class member a humorous award to commemorate something about what that particular runner did during the semester.

We told our war stories about our struggles and our victories. Some sported gigantic blisters, and of course we

all were stiff and A Ben, center, with some of the Purdue runners before the start of the marathon.

sore. This was our last class together. On Thursday, some of us met for a recovery run. During the run, we talked some more and reflected on the things that we had gained.

Iam glad I took the class. I learned more about the wonderful creation that our physical bodies are and learned more about training and sports physiology. I met some people with differing life perspectives and had a change in my normal training routine. I also got to participate in a race that I might never have run and got to visit Louisville for the first time.

After a rest, I think I’ll put to use some of the things I learned and begin training for my next marathon. That Boston qualifying time is still waiting to be claimed.

NOTES 7. An excellent book in this area is Running Within, by Jerry Lynch and Warren Scott. 8. Rick Reilly, “Worth the Wait,” Sports Illustrated, October 20, 2003. 9. Ben also has plans to complete a marathon some day.

10. With Mick’s help, Ben was given special permission to run the last mile with several of the class members. It turned out to not be feasible for him to get back to the 25-mile mark after he ran the first time, so he waited instead at a turn in the course just before the finish. i

(And What | Learned From It)

UBURN, CALIFORNIA, June 26-27, 2004—My first encounter with the

famous Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run (WS 100) was in December 2002, when I joined the Van Cortlandt Track Club and heard from one member that he had been accepted into this run by lottery. I looked at the Web site, and my dream was born.

At this point, I had just completed my first marathon, and despite not having any idea what it is like to endure adistance longer than 26.2 miles, this trail run drew my undivided attention. I didn’t know when it would be possible, if possible at all, but I wanted to do it.

My family has always wanted to live in California, and that added to my enthusiasm. I slowly progressed with running longer and with gaining knowledge of trail running, and I loved it.

an attempt at running the Canandaigua 50-mile run for a single reason: to qualify for Western States. My application went off, and before I had any time to comprehend the idea, the lottery results arrived and I was in!

» Olga Varlamova reaches Cougar Rock during the 2004 Western States 100.

The excitement and intimidation started to build. In April 2004, I ran the Umstead 100 as a training run, testing the distance, and it went well. I finished in 18:46, first woman and third overall. Looking back I can say now that it was a walk in the park. It was held in a park, after all. But I knew that Umstead wouldn’t compare to what awaited me in the Sierra Nevada.

The best preparation for the WS 100 is the training camp race that officials hold on Memorial Day weekend when the last 70 miles of the course is run over three days. I made sure to go. It was just fantastic: all the people I met there, runners and volunteers, the weather, beautiful skies without a single cloud, and the trail.

Now I know what draws people back time and time again. The trail, besides the pure history—the miners, the horse-riders’ cup, and the first 100-mile trail race—has a soul of its own. Mountains are calling you, canyons are testing your inner strength, views are magnificent, and the thin air leaves you gasping for a single deep breath.

IN LOVE WITH THE TRAIL

Yet it’s not only that. There is something else that I found so inspiring and so deep that I can’t really explain in words. I fell in love with the trail. It has become a part of me so amazingly quickly that I couldn’t do much but to live this love. I also made many new friends, one being Mike Pastore from South Carolina, who ran Umstead this year as well. We will share our anxiety during the next month via e-mail. The whole stay at the camp had not a single bad moment for me. I was ready.

Or so I thought. The weekend following the camp was my last long run, and I did it on the Overlook Mountain in the Catskills: 1,700 feet of elevation change in 2 1/2 miles. I did it four times up and down with my good friend Dick Vincent, race director of the Escarpment Trail Run. I had been battling shin splints since before the Umstead, and all that mileage and downhill running did me in. I got a stress fracture in my lower right tibia. But there was no way I was not going to make it to the start of Western States.

The following three weeks were the hardest I’ve ever had in my running career—no running at all on orders of my doctor, not a single step, and this at a time when I was thoroughly scared in anticipation. At this point, nothing mattered; I was going to Squaw Valley.

