Finding The Perfect DNF Cocktail at the 2017 Cascade Crest 100m

What is the recipe for a DNF cocktail? Is there a specific blend of physical and psychological ingredients, shaken or stirred, that guarantee an unforecasted “Do Not Finish” result? Ah, the contemplation that sets in with the post-drop reality of a cot that has become your personal finish line for the day. This was me at the turnaround point (mile 52) of the 19th annual Cascade Crest 100m Trail Run, an epic adventure in the mountains brought to an early and unexpected close. Yet I got up and walked away with a smile and no regrets, posing a mystery (and bartending analogy) worth further contemplation.

I’ve been quite fortunate that in toeing the line at 100+ ultras and marathons, the dreaded DNF has only popped up a few times, and usually with pretty obvious physical symptoms. If you’ve ever had a fever before the race has begun, have peed blood for over six hours, or had to stop because a gash didn’t pass the “if the bone ain’t showin’, keep on goin’…” test, then you know what I’m talking about. These obvious physical symptoms are the double straight shot DNF – a hard to swallow chug that hits like a Floyd Meriweather haymaker, and with similar body-slap-on-floor results.

My DNF at the CC100 was more akin to a classic cocktail - a unique mix of physical, spiritual, and emotional elements that brought me to a perfect and undeniable conclusion. All ingredients were simple and known, and no one ingredient large enough to take me down single handed. Yet somehow they magically combined into a delectable ambrosia, as if at the hands of a three-Michelin star chef or master bartender.

After some analysis, I have concluded the recipe is as follows (consume at your own risk):

• One part injury – as previously mentioned, injury is the hard liquor/high proof element to a DNF cocktail. Any semi-serious injury will do, as long as it packs a punch and cannot be ignored. Perhaps it is a sharp pain that overrides the senses like a cheap tequila, such as a groin pull, wasp nest attack, broken toe, nettles, severe nipple chafe, or those poor souls who run through hours of rain just to sluff off the bottoms of their feet like old carpet. Or it could be a dull pain with an aged, smoky flavor akin to a whiskey, such as a hip injury you have let simmer in a dark cave of ignorance and stubbornness for years, untouched by therapists, doctors, or cross-training. Either flavor works, adding just enough to give the cocktail its bass notes. 
• One part fortified “whine” – like a good Manhattan that needs vermouth (a fortified wine) to balance out whiskey, a fortified “whine” is essential to the DNF cocktail. Take a gripe that your ego/mind has brought along for the run, let your ego defend your position by injecting sugar and sweetness (fortification), and heat until it become that saccharine sweet, deceptively complex elixir that morphs into a perfect drop excuse faster than Mystique from the X-Men. 
• Two shakes of bitters – no DNF is complete without the bitters. A good DNF bitter has a solid foundation of regret (ironically tastes like cherry), a hint of “I could have been a contender” (orange), and essential “I’ve failed my crew” face-contorting tartness, often with the salt of a few tears for balance. You’ll feel the desire to pour about 50 shakes into your cocktail (aka, “pity party”), but don’t. Just one or two shakes will do. Get over yourself. 
• One slice of hope for zest – all classic cocktails have that curl of lemon, that twisted rind of orange, that uplifting and citrusy sunshine that attacks the nasal system with optimism before the first sip hits the tongue. For the DNF, this zest is hope. Hope that you will live to fight another day. Hope so instant and clear, you are already thinking of the next redeeming race to wipe out this blasted DNF cocktail heading down your gullet, even before you’ve taken a seat at the terminal aid station. I can’t stress how important this ingredient is – if you don’t have that hope, you will never give yourself permission to stop the race at hand. Just make sure it’s a slice of hope, and not the whole fruit…there’s no prize for first DNF, no matter how delicious a fruity cocktail tastes (or how much healthier it is for you). 

Stir the above ingredients, and serve straight up in a mason jar or paper cup (for added humility). There you go – the DNF cocktail.

If served properly, the DNF cocktail can take down even the greatest of race experiences. I found that out at the 2017 Cascade Crest 100m (CC100), a challenging and low key hundo that is a perennial favorite among the ultra crowd. The CC100 has always had fun and experienced volunteers, and this year (led by the extraordinary Race Director Rich White) they took the local forest fires in stride and dynamically created an out-and-back course that promised 25,000’+ of climbing and over 60 miles on the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) for 150 lucky runners. They even managed to double down on the ropes section (so steep you need ropes to descend/ascend) and a 2-mile tunnel that used to be the only way to access this area 40 years ago. Now this epic course was set up for a one-of-a-kind brag worthy adventure!

