Despite the setback of withdrawing from the Western States 100 at Michigan Bluff (mile 55.7), I’m reminded of the shared experience we all have in these races- the unwavering difficulty and unpredictable nature. From mile 0 to 100.2, the outcome is always uncertain. I’m sure many of you can empathize with this feeling of uncertainty and the relentless challenge of these races. But it’s this very uncertainty that fuels our determination and resilience, and this shared experience binds us together.
Before I delve into my personal journey, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to each member of the ShadowChase Running Club and its board of directors. Your support and permission to participate in the world’s oldest and first 100-mile endurance run, the Western States 100, is something I sincerely appreciate. I am truly grateful for the opportunity to stand at the starting line in Olympic Valley. I also thank everyone who followed my journey and cheered me on through social media and in person. Your support means the world to me.
This was my third running in the Western States 100; I finished in 2016, missed the cut-off in 2022 at Rucky Chucky (mile 80), and, as mentioned, dropped out of the race this year at Michigan Bluff (mile 55.7).
Despite not finishing the race, I have progressed and learned in these last two attempts. The race from Olympic Valley to Robinson Flat (mile 30) previously gave me difficulty with rocky surfaces, streaming crossings, altitude, and plenty of climbing to begin the day. However, those miles went by this year with little to no effort. At every aid station, those who knew me commented on how fresh I looked, and I felt the same way. It felt easy, but I kept reminding myself to stick with my plan and resist the temptation to overreach at my pace.
Even up to Last Chance (mile 43.3), I was right where I wanted to be and feeling good. One significant change I made this year was having my crew, Nicole and Samuel, earlier in the race. They met me at Duncan Canyon (mile 24.8) and Dusty Corners (mile 38) and played an instrumental role in supplying me with my specific needs and showering me with positive thoughts.
I hit the crux of the course, the canyons, at the hottest point in the day. While it was a mild year, it ended up being hotter than predicted, and the canyons of Western States are like convection ovens, heating up and staying hot for a long time. The cool breeze from the early miles turned into a hot breeze, and the damage from the Mosquito Fire two years ago took away what little shade this section of the course had to offer.
Before I started the race, I knew the canyons (miles 43.3 to 62) would be my slowest miles. My climbing was slow, but I was okay with that. I was still running well on the flats and downhills. Around mile 50, my body revolted in more ways than one. I tried to mentally remain positive and keep putting one foot before the other. However, medical concerns were creeping up for me and the volunteers at El Dorado Creek (mile 52.9) and Michigan Bluff (mile 55.7). I won’t go into those concerns here, but it came down to a tough decision at Michigan Bluff to push forward with an increasing risk for my health or to withdraw and accept another defeat at the hands of the Western States 100 course.
Toeing the line for a 100-mile ultramarathon demands immense courage and mental strength. Over the years, I’ve honed my physical endurance, mental fortitude, and pain management skills. It takes unwavering self-belief and the ability to conquer fears. Additionally, it requires sacrificing time with family, social activities, and other interests. All this dedication brings you to the starting line, but the uncertainty of finishing and the risk of injury remain. I hope that confronting these unknowns head-on demonstrates my courage, inspires others, and motivates each and every one of you to reach your full potential in whatever you choose to pursue.