Pre-Race
The 3:15am alarm never feels great, but I hop up out of bed quickly this morning. June 28th, the day highlighted on my TrainingPeaks for months. It’s game time.
Race mornings suck. I don’t have much of an appetite on a regular morning, but add nerves and an early wakeup to that and it’s futile. I choke down a banana and two bites of oatmeal with some Nutella. A little bit of banana comes back up. Gross. That’ll have to do. I can supplement the lack of a good breakfast with a little extra pre-race gel.
My accommodations during the days before the race have been ideal. I feel rested and healthy and surrounded by a supportive team. Fletcher chauffeurs me five minutes to the start line, where I say my final goodbyes to the crew. See you in a few hours. I enter the starting corral, right behind Kilian Jornet. This is unreal. Shotgun goes bang.
The High Country
We’re up and over the escarpment with ease, cruising through in a time similar to last year. Maybe a little bit quicker, but nothing to worry about. I feel good and have put myself near the front. I want to keep an eye on the front of the race today, not let them get away like last year. The peloton settles into a comfortable rhythm. We chat a little with those around us. Dan Green is cracking jokes and seems like he’s having the time of his life. Rod, Seth, Jeff, and David in front of me. Sunrise casts a pleasant pink glow over the alpine. This is the only truly scenic section of the course, overlooking expansive valleys from the ridgeline. I remind myself to enjoy it while it lasts.
This section of trail is rocky. Not the fixed, lodged-in-the-earth-of-the-trail kind of rocky, but loose and slippery. Snowmelt transforms the path into streams. Getting my feet wet is inevitable today, but I want to avoid it for as long as possible. Give my feet a fighting chance at dodging crippling blisters later.
At this point, David is leading, with everyone else right on his tail, and I’m a couple guys back. It seems like he enjoys being in control, setting the pace, getting an unobstructed view of the full trail ahead. Why are we making this easy for him? I see a widening of the trail at the next switchback and dart around. Woah, was it that simple? With one tiny move, I’m now leading Western States. Six miles down, 94 to go. I know I won’t hold this lead. I don’t want to yet. But for however brief a time this lasts, I’ll take it in.
The next five miles to the Lyon Ridge aid station fly by, one beautiful switchback after another. I love this terrain, I love this feeling. But it’s too soon. I’ve made my point. Coming out of Lyon Ridge, I fall back into the familiar train of the lead pack and save my energy. It’s going to get tough later.
We transport the next 14 miles to Robinson Flat. Somewhere along the way I see Minty, who efficiently hands off my resupply. In and out in seconds. The only moment I really remember is feeling starstruck running behind Kilian, trying to muster the nerve to introduce myself but not knowing a natural way to do so. Finally—Hey Kilian, this is Caleb behind you. Big fan man, I’m glad you’re out here. Congrats on the baby. I get a nice reply. Sweet, now I can check off having a conversation with the GOAT and leading Western States. Whatever else happens today, I’m not coming away empty-handed.
The Canyons
From Robinson Flat onward, the course changes. More service road, more fast running, more warmth, more distinct climbs. Worse views. If the high country is my strong suit, the canyons are my just-fine. I can run down a dirt road. Not as fast as some people, but there’s a long way to go and I’ll have time to reel them in when the hills start. I end up in a small front pack with Chris and Seth. I’ve clumsily stuffed my soft flasks into my belt and regret the poor placement when they both fall out into the dirt. I throw on the brakes, decelerating from about 6:15min/mi pace to a standstill painfully quickly, and backtrack for two seconds to grab them and dust off the nozzles. When I open the stride back up, Hans has appeared.
We close the gap up to first Chris, then Seth mercifully takes a pee break and we all join in. Back to the race. Each of us takes a turn leading. I’m surprised no one else is with us. We’re moving, but this pace isn’t crazy. I mean it is crazy, we’re ahead of my sub-14 splits, but since when has everyone else not also gone out at a crazy pace? Where are they?