(New course...now with even more vertical!)

(A hot day greeted us at the 9am start)

(Jimmy Dean Freeman and Carly Koerner are stoked to get going)

(Amy Burton and I calorie up with some pancakes before the start)

(Ready to rumble!)

We had great weather, and my trusty crew chief was one of my favorite co-pilots, my Dad, Larry Dunlap. He was in the Class of 1960 from nearby Bellevue High School, so I particularly enjoyed his many stories and historical references that gave me a special appreciation for the course, lakes, and mountain towns of the area. I was in good physical shape, and a stay at the McMenamins Anderson School Hotel had lulled me to a few long, relaxing pre-race nights with their unique combination of microbrew, live music, theatre, and great food (overtaper?). How in the world could a DNF cocktail even conceive of attacking this stacked deck?!?

(Dad and crew chief, and we are ready to go!)

(And we're off!!!)

But as I sat on the cot at mile 52 and looked back, I can see how this special DNF concoction took shape.

First, there was an injury. It wasn’t a big injury, but when it hit at mile 42, it conjured many hours of struggle to come, and a steadily growing percentage of losing the rest of the season. I had enjoyed a conservative pace through the big climbs in the first 20 miles, but once we hit the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT), I couldn’t help but open up my stride on its delicious, runnable single track. When I did, every 50th step would send a tuning fork surge of pain up my left leg that reminded me of a tumble I had a few weeks back, when I got caught in some brush that took 20 minutes to untangle. At the time that crash didn’t seem big, just weird cramping at odd angles as I pulled myself out, but that F# ping of pain was an unmistakably familiar note. No problem, I figured, slow down and I’ll be fine. We’ll walk some flats and downhills, but we can still make it. Onward!

(Smoke on the morning horizon, photo courtesy of Gary Wang)

(The PCT did not disappoint!)

(The volunteers at Blowout Mountain get us refilled and full of popsicles)

(More yummy single track!)

(Glad to be above the forest fire smoke from nearby BC fires)

(The canopy is the place to be!)

(The most helpful shark I have ever met at an aid station)

Next, a tall glass of fortified “whine”. At its core was a sense of regret that I don’t spend enough quality time with my Dad. I think we all feel this way as our busy lives fill the calendar, but the 24 hours prior to the race was so much fun just to hang out, it was a vivid reminder. Without the constant interruptions of grandkids, spouses, and the day-to-day of a planned vacation, our conversation was rich, deep, and revealing. The detailed reality of his best friend losing a battle with Alzheimer’s hour by hour, sharing decades of relationships with women and what we have both learned (and refused to learn), and his pride and struggle with my half-sister, Claire, who survives (and in a unique way, thrives) on the verge of homelessness in nearby Tacoma, WA. As wise and grey as we have become, he remains a fountain of endless knowledge and perspective, and I the perennial student. But instead of having a few beers to engage even deeper, or meeting his old friends in person, we are pulling an all-nighter in the mountains again. I have more buckles than I can possibly wear already…wouldn’t it be sweeter to spend more quality time with the old man? Yes it would. Fortified sweeter, in fact.

(A trail crew at mile 24 was handing out ice cold PBR and Sierra Nevada...we say YES!)

(Getting through a hot spot)

(Descending down the ridge)

(The 2 mile tunnel was something!)

The two shakes of bitters were a bit harder to decipher. Few things can cleanse the soul of bitterness like the start of a 100-miler, since, let’s be honest, bitter is unneeded baggage. If that baggage tries to make the trip, you ain’t gonna make the trip, so best to chuck it at mile 0. When I started the race and joined some Canadians and first-timers for the first insane climb, there was no bitterness at all, only joy. As we shared whoop-whoops through the canopy of the PCT, in and out of the forest fire smoky dryness, finding costumed volunteers who loaded us with popsicles at each aid station, and my Dad who nearly cashed in our rental car insurance with every trek up a pass to meet me, I was all smiles. But as the injury got tougher and the inevitable “why should I finish” dialogue began, I found this little bug that wouldn’t go away, reminding me that my main motivation to sign up for this race was to get points for UTMB. A month prior to the race, the Race Director of CC100 (and Hardrock and others) sent an email saying “your points won’t count to UTMB because…[don't want to pay $100 to UTMB because it isn't right]”. At the time of that email I was bummed, of course, but I never thought twice about not racing the CC100. Yet, here it is, offering up two shakes of bitter to the cocktail. Finish or not, there was no UTMB in my future thanks for placing a bet on this race.

