It all started in November 1995, when the list of Western States 100 mile lottery winners (or losers - as some insist) was posted on the Internet Ultra mailing lists. I looked through the names, searching for friends, and saw Teresa Krall. Teresa had paced me at the Leadville Trail 100 two years before; I didn’t even know she had applied to Western.

I got on the phone to Vail, expecting to leave a message on her answering machine, but lo and behold a real person answered the phone, and it was Teresa!

"Congratulations on getting accepted in Western States!" I said.

"What?!? I didn’t expect to get in! I wasn’t planning on this...." was the flabbergasted reply.

I offered to pace her, and return the favor she had done for me. She accepted, so I knew what I’d be doing the last weekend in June. Now, I’m not an expert on Western or 100’s in general, but I had finished four 100’s and Western twice, so I figured that I’d do my best to annoy Teresa with as much information and advice as I could. I knew that the Net would help me there......

I sent a copy of some advice I wrote for Mary Gadams when she did WS a couple of years ago. It described the geography of the area and the way it impacts crewing, suggested road maps for the area, and detailed some of the gold rush era history of the Western States area. I told her if she did any training at all, it should include the Memorial Day training weekend that Norm puts on as an official WS event.

I then began watching the two Ultra Mailing Lists, and whenever I saw a thread about Western, I’d print it, stuff it in an envelope, and mail it off to Vail. I figured that having the resources of all 800 folks on the lists would make me look like a cornucopia of long distance knowledge. As the race grew nearer, the posts on the net multiplied and got bigger. It got to the point where $0.32 stamps weren’t enough.

A few phone calls finalized the travel plans, and I packed up my pick-up and headed for Lake Tahoe.

I was getting a bit worried about the race, because the last couple of times I phoned Teresa, I heard about blisters, and colds and sprained ankles. I was worried she wouldn’t be able to walk to the start, let alone run 100 miles through the same Sierra Nevada mountains that foiled the Donner party.

Teresa and crew, Brad Muth, the day before the race in Tahoe City with a gift from me. She promised she wouldn't put the distance plate holder on her car unless she finished.

When I got to Tahoe City on Thursday evening, she and her crew, Brad Muth, had checked into the hotel, but weren’t in the room. With a little bit of sleuthing and a lot of luck, I found them swilling beer and scarfing pizza in a restaurant down on the lake. My worst fears were realized: Teresa was sick. They went back to the room early so she could get a good nights sleep, since Friday’s sleep would be cut short by the early morning alarm marking the imminent race at 03:30 am. On Friday, I got up and went to "race central" at the Squaw Valley Inn to watch the show, and see if I knew anyone there. The race registration was supposed to close at noon, so I went back to the hotel to make sure Teresa was up.

I knocked on the hotel room door, and said "Teresa?" softly.

"Quit knocking, and just go away!!" was the shouted reply. I figured she was really sick, and dejectedly wandered off to get some lunch. At noon I drove back to race central to watch the Norm Klein show at the mandatory race briefing, wondering if I should just go home, or if I should go to Foresthill anyway, and find a runner who was pacer-less. Who should I see standing on the scales at the check in, but Teresa!

I found out that at 09:00am, the bikers that owned the Gold Wing motorcycles parked in front of her room decided to lay out all their stuff to dry, and thought it would be a good idea to warm up the bikes too. Then the maids came by to clean the room. Then the kids upstairs started chasing each other up an down the stairs. So much for sleeping late!

I knew that Teresa really wanted to finish this race. She was pulled for missing a cutoff time at Leadville a few years ago. She is a motivated and determined person, and I have a feeling she usually gets what she wants. The disappointment at Leadville was sitting heavily on her shoulders. Saying she was stressed was an understatement.

We spent the afternoon reviewing race plans, and going over "the rules of crewing and pacing Teresa." Mostly this involved not offering her any food that was not on her approved list: just the mention of some foods could sour her stomach. Brad reviewed the list of things he was supposed to bring to each crew access point, and the times Teresa was supposed to get to each one. I was told to keep her moving and not to let her stop, unless there were bones poking out of her skin. Teresa went to bed for another nap, and Brad and I went out for beer and pizza — there are some benefits of not being the runner!

