50k race reports: The Rut vs. Whistler Alpine Meadows

The Rut 50k Race Report

I suffered through The Rut 50k back in 2019. That year my wife Ana and I decided to go all-in and sign up for The Rut Mountain Run in Big Sky Montana. Make no mistake, The Rut is not a beginner ultra-marathon (if there is such a thing). It starts at 7k ft. elevation and takes you as high as 11k ft. It includes 10,000 vertical ft of elevation gain and loss. Big sections of the trail are hardly trail at all. You’re forced to try and move efficiently over dinner plate sized rocks, steep sections of scree, and I think there was even a short section with a rope. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

Ana making The Rut look enjoyable.

The Rut 50k culminated with my sitting down beside the trail a quarter mile from the finish-line. I could hear the music blaring and the festivities but my quads were cramping so badly all I could do was sit and wallow. Eventually I dragged myself across the finish-line but my suffering didn’t stop there. I sat in the athlete tent for more than an hour unable to stand up without severe cramping in my quads. I made ALOT of mistakes in that race.

Mistake number 1: Not respecting the taper.

The week before the race I did a strenuous alpine rock climbing trip to climb Pingora in the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Carrying a heavy pack and pushing my physical limits on an all-day rock climb was an unwise addition to my taper week. I justified this by reassuring myself I was spending time at altitude and thus adapting my body to race conditions. I blatantly ignored the fatigue I was inducing just days before my first 50k.

Alpine rock climbing... fun but not a taper. Pingora is on the right.

(Photo by James Phan)

My climbing partner James taking a rock-nap the day after climbing Pingora.

Mistake number 2: Setting unrealistic expectations.

I looked online at the previous year’s results and decided I wanted to complete the race in under 8 hours, a totally arbitrary goal. I convinced myself that coming in near to the top of the field was doable. This was insane given that I had never done a 50k before in my life. Additionally, on race day, when I wasn’t on track to achieve it, it would serve as another crushing blow.

Mistake number 3: Experimenting with fuel on race day.

Ana was supremely diligent about practicing with different types of foods and gels leading up to race day. I was too casual and reassured myself that my iron stomach would be able to handle anything new and different. My real error was not recognizing that all the caffeine-riddled gummies from the aid stations I was consuming were working against me leading to…

Mistake number 4: Not recognizing or acting to resolve the early signs of dehydration.

This was the HUGE mistake, which resulted in an agonizing final 10 miles. The cramping started around mile 11 in my adductors and go steadily worse. That should have been the first sign I was running a deficit on water and electrolytes. I underestimated the effects of the altitude and dryness of Montana. It is not an easy place to stay hydrated. Living and training at sea level was an additional disadvantage. Being in the more humid and lower elevation of Seattle for the majority of my training did not set me up for success at The Rut.

Suffering in the recovery tent.

I sat in the “recovery” tent for more than an hour after the race, unable to get up out of my Adirondack chair. The few times that I attempted to walk out of the tent my quads cramped so badly I had to sit on the ground and crawl on all fours back to the chair. Eventually Ana found me and recruited the Skratch Labs reps to revive me. They plied me with electrolyte drinks until I was able to stand without collapsing to the ground from my enfeebled legs. Once my legs were functional again, the only thing left to heal was my bruised and battered ego.

Whistler Alpine Meadows 50k Race Report

That brings us up to 2022. Ana and I signed up for the Whistler Alpine Meadows (WAM) 50k, which takes place at the beginning of September. I was determined to redeem myself and not relive my first 50k experience.

Leading up to WAM I crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. I even read all the race emails and the detailed logistics of race weekend. WAM and The Rut are similarly challenging. WAM includes 11k feet of elevation gain and 7k feet of elevation loss. It’s another true mountain run.

For WAM we had several advantages. We were able to train in the climate in which we were going to be racing. The race course was close enough to Seattle that we were able to do a scouting run on the course before race day. The most valuable advantage was having already completed our first ultra-marathon.

We had a little bit of smoke to contend with on race day.