(Rolling with the Canucks in the early miles)

(Slowing down, but getting there!)

(Volunteers were crazy good all day)

And then comes the zest. Why do we do these 100’s, anyway? There's always a chapter of an ultra where you have to ponder this question, and it's actually one of the fun parts of the journey. For me, it's to get out of our comfort zones, to have a shared adventure with like-minded warriors, and to mix with Mother Nature on her terms….yup, got all of those. In fact, got them all by mile 52. Herein lies the rub, and the more challenging mental hurdle of out-and-back courses – the first 52 miles were so perfect, full of amazing trails, lakes, trees, views, heat, suffering, wildlife, new friends, and the best tasting perogis I’ve ever had (served by legend Scott McCoubrey), my spiritual cup was already overflowing. If I kept going, I could get more, and there was no doubt my crew would see that I found that finish. Or I could drop and spend the next 48 hours exploring the area with my Dad, hearing more stories and wisdom, visiting his friends and our long-lost family, and taking him back to the McMenamins Anderson School for a night of relaxed enjoyment. A different and possibly greater adventure dangerously unfurling in the eye of this beholder.

Mmmm, that went down easy! A perfect DNF cocktail.

(Female winner Kaytlyn Gerbin cheers on finishers; both she and overall winner Lindsay Hamoudi clocked impressive times on this difficult course)

(To the winners go the spoils, silver if you're finishing your 5th/10th)

(Getting it done! Yes!!!)

And so, that’s what we did. I dropped at 10pm, 13 hours into the race, injured but likely capable of making the finish on any other day. We helped a few more runners get through the turnaround, then packed it up to enjoy a few beers and gas station sandwiches on the curb. After a full night of sleep, we came back to cheer on the incredible runners who cranked through the night/morning, then took the long way back through Leavenworth (awesome Danish style town complete with beer halls), cruised along Hwy 2 where the mountains rival Hawaii and Switzerland, spent the night at the McMenamins Anderson School for beers/swims/long chats, and reunited with my half-sister Claire (after 18 years!) to spend a few hours sipping milkshakes before heading home. It was one of those trips you would never do if planned, but wouldn’t trade for anything once it was done. No buckle, but no regrets. And to be honest, I have CC100 to thank for opening this adventure to me...without that race, none of this would have happened.

(Catching up with Claire after almost 20 years)

Back at home, my 52-mile legs had no trouble jumping back into training fully motivated, and I set my sites on the Tussey Mountainback in October (yeah, zest!). The DNF cocktail has no lingering hangover this time.

I hope you don’t taste the DNF cocktail often, but if you do, may it be as delicious and life-changing as this one. See you on the trails!

Cheers, Scott

Redemption at the 2016 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run

For nearly 40 years, the Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run has been the most iconic race of American ultrarunning. Its rugged and hot course, its humble origins from a crazy horse event made crazier by mountain man Gordy Ainsleigh when he ran it on foot (sub-24!), and the heroic performances from runners, volunteers, and race directors that have astounded us each year since. It's hard not to get drawn into the lore and lunacy of it all. I am no exception, so it was with great pleasure I joined 353 fellow warriors for the 2016 edition last Saturday in hopes for some a little redemption. Thanks to a great crew, an amazing pacer, and the help of hundreds of volunteers, I got far more than I imagined.

(Ready to roll!)

The first test of the Western States 100 (WS100) is having the patience to get in. I've lost the lottery for entry a record eight times, but in the process have been able to run it once in 2009 (back in the "two time losers get in" days) as well as joyfully participate as a pacer, crew, and volunteer on many occasions. Plus the requirement to run a qualifier race each year has been a great excuse to travel to races such as UTMB, Wasatch, Pine to Palm, Rocky Raccoon, and more. Patience can be rewarding! For 2016, I was lucky enough to get a sponsor ticket from Scott Roberds and the great team at Microlumens, the same folks who ensured every runner got an awesome customized WS100 BigTruck hat in their swag bag. The previous year Scott gave the ticket to Gundhild Swanson, resulting in her epic finish just seconds under the 30-hour cut off to become the oldest female finisher of all time. Big shoes to fill!

