From Laura
Why do we like to run races? Specifically, why the heck does the guy I’m spending my life with feel compelled to fly across the country to run 100 miles, and why, for Pete’s sake, does anyone feel compelled to organize such a meeting of insane humans? Furthermore, why do I have this perverse desire to support his suffering through it?! I had plenty of time for the questions to roll around in my head throughout my 48 hours or so as crew chief for team TrailScience (Ryan Crisman’s twitter name) at the Cascade Crest 100 miler.
THE CRISMAN CREW ADVENTURES
Crewing is difficult because predicting when a runner will complete miles 53-75 of a race up and down Cascade mountain passes, on tired legs, sprained ankles, through blow-downs of 10’ diameter trees- well- it is not a precise science. So, in order to avoid dreaming sweet nothings while your runner strolls in after a grueling 20 miles section, you are typically left on edge for a timeframe of 1-3 hours. There is also the question, upon arrival at an aid station, of where exactly to park on the skinny, mountainside logging roads, where to haul the stuff for your runner, how much stuff to bring, how long your wait will be (do you need chairs? Beverages? Do you need to hustle?), and are you forgetting anything? Not to mention, the challenge of following vague driving directions on spottily marked logging roads, with a driver who is too tired (or distracted) to keep track of the mileage you’ve traveled from your last turn. Are we going to make it in time? But perhaps the most anxiety-provoking part of crew is the unknown condition that your runner will arrive in at the aid station (Happy? Relaxed? Loopy? On a stretcher? Hypothermic from taking a wrong turn and jumping into a lake? Frustrated? Punching people? Piggy-back on a bear?). These are the struggles and glories of being crew. So, again, why do we support the madness?
RACE DAY START
My role essentially commenced on Friday afternoon, as Ryan and I sat around the campfire, scrutinizing the clipboard with laminated directions to each aid station, breakdowns of approximate arrivals at each aid station for finish times between 24-32 hours, and then of course, the nutrition and footwear plan. I know this sounds crazy, but as a responsible crew chief (and admittedly somewhat nervous wife)- it wasn’t just Ryan’s OCD driving the madness- I demanded details. Then of course, all bets are off once the race starts. You just hope your runner doesn’t run out of water in the hottest part of the day, that his or her headlamp doesn’t burn out during the blackness of night, and that his or her stomach doesn’t reject all foods for the last 50 miles of the race.
Saturday, Race day (one), started with an unhurried morning at camp. Lake Easton State Park is a convenient ½ mile from the race start/finish, located at a beautiful, glacially cold lake, and accompanied by the sounds of the adjacent I-90 corridor. The upside of the noise pollution is that you sleep through your tent-mate waking up in the middle of the night to pee, your in-laws snoring, and the bears rummaging around camp looking for the leftover smores. The Cascade Crest starts at the leisurely hour of 10am. So we had time to experiment on our runner, which Lindsay, who is a naturopathic doctor supporting preventative health (what was she doing here?!), had a keen interest in doing. With the promise of increased energy and funny-colored pee, she swiftly delivered a B-vitamin shot that nearly caused our runner to pass out and/or puke.
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| A few hours before the race and the pain was already starting. |
Ryan later said this was the worst pain of the whole race. We meandered to the race start, at the Easton Fire Station for pancake breakfast served by the firefighters and local high school kids. It is a very relaxed start, with about 140 crazy people just chilling out getting ready for a beautiful 22-32 hour jaunt through the mountains, a bunch of volunteers, most of whom have completed the Cascade Crest at one point or another, sometimes as many as 10-15 times, and the rest of us crew folk.
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| The crew hanging out at the start line |
Before we knew it, the runners were through the gate- ambling off to the start their weekend on their feet, through some of the most gorgeous trails that I’ve ever seen. Momma and Dad Crisman, Uncle Dan, Valerie, Aly, Mat, Lindsay and I all watched for the 20 minutes or so that it took the runners to get to the first turn off up to Goat Peak (about a half mile). The first aid station for us was 23 miles out (and up), and Ryan was planning to run conservatively. While nerves were prompting Lindsay, Mat and I to head immediately from the start to the first aid station, our better judgment (and the lure of Momma’s homemade, garden-blackberry pie) led us back to camp for a couple of hours, where we had time to devour the aforementioned pie, ride the fold-up bicycles around the camp loop, and take a refreshing (yet alarming- as in- “my heart may stop”) dip in the ice-water lake. We left a few hours prior to Ryan’s ETA to the aid station, although the directions said it was only about 10 miles driving. Good thing we did.
