The View from a New Crew (HG100K)

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On the one hand, my report has nothing to do with the race, after all, I didn’t even run it! On the other hand, it has everything to do with the race, since the race was my reason for being there. What a strange and wonderful experience it was. I have run races, I have spectated at races, but crewing is something entirely different from the other two

Ultra has a way of “selling” every race as “an ideal FIRST (fill in the distance of your choice)”. I wondered if the Hellgate 100K might be an ideal first race to crew. He didn’t try to sell me on that at all. Hmmmm… Still, I would have Guthrie to offer advice and guidance, and she is a pro at crewing in general, and at crewing Hellgate specifically. She offered me the advice of “just follow me”. It seems to me someone else, Maybe Mr. Bimble (?) always advises me to “never follow Guthrie”! This was all SO confusing. Chipper offered me some helpful pointers during a recent Westwoods run. I am not sure what she was happier about: the fact that I was going, or the fact that she wasn’t going. Actually, I think I DO know which made her happier! With this minimal information, and low expectations of me from El Toro, I headed off into oblivion aka The Gates of Hell.

We all met at Bimble Hall Thursday evening, and set off from there. Mr. Bimble, Guthrie, and Spuds in the Bimblemobile, El Toro, Loopy and I in the Toromobile. Our paths diverged, partly due to irreconcilable navigational differences, and partly due to nutritional demands. As a result, we wound up at the same pre-arranged spot to stop for the night, but did not meet again until morning. In the morning, we all met for a hardy breakfast, a shopping adventure, and finally headed south to Virginia.

At about 5PM we arrived at Camp Bethel the base of operations for the Hellgate 100K. The lodge and dining buildings were buzzing with racers checking-in, preparing, and greeting friends from past races. At 6:30, dinner was served, and at 8PM, the pre-race briefing by the legendary Race Director, David Horton

After all this official stuff, everyone was supposed to try to get some rest before the 11 PM “race to the race”. Driverless runners were paired up with those vehicles with excess capacity, and at 11 PM, we started a caravan to the starting line, located several interchanges north on I-81. When you need to spend some time on an interstate highway to get to the finish line from the start line, you begin to appreciate how far this race really is. We arrived with a few minutes to spare, spent in the comfort of the warm car. Then, we all made our way to the starting line, with several people getting their feet quite wet before the race even started. The temperature wa sin the mid-twenties as midnight approached. Guthrie and I waited on the sidelines as our four Bimblers bravely and confidently toed the line as the National Anthem was sung. I was so inspired by the scene that I participated, quite loudly and maybe even almost in key, in the singing, and I NEVER sing in public. And then, they were gone. All the crews scrambled for their vehicles, and a chaotic scene ensued as crews fought for position on the narrow gravel mountain roads. I tucked in tight behind Guthrie, and drafted her all the way to Aid Station #2, as the first station was off-limits to crews.

[singlepic=5349,280,200,,right] At Aid Station #2, we waited a little while for the lead runner to come through, and then for El Toro, Mr. Bimble, Spuds, and Loopy. It was great to see them, and they all still looked, and smelled, good. Then, we quickly departed for Aid Station #4, as the third station was also off-limits to crew. The route to Aid Station #4 had been detoured, away from a short and very icy route, to a long, and supposedly less icy route. As a result, I think we travelled something over 30 miles to Aid Station #4. We had about 10 vehicles in a caravan with Guthrie leading, me right behind, and others strung out behind me. At one point Guthrie stopped to contemplate a turn, and every car stopped, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, waiting to see what her decision would be. She led us flawlessly to Aid Station #4, the infamous Headforemost Mountain.This was the only station at which we both had time to kill, so we huddled in “my” vehicle under infinite layers PLUS a sleeping bag. Hey, YOU, stop that smirking: I said “huddled” NOT “cuddled”!!!! Finally, the first place runner came by, and I got out to make sure to not miss El Toro, while Guthrie, more confident of the routine, stayed warm in the vehicle a while longer. While freezing and waiting for El Toro to arrive, I saw a spectacular moonrise over Bedford, a crescent moon that started deep red, and faded to white as it rose higher and higher above the horizon. After a little wait, it became apparent that the gap between El toro and Mr. Bimble had widened, and with my first-timer nervousness, I went ahead without waiting for Mr. Bimble, fearful that I would miss El Toro at the next aid station. Besides, El Toro had lamented the lack of chicken soup at the last station, and I was bound and determined to find some, or make some for him at the next station.

[singlepic=5361,280,200,,left] I wound up getting to the next aid station before the aid station got there. I waited a respectful amount of time after they arrived to ask “will there be soup?”. The answer was yes, but it might not be hot until the middle of the pack runners arrived. So, with the temperature hovering at 17 degrees, and just enough light to turn off my headlamp, I set to making chicken noodle soup (aka Ramen). I had my doubts about the quality of my work, so when El Toro arrived, I suggested he ask for the “official soup”. It turns out that it WAS ready, but it was TOMATO. Really, what were they thinking? So, I sent El Toro off with soup not quite just like grandma used to make. I lingered, wondering how the others were doing. Guthrie was on scene, and advised that Mr. Bimble had slowed (we all knew he was “under the weather”) to a manageable pace, but would be along shortly. It as there while we lingered that we were conversing with a very nice gentleman who was crewing the racer in seventh place. After he found out we were from Connecticut, he asked if either of us knew “that crazy guy” from Connecticut. Well, that CERTAINLY narrows things down, doesn’t it? Well, apparently so, because when Guthrie asked if he meant Ultra, he enthusiastically replied “Yeah, that’s him!” and “do you know him?”. I no time I had Donny Wilkinson talking on my cell to our very own Ultra, who had not yet started “empathizing” for the Hellgate runners. How’s that for a small world?

