My Western States Journey: From Runner to Rider By Karen Lozano I made it to the 93.5-mile Hwy 49 aid station Sunday morning. Unfortunately for me, the Western States Endurance Run is 100.2 miles long and I missed the cut-off time. Since this is my “home” aid station, hosted by the ShadowChase Running Club which I was representing, I know many there thought I would be in tears or going to pieces, disappointed at coming so close to that elusive finish line and belt buckle. But to me, making it to my friends and family there was the crowning glory of an amazing journey that quite frankly I was worried might not even begin. And even if it did begin, would I be strong enough to bear the pain, the emotions, the suffering of the previous two weeks? … You see, the day before we left for Squaw Valley, the starting point of the famed WSER, my family buried my baby sister. Just two weeks earlier she became ill, was taken by ambulance to the hospital where she never woke up and we lost her. I come from a large family – 3 girls and 3 boys – so as you can imagine, losing the baby was a huge shock. I had so many talks with myself about being strong, about how Susan would want me to get my bottom out there and take that course, not to do it “for” her, but to do it to “honor” her, our family, our infamous Kopecki stubbornness/persistence. I’d pushed through a rotten training session with two injuries followed by such sadness. Could I pull it together? And to top it off, instead of the freezing hail and rain of the previous year, Mother Nature was going to mess with us in a major way, throwing in near-record heat that registered as high as 107 degrees in some spots! After a few breakdowns and pity parties on my final solo training runs, I told myself that I’d put on my game face, be strong for my family who needed me, and if I got to the start line I would give it my all. Only then would I allow myself to “think” and “react,” amidst the silent running surrounded by strangers in the comforts of the scenic mountain trails – where my physical trials would be matched by my raw emotions. So there I was Saturday morning, about 4:30 a.m., waiting in line to get my Bib #267 and timing chip. I tried to keep my hands still as I wrapped the strap around my ankle. I pulled out my bib. No safety pins. “Sorry, we ran out,” I was told. “Try to get one from someone who has four.” Are you serious? Fortunately, one guy immediately handed me two, but the guy behind me in line asked for one. So of course I gave one up. Somehow, my dear, sweet, kind, loving husband who swears every time I get myself into a nasty ultra that he’ll never crew me again, heard that there were no pins and sent a friend to bring some from our room. I got my bib on, all was well, and there were minutes to spare before the start. The horn blew at 5 a.m. amidst the darkness and the cheering, flashes of light from cameras, and ringing cowbells. A nasty 4 ½ mile climb lay before me, and I wouldn’t see my crew for more than an eight-hour workshift. Things started well enough. Emotions in check, I climbed and climbed. I kept my earbuds in and my music off, listening to those around me joke, whine, wheeze and breathe. I was part of something huge, yet smugly anonymous. Ever so slowly, we reached the Escarpment, then the final hands-to-the-ground push to get over the rocky mountaintop. Then brilliance. The top. The TOP! And who should reach the top just before me? THE famed Gordy Ainsleigh! Founder of the WS run … the guy who started it all! And there was a whole fan club up there with cameras just waiting for him! So what would any good publicity hound do? I jumped right in, of course, wrapping my arm around his sweaty neck! “Gordy, I’m here!” And now I’m hoping I’ll get a copy of one of those spontaneous pics from somewhere! Incidentally, Gordy and I played leapfrog later on down course, which was kind of fun, but alas, no paparazzi out there. Just keep moving, I told myself. Somewhere around the 20 mile mark, I think, as we were going up a steep climb and it was getting warmer, I amused myself talking with Shannon, whose skirt kept getting pulled up by her waistpack, exposing her cute bottoms. I told her at least she had a cute behind to show off. We talked a bit. I was getting a bit emotional and she helped calm me. She told me she’s running Badwater in a couple of weeks. Oh, GOOD GAWD!!! WS as a training run. Clearly I was out of her league. So I left her. (Only to be passed later, of course. But I’m not sure if she finished. I hope so. She was nice.) Somewhere along the way, I ran out of my own cherry-lime Roctane gels and had grabbed a couple of Blueberry/Pom from an aid station. I whipped one out, put some in my mouth, grabbed a tree and promptly threw up over the side of the trail. Not pretty. Major heaving. But I felt so much better. A couple of people stopped to check on me, but that’s just part of trail running, so we kept going. They offered me ginger chews, which I