The race started out normally. It was an adrenaline-filled morning of race prep. A predawn, mass start in a sea of headlamps is the name of the game. Right from the start line we began our first 4k foot climb and quickly funneled down from a wider forest service road to a single track trail. At this point there were enough people that you could see the headlamp clad conga line weaving its way through the forest below. I was happy to get stuck in the crowd. It helped me achieve one of my goals: going out slowly.

It's easy to smile in the first half of the race.

(Photo by Brian McCurdy)

Some delicious sub-alpine singe single track on Whistler Mountain.

We quickly ascended into the rocky alpine of Whistler Mountain to the first aid station at 14km. After some scenic rolling alpine and subalpine landscapes (thus the race’s namesake) we did about 16km on a steady downhill. “Ohhh, a nice long downhill,” you say? “That sounds mellow,” Don’t be deceived. A downhill of this distance is not to be taken lightly. If you’re not careful and you let yourself pound downhill, you can blow out your quads. Thankfully, with the help of a fellow runner, we were able to maintain a reasonable pace, running in tandem for the entirety of the downhill.

The second big climb away from Whistler Village was one that I was prepared for. It was part of the course we had scouted the month before the race. From the aid station I was setting a good hiking pace up the relatively steep uphill. It’s common for me to be drenched in sweat when pushing the pace uphill but my back was beginning to seem unreasonably wet. I pulled the water bladder from my running pack and sure enough there was a pin-hole leak in one of the seams. My momentum was blown in a moment when I was most fragile. Temperatures were getting warmer by the minute and I was convinced I would need the remaining water in the bladder to finish the race as planned. I walked, defeated, with the bladder in my hand for a long while. Eventually I finished the contents and shoved the bladder back into my pack.

Ana and me on the deceptive terrain near the high point of Blackcomb.

Photo by Ty Holtan

I reached the next aid station at 41km. I was relieved to be receiving support from the volunteers, the unsung heroes of any ultra-marathon. I “camel-ed up” and refilled my half-liter chest bottle. That would have to carry me through the rest of the race. The final 8 miles were tough. There is minimal tree cover and the sun was getting higher in the sky. It was easy to focus on the first two big climbs and overlook the more moderate hills on the upper part of the course on Blackcomb Mountain. l slogged through those miles with a combination of speed hiking and pitiful shuffling, which closely resembled running. Regardless of how the final miles went I was able to rally for the last couple miles and run through the finish line.

My legs were still working at the finish-line of WAM.

The real gift at the finish line of the WAM 50k is the option to ride the gondola back down to the bottom of the ski resort. The gondola ride down is an opportunity to survey and appreciate the difficultly of the course you just completed. Props to Gary Robbins for greeting all the finishers. His presence at the finish line is a testament to the nature of these races. They’re friendly, supportive, and warm.

NOT terribly dehydrated and miserable.

Sweet redemption. I set a low bar for myself after The Rut but I was able to walk after WAM. I successfully avoided the four big mistakes from The Rut 50k. For WAM I tapered like a hero. I didn’t dare glance at previous years’ results and I kept my expectations reasonable. My food and fuel were dialed in well before race day and I crushed water all day during the race. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.

John and Terry Row the Inside Passage to Alaska

John and Terry are Alaska natives who now reside in Seattle. When they retired from their fishing business they instituted an “anti-aging plan” and section-hiked all 2600 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail over a five year period. They are in their early 70’s and have extensive backcountry hiking experience. Terry has completed numerous ultra marathons, including the Moab 240 in 2021. A 240 mile foot race through the country around Moab. They aren’t strangers to the difficulties of moving and sleeping outside for days.

In search of their next big adventure John found inspiration in the Race to Alaska (R2AK). The R2AK is an human and wind powered boat race (no motors allowed) that starts in Port Townsend, WA and covers 750 miles finishing in Ketchikan, AK. The R2AK is typically done as quickly as possible with the fastest sailing vessels completing the race in just days and the human powered boats taking longer. They decided that rowing to Alaska was a worthy endeavor, not as part of the race but on their own time table.

