The Plain 100(ish) Unleashed
So, just how much of an advantage is it to know the course when running the Plain 100?
Well, I think we know the answer to that now. It’s a huge advantage. Huge. Here’s my
story.
The Plain 100 had been singing her siren song to me since I started running eight years
ago. A self-supported 100+ miler with no trail markings and only one crew access point
seemed like a great adventure. It’s a race that not only the swift can win and it’s just the
kind of thing that attracted me to ultras in the first place. On a rainy night last November
while reading Tim Stroh’s 2006 race account in Ultrarunning, I finally committed. The
very next day I bought the map and started researching running packs. I dug up every old
race report I could find. I talked to hikers and climbers about calorically dense foods.
When the snow cleared, I drove up to the course and started exploring. By race day, I
had been on each section of the course at least twice and was able to run without
consulting the map or the directions. And I had a plan: I was going to try to win. Only a
couple people knew.
Well, so, okay the day before the race didn’t quite go according to The Plan. First, we
arrived 30 minutes late for the pre-race briefing. The runners were in the lodge were
listening intently to co-race director Tom Ripley. I slid quietly into a chair near fellow
Washingtonians Ray Gruenewald and Tim Stroh trying to be inconspicuous. Then one of
my dogs, Missy, busted into the lodge and went straight to the front of the room. Dogs
are not allowed in the building, so I carried her out. She came back in again. I carried
her out again and tied her to a post. Then Missy, my other dog ZuZu, and my crew’s dog
Steely start barking and whining. By now, people were looking. Some were laughing. I
felt like a doofus and happily left the mess to my friend and lone crew person, Lisa Bliss,
to figure out. We tried not to cause any more trouble. After the briefing Lisa, the dogs
and I went into Leavenworth for dinner. During a moment of distraction in the evening, I
asked Lisa “Why are we here again?” “To win a race,” she replied. It was a comment I
replayed a thousand times the next day.
When I woke, I noticed that I’d never felt so relaxed before a race. Bob Marley’s “don’t
worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright” was about the only
thought in my head. Thirty seconds before the start I remembered to put on my headlamp.
Then somebody said “Go!” and my pre-race favorite, James Varner, was off like a shot. I
was glad to see him take most of the strong runners with him. The first 7.5 miles of the
course are a grinding uphill that I was going to treat like foreplay, knowing there would
be plenty of time to exhaust myself on the good stuff later. My plan was to run easily the
first several miles and then walk the rest of the way up to Maverick Saddle; running the
same way at mile 5 that I hoped to be at mile 75. As the runners disappeared into the
darkness, I was left alone, halfway between the lead and middle packs. That’s where I
would stay for most of Loop 1.
Coming into the turn for the North Tommy Trail, I was surprised to meet Todd Holmes
coming up the wrong trail. It seems he had missed the turn the first time by and had
continued a mile or so on the wrong trail, nearly connecting with Loop 2. We ran
together for a bit, but when I stopped to grab a sandwich for the climb up to Klone Peak,
he went ahead. As I was climbing up to the peak, I met several runners coming down this
short out-and-back section – not Alan & Beverly Abbs or David Goggins however. They
were far ahead, it seemed. On my way down, I saw no one. I really was at the back of
the lead pack.
The section from Klone Peak to the Entiat River is mostly downhill and contains my
favorite part of the course. Just as one is starting to come down towards the horrible
pavement section, they enter a large burned out section of forest. There must have been a
ranger station there once as a foundation and floor still remain. On my training runs I had
always stopped here to have lunch. There are chairs on the hill behind the station from
which you can see forever. It’s like being in a ghost forest. The trees are burned and
their blackened bark is falling off, exposing the white wood underneath. It’s still very
dead and very quiet. I didn’t stop to eat this time, but I did look around before heading
downhill towards the river.