We were all back in bed by 9pm but I don’t think I had been asleep 5 minutes before this incredibly obnoxious alarm blared loud enough to wake the dead. By the time I struggled out of bed; Teresa was already up and ready to go. We piled in the car and left for Squaw at 04:15am, with enough time built in to change a tire if we had to.

Brad dropped us off at the start, while he went to park: we were trying to minimize the extra steps Teresa would have to take. I even carried a folding lawn chair (which we forgot after the start, and Brad had to go back and get) so she wouldn’t have to stand while waiting for the start. Brad and I resisted the coffee and donuts laid out for the competitors while we waited for the start - since crews weren’t supposed to eat any until after the runners left. I gave Teresa my jacket since she was getting cold just sitting around. We sat and listened to the loudspeaker blaring "Final Runner Check-In, Any Runners Who Have Not Checked In Please Do So At This Time" over and over and over....

At 04:55am the runners started crowding up to the start line, and BANG, the race had begun. Brad and I drove back to Tahoe City, and he packed up while I went back to bed. He had to get to Robinson Flat to crew her in about 6 hours, but I wouldn’t be seeing her again for 16 hours at Foresthill. Brad took off, in search of the Taco Bell burritos Teresa said she wanted. I fell asleep.

4:45 AM at Squaw Valley, the warrior prepares for battle.

I got up and had a long shower, and leisurely breakfast, and checked out of the hotel. I wandered around Tahoe City, looking at all the cigarette boats that were in town for a race, but I couldn’t stand doing nothing any longer. I packed up and drove off towards Foresthill. I stopped in Auburn, and bought another chair (I didn’t know if Brad had retrieved the one we forgot at the start), lots of ice for my cooler, and got a whole bag of burritos, since I didn’t know if Brad would find an open Taco Bell at 06:00am. I leisurely drove up to Foresthill, and was still there by 2pm -- only 7 more hours until I expected Teresa to arrive. At least I got a good parking spot.

I watched the front-runners come through, ate a Navajo Taco, and nervously watched the "Drop Board." Teresa’s number was 254, and I got a pit in my stomach when I saw 253, and then 255 and then 256 appear on the board: I kept looking at my pacer number (the same as Teresa's, but a different color) to make sure I was remembering her number correctly. I watched fellow San Diegan Shawn MacDonald come through looking strong. I listen ted to the radio. Mostly I waited.

About 8pm, Brad showed up. Teresa was ahead of schedule, and running strong. I was glad to hear it! We set up the chair in the crew section of the aid station. I gave him the burritos, which he thanked me for, Taco Bell WAS closed when he drove through Auburn. When everything was set up, Brad took off down to Bath Road, the beginning of one of the two sections of the trail where non-pacers could run with the participants. It started to get really dark.

I waited some more.

Teresa came in to the aid station looking tired, but healthy, which is about all one could expect after 62 miles. Then she suddenly got up and left, looking for a "bathroom." She went off in the wrong direction, and I chased after her to point her the right way. Before I could catch her, she ducked behind a bush and puked. This didn’t surprise me, since she had up-chucked in every run I had done with her longer than 40 miles - even when she paced me at Leadville. She is in good company barf-wise, since Ann Trason is also a well known puker. Teresa was hiding in

Brad tending to a tired Teresa at Foresthill aid station. It is dark once again. 62 miles down, and 38 to go.

the bushes because she didn’t want the aid station folks to see her lose her lunch. She was afraid they might pull her from the race.

After a little food, and refilling her camelback, we turned on our flashlights and headed down to California Street. She was once again in high sprit s, and we were almost 2 hours ahead of the cut-off time.

She was moving well, and I was running in front, trying to pay close attention and not get too far ahead of her. We passed San Diegan Ben Annela and his pacer, Tom Waddell (both dentists). Sometime after Cal #1, she began to complain of nausea, and slowed down a little. We were still moving faster than a 30 hr pace, so I was pleased. If we could move this fast while she was feeling badly, then we should have no problems finishing the race before the 30 hr cutoff.

Suddenly, she sat down in the middle of the trail. I let her sit for 60 seconds, and said "I don’t see any bones showing - let’s go!" She surprised me by getting up and going on. This happened a couple of more times, and then she sat down one more time, and puked again. I was amazed at the volume of fluid. She apparently had been drinking a lot, like a good runner.

