Cascade Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run, July 22-23, 2022 -- Race Recap

 

Even as I sit here this morning, this past weekend’s Cascade Crest race seems like an out-of-body experience. The final outcome was far more about mental fortitude then physical capacity. This race was on my list to completed in my current quest to run Western States for which Cascade Crest was a qualifying race to get in the lottery. As is the case with seminal races, especially 100 milers, it both exceeded and failed on a variety of fronts and you are a different person when you finish then the one you were when you started. But more to come on that, let’s get to the details. 

First, a little about the race. Cascade Crest is a challenging 100 mile trail run through the central Cascades of Washington State. The course currently runs as a clockwise loop from the Easton Fire Station (Easton, WA and runs predominantly through the Wenatchee and Snoqualmie-Mt Baker National Forests. The route includes 30 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, passage through the 2.5 mile Snoqualmie Tunnel, and lots of tall trees, tough trails, forestry roads and merciless climbs. All told, elevation gain is more than 23,000 feet with the high point being Thorpe Mountain at 5,800 at mile 86. Participants are required to have run a previous 100 mile trail race (I did that last year  in the Yeti 100 Washington in 25:29) and lottery selection. 

I was very fortunate this year to get pulled off the waitlist on Father’s Day weekend, a month from the race start date. Luckily, I had been doing a lot of training and had a strong base coming out of the winter. While I certainly did not have all the miles I wanted, I was still in a pretty good spot to give it a good shot.  My biggest concern other than training was that on my final b2b long runs in NJ, was that I tweaked my right quad (clipped a rock and caught myself with all the weight on that leg) at mile seven of a very technical 32 mile trail effort. I then did 20 miles the next day and the quad was tight and sore after those efforts. I eased off training and iced a lot in the days leading up to the race but this little weakness came back to haunt me. Also a minor concern for me was that I historically run in Brooks Cascadias and with COVID and supply chain issues I was not able to get another pair in my size (I prefer to run in 2E to give a wider foot splay on uneven terrain and account for foot swelling from the pounding during races and training). I wound up getting two of the last three pairs of HOKA Speedgoat 4s in wide and running in them. They did a great job and provided cushioning, traction and I was surprised at how well they drained water and dried out after getting wet from stream crossings.

Easton is a little under a two hour drive from Olympia and Thursday’s drive to the race was an emotional one. As fate would have it, KEXP was running their Seattle Cancer Alliance support programming. The requested songs, and the stories behind them, were so moving and hit close to home. In the last two years I have lost my mom and one of my best friends to cancer, and I always run with them in my mind. When I arrived at Hyak, I stayed at the same hotel, in the same room, and parked in the same parking spot as I did last year for my Yeti 100. I wanted to keep the karma positive. I did not get much sleep but that is par for the course on the eve of races. I had some coffee and oatmeal and headed out to Easton about 20 minutes east down I-90.

Oly Peeps getting ready to start!

Race day beautiful. It was great to see all my Oly friends in the race and chat before race start. I also got to chat with Gene Dykes, a true inspiration at 74yo, who was in the race this year as was his daughter. More on Gene later. I must have looked the part in my OlyTrailrunner gear, Goodr glasses and OLY hat because Ethan Newberry (The Ginger Runner) mistook me for an elite athlete (although I am pretty sure Kim recognized her husband’s error 😊) which gave me a golden opportunity to chat with him – a Cascade Crest finisher himself and you should check out his video of it is awesome – and thank him for his work on the sport. The usual nervousness was definitely there but I could tell from looking around that this was a hard core group of seasoned athletes who were used to this stuff. And the community vibe and mutual support from everyone from race staff, volunteers to the runners themselves was palatable. Everyone wanted people to have a great day.

There were a few things that were weighing on people's minds as we waited for the start. First was the snow. Jess Mullen, the new race director and all around awesome human, moved the race this year from its historic August start date to July to avoid the fire season. However, thanks to our longer, wetter and colder spring in the PNW, there was snow on the course in various sections that had the potential to be challenging to racers. Second was that the snow was starting to melt. This meant that the trail was acting as a runoff outlet in some areas and traditional streams, creeks and water crossings were running at much higher levels and much more quickly than usual.