Another crew stop. Quick, effective, in and out. Just one problem. I had chugged a flask and gel right before, trying to come into crew empty for a full refill. A mile later, it’s coming back out. I feel bad for Seth listening to the splashes of my stomach contents hitting dirt. He must think I’m cooked. But this has happened before, I can puke and rally. The nausea soon passes, and so do I. A pop around Seth and I’m back to chasing down the front of the race. I just want to keep Chris in sight.
Chris and I link up. Stronger together. That’s the shared sentiment during the shared miles. I’ve spent time with Chris during training camps, Western last year, hanging out in Chamonix. I like his energy. I know he’s fast, but I also know I have a chance against him. We want to beat each other. We want each other to succeed. He’s been moving better than me on the descents, but I’ve maybe been a slightly better climber. At the top of the drop to El Dorado he steps aside to pee and I press on. He’ll catch me by the creek. A mile goes by. Nothing yet. I hit the creek and start climbing up the other side to Michigan Bluff. I hear cheers after a couple minutes. Can’t believe I actually put in a little time on him. Let’s give the climb a decent effort and see if this could be my breakaway. I do not want to have to sprint on the track.
The Heat
Now I’m alone, but aid and crew is more frequent. Passing through Michigan Bluff, I know I’ll be picking up Anthony as a pacer in less than an hour. Looking forward to the company.
We’re full-on in this thing. I’m over halfway through, still ahead of sub-14 splits, leading the race, feeling ok. It’s hot. I’ve gotten some funny comments about my shirt but I’ll take any little advantage I can get. Each time I get wet it’s like stepping into a walk-in refrigerator. The melting ice from my bandana keeps things damp. Just wish it would last longer.
Foresthill is a frenzy, as usual, but all the attention is on me today. This is weird. I’ve never had so many people cheering me on, yelling my name. I’m uncomfortable, but also this is fun. Tunnel vision takes over and I’m locked in on my crew. Nothing else matters, just get in and out. No shoe change needed, feet are good enough. Anthony and I set out on Cal Street, the absolute convection oven of the course.
Dark urine was the first sign of danger. I knew I was dehydrated, but this was worse than I thought. I need to keep drinking. And eating. And keep it all down without getting nauseous. Man, this is a fine line. Maybe I’ve crossed it. I know what I need to do conceptually but the body doesn’t want it. My heart rate is falling, maybe without water my blood is getting too thick to pump? Is that a thing? I know I can make it a couple more hours at this pace without eating or drinking much, but that will set me up for disaster later in the final stretch and I still have 5+ hours to go. I’m taking constant, tiny sips of my Precision electrolyte drink. It’s icy and good, and I imagine it’s an IV drip.
Anthony tells me stories from crewing, tries to take my mind off things. I love that he’s here. I love that we’re sharing this epic journey. I can barely reply though, I just want to listen. Cal 1, Cal 2, Cal 3, why are all these aid stations called Cal? What number are we on? Where’s that river crossing? That will feel good.
I check my split at Rucky Chucky. I’m somehow maintaining my lead on my sub-14 goal and on Chris, despite the beginning of the end in sight. Leah tells me I can be at the finish in 3 hours and 15 minutes from then. I know she’s wrong, but I don’t tell her. Last year she’d be right, but I’ve hidden how bad I’m starting to feel now. Some mental math tells me I can bleed 15-20 minutes slower than planned from Green Gate to the finish and still end up under course record. Glad I have some buffer, I pivot to that new goal.
The Final Stretch
This is so different from last year. Exact opposite. Instead of pushing and hunting and feeling strong, I’m crashing and burning and why am I even doing this. Against all odds, Anthony has talked me into running a solid pace up to Green Gate and we’ve maintained a good gap. I snag Jacob as my next pacer, my pit crew works their magic, and I’m back out on slightly shady, gently rolling, perfectly buffed out singletrack. The type of trail I should be able to rip. Instead, just out of view from the aid station, I stop and walk. I tell Jacob I’m going to end up in the hospital after this one.