The plan was to row 800 miles from Seattle to their hometown of Ketchikan, Alaska in a 17 foot Whitehall Spirit open water rowing boat. The route follows the inside passage between Vancouver Island and mainland Canada and among the islands and waterways north of Vancouver Island. Whole books have been written about the challenges faced in these waters. The dangers are many: tide ranges upwards of 15 feet, rip currents, shipping traffic, wind, long open water crossings, submerged rocks, and days-long storms. If you can pull off a safe passage, the trip is incredibly rewarding.

We quickly realized the boat works better in the water

Step one was getting John and Terry comfortable with the technical rowing stroke. This involved several individual on the water coaching sessions in the Whitehall. Then with both of them in the boat I got to coach them from the coach’s “launch” a recreational kayak. We worked on synchronizing their movements in the boat. The two person rowing boat is quite a bit faster than the kayak I was in. It was comical watching me desperately trying to keep pace and coach them at the same time.

The view from the coach's "launch"

I assigned strength training workouts and rowing workouts to help their bodies adapt to the challenges of rowing for up to 40 days. Terry was able to get reps in the boat on Puget Sound. John, however, was in Alaska for much of the time leading up to the trip and had to rely on the Concept 2 rowing machine for his endurance training. The strength training movements were focused on building rowing specific strength and were done at least twice per week. There was an emphasis on squating, hinging, and pulling movements. We devised a core training plan that they could execute while on shore to help ensure their backs would survive the entire trip.

Preparing to launch in the ship canal in Seattle.

John and Terry wisely devised a 5-day “shake out” trip along the west shores of Puget Sound to test their systems. Among the lessons learned were the importance of rollers in assisting moving the boat to and from the water when the tide had receded, the water will pile up and bounce off of bridges when the winds are blowing a certain way, and that they would need to be flexible in their schedule given weather delays.

Using the rollers to move the boat back to the water at low tide

For John and Terry the people they met along the way was a highlight. From strangers sharing a campfire and warm drinks to friends meeting them at camp while they were marooned for days due to foul weather. They crossed paths with adventurer and author Susan Conrad, who had made the trip through the inside passage previously and whose book John had read.

"Beached"

Campsite

They found enjoyment in strategizing how to work through the problems presented by the waterways, such as carefully timing travel around tide rips. Wildlife sightings, abundant natural beauty, and solitude at hard-to-reach backcountry campsites were other highlights.

Containerships... something to be avoided.

Tides in the waters around Vancouver Island ruled much of their decision making. They had to plan their days around high and low tide. Certain constrictions in the waterways can only be traveled through at specific times of day depending on tides. There was one day, during a lunch break, they had to repeatedly move their fire further up the beach to avoid the encroaching waterline. Other days their boat was dozens of feet from the water, and to avoid waiting for the tide to rise, they utilized their rollers and 3:1 rope systems to move the boat back into the water.

Comfort in the boat can be a significant challenge. Before leaving Seattle they had tried a variety of seat pads to keep their sit bones from becoming a limiting factor. Coordinating two people rowing at the same time in choppy water was a hurdle. They decided that one person rowing at a time through the roughest days was more efficient and less frustrating. Feathering. Much to my chagrin John and Terry never did incorporate feathering into their rowing stroke.

Working hard or hardly working?

By day 20 the duo had covered 400 miles and were on the north end of Vancouver Island when Terry began to experience unshakeable dizziness. He went through his ultra marathon checklist: rest, hydrate, eat, and repeat. Even after that any physical exertion sent him into a “weird feeling,” He contacted his medical provider, who recommended he cease all physical exertion and get immediate medical attention. His doctor’s concern: a lack of blood getting to his brain.

The Canadian Coast Guard came to the rescue. Fortunately, John and Terry were only right across the Queen Charlotte Straits from the Port Hardy rescue station. John was able to reach them via cell phone.

Terry preparing to be loaded into the Helicopter.

A dramatic extraction was undertaken. The coast guard picked them and their Whitehall up from their camp in a substantial motorized lifeboat. Then a helicopter, hovering just yards above the coast guard boat, lowered a guardsman with a tag line to the stern deck. A basket followed him down and Terry was placed inside. The basket carried him up into the helicopter and he was whisked off to receive medical care in Comax, BC. Thankfully, Terry’s tests came back with nothing life threatening.