At 9a, the race commenced. My goal was to try to finish under 30 hours and to do so meant keeping my heart rate down early and being patient. I failed on both counts. The start to Tacoma Pass (25.4) is the first part of the race. After the fire station, there is a mile on road before heading on to the trail for an immediate climb (to about 4000ft) to Goat Peak (mile 4.5) and then keeps going up to about 5200ft before heading down 1800ft to Cole-Blowout Saddle aid station (mile 12.5). The trail was pretty challenging in the early going and it was already getting warm. I think my first mistakes on the day were (a) feeling claustrophobic trapped in the line of runners heading up -- many who were taking it slow, and (b) trying to make up time/get away from people by picking up the pace on the downhill. As someone who predominately trains alone I was not used to the rush hour feel of the trail. What really hurt was my HR on the climbs. I was holding in the 150s and 160s which was too high for that early in the race. Then, on the downhill, I started running at a 8:30-9:00 clip to get away from people. That was much to fast and put too much strain on my quads being we were only 12 miles into the race.

Making the final turn

Leaving Little Bear (mile 19.7) to Tacoma Pass was more down than up and, again, probably took it a little too hard in spots and was realizing I could not get my HR down at all. I tried to stop, walk and restart but that didn't really help. I was also getting worried about nutrition and hydration as the temps were up and it was very dry so you don't realize that you are sweating because it doesn't stay on you long. The next stop was Snowshoe Butte (mile 32) with a climb in there to keep it real. I was starting to get worried: I didn't feel 100 percent (and some of this could have been altitude -- something I did not think about in my planning) my quads were already barking, my HR was elevated and I had only completed a quarter of the race. I just kept telling myself to continue to work aid station to aid station. I also knew, from previous experience, the first 30 miles of all my hundreds have sucked -- literally, I felt absolutely horrible -- and I always wanted to drop. I believed things would get better after Snowshoe -- heck, I did not think they could get worse. 

I pulled into Snowshoe, gassed up, tried to eat some food (with limited success) and moved on to Stampede Pass (mile 36.2) and first drop bags. My mouth was so dry I was having trouble swallowing food. I wound up just chewing on stuff until it basically became my cud and then  had to spit it out a mile down the trail. I later learned to just wash stuff down. On a positive, my quads were not getting worse and my HR dropped down into a much more normal 135-145 bpm range. I started to get into a groove and had renewed hope. There were a couple of surreal views off the trail ledges that looked over the Cascades in the face of the setting sun. Coming out of the dark wooded single track and stepping into the bright light of the exposed trail, waiting for your eyes to adjust, felt like stepping into the light of the afterworld. I got to Stampede and grabbed my headlamp, gloves and beanie. I should note that the beanie I run in is the one my mom used to keep her head warm after chemo took her hair. It is the perfect size and lined with wind block material that makes it ideal for these events. It was cool to see all the families and crew there. As someone who considers himself a minimalist runner -- no music, no pacers, no crew, no poles, etc. -- there was a pang of jealousy. I did hear some shouts out for Oly which was nice. I was very excited for the next stop, Meadow Mtn (mile 43.2), where the Olytrailrunners staffed the aid station. This meant I would see friends. I could sense dusk setting in and that night running was going to be starting soon.

The next seven miles were smooth and I managed the ups and downs. My quads were getting tired and tight, though, and I was worried about them. I pulled into the Meadow Mtn aid station and was met by friends happy to see me. Jason, Jeff, Bao and others jumped in like a pit crew getting me food, applying bug spray, getting out my headlamp and readying me for the leg to Ollalie Meadows (mile 49.1). They were total pros and it was a blessing to have them for the technical help and the mental boost. I was on about a 28hr pace at that point and all things were going well. It was at this point that the race took on a different flavor. 