As I drove down the mountain from this station, the runners were coming up the same road. I gave a big “thumbs up” to each, and stopped to shout “hey” to Mr. Bimble, who had slowed, but appeared very “in control” of the situation.

The next aid station could have been called the “hunting station”, as it had many hunters, and animal carcasses (not counting ultra-runners) all around. The bear hunters were out in force. I knew I had a little bit of a wait for El Toro, but I was shocked when Loopy stepped out of the car next to me. It was an utterly disorienting experience. Sadly, Loopy had missed the cut-off at Aid Station #4, and had been transported forward, meeting up with me here at Aid Station #6. We waited together for El Toro, who was equally confused when Loopy greeted him. Loopy remained upbeat, so as not to discourage El Toro. David Horton made some “motivational” disparaging comments to El Toro to speed him on his way. Now, despite her extreme fatigue, Loopy would have to tag along with me for the rest of the race, as there was no time to ferry her back to Camp Bethel because El Toro was moving so quickly. So, she took on co-pilot responsibilities. As it turns out, it is (marginally) better for the co-pilot to fall asleep than for the pilot to do so. [singlepic=5339,280,200,,right]

Things seemed to be happening REAL fast, and I was getting very nervous, and making lots of wrong turns. Still, somehow, I managed to get to the stations before El Toro, take stock of where the other runners were, and tend to things as he arrived. At the last aid station, #9, we picked up a DNF’d runner to bring back to Camp Bethel. It turns out that it was the guy who won the entire Beast Series last year, Harland Peele.

Back at Camp Bethel, Loopy waited, yawning but alert (?) with the camera for El Toro’s arrival. I ran a mile up the course to accompany him in. Since I saw him, he had passed the guy in 3rd place, but was, in turn, passed by the guy in 5th place. While 3rd place remained in sight, it was not within reach. El Toro finished under 13 hours in 4th place, an amazing accomplishment.

[singlepic=5356,280,200,,right] High Fives and congratulatory hugs done, with Loopy and El Toro headed off to showers, massages, and naps, I realized my work was not yet finished. I grabbed my hydration pack, insufficient warm clothing, a cookie, and headed out on the course. Three miles or so later, I crested the Blue Ridge Mountains, and headed down the far side. Part way down, I encountered Mr. Bimble headed up. I asked if he needed anything, he said no, and I continued on down. In retrospect, perhaps I should have gone uphill again with him for a while, but he looked OK, and was within a mile of the three mile downhill to the finish, so I was comfortable he was not at risk.

I arrived at Aid Station #9 with no sighting of Spuds. I didn’t expect that. I got ready to press on towards Aid Station #8, but I got cold feet, both literally and figuratively. What if I missed him? What if he dropped? Would I wind up out on the course, unregistered, with nobody looking for me, long past dark? I checked my watched and tried to calculate how much farther I could go, still leaving enough time to turn around and get back to Aid Station #9 before nightfall. Less than a mile up from Aid Station #9, I encountered Spuds, chugging along, his typical unflappable self. I asked if he would like some company for the trip “home”, and he said yes. I have NO IDEA what I would have done had he declined. We walked the uphill to the top of the Blue Ridge, and then started a shuffling run downhill to the finish. I think Spuds had more “legs” than he anticipated. While he appeared “spent”, he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure noone was gaining on him. At one point, someone was, and Spuds put the hammer down. He finished strong and fresh smelling. [singlepic=5341,280,200,,left]

After much slow movement, some munching, and tearful goodbyes, we hit the road. The trip home was slow, tiring and painful for all, but got done by mid-evening Sunday. I was truly impressed by all four of our runners:

El Toro: Boldly claiming a top 5 finish, and then doing it. All with style and humility as well, I might add.
Mr. Bimble: After a punishing and momentous year, returning yet again to Hellgate, realizing early in the race that this year would not be like previous years, and adjusting his pace accordingly to keep focused on the big picture of keeping his streak alive.
Spuds: For having demonstrated that he has now “figured it out”. That is, how to thrive at Hellgate. A plan, a pace, and a steely determination assured that he would achieve his goals.
Loopy: The boldness of the attempt, the burning desire to accomplish the task. Then, when all was lost, a brief and appropriate sullenness, replaced in practically no time with a determination to seek “revenge”.
Guthrie: A dedication to assistance that is extraordinary. I have a whole new appreciation for what goes into what she does.

For myself, I was fascinated, challenged, and humbled with the minimal-by-comparison tasks laid before me. I learned an enormous amount about racing, my friends, and myself. For my fellow Bimblers who feel an ultra-marathon may be too much for them, I say this: you may be right. Might I offer you a suggestion as to how to do an ultra-marathon without racing it? Crew it! I can pretty much guarantee you will not be disappointed.

Sorry about the “short” posting, Gotta Run!