Subject: Running Western States on a Bad ITB - LONG report
Date: Tue, 26 Jun 2001 00:52:30 -0700
From: Barry Fisher <bfisher1@ix.netcom.com>

Several listers asked me to let them know if I was going to go ahead
with starting the Western States 100 mile run, how I did if I ran the
race and which of the received suggestions I adopted. This was all in
response to my plea "Help - I have ITB syndrome for the first time ever
and I am running WS in 13 days. What do I do?". This is an account of
what I did and how the race went for me.

If you are not interested in Western States, or what can happen if you
start a race with a painful ITB, or if you don't want general info on
running a long race with an injury, delete now. This is a long report!

What I did not mention to listers in my above plea was that I had also
sprained an ankle on the Saturday two weeks before WS. Three reasons for
this omission. Firstly, I did not want to complicate things and dilute
the main plea for ITB suggestions. Secondly, I know how to treat a
sprained ankle. And finally, I didn't want to sound any more of a klutz
or whiner than I was already.

I received some 35 messages back from listers to my plea for ITB
suggestions. All of them were useful to some extent. I was surprised and
very touched by the interest shown, the time taken and the good wishes
sent.

The first thing I did was to mentally sweep aside all negative
responses. I had no time for them - literally, with only 13 days to work
with. Then I put aside (until at least after the race) those which were
long-term or those which did not fit into my general make-up.

What I did do:
1. Four sessions with a physical therapist.
2. One session with a masseuse - a friend of mine and an ultrarunner. I
would probably have had more of these, but I was away camping for the
last week before the race.
3. Lots of self-massage, using a foam roller (lying on it with my
injured leg and rolling up and down with the weight of my body on the
roller - extremely painful to start off with!) and a kitchen rolling pin
- much to Lucinda, my wife's, objections.
4. I got a prescription for Vioxx from my doctor - a Western States
finisher and ex-member of the WS Board.
5. I purchased two kinds of knee strap. Listers had told me to wear it
above the knee, not below it.
6. I took plenty of rest from running. I called it my "forced tapering".
For the first two days, I did walk 8 miles each day, but felt it was
getting in the way of recovery to the ITB. For the last 11 days, I did
nothing at all in the way of walking or running - much to my border
collie's disgust (she is used to long, long runs).
7. Stretching - lots of it, but not too aggressively. I soon worked out
which of the several ITB stretches I benefited from.
8. Icing - lots of it, using Dixie cups.
9. When I thought about it during the race, I tried to adopt the
suggestion of using "a slightly exaggerated push off with the toe or
front portion of the foot while running"
10. Glucosamine Sulfate - I already take 1500mg of this a day, split
into three different 500mg capsules throughout the day.
11. Leg lifts - I already do these several times a week, with a 5 lb.
ankle weight lying on the ground, using a thick roll under my knee and
short arc extensions. This is something which is almost essential for
anyone who has had knee surgery, or surgeries in my case, and who wants
to keep their quads strong enough to reduce the chances of more
surgeries.
12. Diet - I am a very undisciplined eater, read "snacker", who
considers chocolate one of the essential food groups. I managed to
discipline myself for 13 days and concentrated on eating more protein
than I normally do.

What Worked:
1. Above all, the Vioxx. I was told by one lister to start it at least a
day before "needed"; and by another, a week before. I followed the
latter advice. I was amazed with the results. Seven days before the
race, I could not walk without a limp. Half an hour after taking the
first pill, I could walk without feeling any pain. I still could not
however, run without feeling the ITB soreness.
2. Complete rest - no running or walking for 11 days. By the start of
the race, I was not feeling the soreness. Of course, I wouldn't as I
hadn't tried any running!
3. Nearly everything else on the list above to some extent or other,
except:
4. The knee straps. I tried one of these above the knee (as I went
through the normal activities of a day, excluding any running or
walking for fitness) as several listers suggested, but all that happened
was that I got a sore knee! I decided I didn't have the time to
experiment with this. To be fair, one of the suppliers of these knee
straps told me "with all good respect" that the strap was designed to be
used below the knee and not above it.

How did it all go?
Before the race even started, two things happened which would prove to
make any thoughts of dropping out during the race much more difficult to
execute. Firstly, is a matter of hair - or lack of.

Huh, you ask? Well, some 6 or 7 weeks before States, I had shaved my
head. Heck, I'm in my late 50's, not much hair left anyway and what I
still had was a messy mix of grey and brown - much better to get rid of
it all. I had been thinking of doing this for awhile (with Lucinda's
encouragement) and during a party one Saturday evening with other
ultrarunners, I mentioned this to Joanie Scannell, a six time finisher
of WS and resident "wild woman" of the local ultra scene. By the end of
that evening, Joanie had clipped every hair off my skull.  Anyway, why I
digress is that at the Friday afternoon briefing before the race, my
pacer Russ Bravard, comes up to me and takes off his cap and lo and
behold, he too has shaved off all his hair. Now it is much more extreme
for Russ to have done this than for me - he is a good deal younger, much
better looking and has a full head of hair. And his wife and family were
definitely not in support of this drastic action. But the point was
taken - if I thought of dropping out of the race when he had gone to the
extent of shaving his skull, I was in for a big argument!