John flew home and drove up to the north side of Vancouver Island to retrieve their boat. I sat down with them in Seattle for a trip debriefing. I asked if they would be returning next year to complete the journey, to which they answered without hesitation, “Absolutely!”

P.S. They reassured me, in the year ahead, they would learn to feather the oars.

Photo Credits to DeeDee, John, Terry, and Bob Waldrop.

Powerlifting is the New Rowing

Deborah and I began training together outdoors because of Covid in 2021. Deborah was adamant that we begin lifting heavy with barbells when the opportunity arose. She frequently mentioned wanting to compete in a powerlifting meet. At the time Deborah was 68 years old. I have to admit that I was half expecting this to be a fleeting goal. Clearly I underestimated Deborah’s drive because at the end of April she competed in her first meet.

I still can't believe how much she enjoyed herself.

Many of my clients are endurance athletes, Deborah included. They compete by running long distances, racing rowing shells across flat water, and climbing mountains. A powerlifting meet is the anthesis of an endurance event. This meet was held inside a Cross-Fit “box.” The air was stuffy and smelled of rubber flooring. The walls dark and lighting dim. They blasted metal the whole time and the audience was just feet from the contestants. It was exhilarating.

About to crush her deadlift

On its surface powerlifting seems simple. The three barbell events are squat, bench press, and deadlift. Go as heavy as possible.

The complexities lie in executing the lifts within the rules of the competition. The judges pick your lift apart. Were your knees totally locked out? Did you rack the bar before the referee commanded you to? Were you totally motionless at the bottom of your bench press? Miss too many of the details and your attempt is rendered invalid. Can you maintain your focus and composure under the pressure?

The mandatory pause at your body in the bench press - a particularly tricky requirement

The meet is a logistical feat. The team of platform attendants (undoubtedly hopped up on Red Bull) rapidly change the plates and reset the rack for each contestant. The woman has one minute to complete her lift. Once her attempt is completed she goes to the bottom of the order and eventually gets three total tries for each event.

We strategized on how to select the starting weight for each event. Be conservative. Go with something you know you can hit. Then slowly push heavier from there. Deborah hit her first deadlift. We had discussed changing our plan to go heavier than we originally thought on the second attempt. I met Deborah at the judges table after her first lift. A competitor has one minute to decide at the judges table what their next weight selection will be. Deborah mentioned that the first lift made her dizzy. She stood there for a second thinking and then said “Let’s go for it,” That was the determination I had seen in her training. She hit the second attempt with a warning from the judge about locking out her knees. Then went for a PR weight on the third attempt and nailed it with the crowd cheering her on.

Demonstrating the full lockout at the top of the deadlift

The highlight is that third and most exciting event: deadlift. At this point the nerves of anticipation are gone. Everyone is warmed up and the neuromuscular system is primed. The women face the crowd on the lifting platform and step up to the barbell. In an attempt to hype themselves and the audience up some have a theatrical presence. They throw their arms in the air and fling their hair behind their heads. They set up on the bar, give a couple of tugs with their arms, drop their hips down, and pull with all their might. The more they struggle to get the bar past the sticking point mid-leg the more the audience screams at them to pull. They look as if they’re about to blow a gasket. Faces bright red, veins in their necks bulging, and bodies bending under the stress. Then as they pull themselves erect, elation. Not all lifts are legal. The crowd occasionally groans in disappointment as the judges rule a lift invalid but everyone seems to be satisfied knowing they pushed themselves to their limits.

Mid-meet strategy session

As a coach it’s always gratifying to see your athletes compete. I’m supremely proud of Deborah for dedicating herself to her training. She researched the event, strategies, and communicated with the event directors. She showed up to our training sessions prepared to work hard. I’m reminded that principles of training, regardless of the sport, are often strikingly similar. There are weeks where training volume is high. There are de-load weeks to encourage recovery. There is the taper which requires faith in your training and self-control. Deborah executed on these training principles and went into her meet ready to perform. She nailed it.

Photos taken by her daughter Kat Shultis