Sunday, September 28, 2014

Bear 2014 Race Report - DNF

I’d run 24 hours & 68 miles through blistering heat, high altitude, driving rain, vivid electric storm where I could see the individual leaves on the trees as the thunder clapped, burped a bazillion times, dehydration when I ran 2 hours without water (twice), & faced the most terrifying obstacle of slippery run where I reenacted an Alicia Keys song of “I keep falling”. But I was not prepared for the final mental obstacle - the “Tent of DNF”. 

At 6:30 AM, after running almost 11 hours in the dark, my pacer Ken & I were dashing towards an aid station at 7300 feet in the Utah mountains. We’d seen lightning in the distance all night, but suddenly the storm was full upon us. The thunder had before been so far away I couldn’t match bright flashes with sound, but now I could only get to 3 before there was another clap. The yellow aspens were as bright as day surrounding the muddy slick forest service road, as we kept shouting “where’s the aid?” We saw a distant glow ahead but we’d been fooled before with runners headlamps we convinced ourselves were an aid only to be cruelly disappointed. It was 7 miles from the prior aid station, a distance I thought would take us 140 minutes at a brisk walk. We’d been on our feet for almost four hours, and I’d drank all my water two hours before. 

For 11 hours we’d been trudging through the night, telling myself “relentless forward progress”. Ken & I marched on, finding the course & sharing stories about other ultras, our families, our travels. Around 5 AM we started descending, but a thick sticky mud made me slide and fall. My shoes were coated with 3 inches of mud, and my hands were coated too now. I wiped my hands on pine trees but I was still disgusting. Around 5:30 AM I tried running but all I could muster was a feeble trot barely faster than running. And then I would fall again, defeated by the mud. Each fall I’d fall to the left to avoid sliding down the canyon & falling down the slick hillside. 

Now, at 6:30 AM, with a raging electrical storm, running seemed less like an elective and more of a life saving necessity. “Let’s run” - the rain so thick my glasses were useless as  all I saw was a smudge where I thought the aid station might be, a bright blur. Finally we were close enough the aid station was unmistakable, and we ran in. 

I thought the aid station cutoff was 7 AM, and here it was 6:45 AM. I was mentally exhausted - there were 34 more miles to go in 11 hours, and I had to leave this cozy warm spot in 15 minutes. 
I collapsed into the nearest chair,  and after about 5 minutes managed to clean my glasses & see that 
1) there was a fire &
 2) there was a chair by the fire. 
“Is anyone sitting there?” 
“No”. I moved closer to the fire, too tired to even move my pack or mud plastered jacket with me. Ken brought me broth and water, which I eagerly gulped. I was deeply dehydrated and defeated.

“There’s a warming hut with cots & a stove”, said an aid station volunteer. I made the irreversible mistake of following her, throwing a trash bag over me to run into the warm tent where there was a cot with a plaid pillow. I lay shivering chilled, unable to process anything. Finally I realized the pillow was a blanket. I covered as much of me as possible, and shivered, wishing the blanket was bigger so I could take off my soggy muddy clothes. With my glasses off I reached behind me for what I thought was another blanket, but it was a dude! 

“Sorry, I thought you were a blanket”. Then the silence of the DNF tent broke, and everyone had a tale. 
“I blew my knee on the descent & it took me 6 hours”. 
“The rain will continue til Tuesday”. 
“The trail will only get worse”.
 I kept shivering, listening to the thunder storm continuing around me & thudding on the tent roof. In my mind, I had 34 miles to go in 11 hours, and had to leave this station before the 7 AM cutoff. It just didn’t seem possible. An aid station volunteer popped his head in, and asked for our numbers to radio down if we were dropping. ‘273’.

I woke to a loud buzzing sound I realized was myself snoring. I could still hear heavy rain. BUZZ! I started awake again and looked at my watch. It was 7:25 AM. I’d missed the cutoff. My race was over. The volunteer unzipped the tent and poked his head in - the crew of the guy with the blown knee was here. They palpated his knee and assessed his damage. I asked the volunteer to get my pacer Ken, who sat down where the blown knee guy had been.