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| The glacial melt swimming hole. Ryan's first marathon was along the ridgeline in the background. |
THE NEXT 30 HOURS: AN AID STATION BOOGIE
The road was winding, dirt, grated, logging-road, with steep drop-offs down the mountain. I chose to focus on the gorgeous views. We rounded a corner and a glacier-covered Rainier burst onto the horizon against the clear blue sky. Wild-flowers filled the meadows. Mat nearly cried at one turn over a poor squirrel on the side of the road that he covered in dust. Lindsay pulled him back together. We found our spot to camp out, and hauled Ryan’s bags and our chairs to a lovely spot near the runner’s trail. We met a nice pair of sisters who run shorter ultras together (50-100k). They were supporting their cousin. We waited. Mat had the best camp chair. He relaxed. We wandered up the old-growth trail (beautiful, gorgeous). The trees made Mat look small. It was at this point I wondered why Ryan had to be running this thing, and why the heck he hadn’t taken me on this loop for a luxurious 5-day backpack with his wife?!
Uncle Dan and Dad Crisman showed up at this aid station, wide-eyed at the treacherous drive up and doing what Crisman-men do best when confronted with a tough situation- laughing. Ryan rolled in 20 minutes later- relaxed, happy, smiling. He had run out of food, and it was hot. But he had been training in the South in the dead of summer. No problem. Hills (i.e. Mountains)? He’s always like them. They probably would have killed me. He downed a whole row of shot blocks. 5 minutes after his pit stop, he was off again. And we were off to navigate to the next aid station. Dan and Dad said have fun, and headed back to camp.
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| Is he here yet? First aid station jitters are setting in. |
Lindsay and I hiked a portion of the trail at the next station. It was straight up. Gorgeous trees. Perfect weather. We saw a couple runners bow out at this station- problems with body temperature control- I think the heat of this day was tough for some un-acclimatized Northwesterners. There were a couple of Mom’s whose kids would run up to them at the aid station. Ryan was happy, took his headlamp and was on his way. One guy sitting next to us had his wife in the race (her 3rd time), and he had done it several times as well. He counseled us that Ryan’s hold-back strategy was solid and that he looked great. Good news from a veteran racer.
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| Sending our runner on his way after a quick pit stop. Our plan was to skip from mile 33 to mile 53 aid station, but this was a long section, and a lot of it in the dark, at night. We decided to head to one of the intermediate aid stations and surprise Ryan. As we headed off, Mat’s truck protested with a lot of whining. Oh crap. We headed back to camp. Again. This time at 40 mph on I-90, listening to “whhheeeeeeeee” of the broken turbo charger in the F-350. We unloaded our past 8 hours of rummaging for meals, changing clothes, and providing whatever our runner needed (think teenager’s bedroom). We re-loaded Dad’s truck. We left Mom and Dad Crisman without transportation. I promised Mat wouldn’t break the Chevy. Good thing Ryan wasn’t expecting us for a while. |
As luck would have it, Luke and Rob had forgotten to print directions to our stated meet-up spot, so they met us at camp (thank you cell phones that sometimes work in the mountains). Luke informed me he had slept no more than 3 hours the night prior. He was pacing Ryan for the home stretch. My anxiety increased but knew Luke was a trooper. We headed off to Hyak, the mile 53 aid station, an accessible spot off the highway. Despite the festive atmosphere of this aid station, where Mrs. Claus was ladleing out soup for the runners, we laid out our sleeping bags to catch a little rest. The stars were brilliant. The air was crisp, fresh, and mountainy. Mat rolled out the nicest spot for me to sleep (although I did hear someone coming over to pee once; they didn’t pee on me). I didn’t sleep.
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| Mat catching a little rest in the bushes |
Ryan rolled in here around midnight, looking good, and talking of how dark it was. He wanted to change his shoes because of the horrible amount of dust and the concern that he “had rolled his ankle”. He says this a lot when he runs, and usually it is not a big deal. Too bad I didn’t give this one a closer look. It should have been taped or something. He met Rob, and then very publicly applied butter to his thighs (going in from the top of his shorts). It was apparent he was happy to see people and perhaps a little tired. No soup and not much fuss, another pit stop, and on his way, this time, thankfully, with Rob in tow.
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| Cleaning up the feet. Adding some duct tape to the hot spots and ready to rock! |
We headed to our next stop, Kachess Lake. Sleeping under the stars in the mountains in a cozy sleeping bag is the best thing in the world. So, I let our crew rest a little longer as I attempted to be less neurotic about the timing of Ryan’s arrival (after all- we hadn’t missed him yet). Of course, running with someone as awesome as Rob picks up one’s spirit, and apparently pace, and Rob and Ryan rolled in early. Luckily, Rob recognized his truck and we didn’t miss too many beats before sending him on his way with Lu for the “Trail from Hell”. Sounds lovely.