The climb to Signal Peak is where the race started to break open for me. It’s 6 miles long
and rises nearly 5000 ft. Once one gets to the “top,” there’s a short downhill, a trail
junction, and then another couple miles of a mostly uphill traverse until one is actually
just below Signal Peak, the high point of the course. I’m surprised that the RD’s haven’t
figured out a way to get us to go to the top yet. The climb is also the beginning of a 14
mile stretch without any water. I started up around noon and so needed to load up on a
good bit of water at the base. I had been worried at the start of the race that I was
carrying too much weight. My pack was certainly one of the biggest and it was stuffed
with food. I had sandwiches, boiled potatoes, 3 kinds of power bars, candy, gels, drink
mix, a 5-lb block of cheese, and a whole turkey (okay, not the last two - but I had a whole
lot of food!). Add 120 ounces of water to the mix and I felt like I was toting a baby
elephant up the hill. About half way up I was certain that any hope I had had of finishing
well was gone. My stomach was starting to turn and my energy was flagging. The
potatoes that had tasted so good in training just weren’t doing to trick this time. I hope
the deer liked them as they ended up on the side of the trail. Near the top, however, I
started to pass people for the first time all day. I felt like hell, but (and please forgive me
if this was you) they looked worse. Near the end of the climb I met a runner who was
staggering so badly I wasn’t sure how he could stay on the trail. Above him, I saw course
record holder Tim Stroh in the distance. I began to think that maybe things weren’t so
bad.
At Cougar Creek I met James Varner who had run out of water on the ridge and was
regrouping. James, despite feeling miserable, had a huge smile as we spoke and I
expected to see him blowing by me at any moment for the rest of the day. He said that
Stroh had just left minutes earlier.
The stretch along the Mad River into Maverick Saddle is my least favorite on the course.
I always can’t wait for it to be over and expect to see the end around every corner. On
my first training run it was choked with blow-down and I was a scratched and bloody
mess when I finished. On the second training run, however, I met 3 guys clearing the
trail. They had chainsaws, motorcycles, and beer. What could have gone wrong? In any
case, they said that they would have the entire stretch clear within a couple days. I asked
them to leave a few trees in the trail for the Californians on race day. They didn’t.
Coming down from Maverick Saddle, I met up with Tim Stroh. We ran together for a
while and wondered how far ahead the next runners were. A ways ahead, we figured.
After a while, Tim wanted to walk for a bit, so I ran on wanting to get into crew access
point at Deep Creek as close to 13 hours as possible.
On the way to Deep Creek, I rounded to corner at Deer Camp (yes, it is hard to keep
these names straight) and was shocked to see Alan & Beverly Abbs ahead. Literally,
every hair on my body stood on end. “WTF?!” I asked myself. Then I asked it again and,
probably, again. They’re supposed to be way ahead. When I caught up, they told me that
David Goggins was only just ahead. A mile or so later, I caught up with Goggins. I
asked who was ahead of us. “Nobody,” he says. I’d never led a race before. It felt great!
We talked some and I discovered that he’s not especially fond of bears. In fact, he was
actually running with bear spray in his pack. Well, not wanting to miss this opportunity I
told him about the mountain biker who was attacked by a black bear here in Washington
just the week before and about the two bears my dogs and I had seen on the course just 3
weeks earlier. Should I feel bad about that? I don’t know. Maybe….
In any case, into Deep Creek we came running. Now, this is the time when I get to
express my deepest deepest gratitude to my amazing one-woman, three-dog crew – Lisa
Bliss, her dog Steely, and my dogs ZuZu and Missy. They were great. Many many times
during the race I thought of them and felt joy. Joy. They were the beacon that drew me
home. The perfect crew. Perfect. I arrived to warm soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, a
selection of refreshing beverages, and many many dog kisses. “WTF?!” I asked again to
anybody who was listening. This is the way I had wanted, but didn’t dare expect, it to be.