find revolting so I turned them down. But here’s a tip, one runner had a ginger capsule (ginger is known to calm an upset tummy), which she offered and I took. “Use lots of water to get it down,” she told me. It worked great. Looked like an S-Cap, but filled with a brownish powder. Gotta get some. Finally, we made it to Duncan Canyon at mile 24, which meant we were only one stop away from seeing familiar faces at Robinson Flat, mile 30, where I’d get to see hubby Jeff, along with crew and pacers, Jeff and Ana Rowe, and Vickie Chu-Hermis! They were my lifeline and knowing that I’d get to see them for even 3 minutes helps you to push, even though things were starting to really heat up and knowing what lay after that. A long, mentally tough climb up single track trail that I somehow had forgotten about, then finally the trail flattened a bit with about a mile to go into Robinson. A few people were wandering out of the aid station so we knew we had to be getting close … excitement … then SMACK! Down I went. Greeted by the ground in my face! I think it was a rock that got me. It was bound to happen sooner or later even though my mantra was “Pick your feet up, Girl!” It seemed as though I had been stumbling since we started. I was having a hard time finding a groove. No, it didn’t feel good, and yes, I’m quite bruised up, but fortunately my bottles on my vest saved the upper portion of my body. And with a fall that early, I was reminded that falling is not much fun and I didn’t want to do it again. And I didn’t! After Robinson Flat at mile 30, there are five more aid stations before you get to see familiar faces at Michigan Bluff (55.7 miles), but it’s here that many runners start to die. It’s a slow, hot, nasty death involving the two steepest, nastiest, masochistic climbs you’ll encounter. The dreaded Devil’s Thumb, and the 3-mile looooong El Dorado Creek to Michigan Bluff climb. With temperatures around 100 degrees, did I mention they are not fun? And it was along this course that I had my meltdown. My MAJOR meltdown. Somewhere after Robinson I stopped to throw up some more. Probably more than once but I kinda blocked it out. I was surviving on water, S-Caps, wintergreen Lifesavers and glucose (sugar) tabs. For miles and miles. Oh, and ice down my bra at the aid stations. That was interesting. Before climbing into Devil’s Thumb is a very long, steep, runnable rocky downhill, and run I did. It was quite liberating. But then comes the climb. Switchback after switchback. I’d done this in training THREE TIMES! It should not have been that bad! But the heat was sucking the life out of me. Thoughts of my sister were swirling in my head. The lack of sleep the two previous weeks were catching up. The lack of caloric intake. By the time I pulled into Devil’s Thumb I was a WRECK! I was crying and saying there was no way I could make it up the Michigan climb. I got on the scales. I was down 13 POUNDS!!! That could not be good! I sat in a chair and had cold water poured all over me. I couldn’t even get up to throw up. Just BLAM-O, right there next to my feet. And it was here that Mike Hernandez came to my rescue. We call him the Grim Reaper. He’s the guy that goes from aid station to aid station blowing the final horn to tell runners they’ve missed the cut-off. You don’t want to see this guy. And I really did not want to see Mike here because I really DID want to quit, which was shocking to me because I’ve never “quit” a race – of any distance -- before. And I knew he didn’t want me to. And I knew he wouldn’t let me. “GOOD GOSH, THIS CAN’T BE HEALTHY,” I’m sure I said to him. And he kept saying, “Get up and get out of here!” I told him about my sister. He said she would want me to continue. He told me others had it worse, then he sent over one of the aid station workers. I didn’t catch her name, but there she was, an ANGEL, working the Devil’s Thumb aid station because she had made that commitment, even though her mother was put into Hospice the day before and was waiting to die. Her mother wanted her to do what she needed to do – help us pathetic, whiny runners – why, oh why, did I pick this spot to have my meltdown. Then Mike sent over another worker to tell me how she survived on chicken soup and peppermints, or some such nonsense, for the last half of the race, but still managed to get her buckle. I kept thinking how I was going to let everyone down. My crew and pacers who gave up their weekends to come run with me, and poor Jeff who supports and loves me so whole-heartedly; my friends and second family at Highway 49; THE Jon Olsen (lol, that’s for you Doobie), who with his angelic wife drove 18 hours from vacation to make sure he could be there to show his support; my friend Dee, who had half the free world, and then some, praying for me; my Sister, my angel on my shoulder … Then, as if my life could not get any worse, into the aid station came Linda McFadden. Sorry Linda. If there’s anyone I did NOT want to see then, it