“Ken, I’m sorry. My race is over”.
“Edie, you can keep going. I know I was going to stop at mile 75, but I’ll go all the way to the end with you.”
“Ken, it was taking us 2 miles per hour. Will the trails get better?”
“Probably not”.
“We were going so slow”.
“In 2009 I left Beaver as it was getting light with some fast walkers and we finished at 33 hours.”
“Do you want to blow your knee like that dude”
"No, I don't"

Now, I realize I was mentally spent & not making any sense. I thought I’d already missed the 7 am cutoff and Ken was being kind. Things I realize now

  1. Cutoff was actually 11:00 AM! I had over three hours even if I'd left right then.
  2. Altitude was making me stupid. My sister was supposed to pace me before she looked at the altitude chart and said she didn't do well at altitude. A family trait - I just don't think clearly at high altitude.
  3. I was extrapolating the horrid muddy descent into the future. The sun had risen, the thunder storm had stopped - it was a new day.
  4. I'd been awake for over 24 hours, I was worried about breaking a bone on a fall, a kidney failure from dehydration.
  5. I thought I was physically spent as Ken was faster than me. Actually, I walked a mile to supper on Saturday & biked on Sunday. Ken was faster as he was my pacer. 
  6. I only had 31 miles, not 34 miles. 
  7. I actually wasn't making any sort of real cost / benefit analysis - I was too exhausted. If I had, I would have thought about all my training, all my effort to get to the start line, and continued. But all I could do was stare blankly at the tarp above me, unlucidly. 
  8. The trail was beautiful and I could see it in the daylight if I continued
  9. Chihfing Fu passed through the aid as I was passed out on the cot. I could have trekked with him to the finish as he was last official finisher. 
  10. Trout was at the finish line celebration.

Now, sitting warm & dry in my SF apartment, I don't have a single blister, my quads are fine, my hamstrings are fine, and I scream at the Edie lying on the cot to GET UP GET UP GET UP. Make it to the next aid station! Misha is there with dry clothes! You're not done yet! GET UP! 

Eventually a very kind husband & wife drove Ken, me & other dropping runners over to Beaver Lodge (mile 75). Misha was waiting patiently in the trunk of our rental SUV. I hugged her. I went into the aid station and changed into dry clothes. Other runners I'd seen at Logan River were coming in. Some were completely miserable, some were continuing, some were dropping. We offered a dropping runner a ride to the finish to pick up drop bags as we were going there anyway. 

I texted my coach that I'd dropped and she sounded so disappointed - asking the DNF rate & if it was too late to get back on the trail. 

I quizzed the dropping runner on the trail conditions and also asked him his name multiple times. He'd run Hardrock, Massunetten, and other gnarly races, but he'd dropped at mile 75 as the trail was "miserable, and I wasn't going to make the cutoffs". Brian McNeil was his name, and he knew many people from my hometown of Arlington VA and told some funny stories. 

I'm not going to do a mile by mile, but here's other indelible memories: 

Eavesdropping on Earl "Rocket" Jones in the dark on the initial climb. I could hear him gabbing about "the good old days" where 
"If I wanted to run a race, I didn't sign up online! I called the race director & asked him if there were slots! Or I mailed a self addressed sealed envelope!"
"In my day, there were no race directions online! I flew into Burlington and figured out on the fly where Vermont 100 started!"
Me to myself: I'm sure race directors are pretty happy they don't have hundreds of runners calling them at all hours asking to register & how to get to the race start.

The sun rising & me seeing for the first time the beautiful autumn leaves and the pink glow on the land below 

Chihping Fu catching up with me around mile 6 on a gorgeous ridge.

Around mile 10, with my pack out of water, passing a runner and asking her how much further to the first aid station (mile 10.5) & her telling me the next aid station was mile 19!! Luckily she was wrong and I was almost to the aid.

Even after mile 10 kept climbing...
But finally a descent that made it all worthwhile!

At mile 14, I saw a runner collapse on the side of the trail. He said he had a heart condition and wasn't feeling well. I was halfway between mile 10 & 19, & I ran as quick as I could to 19. I felt guilty I hadn't stayed with him, and ran faster, even falling once. 

At mile 19 I told the ham operator to send medical help ASAP. In my mind runner "24" had been having a heart attack for the past 70 minutes. Around mile 21, I looked back to see runner 24 overtaking me! He'd gotten better and rebounded! All my effort was for naught. I still felt like I'd done the right thing. At mile 22 I passed 24 again - his face gray again. His heart condition had come back. I shook his hand & told him he'd done his best.

Delicious banana bread aid station mile 22 gave me in a baggie that I ate on this climb.