Snoqualmie tunnel to Hyak

The six miles to Ollalie redefined the race. First, we entered the woods and it got dark. I mean really dark. I was glad I got a new Petzl headlamp, with more lumens, because I needed them on this trip. The section had a number of climbs that were short and steep. Also, there was a lot of water everywhere and technical crossings to negotiate. Finally there was snow. And the snow shelf, while showcasing footholds, was slick and tough on tired legs. The runoff was also creating streams out of the trail in places, leaving me to guess a few times if I was in the water or actually on the course. At one point, I caught myself slipping on the snow and felt a sharp twinge in my right quad. This was not good. Once back on solid ground I chugged along, finally arriving at Ollalie and glad that part of the course was behind me. That would have been a beast in daylight yet alone at night. From Ollalie it was off to Hyak (mile 54.3) for a drop back and change of clothes. 

Ollalie stop was great and they had perogies that were out of this world. There was something about the warm potatoes, unlike the quesadillas, that I were easy to eat. I should have had more of them. Unfortunately, it was at this point that I realized that I was no longer running like I had hoped. My injury was forcing me to shorten my stride and shuffle. I could not really push off my right leg. I figured I would make the call at Hyak to either drop or keep moving. But first I had to get through the course section and the famous fixed rope section that was tough to negotiate in the dark, especially when battling fatigue and balance. What is often overlooked is the steep, downhill half mile on rough forestry road that brought you to the ropes. The terrain was a combination of loose scree, gravel and larger rocks with most of it unsecured. I could feel my legs trembling as I sank into the trail on the descent. The first fall provided me with a big cut and bruise on my back. I got up and continued only to fall again. At this point, I had the most absurd reaction: I got angry at the course. "So that's it? You want me to quit?" I muttered to nobody. "Well, now I am not stopping." I eventually got to the trail to the 2.3 mile Snoqualmie tunnel and felt more at home as I had run this as part of my Yeti 100 race. But the course was taking its toll and I was achy and reduced to a "speed shuffle" -- basically walking at around 16 minute pace with low quick steps. I could not get my quads to easily elevate my feet, and I wanted to save them for some of the work to come. 

At Hyak I made a quick shirt change before heading out to Keechelus Ridge (mile 62.4). Have to thank Bao for his tip on keeping your core warm at night. Paid off on the back side of the ridge. This section sucked as it featured 2 miles of flat, road running, going under I-90 and up to the forestry road, and then about six miles straight up to the Keechelus aid station. In the dead of night, those six miles, around 2000ft gain, went on forever. I was powerwalking to the best of my ability and did look up frequently to see the amazing stars that filled the sky. I reached the top exhausted but knew the next section was a long downhill to Kachess Lake(mile 69.2). The wind on the backside of the ridge was whipping at the early a.m. hour and chilly as it caught the snow still left on the surrounding peaks. Those five miles were painful as the eccentric contraction for the quads made it hard on the body and mind. The appearance of dawn took a little of the edge off the run. I was thankful for a few flats, although, I could not run them. I just kept pressing the shuffle. I tried not to stay at Kachess long for fear of spending too much time thinking about the next leg to Mineral Creek (mile 75). This six mile stretch of bushwhacked trail is affectionally known as "The Trail from Hell". It is rocky, root strewn and full of gullies, water crossings, cliff edges and downed trees. There was no going fast and took extra time to focus on balance and precision to avoid a race ending fall or injury. It was unforgiving and I started to worry about the race cutoffs. Adding to the fun was wading across the fast moving water at Mineral Creek. I managed to keep my balance and the cold water felt good until I started to get numb. Luckily I had a drop bag on the other side and could change shoes and socks. Only 25 miles left but time was becoming an issue. This six mile segment alone took me almost three hours to complete. 