Tom, and Ben chose this time to show back up. Tom was full of concern for this fetal runner curled up on the side of the trail being sick, but like a sick cat, all Teresa wanted was to be left alone.

Tom asked me "What do you need, that you don’t have?"

"Privacy!" came gurgling from the prone figure on the side of the trail.

After deciding that help was neither wanted, nor needed the two dentists disappeared into the dark. After another minute, I again said "I don’t see any bones showing - lets go!" and much to my surprise, Teresa got back up and started moving. Clearing the stagnant contents of her stomach was just what she needed, and we picked up the pace.

In the next aid station (Cal 3) we passed the dentists again, and barely slowed. I grabbed a cup of soup, and a cup of jelly beans, and tried to catch her down the trail.

Running strong near the Pointed Rocks (Mile 94). She knows that she is going to finish in plenty of time — look at the smile!

At the next aid station, only 3 miles short of the river, she said she had to lie down and rest. This wasn’t a full aid station, and the volunteers didn’t want to let her get prone: they thought that she would drop there. There was no way out but walking down to the river, so they wanted her to continue. Teresa kicked a volunteer off the one cot, and pulled a blanket over her. The cot was by the ice chest, so she got an ear full of ice scooping each time a runner came through. After 10 minutes, I got her up, and off we went down to the river.

The Rucky Chucky aid station was a circus, just as I remembered it. Noise. Lights. People. It reminded me of the USO scene from the movie "Apocalypse Now" where the river boat cruises out of the jungle into a show with Playboy Bunnies on the stage.....

We cruised through the "near side" without slowing much, and it was down to the river. I've done the crossing twice before, so I just plunged out into the water, and was most of the way across, when I looked back and saw Teresa way behind me. I went back out into the deeper water, until she got closer. As we passed the photographer, I waved, and he blinded her with his flash.

We climbed up to the "far side" aid station, got some soup, and saw Brad waiting just outside the aid station. Since crew wasn't allowed into the aid station, we stepped just outside it, and Teresa sat in the trail, so we could work on her feet. It turned out we were right in the way of folks leaving the aid station, but her butt was already planted, and it wasn't going to move, until she was ready to continue.

After drying her feet, we lanced blisters on her left foot, then covered them with a Compeed (great stuff) and then had some trouble lancing the large blister on her right heel. When it was finally lanced, Brad was looking for a way to apply the Tincture Benzoin to prepare for the Compeed (the cotton ball had been dropped in the dirt), and decided to just pour it on. The TofB was poured before I could object, followed by a blood curdling scream: TofB is mostly alcohol, and it hurts like hell when it seeps into the blister through the holes cut to drain it. I know first hand!

After a while (it seemed like forever) Teresa quit screaming, and with the full attention of the aid station staff, who now noticed that we were blocking the trail, we finished dressing the blister, got her re-shoed, and left the aid station. Brad took off up the trail to prepare for crewing at Green Gate, a couple of miles up the steep dirt road.

Teresa recovered slowly during the walk, and her spirits lifted as the memory of the stabbing pain in her heel faded. When we got up to Green Gate she collapsed in a chair. I finally got her going after a few minutes.

The next few hours of traversing the side canyons went slowly in the moonlight, with my pacer duties mostly limited to flipping the tape in her walkman.

Crossing the famous "No Hands Bridge" which was recently closed. You can see the gates at each end. We are the runners at the front. (photo by Brad Muth)

I was really enjoying the early morning trek along the canyon, with only the minor duty of occasionally flipping a tape. I kept watching the mile markers that are posted through the Auburn Lake Trails section of the course, and figured that we might be able to break 28 hrs. Teresa was moving well, at about 4 mph. We passed a couple of runner/pacer pairs and began what would become a protracted game of leapfrog.

The sky started to gray through the trees as we reached the Auburn Lake Trails aid station. There was a small fire burning in the ashes of what had obviously been a bon fire earlier. Teresa sat by the fire, and tried to get warm. She said the damp air in the side canyons had drained the heat out of her. I think that she was just feeling the effects of 24 hours out on the trail. I finally got her away from the fire after 15 minutes.