(Quick selfie with the guy who started it all, Gordy Ainsleigh)

My goal for the day was simple - get that sub-24 hour silver buckle. My race in '09 was a zombie-staggering journey that I still consider one of the most defining spiritual experiences of my life. Failing every weigh-in for 45 miles, having the face of God in the starry night lead me to the river crossing, that second sunset as the forest awoke around me...I will always be grateful for that day. But a 28-hour finish isn't good enough for silver, and my original trail running bucket list specifically says "Western States - silver buckle". Could I go faster, maybe 20 hours? Probably. Was it worth screwing up and waiting another eight years to get in? Hell, no. So my crew and I built up a plan for 23:30 and got ready. HERE. WE. GO!

(T-3 minutes! Let's do this)

My brother-in-law, Brian Drue, returned to captain my crew as he did in '09, this time with his 14-year-old daughter Ryann as his right hand. My Dad, Larry Dunlap, was also down to assist, making it three generations of family giving support. How lucky am I? The ace up my sleeve for this year was super pacer Whit Rambach, a friend and 7-time silver buckle finisher who volunteered to pace me from Foresthill (mile 62) to the finish. My fitness and health were good...I'm officially out of excuses!

(With Chris DeNucci, who went on to an amazing 17:07 finish for M9, photo courtesy of Chris Jones)

As the excitement built up for the 5am start, I was blissfully serene. This hasn't always been the case on race morning, but over the years I have built a deep appreciation for why we do mega-adventures like the WS100. They are a gift of rediscovery - a rare opportunity to seize something so epic, it is guaranteed to strip you down to the core of your being and recast yourself in a completely different light. Sucker punch that ego right off its self-appointed pedestal, and laugh out loud as it desperately tries to climb back up. Humility by the truck load, whether you need it or not. When you understand this deep seated purpose, the calmness centers you. Combine this with the knowledge that your team has your back, and you feel infinitely powerful. I have never felt more alive than I do as the clock ticks down.

(And we're off!)

My smiling eyes met their counterparts in my fellow sinewy warriors, all in peak shape for this glorious day. Their family, crew, and volunteers filled the starting area with electricity, equally up for the challenge of "no sleep 'til Auburn". We don't say "good luck" or "I hope you finish", only "have an epic day" and share a wide-eyed smile that says we are here, and we are ready for anything the day delivers. The elites were up at the front, a deep field of both experienced WS100 runners (six-time top 10 finisher Ian Sharman, super masters Jeff Browning and Paul Terranova, France's Thomas Lorblanchet sporting the M5 bib, world champ Amy Sproston, Magdalena Boulet and Kaci Lickteig who were F1 and F2 last year, and many more) and some wicked fast runners taking on their first States (sub 15-hour 100-miler Devon Yanko, CR-setting Jim Walmsley, sub-2:20 marathoners Sage Canaday and Chris Mocko, 20-year-old phenom Andrew Miller, the ever fast YiOU Wang, etc.). With a primal yelp, we were released into the mountains with the sun in chase. I will see you in Auburn, Mr. Sun, but only AFTER I cross that finish line. ;-)

(Erika Lindland, Eric Byrnes, and Karl Hoagland head up the hill)

(The sun catches up as we near the top)

(Amy Sproston greets the sunrise, photo courtesy of Paul Nelson)

Within a few miles, the runners spread out on their way up the first 2,100' climb to Escarpment (mile 4). Now that the race is away, we gleefully focused on the simpler task of one aid station at a time rather than the dizzying magnitude of 100+ miles. I found a nice fast hiking rhythm along with Karl Hoagland (Publisher of Ultrarunning Magazine) and Erika Lindland (F9 last year), only later realizing the planned weddings they both talked about was the same one to each other. We soon join Eric Byrnes, a former Major League Baseball (MLB) player and now sportscaster for MLB networks, enjoying every minute of his first 100 (and Instagramming most of it in real time). The pace was easy to the top, where Eric Schranz (of Ultra Runner Podcast fame) greeted us in full lederhosen and tooting his 10-foot alpenhorn. How did he get that thing up here?

(Eric Schranz sounds the horn!)

(Cheering team crazier than the running team)

The high country was exploding with flowers, and a flurry of butterflies joined our conga line of runners as we jumped over the few remaining snow fields towards Lyon Ridge (mile 10.5). I could hear the conversations around me...for one runner, the WS100 is a lifetime goal, yet for another it's training for Hardrock in a few weeks. This is a crazy group! I took long, appreciative glances at the mountains ahead until I caught a toe and went down on the rocks. Bloody hand, but likely a blip on the pain radar given the next 20 hours. We pressed on to Red Star Ridge (mile 16), where the medical tent was happy to patch it up.