I can’t believe these stomach cramps. It’s instantaneous. The second gel or liquid passes my throat, it hits me. Back into the death cycle of knowing I need it but struggling to take it. A constant trade off between jogging at a 10min/mi pace and slowly fading without calories or taking in a gel and needing to stop to breathe through the pain but possibly preventing a worse future outcome.
Jacob is using all the tricks up his sleeve. He’s telling stories, singing my praises, letting me know that the rest of the field hurts just as bad. I just want silence. I feel bad, he’s out here for me and he wants me to do well. My whole crew does. I’ve come so far. 12 hours and over 80 miles in, did I really lead all this way just to watch it fall apart at the last minute? But it’s not the last minute, there are still hours left. At this rate, if I really die and have to walk the rest, at 3 miles per hour… oh no this might still be a very long day.
I can tell Jacob is trying to crack the code on this. He believes in me and thinks he can save me. I hope he’s right, but it’s not looking good. He reminds me that I wanted this. I told him to make sure I finished on empty and to make it hurt. That’s definitely happening. I stare straight down at his feet ahead of me, focus on deep breaths, and just try to follow. Trying to separate my head from my body as much as possible.
At Pointed Rocks, somehow I’m still in the lead. No Chris or Kilian in sight. I know they can’t be too far back, but now I’m smelling the barn. Just one more down and one more up til that final mile through the streets of Auburn and on to that sweet sweet track. As I leave, I listen for the roar that indicates Chris is coming into aid. I don’t hear it. Minutes go by. I might actually pull this off.
The last couple hours had wiped away my hopes and cares for a course record. I was still close to on pace, but motivation was gone and I just wanted a win. At 13.5 hours I do enough math to realize it would be very close. I could probably get it if I could hold myself together and hammer the final climb and sprint the road all the way to the line. My hamstrings are cramping up and I just want the pain to end. I decide there that I’m done looking at my watch and caring about times. I’ve suffered this far, let’s enjoy the end. Crew hops in to run me down onto the track. I spot many familiar faces along the way, cheering me on. Thanks for being out here. Fist bump for Scott Jurek. The road spits me out onto the track and the wall of noise slams into me. Both sides, lined what felt like a dozen people deep. A fleshy tunnel leading me to where I could finally, finally sit down.
Where’s Marshall? I thought Morgan would try to hand him off to me right before the line. Maybe they went to Robie Point and got held up looking for parking or something. I walk the last step or two across the line, hoist the ribbon, and someone spins me toward Morgan. She’s holding Marshall and is right there. Group hug, I love this part. Hope Mike gets a nice pic. I find a chair and a barf bag and say some thank yous. I can feel my body shutting down. This finish line interview better be quick.
The Aftermath
We’re still in this phase. I’m kind of done writing for today but I paid a price for that race. Luckily I was wrong when I told Jacob I’d end up in the hospital (at least so far I haven’t gone), but I did log some solid hours in the med tent. I ate my first bites of solid food yesterday and my pee is normal colored now.
When my brain clears a bit more and my body hurts a bit less, I have some ideas that I want to write about. Ultras give you so much time in your own head, it feels like I’ve got a swirling jumble in here that I need to get out and organize. So stay tuned I guess.
Thanks for following along and for all the support. What a special day.
Bravo & thank you for writing this narrative, which is so much more thoughtful and interesting than the Instagram captions by other top-10 finishers. You’re a writer as well as a WSER champ! It’s fascinating to read about your struggle because you looked smooth and in control on the final stretch. I’m so happy for you. I’ve been in this sport 20+ years and got my silver buckle in 2016, and it’s great to see good people come up in the scene. I love that you appreciated and paid homage to Kilian before respectfully passing. Well done.
Amazing. This is so precious.