We were off to Mineral Creek, which I realized was no less than 30 miles driving, much of which was through small mountain towns (including Rosyln, WA, where Northern Exposure was filmed) and forest service road, which left us at an average rate of 17 mph to get there. Between sleep deprivation and plain lack of attention to addition, Mat and I couldn’t get our driving team together to track this mileage. If anyone less loveable and laid back than big Mat were in the car with me, I may not have made it. We made it.
DAY 2
We arrived at Mineral Creek thinking we didn’t have much time before they’d come rolling in. I hiked down the trail in the very chilly morning, sunrise. I came across a downed tree, where the root structure was 3x my height. I breathed in and out. I felt full of spirit. I walked back to the station to wait with our crew. I saw a woman come in and tell her husband she still had 6-8 hours to go, and he lovingly said: “what else have you got to do today?” I heard some mention of a hot bath, feet up, etc., but she was off and running again. We donated a handful of trailmix to a pacer who had forgotten her food (you could have had more!). We waited some more. I started down the trail again. I met a guy who was there with his running club; he had worked the Hyak aid station. His son was based in North Carolina, and stationed in Afganistan, and he was recovering from knee surgery. We cheered some racers and eagerly awaited our runners. His came. Then I saw them- Lu and Ryan, steadily making their way up the hill. Ryan felt good power-hiking it, but mentioned the technical downhill was killing him. We headed up the hill to our crew at a quick clip. Ryan seemed a little hurt, limping, tired- but smiling at me. I ran ahead the last 100 yards to make sure the crew was ready for our guy. They were sleeping in the car, but quickly roused and were ready to go. Nobody could convince Luke that his long pants, long sleeves, hat, and gloves were overkill for setting off on a grueling trail on a day where the high was in the 70s. Our lovable Arizonan just said “I hate being cold”.
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| Luke preparing for the last 30 miles |
And we were off again; this time to meet Ryan at the final aid station, Silver Creek, mile 96. I was worried about the steep 8+ mile downhill at the end of this section, given the state of his injury (which we hadn’t quite pinpointed at the ankle at this point, but it was obvious something was wrong. Mat kept mentioning that the injury was probably due to running 75+ miles). I knew Luke would pull him through.
Rob and I drove past our campsite and ran into Dad and Aly who were excited to have cheered a few runners past the campsite on their way to the finish. After which we proceeded to turn around, because we realized we had passed our turn. We saw some runners finishing strong, and looking ready for a seat, we cheered heartily. Somehow we managed to find the bumpy, overgrown path of a road (which was signed “Camp Happy”) to get to Silver Creek around 9am. Here we realized what Mat had eaten for breakfast: the remainder of the tuna casserole, the rest of Momma’s vegetarian, homemade spaghetti, a majority of the trail mix, and all of the chocolate almonds. Mat dutifully prepared PB&J’s for Lindsay and I (and two for himself). Additionally, thanks to Rob, on hour 28 of barely any sleep, definitely no shower, and a fair bit of grease and mountain grit, I enjoyed a Starbucks Latte that he had hauled in with him. Not exactly roughing it.
We knew this station could be a while, so Mat and Lindsay laid down to rest, Rob picked a spot for him and Tika with his book, and I decided to head back and say hi to the family at camp and deliver the latest scoop. Dan and Valerie had walked to the finish line to watch incoming runners. Aly was riding around camp on her bike, and as far as I could tell, Grandma and Grandpa were pacing the campsite.
I went back and we milled around in the increasing warmth of a gorgeous mountain day and wandered our way down to the aid station. The station was creekside, just down the hill from a waterfall, in the shade of some big, Washington trees, filled with lichen. We saw some of the crew folks we’d been hanging out with for the past 24 hours. We were family by now. We saw the race dogs that had come along. Tika took a particular interest in a very attractive pug. I glimpsed up at the trail from which these runners were descending: it looked like an easy 35 degree decline. Ouch. I checked when Ryan had passed the last point, pretty good timing, should be here any minute, depending how the downhill treated him. I chatted with the two veteran runners manning this aid station. They were in love with the mountains, with running, with the atmosphere of the race. They seemed excited to hear of this, Ryan’s, first 100 mile race. (I am thinking: FIRST race? Are you implying that he will necessarily do this again??) I became enthused with the race atmosphere myself.
And then they came: Ryan making his way down, not as gingerly and not as aggressively as other runners we had seen, and Luke, with the heat of the day getting him affectionately became known as 'shirtless guy'.