The hot climb between mile 22 to 30 where I was scared of cows, 

Chihping almost caught me again, the slow trudging pass where you're ~30 seconds mile faster than preceding racers, and the glorious fire road descent to mile 30. I was supposed to see Misha here but I was ~2 hours ahead of pace.

Lady with gray hair passing me, me being stubborn and catching up with her, then realizing she was wearing a Hardrock T-Shirt. We walked a portion together, she was a very nice lady (Allie from Montana). Allie ended up finishing! WAY TO GO!

Storm clouds forming - I asked Allie if she thought it would rain, and she said "it's not if, its' when".

 Last shot before night fell.

Cursing my poor planning for humping all my coldweather night gear from mile 36 to 45 - I had clothing & gear hanging everywhere, and when it started raining I had to repack everything to be dry.

How happy I was to see Misha & Ken at mile 45, as I hadn't seen Misha at 20 & was worried I'd miss her forever. 

Ken leading a conga train of runners from mile 45 as we chattered in the dark. Ken thought I was elite (ha!) as I’d finished 2nd at Overlook 50. 

Finding the course marking to aid station 52 & feeling proud! 

Getting stuck in a bathroom at mile 52 & having to yell for help to let me out. 

Looking for course markings in the dark with Ken. He had the brightest lighting I’d ever seen “200 lumens”. Ken was my first ever pacer and so awesome. He helped me take my jacket on & off about 17 times & listened to me burp a gazillion times. 

Running out of water around mile 56 after a big climb, and thinking an aid station was near. Ken & I talking about which light was the aid station. Asking runners passing us how close we were, and them saying "Negative, aid station is 4 miles away". Nothing to do but suck it up & walk thirsty. 

Ken wanting to tell me an Alaska story at mile 60 & me being too tired & thirsty. At this point I'd resorted to trying to catch rain water with a baggie & licking my jacket for moisture from the rain. 

Arriving at aid station 61 at 1:45 AM. Hearing a big cloudburst, sitting & waiting on a cooler for it to pass. Hearing the rain drum against the tarp & willing myself to continue. 

After mile 62 he told me the Alaska story: how on a fishing trip his friend’s leg was amputated by a boat propeller & Ken had formed a makeshift tourniquet & saved the guys life. 

On the climb out of 62 the sticky sticky mud & trying to convince myself we'd get to the next valley where there was no mud. Seeing the headlamps ahead to gauge where the trail was. Feeling so proud when I caught Ken from going the wrong way.

Mark Tanaka & Chihping walking up with their matching Bear100 T-shirts when I was despondent waiting for the BART from SFO home Sunday morning. Chihping said he'd deliberately been DFL. 

Things I did well:
  1. Tried to tell my pacer (Ken) & crew (Misha) how grateful I was that they were there for me. Ken & his wife Gayle drove 3 hours to get pre-race dinner with me. Misha took time off work to support me. 
  2. took pictures of beautiful trail scenery. Some races they take photos of "the most scenic angle". Every inch of Bear was beautiful. 
  3. read race reports ahead of time, recognized places where others had gotten lost
  4. flew in Wed night so not stressed Thursday
  5. tried to say thank you to volunteers
  6. ran quick for medical help for collapsed runner at mile 19 
  7. copious body-glide
  8. good music selection
  9. Ininji socks - no blisters
  10. tried to say positive sayings to other runners - what I wished they'd say to me, "have a great bear day!"

Things to improve on
  1.  Carried too much nutrition, not enough water.
  2.  forgot zipper was busted on warm jacket, carried it uselessly for 10 miles between aid station 36 - 45. 
  3.  Ran out of water multiple times even with 2L pack. With 10 miles between aid stations I really need 3 - 4 L at high altitude
  4.  recognizing mental vs physical exhaustion. Physically, I could have continued. I quit at a low point. Even if I'd continued, I might have DNF-ed - by all accounts the trail was a mess. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Inaugural Overlook 50 Mile Race Report

Wow! If you've ever fantasied about running Western States like me - run Overlook 50 from Foresthill to Auburn on the Western States Trail! Overlook is like Western States, but 1/2 the distance and all you have to do is pay registration, none of the hassle of qualifying & lottery. The only issue is now I really, really want to run Western States.