Being the only chance to really sit, I decided to spend some quality time there. I loaded
my pack with more trail food (yes, more food), washed my feet, changed socks & shoes,
got a stocking cap and put on a warmer shirt. It was going to get cold that night. It was
fun being there, but it was time to go, so off I went. Stroh and Goggins left right behind
me. My dog Missy decided that they had a good idea and came along too. “You have a
problem,” Tim said as Missy came up on us. We stopped until Shawn Lawson (thanks,
Shawn!) could run a good 100 yards up the trail and grab the leash. That was good
enough for me and I continued, but I found out later that Missy wasn’t having any part of
it. She wanted to go forward and wasn’t budging. Eventually Lisa had to carry her back
down to the aid station. I love that dog.
Well, so here’s a lesson I learned. After running 55 (± 6, nobody’s really certain) miles,
it’s not the best idea to eat a whole can of soup and a big grilled cheese sandwich in one
quick sitting and then expect to run again soon. The food sat like a giant ball of lard in
my stomach for close to four hours. It sure tasted good though. Mmmmm…..
Just out of Deep Creek we met a couple motorcyclists. The motorcycle lobby keeps a lot
of trails in Washington open, so I try not to complain about them too much, but they sure
do raise a cloud of dust. Anyhow, five minutes after passing the motorcycles, there were
bear prints on top of the tire prints. I picked up a big stick and started to sing. Now,
anybody who has ever heard me sing knows that that bear was probably in the next
county shortly thereafter and so I felt safe. But before I put the stick down I took the
opportunity to alert the runners behind me of the bear by circling a few of the larger
prints. Should I feel bad about that? I don’t know. Maybe…. In any case, I was glad
that the bear was in front – I wouldn’t want to run with a bear behind! (Say that aloud.)
I had left Deep Creek around 6:30 pm and was able to run in the daylight until I got to the
intersection of the Lower Chiwawa Trail and the Alder Ridge Trail where the loopy part
of Loop 2 starts. It was nice and I was making good time, but I love running on trails at
night and was looking forward to having to turn on my lights. Being in the woods at
night is like being in a whole different reality. My mind turns inward while my body
goes on auto-pilot. My watch reminded me to eat and the many stream crossings
reminded me to drink. The entire race I dipped water from the streams. It was ice-cold
and delicious. As the stars came out, I wished on the first one that I could hold it together.
Because there were no aid stations and nobody (else) to talk to, I didn’t know where Tim,
David, or James were. I had to believe that they were right behind me, breathing down
my neck. Many times I repeated this same conversation with myself: Why are you
walking? Because I’m tired. Don’t you want to win? Yes, I do want to win. Well, start
running then. Okay, but you’re a jerk (this word changed often). No, you’re a jerk….
Sometime around 3 a.m. I came to a high wide-open vista looking out towards the finish.
The sliver of a moon wouldn’t be rising for some time. The billions of stars were
beautiful and the world was dark and quiet. I turned off my lights and stood there for a
while just looking. Maybe it was only for a minute, but it was enough. I was recharged.
Thankful. And I knew I would hold on.
The closer I got to the finish, the faster I ran. By the time I came out of the trail onto the
gravel road at Deep Creek I was running downhill at a full out sprint – ten minute miles,
at least! I had only 1.5 miles to go. The hardest part was to not break down crying I was
so happy. So very happy. When I saw people standing near the end to cheer me in, I lost
it. Tears were streaming, but hopefully I pulled it together before anybody noticed. Lisa
had worked all the dogs into a fit. They ran out to meet me and bring me home. I had a
five dog escort to the finish! What other race can boast that? In any case, I was done.
The way I felt at the finish line is indescribable, so I won’t even try. Suffice it to say that
I was pretty happy.
This has been a difficult summer for me personally. For 25 hours, 44 minutes and 43
seconds, however, I was unleashed.
Chris Ralph and Tom Ripley do a fabulous job with this race. The relaxed and friendly,
indeed family-like, atmosphere surrounding this race is a direct result of their
personalities. In addition, the Snohomish County Search and Rescue support was without
equal. Having been part of my local Search and Rescue I thought their organization and
professionalism was very impressive. I never doubted that if I were to get in trouble that
they would find me, and I never worried that my position wasn’t being accurately
transmitted back to my crew.
Lastly I want to congratulate the other runners. It was a great adventure, wasn’t it?