer I have to finish under 24 hours. My feet are feeling fine enough. I’m still aware of hot spots but trying not to think to hard about them, and succeeding at that.
The long climb abates, and soon we’re at the Pinheads aid station. Curt seems a little less sarcastic about my VFFs than he usually is at the end of Where’s Waldo 100k, and points them out to another volunteer. I’m asked if they hurt, and I point out that some foot pain is expected 86 miles into a run no matter what is on your feet but that they’re treating me well. I’m feeling good, and think it’s a bit cruel that they have bottles of whiskey among the other ultra foods. I’m feeling good enough that a belt of bourbon sounds just fine, thank you very much, but I know better. I have some soup, fill my bottles, grab some gels, and announce that I’ve done everything I need to do. They help me find my way back to the trail and I’m off for 7 or so miles of downhill. Rich was still in his chair when I left, but I figured I would see him again as he charged down the trail in a bit. Instead we would correspond the next day about how the last miles and eventual finishes treated us.
Charging down the hill, I start to feel my hot spots holding me back. I pair a caffeine tablet with one tablet of ibuprofen in hopes of taking the edge off of the pain and fatigue I’m starting to dwell upon, and would do the same one more time a couple hours down the trail. My feet aren’t bad but they are bringing me enough pain to keep me from running without considering it - and the rest of my body is feeling the long run as well. Perhaps this keep me from bombing down the hill, but I’m still moving along well. Mostly it’s a long fun stretch of downhill and before I know it I’m at the W/S Meadows aid station. The volunteers recognize me and my VFFs from Where’s Waldo 100K and the Pacific Rim One Day Run and there’s questions about them. They treat me like I’ve got my wits about me, which seems encouraging. I get some help changing the batteries in my lights, detecting an ever so slight decrease in light output that suggests that the regulated output has run its course. I eat a bit of sandwich and take off with my full water bottles for the rest of the downhill charge. One more aid station to go! On my way down I discover that I can run ignoring my pain induced hesitation without any increased suffering. It’s tremendously liberating and I continue my charge down the hill, even passing a couple of people. I reach the river, the bottom point of the end of this journey.
In my mind this is a small uphill before I tackle the last big hill. Only it’s never ending. And it’s brutal. A runner and her pacer pass me like I’m standing still. I didn’t think I was moving that slow, I figure they must really be in good shape. I’m starting to talk to the forest about the cruel injustice of this hill. I’m wondering how I’ll make it on the next BIG hill if this one is giving me so much trouble. At least it’s keeping my attention off of my feet. For the most part. I think I complained to the forest a bit about them too. What seems like a day later I reach the top. I’m rewarded with signs that I’m near the next aid station. That was the big hill! It’s all downhill from here! I meet up with the speedy pair at the Red Wolf Pass aid station. I have some cola, a gel or two, make sure I’ve got a full bottle, and charge on. I let the speedy pair know I’ll be seeing them later, figuring that they’ll pass me again shortly, and they bid me adieu until the finish.
The last leg of a 100 mile run is sweet. The last leg of a 100 mile run is brutal. I like to say you can always run 5 more miles. I think it’s true but I don’t know if you get any refills on that source of last effort. If I had to run the last leg a second time I don’t think I could, because even though it’s a beautiful thing to have the next stop be the finish line it always feels about three times as far as it actually is. It doesn’t help that this seems to be a different path back than it was out. Every time I see some signs of civilization - a road, a trail marking of some sort, a sign - I’m sure that I only saw one or two of these on this stretch earlier in the day and that I’m about to pop out at the finish. Nope. Another turn. Another road. Another glow stick that doesn’t mean I’m done. I pass a runner and pacer, with another mirage of a last turn ahead, and say “I never thought we’d make it here” and he says “we’re not there yet.” I spend a few moments pondering where “here” and “there” are and whether we’ve made it to either of them. Sort of a “no matter where you go there you are” type of endless wandering. I’ve moved on to several more rounds of pleading with the cosmos to let it all end when I finally hit the road. Indeed, we are down the road from the trail where we entered that stretch of woods so many miles ago, but we’re close enough to the finish to smell the campfire. I charge down the road and around the corner. Tired runners, crew, and volunteers clap. Pictures are taken. Hats and buckles are awarded. Cola and snacks are fetched. A chair is provided. The warmth of the fire comforts my battle worn body, mind and soul. I finished in 23:35.
As a middle of the pack runner, I figure the main point of interest in this race report is that I ran in my Vibram Five Finger KSO Treks. But really, for me it would have been a more dramatic story to tell if I didn’t feel I could do the run without shoes. I’ve been doing virtually all of my running for the last two years without them, and for me this finish was the non-event of not needing to deviate from my preparation. That said, I felt very triumphant to reach this pinnacle of running events without a piece of gear so often considered essential. My “barefoot” act of faith, that the 4.5+ million years of evolution as bipeds has produced the best tool for the task at hand, was supported.
What was there left to do but take off the sandals and see what I could do with just my bare feet? Depending on how those hot spots recovered, that would be my plan for the next weekend. Stay tuned for part 3 of 4 of this set of reports, my story of running the Portland Marathon barefoot on 4 October 2009!
(photos by Tomas Quinones except where noted)
