2002 Reports

This year we've got race reports written by the 50M and 50K men's winner.

PCT 50 Mile
August 10, 2002

The only reason I'm writing this race report is for the last paragraph. Feel free to skip the detail.

The question at this year's race was: How to stop Tom Moritz? To answer, I fashioned a plan, which had me bolting to the front at the start of the race and, if he followed, which I assumed he would, I'd push the pace hard for a mile or two, pull over, drop back, and leave him to his own devices. If the plan worked, he'd blow up in the second half of the race. My mentor, Mr. Sonny Conder, did that to me once, and I never forgot.

I was saved this task, however, when Chris Mager, from British Columbia, went immediately with Moritz to the front. Soon the two front runners were long gone down the Pacific Crest Trail. I joined Kris Krichko, Marcus Mayfield, and Tim Turk. Stephen Halstead, a 50 mile rookie from Tacoma, joined us, as well, for five miles of enjoyable conversation.

Anyone who runs with Marcus knows he talks nearly non-stop, which is not to say he's not an enjoyable conversationalist, but when he implied he might talk for another 30 miles, I figured it was time for me to start chasing Moritz and Mager.

Leaving the first aid station, Marcus and the rookie fell back, while Turk, who has a cycling background, and Krichko, a triathlete, picked it up, tucked in, and formed something of a pace line, as in cycling, where you take turns pulling and dropping back. I like cycling in a pace line, but running trails in one doesn't work for me, so after a short time, I opted to go solo and upped the tempo.

At mile 20, I began to wonder about the two front runners. "How far ahead?" I asked at the aid station. "The first guy's five minutes up and the second guy's three minutes up." Not bad, considering we were just about to start the climb to Timberline Lodge. The deep sand makes the ascent tough, and most runners walk, which is what I could see Mager doing when I climbed above tree line. I passed Mager half a mile from the Lodge, and then with 100 meters to the turnaround, Moritz emerged on his return journey. It was close, but I didn't get too excited, considering we were only half way.

The aid station at the Lodge offers stupendous views, and it had buckets of ice water and sponges. I grabbed a sponge, plunged it, pulled it, and squeezed ice water onto my head, neck and back. I did this repeatedly, then guzzled liquid, grabbed food, and turned around, just in time to see Mager arrive at the aid station. Half a mile into the return trip, Mager, a downhill specialist, flew by me. I was completely unable to respond to Mager's strong downhill move, so watched my heart rate monitor instead.

At mile 30, Moritz came into view, stepped aside and said: "you're having a good run today." I didn't know if I was or not, but the heart rate monitor was steady at 157 bpm.

At mile 40, Mager appeared, and must have heard me coming because he promptly tripped and fell. "Whoa," I could hear him say to himself, "I better slow down here." I didn't tell him I had fallen nine times trying to catch him, nor did I slow to show him the lacerations on my thigh. I did ask if he was okay, and when he said he was, passed, accelerated, and began the process of trying to secure the win.

Years ago, I might have thought it "uncool" to admit to trying to secure a win, but as the miles to the finish diminished, there was no denying it. I was doing everything I could, not to win, per se, but to avoid being passed and reduced to rubble in the waning stages of this race. My heart rate monitor climbed to 170 bpm, as I hit the road with half a mile to go.

Although I tried to look cool, fresh and untaxed at the finish, I failed at this, and collapsed on the ground in a writhing heap. It took a while to begin feeling human again, and about that time Barbara Leinweber was being announced as the first woman finisher. In her first year of ultra running, she's run three ultras, and taken three firsts!

Other than the above, I remember nothing of the race, except for the individuals who worked the aid stations. Jan and Clem LaCava, and Kyly, aside, when asked how they had gotten roped into working an aid station, the volunteers invariably said, with a sheepishness that spoke volumes: "I married into the family." And what a family it is -- I mean, come on, let's not quibble -- RD Mike Burke takes all the credit, but he's just a scrawny little bushwhacker in the forest of life without Debbie. She's the one who made it happen -- the undisputed race director, the organizer, the leader to whom we all owe a great deal of gratitude, especially in this, the final year of her directorship. On behalf of all the other scrawny ultra runners who have enjoyed the PCT 50, thanks, Debbie, family, and, hell, even Mike, for four great years!

Steve Smucker
Portland

While driving up to Portland to run the PCT 50k/50m, all I could think about was a nicely shaded trail to enjoy a weekend long run. Coming from Las Vegas anything under 95 degrees is considered comfortable, so I was truly looking forward to this race. This being my first ultramarathon-and trail race altogther-I did not expect to win. For the first six and a half miles I tucked behind Ed Wilson for a steady pace with Craig Thornley and Rob Thomas close behind. Feeling very good and refreshed after the first aid station, I decided to take off early and hope to give myself some cushion to fall back on when I expected to break down towards the end of the race.

Running in such a deeply shaded and dense forest really puts nature in control for much of the run. I learned how exciting/frightening trail running can be first hand at about mile 11. At this point I've been alone for about 40 minutes, so my mind has completely begun to wander, when I'm quickly startled back to reality by something moving very quickly about 10 yards to my lower left. I knew right away it was not a deer. It was a big cat, and I'm quite sure by its long tail and attempt to climb a tree that it was a cougar. It did not make it up the tree, but still continued down the mountainside in a hurry. Needless to say, I stopped, completely frozen for about 2 minutes. I began to anxiously look back hoping to find someone else to continue on with, but once the initial shock subsided I went ahead with a slight spring in my step after that.

After that moment, the rest of the race was pretty much a blur. I do remember that the aid stations were positioned excellently, and were very well-stocked with ample food and refreshments. The post-race food in particular was more than I expected(this included home-made chicken noodle soup.) I could not have asked for a better race to run my first ultramarathon. Lots of thanks to everyone who helped put on such a great race, and I hope to see everyone again next year.

Josh Brimhall