(Here comes the heat!)

The heat turned up as we made our way to Duncan Canyon (mile 23), but Mother Nature was kind enough to keep that cool morning breeze flowing from the valleys. I was surprised to find my Dad at the aid station, and chuckled knowing he pushed his little Prius to the limit to get there in time. We loaded me up on ice - a familiar theme for the rest of the day - packing it into my sleeves, hat, and neck bandana. I might leave the aid station numb, but within 20 minutes the ice would be gone!

(Jeff Clowers has been a friend for almost 40 years...so great to see him at Duncan!)

I had some solo miles at this point, and relished in the solitude. My steps synchronized in rhythm with my heartbeat like a jazz-inspired DJ...a simple breakbeat for the wind and songbirds to lay their melodic solos.  New leaves burst from the soil-rich base of forest burnt stumps, filling my nose with charcoal, sage, and honey. Life is everywhere, and it is thriving!

(Pic from '09, but looks the same!)

Brian and Ryann had a NASCAR pit stop ready for me at Robinson Flat (mile 29), and said I was right on the 24-hour mark. It was such a thrill to have Ryann there - I had forgotten how fun it is to see this aid station party in the middle of nowhere for the first time. I was clearly in good shape, so we loaded up on ice again, and I headed out with a smile.

As we made our way down Little Bald Mountain, the runner behind me said "you're Scott Dunlap, aren't you?". He then pointed out that we ran this exact section together in '09, when both of us were listening to Michael Jackson right after the performers death. He said, "there was another guy with us too..." and I told him, yep, that was Whit Rambach, who is my pacer today. Deja vu!

(Somewhere, out there, is an aid station!)

(Getting some love from the Last Chance car wash, photo courtesy of Allen Lucas)

The trek to Last Chance (mile 43) was burning well into the 90's, so I stopped and had the car wash team soak me up as much as possible. I caught up to Eric Byrnes just in time to climb Devil's Thumb, and with his comraderie, we got it done without pause. This was where the wheels came off last time, so I was sure to take a seat and get my core temp down with some ice and popsicles. Beverly Anderson-Abbs was my assigned volunteer and perfectly mixed the "here's what you need" with "time to get out of the f'ing chair" advice. Ha! Thanks, Bev!

(Still having fun! Photo by Chris Jones)

The canyons proved to be as challenging as I remembered, but this time my body was holding up really well. A few twitches indicated I could use more hydration, but overall still able to keep a 9-10 min/mile pace. All of my crew was at Michigan Bluff (mile 55), and we took a few minutes to assess. Whit stopped suggesting and went right to prescribing - finish that burrito, I want both of those water bottles done by Volcano Creek, let's get to Bath Road within the hour. The crew was all nodding with crossed arms...love it! They are calling the shots now.

(Love this shot of Sarah Lavender Smith surprised to find her family at the aid station)

(Power up!)

Whit was right about the hydration, and after a kajillion small sips I came flying into Foresthill (mile 62) feeling good. We were slightly under the 24-hour pace, but Whit was more concerned about continued hydration. "Until I see you pee, I'm not going to talk about finish times". Love this guy! We cruised down to Cal 1 (mile 65) and Cal 2 (mile 70), and at Cal 3 (mile 73) put on our headlights. Soon after I finally had to take a bio break, while Whit yelled out to the river "YES! My racer is peeing!! I am the greatest pacer of all time!!!". Ha, ha! He's doing a great job in his first pacing gig, that's for sure.

(Love this photo of a supportive, but tired family, from Chris Bragg)

(Brian Morrison gets some TLC from his wife, and later finds that finish)

As we approached the river crossing at Rucky Chucky (mile 78), I secretly missed the hallucinatory face of God that had pulled me here in '09, but knew she was smiling up there somewhere. Bryan and Ryann were ready for anything, and then relieved to hear I was doing fine. They told me the story of Jim Walmsley showing up an hour ahead of course record, and then losing his grip on the rope across the river and getting swept downstream. Wha?!? That's nuts! Apparently he got back on track. They also let me know Kaci Lickteig had a healthy lead for the Women and looked good (Magda had dropped due to stomach issues), while Devon Yanko had come back from the dead to gain ground on Amy Sproston for F2 and F3. Wow, it's on! I got across the river, complete with a hug from super volunteer Tony Nguyen, and joined my Dad on the night hike up to Green Gate (mile 79). Apparently my Dad had gotten lost, only to find Kathy D'Onofrio in the dark and she made him jog to Green Gate. Work him, Kathy!