And then they came: Ryan making his way down, not as gingerly and not as aggressively as other runners we had seen, and Luke, with the heat of the day getting him affectionately became known as 'shirtless guy'.
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| Shirtless guy leading the way at mile 96. He pulled Ryan through some low patches! |
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| Ryan was in good spirits, glad to be finished with that last downhill section, and really ready to cross that finish line. |
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| A shot of Mountain Dew to reward the last 25 miles |
We headed off with just a couple handhelds of mountain dew for the final 4 mile stretch. It was obvious the turns that came with roots and rocks were causing Ryan great pain. I just kept smiling at him telling him how much I loved him. And I did, and I do.
Rob went to the finish line, but not before stopping along the way to cheer us on. I insisted Ryan and Luke eat a few shot blocks, and not to give up on nutrition now, just because we were in the final stretch. We rolled in, running through the finish line (even Momma Crisman).
Belt buckle in hand. Charlie Crissman (the race director) shook Ryan’s hand with a hearty smile. Everyone hugged. I looked around and saw all the amazing runners, crew, and volunteers that had made it through this race.
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| Heading off to the finish....four miles to go |
Rob went to the finish line, but not before stopping along the way to cheer us on. I insisted Ryan and Luke eat a few shot blocks, and not to give up on nutrition now, just because we were in the final stretch. We rolled in, running through the finish line (even Momma Crisman).
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| Finished! |
Belt buckle in hand. Charlie Crissman (the race director) shook Ryan’s hand with a hearty smile. Everyone hugged. I looked around and saw all the amazing runners, crew, and volunteers that had made it through this race.
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| RD Charlie Crissman watching Ryan get a congratulations hug from his biggest fan |
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| Time for Dad to stop worrying |
Crewing doesn’t exactly finish at the finish line. We got a chair, put the feet in a bucket of water, took one look at the ankle, the blisters, and shuddered. We wrapped Ryan up in a blanket. We made sure Luke good as he did just complete his first ultra! Mat carried Ryan to the truck. We were on the path to recovery, and sleep.
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| A great crew and even better people |
CONCLUSION
So, why do we like to run races? Why wasn’t I there at the race, picketing the blatant promotion of exposure of ones self (and my spouse!) to unhealthy extremes? Is it Ego? Goals? Boredom? Insanity? Perhaps elements of any of these things- but after participating in the Cascade Crest- a race that exemplifies this perhaps more than any other I’ve witnessed- I came to the realization that running races is like going to church. You spend all your time praying night and day (training) and working on your spiritual growth (physical and mental endurance), but you can only get so far by yourself. By going to church (or, in this case, by running a race) and bringing your efforts together with a group of people, you can progress further than you ever could by yourself- by sharing in each others’ suffering, joy, progress, and missteps- you are lifted up. It is not easy to understand why you would run a 100 mile race. Many people don’t understand why you would go to church. But we do, because it taps into the places that are hard to get to on our own, and it inspires us to persevere.
CREW AWARDS
The crew for team Crisman included many essential players, for which I would like to dole out a few awards (trophies will be given out at Lindsay’s 100 mile race):
Most likely to get Ryan to the starting line: James for picking us up at the airport with last minute notice- Sorry about the blasting-delay. Missed you at the race.
Most likely to be prepared for a blizzard in the middle of summer: Luke
Most likely to do an ironman, win it by a landslide, and say it was no big deal and he’s just happy to be there: Rob
Most likely person to carry Ryan in and out of the truck when his body has broken down: Big Mat
Most likely to pass people on the Trail from Hell: Dr. Lindsay - alternatively, to have the IV ready just in case she’s pushed you too hard
Completion of your first ultra through the Cascade Mountains to celebrate 30 years of life: Luke
Most Likely to bail out mid-race: Mat’s truck.
Most dismayed at the spectacle of people running 100 miles on purpose, for fun: Uncle Dan and Valerie (Dan- this is your blood, you know?!)
Most Valuable: Mom and Dad Crisman - without you, none of us would have been here this weekend.
Most Delicious Blackberry pie on the planet: Momma Crisman - alternatively, best finish line hug
Best Woohoo at the finish line (and most likely to listen to Justin Bieber): Aly, age 9
Best Morale Booster and most likely to hump the competition: Tika......Rob was a close second
Lastly, here's a few extra pictures from the race:
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| ??? |
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| Sunrising on Day 2....Love the Mountains! |
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| Tika fishing |
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| Proud Parents |
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| What your feet look like after 100 miles |
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| Taking a little break on I-90 for blasting. Best taxi driver ever! |
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