As usual, we could hear the music coming from the Brown's Ravine aid station long before we got there. It was full light when we finally drug in, and Teresa was feeling cold and damp again. We stopped for another 15 minutes. I decided that breaking 28 hours was out of the question, and stopped using that as a carrot to try and spur her on. When we left the aid station, I had a question answered that had bothered me for a while. I wondered how the music in the aid station could be loud enough to hear for miles, but not bother the aid station volunteers. The speakers were quite a ways from the aid station, and were pointed away from the volunteers, and across the canyon!! I had been through the aid station twice before, but had never noticed -- 90 miles will do that to you!

One happy Camper!

When we passed the memorial bench for Barbara Schoener, the lady runner who was killed by the mountain lion, Teresa was aware enough to point it out to me. We finally dropped down to the river side, I pointed out the quarry up on the hill, which is right below the Highway 49-crossing aid station. We were running with a group again (the several pairs had bunched up) and they weren't happy to hear about the impending climb. We leap frogged again with some of our buddies, and started up the hill.

As we neared the 49 crossing, we passed some spectators hanging out along the trail, who said over and over "your almost there!" and "Looking good!." After passing copious quantities of yellow ribbon, which made sure we stayed on the correct path, we got to the aid station where I had bonked so bad in 1993. It was light out this time through, and Teresa was feeling MUCH better than I had back then. Brad filled her camelback, and we were off. Six and a half miles to go, and Teresa could smell the finish.

We bunched up again climbing up to Pointed Rocks, and leap frogged again. There was one female runner, with whom Teresa was feeling competitive, and I was told several times in a low voice "She hates being passed."

Teresa is congratulated by Helen Klein, the famous 72 year-old ultra runner and RD's wife. I get to watch.

I ran ahead and snapped a picture, and we started the descent to No Hands Bridge, the last aid station - 3.2 miles to go. By this point in time, Teresa had latched onto a quick runner, and we had picked up the pace, as she worked to keep up. We flew through the aid station, and crossed the bridge. I was thankful that Norm, and all the other WS front office people had gotten the bridge open for the race. It is so scenic: crossing on the road bridge just wouldn't have been the same. Just after crossing, we heard Brad calling to us from above, on the road.

We snaked along the old abandoned railroad grade that the trail follows, going back into the side canyons where the bridges used to be. The hill we were traversing faces east, and the rising sun was getting hot. I remembered this section as being endlessly long and steep, seen through the filter of 97 miles, but it was really quite pleasant, from the viewpoint of only 35.....

We finally got up to the paved road at Robie Point, where Brad joined us. There is still a lot of uphill on the road, and Teresa even ran some of it. We were passing lots of other folks walking down to meet their runners, and got the obligatory "looking good"s from all of them. Finally the road peaked, and I assured an elated Teresa that it was "all downhill from here."

The podiatrist causes pain.

Shortly we could hear the loudspeaker at the track echoing in the distance, and suddenly, we were at the track. When I heard those fateful words "There's a runner on the track" echo I peeled off from my companion for the last 38 miles, and went to the finish line to get set to snap some photos, while Brad ran with her the last lap. She was running strong down the last straight away, and I've never seen a happier Teresa than when she crossed the finish line.

This is what is was trying to fix!

We stood and talked to Norm and Helen Klein for a couple of minutes, we got Teresa over to the medical tent. A cold soda, a trip to the massage table were next. When the podiatrist was free, it was foot pain time again. After cleaning up her feet, they looked like hamburger, but I've seen mine look worse, so I knew she'd recover. The doctor lanced more blisters, and added second skin to her toes, but left the Compeeds alone on her heels.

We got her back to the hotel, cleaned up and put to bed. Then Brad took me back to Foresthill to get my truck while I dozed in the car. What a change in Foresthill! It was transformed back to a sleepy mountain town, and my truck looked lonely tucked up under the tree by the school where I left it.

I won't bore you with a description of the awards ceremony, and the usual complaints about how hot the gym was, or how rude the crowd was walking out as the last finishers were getting their buckles.

I'll just say that I had a great time. It was lots more fun to see Western States from the low key viewpoint of a pacer, instead of all the stress of a competitor. If you want to see what all the commotion is about, but don't win the lottery, this is a great way to do it!