was her! Because I knew I was DOOMED. “GET UP OUT OF THAT CHAIR,” she screamed at me. And almost instantly, like cops playing good guy, bad guy, the motherly, comforting, killing-me-with-kindness Linda. Just walk with me, she pleaded. UGH! DO YOU GUYS NOT HEAR ME! I’M QUITTING! I’M DONE! (Snot hanging from my nose, a little barf on my face and shoes, body starting to shake from chills.) Then someone handed me a half of a half of a Popscicle. Oh. My. Gawd! Heaven on Earth! How did I not know about these before? I asked for another piece please, and got it! So I followed Linda out of the aid station. Just like that. I even ran with her off and on until we got to the next aid station – El Dorado Creek. Again I sat in the chair and I was pretty mad that I came here because now I HAD to walk the 3 miles up to Michigan Bluff. I didn’t think there was a way out by vehicle. I sat in the chair kinda pouting. I didn’t even put it together that there were cars there until I was hiking out. The aid station workers just agreed that yeah, tough luck, you gotta walk out of here. I kept telling Linda to go ahead and not wait for me. I didn’t want her to miss the cut-off. She later told me that she thought I got a ride. After I walked out of the aid station, not more than a quarter of a mile away, I heard a motor! It was a golf cart type thingie with three people in it going down a dirt road that crossed the trail! I stepped out in front and stopped them. “Can I have a ride,” I asked. “Uh …. I guess we can make room,” someone said. “You hurt?” they asked. “Uh … I just can’t make it up,” I said. “Well, we’ll have to pull you if you get in,” a girl said. “But I don’t have time to make it,” I complained. “You have plenty of time,” she said. “Really?” “Really.” “Seriously?” “Seriously.” “Oh, OK, I’ll keep walking then.” “Good choice,” she said. “We gotta go. Emergency.” And then they were gone. And I didn’t cry again until I was halfway up the mountain and throwing up. But it was the good kind. The cleansing kind. The “there, I got that out of the way” kind. And I thought of the happy times with my Sis and then everything was OK. Eventually I turned on my headlamp, took out the flashlight, and a strolled in the dark, just me lost in my own thoughts. I might add that most of the time I did not come across anyone on the trails. Once in a great while I was passed. But once in a great while I passed others. Like the one guy sitting in the river. I don’t think he was going to come rejoin the race. He looked like he was happy and staying put. So eventually I made it to my lifeline – my crew – at Michigan Bluff. Ana was there looking so cute with her headlamp on. She was so excited to pace me that it was hard for me to explain to them how close I was to letting them all down. Reading this will probably be the first time they realize how close the journey was to ending. So I had to “HTFU” and take it from my peeps. (For those unindoctrinated ultra runners, that’s “harden ---- up.”) So off I went with Ana. Who somewhere between the aid station and 100 yards out changed from cute puppy dog to Prison Guard B****, barking commands to “run,” and “I don’t care if it’s uphill!” I think two of the guys we passed on that first dirt road let me go to get away from her! Our 10-minute cushion before cut-off grew to 20 minutes during her short 5 miles! Uhhh, thanks Ana! Suddenly we are at Bath Road and my Jeff and Nile Souza are there. Nile completed the race last year and was my unofficial mentor this year. Sorry Nile, we almost did it. Then Ana’s hubby, Jeff Rowe, whom we call OJ for “Other Jeff,” took over. Jeff trains with me a lot, and we have a mutual admiration relationship where we tease and shame each other into going farther or faster than we think possible. Jeff’s job was to get me to the river … THE river … THE RIVER! The place I was pulled from the race last year by the Grim Reaper for missing the cut-off by minutes! And get me to the river he did, picking up all kinds of time. I’m guessing we ended up with another 30 minutes in the bank! We ran from Foresthill starting about 11:30 p.m., through the night, through three aid stations, talking about everything and nothing, stopping briefly for aid or to throw up. And yes, pacers can throw up too, especially if they are too concerned about their runners and forget to take care of themselves. OJ was awesome and so prepared! When my flashlight batteries died, he didn’t stop to change them. He just handed me a new flashlight! When my headlamp died, he handed me a new headlamp. That guy literally had TWO OF EVERYTHING! We reached the river about 4 a.m. Normally, the thought of crossing the ice cold American River in the dark would scare the bejeepers out of me! But all I thought about all day was reaching the river. It was still 78 degrees outside, so very hot when you’ve been running almost 24 hours! There’s a cable strung across from one side to the other, and there are volunteers who literally