Up front, I would like to acknowledge my wonderful support crew. My husband was unable to go on the trip, as we decided it would be too much pressure to have our two boys, ages 8 and 13, along.

But I had five wonderful people who flew all the way to California to offer me help and encouragement.

My pacer was Nick Palazzo, who has been in the ultrarunning world for more than 20 years and who gained some notoriety in the documentary Running on the

» My pacer, Nick Palazzo (right), cheers on Mike Pastore at Foresthill.

Sun, about the 135-mile Death Valley race. We had run at the same races in New York but never really talked until he offered his knowledge and help.

Amy Peterson, a friend from my first year running of New York Road Runners Club races and who came to cheer me on at my first marathon, was all psyched up to accompany me to Lake Tahoe.

My good friend and running partner from work, Shannon Moran, and her boyfriend, Eric, accepted my invitation, and their youthful energy and enthusiasm were just great.

Jan Brooks, the announcer at NYRRC events, was interested to see another side of the running community and did his best to make our stay before and after the race more enjoyable.

As everyone in the ultra world knows, “crew” stands for cranky runner, endless waiting. That is what lay ahead for them. For a runner, it was a dream team. They were all pumped up and ready for whatever the run would bring.

PRERACE JITTERS

Those couple of days we spent at Squaw Valley were filled with electricity. We visited some of the prerace meetings, wandered around the resort and Lake Tahoe, met old friends and made new ones, and by Friday I was just a nervous wreck—and a pain in the butt for everyone around me. Having had practically no sleep for the last week didn’t help, either.

At 3:00 a.m. on Saturday, the alarm went off. I felt pretty calm. This was it. Nothing to be frightened about. Today is about the trail and me. There was not a single doubt in my mind that I would arrive at the finish line, else why begin the run? What I didn’t know is at what cost and in what time I would make it.

I pinned on my number and got myself to the starting line. The gun went off at exactly 5:00 a.m. and we were off.

From the starting elevation of 6,200 feet, we climbed 4 1/2 miles to the top of Escarpment Ridge at 8,750 feet. It was a hike for most of us, sometimes pretty steep. The altitude didn’t seem to bother me, and the only snow we had to negotiate was a 60-foot-wide swatch at the top.

Photographers took pictures, volunteers refilled our bottles, and we went into the trail system. For quite a while I ran with the famous Monica Scholz, the woman from Canada who did 23 100-mile races in 2001. She is an amazing and down-to-earth person. Next to us was a guy who was interested in bird-watching, and one of his objectives was to identify 100 birds. By mile 10, he had counted a dozen.

Iwas taking it easy, hiking the uphill sections. My rule is that anything above a3 percent grade, I power walk. I made a point of taking it easy on the downhills. I was also resolved to not pay attention to my watch so as not to screw up my rhythm.

The first major checkpoint and crew access was at Robinson Flat (24.6 miles). L arrived at exactly 10:00 a.M., 30 minutes ahead of my projected 24-hour pace.

Here I have to admire the organization and volunteers at this run; it was unbelievable! Seconds—literally—you spend at the aid station: you are weighed in, your bottles are refilled by a volunteer, and food is given to you as you walk out.

This is where my dream team came to see me for the first time. I was feeling fantastic. No pains (Voltaren helped), no blisters (I used insoles from Sof Sole, my sponsor), no stomach problems (keeping it all down with Energice, another sponsor’s product). I changed socks and went off in one minute flat. I would next see my crew at Little Bald Mountain (28.6 miles), a mere 47 minutes later.

IN NEED OF FOOD

I was still moving at a good clip but started to feel tired. Looking back, I realize the cause was as simple as not getting enough food. I was drinking a lot but was so focused on leaving the aid station that I forgot to eat. I arrived at Deep Canyon aid station (33.7 miles) almost 50 minutes ahead of 24-hour pace. At 38 miles, Dusty Corners, I still felt great. It would be the last aid station where I could say that.

The weather was beautiful, in the mid-80s, topping out at roughly 95 in the canyons. It was one of the best years for the run. It seemed pretty hot to me, though not as humid as it gets on the East Coast; I kept putting ice into my hat and in the bandanna I wore around my neck. I also used a sponge that I dipped into the ice bucket at each aid station.