I’d had a hectic week at work and hadn’t prepared for this race like my usual 50 miles. No pace chart, no detailed breakdown, no drop bag plan. Ann Trason, my coach, said to treat like I would Bear 100 - walk the hills, eat, drink, be conservative. I've DNFed my prior two attempts at 100 so I really didn't know what a "good" 100 mile pace was.

Driving to Roseville to spend the night before the race, I got stuck in Bay Area AND Sacramento rush hour, taking 4 hours to drive the 120 miles. While I drove, my Mini convertible car thermometer ticked higher & higher to a boggling 97 degrees. I had the top down and tried to “heat acclimate” on the fly. I stopped at Target for race Gatorade, DoubleShots, and I ended up drinking all the Gatorade just on the drive! Felt drained and tired when I got to Hyatt Place Roseville at 6ish. Ordered a pizza to go from California Pizza Kitchen, packed my drop bag, and set my alarm for 3:55 AM. The Hyatt Place was very quiet and clean - a fine choice about a 20 minute drive from Auburn.

Got to Auburn Overlook Park at 4:40 AM, still in pitch darkness. On board the bus for the 40 minute ride to Foresthill, ate my last slice of pizza from dinner for breakfast and realized I’d forgotten my headphones. No worries, I had two (2) backup pairs in my pack. At Foresthill, finally met Ann Trason, my coach in person! She recognized me from photos! There were two Drop Bag piles, one labeled “Rucky Chucky” and the other “Green Gate”. I asked which mile markers these corresponded to, and the guy said “GreenGate is further in the race” (cue ominous music as I put my bag in the Green Gate pile).

Just enough time for a quick picture, then we were off. I’d decided to carry my headlamp in my pack the whole race to replicate Bear100, and also because I didn’t know where I’d be when it got dark. I didn’t use it at all - we started at 6 AM down a road, and by the time we turned off to trail the Sierras were pinky.

For the first 6 miles I was “in the mix” with a big pack. The 100K had started the same time, and had black numbers, mine (50Mile) was red. I led a 10 person conga line hiking up the first big 1,800 foot climb. I kept asking if they wanted to pass, and they said “no, we’re just trying to keep up with you”. This made me feel good that all my uphill training on Fox & Willow Camp had paid off - in the past I’ve gotten passed on the ups. At the slight ups, they would run, but then I would catch them power-walking on the ups and then pass them on the downs.

Michigan Bluff was fun to see - so legendary! The whole course was a Western States geek dream - the first time I saw a Western States Trail sign I got so excited. The sky had turned pink then yellow as the sun rose. I'd run Way Too Cool 50K and found the course very "blah" - but I kept loving all the forest & mountain vistas of Overlook 50 mile. The trail was so dusty that every step billowed dirt but even this was fun.

From Michigan Bluff was a loop down a huge descent then back up. I kept flip-flopping with a group of 3 Asian dudes - they’d run the slight ups, but I was faster on the climbs and the downs. Chihping Fu caught me on the climb, and I was shocked that I was ahead of him - isn't he a quick dude? Then we were back at Michigan Bluff. The day was just starting to get hot - the sun was rising higher in the sky. 

The second time we passed through Michigan Bluff we went back to Foresthill the way we’d come out. This was interesting as some of the section had still been early in the morning before and too dark to see. Also neat to judge hills coming the other way. Now I got to fly down the hill I’d climbed before! On the last sustained climb back to Foresthill I caught up with Jeff Le, who I’d met at Skyline 50K. He was struggling a bit with a foot issue. I walked about 10 minutes with him - he’d paced or crewed at Hardrock, Western States AND Leadville. HardRock & Western States are both on my dream list - if I finish Bear100 I’ll qualify for both. Jeff was doing the 100K and a bit slower, so I said goodbye and ran into Foresthill, mile 19.5. I’d thought I’d gone much further - I’d already been on my feet for 4 hours. 

Foresthill to Peachstone on Cal Street is where the heat began to reach a furnace like blast. The canyon had been baking for a few hours, and it was exposed to the unrelenting sun. The temperature was in the upper 90s, but with no wind it felt like a convection oven. I'd read that Cal St was "runnable" but it was so hot. I kept walking any & all ups, but I found myself running the flats faster and faster because I wanted to get into the few bits of shade. Ultrarunner joke - “what’s the hardest race you’ve ever run? The current one.” I honestly couldn’t think of a tougher 50 mile besides White River - and that was only because that was at altitude. 