One of the many challenging Trail from Hell crossings

It was now 8:30a and the sun was out as I left Mineral Creek. It dawned on me that I was already about 24hrs in and still had a marathon to go and a lot of it was going to be going up. Next stop was No Name Ridge (mile 81.6) whose approach consisted of a solid five mile climb on a winding forestry road. It felt that every turn was going to be for the aid station and yet it never was. I was finding that, while exhausting, the climbs were easier on the quads than the downs. I made suitable time and headed out to Thorpe Mtn (mile 86.4) and the beginning of  the six climbs -- affectionately known as the "Cardiac Needles", that included the one to Thorpe Mtn lookout that is the highest point on the course (5884ft). I started to really struggle here given the fatigue factor and the realization that my legs were no longer able to give the balance necessary to move at a quick pace. Also, while not excruciatingly high, the altitude was messing with my HR and effort. I could hear my heart pounding loudly in my head. The needles definitely lived up to their name and seemed to be much longer and harder than I had envisioned. I frequently had to go to all fours to scrambled up over roots and rocks in order to get forward. Suddenly, poles seemed like a great idea as coming down was just crushing my quads and I could do little to generate pace. The view from the lookout was beautiful but time was an issue so I did not dilly dally at the top. I was now at 29:30 on the clock, had to get to French Cabin (mile 89.2)  and figure out a way to not lose a ton of time on what would be a solid decent for the next 14 miles. 

Rainier from Thorpe

The run to French Cabin may have saved my race. I decided to make the most of the shorter distance and try to "run" that section more than I had run anything since before Hyak. I blocked out the pain, picked up the pace and got these technical miles done in a little over an hour. This gave me a much needed buffer because the continued decent from French Cabin to Silver Creek (mile 96) was going to be seven miles of sheer hell on my battered legs. It was basically a pretty straight drop down and, given the dropping elevation and time of day (now 3p) the heat was starting to be an issue. Runners also became aware that the trail had a number of water crossing that required you to just run through them. By this point, I was pretty much stopping on any steep step to gingerly get my feet positioned to walk down. The run to Silver Creek took me four hours and really forced me to dig deep to move forward. Approaching that final aid station, I focused on the four miles of flat terrain to go and the persistence needed to finish this beast.

View at mile 90

I came into Silver Creek at 32:23 and quickly filled my bottles and headed back out. I had four miles and about two hours until cutoff. I knew I could shuffle at about 18 minutes pace -- if I pushed it! --  so things were looking good. I started playing a game with myself to see how fast I could go. I think mile 97 was 17:50 so I was stoked. It is weird to think back and realize I actually thought I was running when I was barely moving. Everything appeared to be going swimmingly when in the late, arching sunlight, I missed the turn to the road and ran an extra quarter mile. I looked back to see people heading the other way. This was momentarily defeating but I turned around and hoofed it back. Probably cost me some time and places in the final standings but, at 98 miles, I did not care. Coming into Easton was hard. I was getting passed by a lot of folks including the Ginger Runner and Kim who were pacing in a friend. I was moving as fast as I could and that was barely a shuffle. I was tapped. Just then, about a mile out, Jihan from the OlyTrailrunner group drove by in a car and screamed my name. It jarred me out of my trancelike, exhausted slumber. She actually went to the finish and then came back out to meet me about a half mile out. It was awesome hear about how everyone did and that I was so close to the end. She even snapped some great photos at the finish. (see photos of mile 90 and finishing)

Hitting the tape

As I approached the finish line, the whole day's events started to crystalize. In my 1:1 battle with the course each of us knocked the other down at times and neither of us were willing to give in. In the end, I had just enough and there are some days when that is all you need. In those final steps I appreciated Cascade Crest as a worthy adversary and respected the difficulty of the course. I felt totally blessed as I crossed in 33:36 and received a congratulations from Jess along with the coveted belt buckle and finisher sweatshirt. I am not sure that I had more to give and was just overwhelming thankful. This was definitely not the race that I thought I would run when I started, and even when I was at mile 40, and sometimes you have to assess and adapt just find a way to get it done. 

In closing, I would like to give a huge shout out to Jess Mullen and the Cascade Care 100 race team as well as all the volunteers. They were nothing short of amazing. I would also like to thank my Olytrailrunners "family" who helped, advised and coached me on the path to getting where I am today. Such great runners in this group with so much experience that offered important, relevant info that got me to the finish line. Finally, a huge shout out to my family and friends who often had to put up with my obsession, and training schedule, and offered such support and faith in my quest.

CC100 Number, Buckle and Hoodie

Next stop is The Mountain Lakes 100 in Oregon this September. Right now it is all about recovery and looking forward to getting back out on the trails in the upcoming weeks.