The next stretch was flat—relatively—but it also meant that I had to work to move forward; no free use of gravity.

I look at trail running like this: you hike the uphill portions where it’s slow, but you use different muscles, then you float downhill, allowing gravity to do all the work and trying not to spend too much time with your feet on the ground.

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@ Olga leaving Duncan Canyon.

Around 40 miles I began to bonk. The worst part of it was the guilty feeling that Thad when I began to walk on the flat portions of the trail. It was way too early in the race for me to be doing that. With that much walking, time would become a factor; Ihad to reassess my expectations.

Atthe foot of Devil’s Thumb, I fell apart. I was literally and figuratively in a valley, emotionally and physically. I knew that I would eventually come back, but at the moment, dealing with the valley was tough. Low sugar level in the brain plays horrible tricks with your mental stamina.

Climbing out of that valley was difficult. Ihardly moved at all, and after every three or four switchbacks—there were 36—I would just sit down and try to catch my breath and wait for the feeling in my legs to come back. However slow it was, eventually I entered the aid station and saw all the wonderful volunteers. I immediately felt better. I was still 30 minutes ahead of 24-hour pace, but I already knew that 24 hours would not happen today. (Maybe I gave up too early.) I began to eat, downing some soup and potatoes, and then moved into Eldorado Canyon.

BEWARE OF THE CHAIR

The canyon featured some steep downhill sections, and by the end of the descent my quads seized and I had to sit in a chair. “Beware of the chair” is one ultra saying, and ultrarunners don’t say it for nothing. Sitting next to me was Bethany Hunter, a young girl from Virginia who has set course records at every trail ultra she enters. We met the day before when the winners of different 100-mile runs were introduced. It just wasn’t her day. She said she hadn’t been feeling well since mile 11 and planned to drop out at Michigan Bluff to save herself for the upcoming Vermont 100 in July. Sitting next to her gave me an excuse to spend more time resting and applying a cold towel to my thighs.

We left and moved together to the next climb, which was not as steep as the previous one. My right quad wasn’t doing so well. I felt a sharp shooting pain of a pulled muscle every so often, but overall my body felt a tad better.

Olga Varlamova

At the top of Michigan Bluff, I came around a turn and entered a huge crowd: all the volunteers, spectators, and my own dream team! They were cheering so loudly that it was a sensory overload after hours of being alone.

I made it to the weigh station, then dropped onto the massage table. My right leg was screaming with pain. Receiving a massage as well as words of encouragement from a cute guy definitely helped. I sat with my crew for a few more minutes and received a jolt of energy from them (as well as from more rubbing of my thighs) while changing my socks and eating soup.

We decided that the new goal was to drag my sorry behind to the finish line even if it took the entire 30 hours. I was relieved to see my team’s enthusiasm for my new goal. Putting one foot in front of the other was now my primary focus.

The guys sent me off into the next section of the course while Amy met up with me at the Bath Road aid station. We walked together to Foresthill School, the official place where I was to pick up my pacer. I spent another few minutes there, first giving a kiss to a young boy who was a volunteer dressed up in a Hawaiian skirt, which made everybody laugh and lightened my mood, and then got another massage from Shannon and Eric and a double espresso from Nick.

THE FABLED CALIFORNIA LOOP

At 7:20 p.m., 20 minutes behind my original schedule, Nick and I moved onto my favorite section of the trail, the California Loop, the one I was dreaming about from the very beginning. Those 16 miles are mostly gentle downhill (gentle being the key word) with nice surroundings and a river somewhere below that made a wonderful noise. And I was moving! I ran pretty much the whole thing, making up time and passing people.

At midpoint in the loop, when darkness fell, I turned on my lamp. The night was gorgeous, with many stars forming a canopy above us, the night warm, the forest surrounding us in its embrace, whispering fairy tales into my eager ears.