And secondly, PBS is filming a documentary on Western States this year.
At Race Director, Greg Soderlund's suggestion, I was one of the
participants they were thinking of featuring, on the basis of being a
cancer survivor. Whether or not they actually use any of the footage
they ran of me before, during or after the race, I had said to them
prior to the race, words to the effect that I hoped to continue being an
example to others in the same or similar position of recovering from
cancer. Having made that big booboo, it would be difficult to "be an
example" by dropping out of the race, no matter the reason.

One other thing I did different this year was because of the very dusty
conditions and some high winds predicted. I wear contact lenses and can
suffer badly if dust is flying in the air. Both Lucinda and I bought
some goggles (for racquetball users) and I wore them from the start and
for much of the first half of the race. As it turned out, I would have
been virtually blinded without the goggles.

Anyway, because of the ITB problems, I had changed my original goal for
the race of going under 26 hours to just finishing it in the allotted 30
hours. My PR at States is 27:29:55, although I had run about 28:30 in
the two bad snow years of 95 and 98. This time I was mentally tuned into
just keeping ahead of the cutoffs. I would walk the uphills aggressively,
alternate running and walking the flats and be much more careful and
slower on the downhills than normal.

I had been taking my Vioxx as recommended, one pill a day, which I took
with breakfast. However, I doubled up by taking one also on the Friday
evening, the day before the race. Then I took the usual one with food at
4.30am just before the start on Saturday. Never a disciplined pill-taker
(nor one wanting to endure pain - oxymoron for an ultrarunner???), I
resolved to be a "bad boy" and take more Vioxx during the run if my ITB
got "too painful".

I started off walking the first climb of 2500 ft in 4.7 miles up to
Emigrant Pass - no big deal as I would have walked that anyway. I was a
little dismayed that I could feel the soreness in my ITB just walking
uphill. This was followed by alternating walking and running on the way
down to Lyon Ridge and then Red Star Ridge at 16.5 miles. I went much
slower than normal going down the steep downhills to Duncan Canyon at
24.2 miles. Throughout all of this I could feel the soreness of my ITB,
but tried not to think about it too much.

The walk up to Robinson Flat, always a tough climb and often ignored as
such by rookies at WS, exhausted me much more than I thought it would.
It was having the same effect on others, I noticed.. Why I'm not sure,
as it was cooler than normal, or so it seemed.  I was also feeling my
ITB a good deal more and took another Vioxx, some 7 1/2 hours after the
first of the day. I did much of this climb with my buddy, Chris Hall,
who I had hooked up with before the Red Star Ridge aid station.. At
Robinson Flat, my weight was 164 lb., the same as at the start. Russ,
also acting as my crew, shepherded me to his spot where he had chair,
towels, bucket of water and sponge, etc. ready for me. Dan and Julie,
ready to crew for Lucinda, helped considerably with taking off filthy
shoes and socks, cleaning my feet, taping up an errant hotspot on a big
toe, vaselining my feet, and putting on clean socks and the same filthy
shoes. And my feet were FILTHY - the below average precipitation this
year had resulted in very dry and dusty conditions. All of this seemed to
be under the scrutiny of a cameraman.

Leaving Robinson Flat at 30.2 miles with some 70 to go, I was in much
better spirits than when I entered. I walked for quite awhile waiting
for Chris to catch up as we intended to run to Michigan Bluff together.
Before running through the rocky stretch down Cavannah Ridge I came
across Patty from Yosemite and Bill Finkbeiner walking. I had met Patty
at the WS training camp and became very friendly with her. Bill was
pacing her from the start - required for medical reasons. Patty had shot
by me earlier on in the race with Bill in seemingly desperate pursuit.
She had since apparently fallen a couple of times and hurt one of her
knees very badly. Bill said he would continue with her as long as she
wanted to go.

At the bottom of Cavannah Ridge, still no Chris. I hoped all was okay
with him, but worried a little as he is a faster runner than I. Maybe he
had left Robinson Flat before me? The trail came out from single track
onto a dirt road and the Deep Canyon aid station - as for almost all of
the aid stations, we were spoiled rotten with a great variety of food,
drinks and other goodies - and very helpful, positive volunteers. Now
walking and jogging along the dirt road, I spent time chatting with a
lot of other runners. I had been surprised to see from my handy little
chart that I was traveling at about 26 hour pace, faster than I had
anticipated while still going well within myself. This dirt road is much
more level than other areas we had covered. This meant that as I had to
walk much more than run because of the ITB, I lost ground on the 26 hour
pace, not unexpectedly. At Dusty Corners and Last Chance aid stations, I
fueled up well and at each my spirits were buoyed by volunteers and
friends.