13,000 feet of climbing, 15,000 feet of descent - Overlook might be net downhill but I was working hard for every descent. And the heat was unrelenting. The only thing that kept me going was 1) I’d run in hotter temperatures in Austin 2) the thought that the slower I went, the longer I’d be out in the heat. I passed people and said “great job”. I almost caught up with a vomiting woman and man helping her.  Then, on a long uphill, I passed them both, then singing along to my iPod passed another man. He said my singing was "not terrible". I could reach back and feel in my hand how much water my Hydrapak still had, and I would drink. I’d accidentally grabbed my old Hydrapak which dribbled on me and was harder to suck water out of. Both turned out to be helpful - the dribbles cooled me. And as it was harder to drink, I had more water for this long 8.7 mile stretch. I ran out of water about 1/2 mile from the aid station, and ran in.

I told the mile 28 aid station they were my favorite of the day. Mercifully, they were in the shade. I drank Coke, ate watermelon, and let them re-fill my pack. When the lady saw how empty my water was, she made me take a bottle with me. Then I was off. About 3 minutes after the aid station, my pack felt completely awkward - the bottle was wedged in and all my electronics (Morphie, iPod cable, iPhone cable, headlamp) were jammed against my back. I stopped and unpacked and repacked everything, and the 5 people I’d passed re-passed me. 

Again, some very hot stretches where I thought about how I still had TWENTY more miles to go - how the hell people run Western States in this wretched heat? Now, as I type in cool 58 degree San Francisco, I wonder why the heat was so horrid. At the time, all I could think about was how goddamn hot it was. That’s it. How hot. How hot. And then I would make myself run faster with the promise that if I ran faster I would get out of the heat to the river. How hot. Far below me in the canyon I could see happy rafters - I’d rafted this very stretch last summer the day after Tampala 50K. 

Crossing a small stream, I saw out of the corner of my eye a perched Orange figure. It was Chihping Fu
(photo credit: Chihping Fu)
He was sitting upstream, dunking water straight out of the runoff and drinking it. Wow, there’s no way I’d drink potentially giardia-infested water. However, the stream looked very tempting…I backtracked and lay down face first in the four inch water. Then I flopped over and soaked my back. Soaking was extremely pleasant, and well worth the 4 minutes in my mental will to continue. After, I started running again, eager to see the aid station. As I passed Chihping he said “you’re flying”. I passed an extremely salty looking runner sitting on the ground with another runner comforting him. “Are you ok?” “Fine - just taking a break”. 

In my mind RuckyChucky had a water crossing, ice cream, funnel cakes and a carousel. Ok, maybe not the last two. Instead, RuckyChucky was littered with husks of very crispy fried runners, with salt deposits on their shirts, slumped in any available chair. My drop bag was nowhere to be seen, so I figured it was at a later station. The volunteer said “We haven’t seen many 50 mile runners”, which I interpreted as “You’re so far in the back of the pack we forgot you were still on the course”. I went to the bathroom, refilled my pack & ate watermelon. 

As I left, a runner caught up with me, then fell into pace behind me. I kept asking him if he wanted to pass, but he said “however slow you go, I’ll be with you.” Ralph had run Western States in 2009, and he said this race was tougher ! ! than States, as at Western he’d hit the canyons much later in the day when it wasn’t so hot. We crossed to the other side of the canyon to the shade & it was such a discernible relief. I asked Ralph to tuck in an errant cable from my pack, then we were OFF - passing a few runners on the way on the 3 miles to the river. 

The river crossing was an absolute highlight. A rope was strung over the shoulder high river, and Gordy Ainsleigh himself !!! Clipped me into a carbiner. The current was stronger than I expected. When I got to the other side, I just floated in the river for ~7 minutes. It was extremely hard to get out. The cold water was so refreshing, and there were still 12 more miles, 25% to go. I watched as Ralph and the other 6 people who’d crossed the river disappeared as I idly floated and basked in having seen Gordy Ainsleigh in person. 

Eventually I got out, and had no will to run on the rocky sandy riverbed. I walked the next mile. Then the trail settled back into dirt. All my music was tiresome. Finally at the top of a small hill I switched to my iPod which had new different music. This helped, then I was at aid station 42.

Aid Station 42 had a huge wedge of cheese to make grilled cheese, but no matches. They convinced a runner to eat the cheese raw with them, and of course I made a “cut the cheese” joke. c’mon - I had to! Still no drop bag - I had the horrible (correct) suspicion that I’d accidentally sent it to a 100K only aid station. Filled pack, back in motion, on gentle rolling hills where I walked the ups, coasted the downs.