Nick turned out to be a great pacer. He stayed a step behind me the whole way, letting me know it was my run and he was merely along for the ride. When I concentrated on running, he would be quiet and once in a while simply say how fantastic I was doing. When I would hit a climb and slow down, he would move up to my side and talk me

<@ Olga weighs in (literally) at the Foresthill aid station.

through, telling many stories from his own running experiences. Somebody said that to know a person, you don’t have to spend a lot of time together, just go for a run. It is completely true. This is the time in a race when you’re stripped to a bare minimum.

We found an abundance of things in common, not just in our love of running, but in life, views on politics and religion, and (this was a surprise) Bikram yoga. Indeed, I was back. That section was my peak. I felt great, and despite pulling a ligament behind my right knee around mile 65, I was high. Luckily I had a knee brace with me and Voltaren in a pocket, so the pain was minimized. And the evidence of how well I was feeling was the fact that I approached the river only one minute behind that delusional 24-hour pace!

Before we came to the river crossing at Rucky Chucky, I was dreading it. Is it going to be deep and cold?

The reality was totally different from my fears. It turned out to be fun. Volunteers held the cable across the river and lit the way as I jumped in. The water was only waist deep and not cold at all. I screamed more to entertain the volunteers and got out on the far side in good spirits.

Waiting for me was my only drop bag with a new set of clothes and shoes. A young girl who was pinning my number to the new shorts while I changed got scared when I proposed that I would just continue on without my shorts.

The fresh shoes, a different brand from what I had been wearing, were very uncomfortable. That wasn’t my only mistake of the day. I realized I had left my medicine in the old shorts.

MY RIGHT SIDE TURNS ON ME

As we slowly made our way from the river up the hill to Green Gate (two miles away), the pain sneaked up on me: my shin, my quad, back of the knee, ball of the foot, my toes, and all of them on the right side, began to hurt. The new approach would be

» Olga rejoices during the Rucky Chucky River Crossing.

to not make stops at the aid stations but instead make progress toward the end, no matter how slow and painful.

We were scheduled to meet the dream team at Green Gate, but it was late because of an encounter with a wolf-like dog and a wild imagination. The team also ran into a bear, and here I was running 100 miles, and I didn’t see any interesting animals. We moved on to the next section of trail.

I was still jogging a bit and walking at a very brisk clip and even on occasion passed other runners.

The section from Green Gate to Brown’s Bar (named by Hash House Harriers who man the aid station and blast out rock music) was rolling hills. I tried my best to execute the advice of Gordy Ainsleigh (the man who started this run) of walking 15 steps and then jogging 15 steps. He claimed that it would equal a 12minute mile. I don’t believe I was really going that fast, but Nick kept reassuring me that it was still quicker than walking.

At the Highway 49 crossing, which is seven miles from the finish, we saw the girls from our crew. I told them I would need my hat back for the finish. Why? Because in the last hour, I was keeping myself busy by thinking that I needed to look good for the official finish picture, and having a headlamp and hair all salty and messed up wasn’t going to cut it. I would remove all my various braces before entering the Auburn High School track for the very same reason. Imagine how much fun people at the aid station had when they heard this rationale. But I was dead serious! I was always together in my mind and continued to try to have fun, no matter what.

The only thing that would give away my extreme fatigue was that I couldn’t keep numbers straight in my head during the nighttime part of the run. I would look at my watch, note the time, and estimate the approximate time to the next aid station only to forget what it was 10 minutes later.

Anyway, with pain becoming more intense and the next section a pretty steep downhill to No Hands Bridge, I fell off my walking pace. Nick finally took the matter into his hands by telling me to move on and stop pretending that I was hurting. I was walking like a crab—sideways—not able to straighten or bend my right leg at all.

TEARS AT NO HANDS

At No Hands Bridge, we watched a sunrise for the second time in a day. I broke down in tears. All the scenes from the movie I had seen about Western States came back in a rush and I cried. My dream was happening.

We picked up the pace for the final climb and entered the one-mile-long paved stretch leading to the high school track. Shannon and Eric joined us. I donned my hat. And no matter how much my team encouraged me to pick it up, I kept it steady; I didn’t want to cause my right leg to spasm.

Two runners passed me on that stretch, and as a result, I crossed the finish line as the 100th finisher and 20th woman.