(Kaci Lickteig crosses the river, photo courtesy of Luis Escobar)

(Jim Walmsley was an hour ahead of course record at the river)

We arrived at Green Gate with local Auburnite Matt Keyes, who had a small army of teenage pacers helping him get to his 10th finish. Matt unlunched at the aid station with crazy proficiency, saying he usually doesn't do that until Auburn Lake Trails (mile 85). I got some fresh socks and shoes, some grilled cheese sandwich and flat Coke, and we all hit the trail together.

I felt amazing in the next section, running so fast I even dropped my pacer for a stretch. But as soon as I stopped at ALT (mile 85), I didn't feel so good. Whoops...perhaps went a little too hard? I surprised Whit by projectile vomiting just past the aid station, and we just shrugged our shoulders and kept moving. It would have to be nothing but butterscotch hard candy for the next couple of hours. When Matt Keyes passed us, I let him know I technicolor yawned ALT in his honor and he gave me a high five. There's something very, very wrong with us. ;-)

(Jeff Browning is hauling ass, photo courtesy of Luis Escobar)

Whit was a master at tracking the time, and as we got through Brown's Bar (mile 90) and Hwy 49 (mile 93) he would tell me we were just under the 24 hour cut offs. He had this great way of reminding me to keep moving, saying "your pace is great...you know what that is? That's silver running right there, as in 'silver buckle'". Whit was right - if we were running, silver was within grasp, if we were walking, maybe not. Just then Clare Abrams went by pacing Sarah Lavender Smith running everything. Yes! Sarah is crushing it!!! Whit and I donned huge smiles, and we pulled in right behind them through No Hands Bridge (mile 96.8). We were going to run everything now.

In the last climb to Robie Point (mile 98.9), I allowed myself to believe this was actually happening. The lump in my throat was likely visible at this point, and as we exchanged congrats with a few runners now easily cruising under 24 hours. I wanted to hug everyone. The track at Placer High came into view, and the tears welled up. My crew was there, my pacer was stoked, and we crossed the finish in 23:43 for 95th place. We did it, you guys! We did it!!! Craig Thornley gave me a big hug, and I took a seat to donate some blood for the medical tests before relishing the last few minutes of dark.

(The finish! We did it!)

Per usual, there were stories galore at the finish. Andrew Miller (15:39) became the youngest winner ever after Jim Walmsley took a wrong turn, then fought his way back to 20th place. Norway's Didrik Hermanson (16:16) took second, and super master Jeff Browning (16:30) crushed it for third. Kaci Lickteig (17:57) ran the 4th fastest Women's time ever to claim the win, with Amy Sproston (18:54) and Devon Yanko (19:10) finishing a tight race for the podium. (all results) Despite the heat in the high 90's, the finish rate was an astounding 79%. Well done, everyone!

(Our winners!)

(Wally Hesseltine gets it done)

My runners high has been off the charts for days now, particularly as I ponder the deep camaraderie it takes to do what we do. Yes, the race is about rediscovery. But it's also about surrounding yourself with heroes, and letting their inspiration fuel you. I stare over the mountains and smile thinking about all those who have filled my soul this weekend. Craig Thornley and the race crew who puts on this gold standard event. Tropical John Medinger, John Trent, and the Board of Trustees who pave the way for generations to come, while board member Karl Hoagland collects another silver buckle. 72-year-old Wally Hessletine crossing the finish thirty-two seconds after the cut off, only to declare he will return next year when another runner donates his entry to him. Lifelong friend Jeff Clowers at Duncan Canyon, and seeing Tony Nguyen braving the river for us. Meghan "The Queen" Arboghast and Matt Keyes getting their 1000-mile buckles. Jim Walmsley fighting back to 20th when he could have easily dropped. The incredible performances of faces I know, and faces I just met. The smiles and tears of runners and families that roll all morning long on that Auburn track. Endless inspiration, all in one day.

But most of all, I am inspired by my crew and pacer who helped me execute that perfect plan for silver. Their love, friendship, and support means the world to me. Sometimes it takes 100 miles in one day to remember that. I've already arranged to have their names engraved in my silver buckle next to mine, as they deserve to be. They have my eternal gratitude.

(This silver buckle seems to go with all my outfits this week!)

Congratulations, all you Western States runners, pacers, crew, volunteers, supporters, and family. You are all crazy! And I love you for it.

- SD