stand in the freezing river ALL NIGHT holding the cables telling runners where to step to avoid hitting sharp rocks or bang into big boulders. The first few steps were, of course, quite shocking. But after that, I was pretty sure they could hear us at Hwy 49 shouting and cheering. There were others crossing with us and we were all shouting and cheering and tearing up! I’ll never forget those moments. Thank you OJ! I know you had a really, really bad day before that, but I’m hoping those memories from the river are the ones that stick, no matter how much you get teased about the other stuff! So we got to the other side, walked out of the water, grabbed my drop bag that I had sent ahead with dry clothes and shoes, but didn’t bother to change since it was still hot. I was mostly dry by the time we hiked up the almost 2 miles to the Green Gate aid station. After we crossed the river we were met by my hubby and Jon Olsen, who both did what they could to keep things light. They noticed I was leaning forward, and the only thing I was complaining about was how much my back hurt. Well, OK, I was probably complaining about everything, but they were concerned about my back. And that was the beginning of the end. At Green Gate, OJ handed me off to my dear friend Vickie Chu-Hermis, whom I’ve gone through just about everything you could ask of a friend together. The sweetest, kindest person whom you’d never, ever want to disappoint. But she runs ultras too, and has a touch of a temper, so she gets it. And she had the huge task of taking me the last 20 miles to the finish. But we only covered 10 of those miles. I’m so sorry Vickie. You tried your best. At some point, my back started aching so badly, I was listing to the left and unable to stand up straight. I kept leaning forward too. Funny thing was, I didn’t really notice how bad it was until the sun came out and I saw my shadow. Shocking! Quasimodo! “What happened?” Grim Reaper asked when we arrived at mile 85. “When did you start leaning?” I could see from his face the excitement of my gains turn to sadness. He had someone give me a quick massage, to no avail, and I took a second Tylenol. Vickie and I left as quickly as we could. Arriving at the final aid station before Hwy 49, Brown’s Bar, I sent Vickie ahead to fill my water bottles. “We got a leaner!” someone yells. A man came out to greet me and walk me in. Don’t worry, he told me, I have a photo of myself looking just like you. Oh, I thought. How reassuring! And so it was, shortly after leaving Brown’s Bar, my “run” turned into a Death March. I have no idea how long it took to travel about a mile, but it felt like FOREVER! The sun was back to blazing, we had no shade. I later read it was in the 90s there at 9 a.m. but I’m not sure how accurate that was. But it did FEEL like it was that hot! Poor Vickie tried to the bitter end to get me to move faster but even she, Super Pacer, had to concede. Since we were standing on a dirt road, I just knew Jeff would be able to drive up and rescue me. But Vickie didn’t have reception on the phone. I was almost starting to panic because I knew at the rate I was moving it would be forever to get the final two miles to Hwy 49, and I JUST WANTED TO SEE MY FRIENDS! They had been out there all night and I just wanted to tell them it was OK and I was alright. And I didn’t want Dee to cry again! Then, out of nowhere, two women on horseback. The sweeps! Of course! They wouldn’t leave us out there for the buzzards! No, a car couldn’t come rescue me unless I needed an ambulance, so that’s how Karen, the runner, became Karen, the rider! We found a big rock. Vickie helped me stand on top of it. And onto the horse I went. I won’t kid you … I’m TERRIFIED of horses. But I was even more terrified of being left behind to bake in the burning sun. So I clung to that horse’s mane, said a few prayers, and begged everyone not to make a peep or get too close so they wouldn’t spook good ol’ Blue. So that’s how I happened into the Highway 49 aid station. They were tearing down camp, but then they saw me. At first, silence. LOUD SILENCE! It was deafening. No cameras, all eyes upon me. And then I smiled. I was home. And that’s all they needed. All heck broke loose. Cheers. Huge cheers, standing ovations, people coming toward Blue and I! Wait, wait … not too close I was thinking! Don’t spook the horse! Someone brought a ladder to help me off. Jan Marie Miller took my shoes off and cleaned my feet. I felt loved. It was an awesome exclamation point on a very long day. So that’s why I’m not disappointed. Yes, I wish I could have finished, but with so much happening before the race, I KNOW I am strong. I KNOW I can do anything. Even if it means getting on a horse. Thank you to everyone for your love, encouragement, help and understanding. And thank you ShadowChase for the club entry. Good luck to the person who gets it next year. I hope I’m right there with you! Hugs!
Posted on: Wed, 03 Jul 2013 23:15:45 +0000