But I’m getting about a half mile ahead of myself. We came upon the track, and I began to circle it, feeling an adrenaline rush. Nick told me that if I sprinted I would break 25 hours and 20 minutes. I flew under the banner in 25:19:26 and right into the arms of Tim Twietmeyer, 23-time finisher and five-time champion of the Western States.

Tim draped a medal around my neck, and race director Greg Sonderlund gave me a pin for being the 100th finisher. I collapsed into a chair where I was given the blood pressure and pulse check, weighed (same weight as I was at the start!), and continued the medical checks for the research study for which I had volunteered, which included more blood donations and lots of questions.

A mere eight minutes later, Mike arrived. He was being paced by Rachel Toor (a senior writer for Running Times and contributor to Marathon & Beyond) and was right behind me all the way. We had different problems along the way and different sections of the course provided bad patches, but we arrived at the finish at nearly the same time. I was really happy to see him I finishing in such a fantastic time and looking so good besides.

I made my way to the tent for a massage but never made it. The area behind my knee was tight and painful. Dr. Bob Lind gave me ice and discharged me from the massage table. I couldn’t cry anymore, neither from pain nor joy, yet I was totally ecstatic. I think I just left all my emotions on the trail and I would have to come back to pick them up.

AFTERMATH

The rest of the day remains very fuzzy in my mind. Scott Jurek won the race for the

Finally!

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sixth time in a row in a course record. In the women’s division, Nikki Kimball from New York State won on her first attempt!

We showered, got a little rest, and attended the awards ceremony (which was very long and hot but also well worth attending), ate some food, and drove to the airport for our overnight flight back home. I was due back at work on Monday.

The soreness went away a few days later. I attribute my speedy recovery to regular yoga. But I was limping—proudly—for a week.

All the members of the dream team seem to have had a great time and offered their help in any such enterprises in the future. It is a fantastic feeling knowing that I had dragged my friends through this ordeal and that they loved it. They were inspired by the runners, the volunteers, and the beautiful surroundings, and they long for more.

THANKS

There are not enough words to express my gratitude to my crew (Amy, Shannon, Eric, Ian, and my pacer, Nick) for their unbeatable support throughout the run and during the days before and after. My deepest heartfelt thanks to my family: my husband, Oleg, and my boys, Alex and Stephen, for their patience during my training and (especially) my tapering, for their belief in me and their endless love, and for their putting up with a crazy mom who travels around the country participating in runs that most people mercifully don’t even know exist.

Thanks also to my running club, the Van Cortlandt Track Club, for its encouragement and warm wishes those two years I was part of its circle. And thanks to all those guys from work and the yoga studio and all the friends who followed my progress on the webcast during the run.

There are many amazing trail runs in this country, and in time I will try to run most of them. But one thing is for sure: I can’t wait to see the application form on the WS100 Web site for next year! California trails beckon me, and I will be back.

And What | Learned From It

1. Avoid, at all costs, getting injured before the big day. Better to be undertrained than injured when you toe the starting line. If you do happen to get hurt, rest up! | think that taking three weeks off helped tremendously to heal my injury to a level that it was manageable on race day.

2. Start eating early—right from the beginning—before you feel you want to. You need to have continuous energy flow to sustain a run like this mentally and physically. The appetite also could be suppressed by altitude.

. Plan your clothes and shoes wisely. Stick with the same brand if you change them throughout the run. Your feet adjust to tolerate a particular form and feel and become uncomfortable when you change to a different pair. Also make sure that your second pair is a half size larger, as your feet will swell as the race goes on.

. Stick with your gut and fight the urge to quit—unless you are seriously injured, of course. Don’t give up just because you feel miserable at the moment; in a race this long, often your body and mind will recover and things will get better later.

. Run your own race. Don’t go after another runner or hold out delusional time goals (unless you are an elite runner who is used to such goals), and play it by ear. Different days bring different runs, and you just have to accept what this one gives you.

. Train on terrain similar to what you will be running on race day. Nothing will prepare you better for the actual race.

. Most important, enjoy it; love what you are doing and be thankful i that you have the ability to do it.