 A lady passed me running on the up - I fought the urge to chase her - the goal was Bear 100 - not this race. This was just a training race. Even if she did look in my age group. The whole race my first goal was survival. My second goal was to place in my age group - there were 5 entrants in my age group, and I hoped to place top 3 out of 5. I hadn’t seen many people the whole race & figured all the fast had finished hours before - but maybe I could trot my way into #3. 

Suddenly we turned into the full brunt of the late afternoon sun, on the baking trail. It was so goddamn hot, and if I could will myself into running, I would reach the distant shade. I forced myself to run the next 2 miles, and passed back the lady who’d passed me and a walking guy. I knew I was almost to No Hands Bridge which I’d seen in so many Western States photos. Whether the distance or heat, I became very emotional. Why had I ever doubted myself? Here I was, running the legendary Western States Trail course, coached by Ann Trason, assisted across the river by Gordon Ainsleigh himself. Why had I ever not had confidence in myself? Why had I drifted in my twenties, not believed in my own strength? Here I was, living my dream - running a 50 mile with confidence. 

I crossed Highway 47 after a quick pit stop.  I saw a dust-covered dude sobbing against a tree as his friend tried to comfort him. In the distance I saw a female bounding down the trail, and I followed. The ribbons started to be tied with reflective tape for after dark. When I got to mile 47, my plan was to pound a cup of coke, eat a watermelon - and GO!!  My pack was full enough - time for the final push. At the 47 Aid Station, here’s what I heard: 

“You should get going - you’re Second Women”
“You’re f*&^ng with me”.
“You’re Second Women”.
“You mean in my age group right?”
“No, you’re Second Women”. 
“you’re F*&^ing with me”
“Would Ultrarunners lie?”
“All the Goddamn time. -  “You look good. The aid station is near. It’s all downhill. You don’t smell as bad as you think.””
“You’re really second woman.”
Me: OK!

& I took off, not wanting third to catch me! I caught Ralph (from the river crossing) on a long uphill, walking with a woman. When I passed, I looked at her bib - it was red - she was in the 50 mile! I power-walked past them as quickly as I could. I WAS IN THE LEAD. Then she caught me on the downhill and started pounding down. I briefly followed, but then thought “this is a training race. If I sprain my ankle my season is over. My real goal is to finish Bear 100.” And I let her go. 

I thought it was three miles to the end, and after 34 minutes I asked a woman if I was close. “Just under a mile.” HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?? AM I MOONWALKING?!?  After multiple looks back, none behind me. I searched my pockets, sports bra & pack for more food - nothing. Nothing to do but finish. 

One final up, then I was to the finish, taking off my headphones so I could hear “EDITH EDITH EDITH”. Crossed. Lay down in the grass. Let a lady bring me a water bottle that I dumped over myself. The best prior finish I’d ever had in my lifetime was 3rd in age group at a Brazen Half Marathon. Mary, first place, shook my hand, and I congratulated her. I lay on the grass for about 30 minutes cheering on the other finishers and looking up as Marisa Walker & Todd Wong came over to chat. Finally felt like moving, got a picture with Ann Trason.

Things I did well:
S-Caps every half hour or half hour - no cramps
Power-walked all the ups.
Ran own race -didn’t go out too fast
Said thank you to all volunteers
Tried to say to other runners what I wished they’d say to me “Great job! you’re looking strong!”
Course planning - I had no idea of the course - would just fill up pack every aid station. Worked out well in this race as aid stations very far apart. 
Had backup pairs of headphones
Pushed even in heat
enough music to mix it up
Soaked in river

Things I didn’t do well:
Drop Bag - just too busy to figure out drop bag. 
I actually had another powergel in my pack - but at the very bottom. 

Things to improve on:
Now that I know the course, I would have soaked in streams / river much sooner, as soon as accessible from trail.
Buff - would have been great for ice on neck.
No pictures after mile ~10 - too hot, too busy surviving

Still debating whether I should have hung in there with #1 lady 2 miles from the finish. Winning a race would be incredible - I’ve NEVER won a race - in fact my prior best finish was #6 women at Marin Ultra Challenge 50 mile. But just not worth it in big picture of finishing Bear 100 three weeks later