Going down the potentially treacherous switchbacks to the Swinging
Bridge, I was very careful with ankle and ITB. At the bottom there were
several bodies in the water trying to cool down. While the weather was
not as hot as normal, it was still warm - I had noticed I was sweating
going downhill to the river! A cameraman was there filming runners'
various attempts to cool off by the waterfall. Fortunately, he was
preoccupied and didn't film me filling my bottle straight from the creek
falls - don't want to be accused of encouraging others to risk getting
giardia!

The climb up to Devil's Thumb, 1565 feet in 1.7 miles, was as difficult
as ever and I tried not to push the pace. At the top, the aid stations
people were as cheerful as all the others and I glugged down soup,
Ensure Plus and tasted many exotic fruits. Along and down to El Dorado
Creek, I started noticing that my knees and quads were aching. I have
never had quad problems on a race - presumably these have come as I am
having to go more slowly downhill and "braking" with my quads a lot more
then usual. I run across Wally Hesseltine, another 50-something runner,
but much faster than me. Wally had fallen badly before Robinson Flat,
hurt his knee and couldn't run downhill. He was good enough to stop me
and pointed out a rattlesnake crossing the trail in front of him. It was
a young one, but we waited politely for it to leave before proceeding.

I wished Wally well and moved down to the aid station. There were much
fewer people there than normal (I used to work at this aid station
before taking up running). And the AS captain, Jerry Bretag, wasn't
there. It turned out that Jerry was having "one of those days". I think
I was correct when I say that two of the vehicles which they tried to
use to drive down the treacherous 4-wheel drive road to the AS, had
developed problems. They had run out of water and had only ice and
diluted Gatorade. I was quite happy with that. And if fact, as I walked
up the 1830 ft climb to Michigan Bluff at 55.7 miles into the race, I
heard a vehicle coming down the dirt road nearby to El Dorado Creek. And
going above and beyond the call of duty, there was a young volunteer
lugging down the trail a heavy 5-gallon water container, asking any
runner he came across if he could fill up their water bottles!

As one comes into Michigan Bluff, it's always something of a shock to
see a large group of spectators, crew people and volunteers cheering
away like crazy. My spirits are always raised by this - how could they
not be? After weighing in, I found Russ and evaded the cameraman long
enough to visit a convenient port-a-potty. I also got the bad news that
Lucinda had had not made a cutoff and was out of the race. Russ had
everything ready and another buddy, Andy, helped out. As I was changing
socks, Lucinda appeared with Dan and Julie - after commiserating with
Lucinda and downing more soup and Ensure, I was ready to leave - it was
about 6.30pm and surprisingly I was still near 26 hour pace. A little
panic as I couldn't find my water bottles - Russ and Andy rush back to
the aid station where I had left them. It turns out they didn't have
them and said they had given them to another runner! But eventually they
tell Russ that another runner had left his water bottles behind some two
hours earlier and they gave those to us. During all this I managed to
stretch my ITB, as I did at many of the aid stations.

Now it's down to Volcano Canyon and the rocky, rocky descent at the
bottom with extra care taken for my injuries. As I had changed socks at
Michigan Bluff, I had taken a close look at the sprained ankle - I
hadn't felt it at all, but the swelling was a little alarming with 45
miles still to go. My soreness in the ITB was back and I popped another
Vioxx, some 8 hours after the last as opposed to the 24 hours advised. I
see another snake on the trail, but although it looked like a rattler,
it wasn't - I think.

After crossing the creek and climbing up to the Bath Road aid station, I
came across Catra Corbett as vivacious as ever and always a good lift to
my spirits. More soup and fruit and a good chat with another runner,
from "Hungaria" originally, as we walked up the road to Foresthill. At
the top of Bath Road, Dan meets me and tells me that Russ had grabbed
the wrong bag from his car and doesn't have the pack he will need me for
pacing to the end. The problem is his pack is in his car at Auburn, some
20 miles away. He has taken his wife, Sue's, car and set off to get the
right pack - he will meet me at the River (16 miles later). This is
actually no huge deal to me, mainly because I am feeling very guilty
about having to make Russ travel the last 38 miles at walking speed. I
can feel my ITB is getting into some "serious soreness" mode and that my
running time is very limited for the rest of the race. I am secretly
relieved that I won't have to put him through all the walking. I am the
only person in our party who feels this way as I can see everyone else
is very apprehensive about how I will take this news. I stop Lucinda as
she tries to find an interim pacer as I know that Russ can actually run
along the trail after me and catch up very soon. If fact, after I leave
the aid station and am walking out along the road with Lucinda and Dan,
Russ comes sprinting up. He has broken every speed rule in the book and
has his pack!

Off we go down the single track. It's still light, approaching dusk. As
the trail descends more steeply, I have to resort to walking. And as we
go deeper, it gets darker and I have to turn my LED light on to see the
way. We walk some of the way along the single track with Russ chatting
away happily. He is a very experienced pacer and knows how to keep his
runner's spirits up and how to steer him from obsessing about pains and
aches. We go through the Dardanelles aid station where I see more
familiar faces and get news about how the front runners are doing.

Now we have to resort to a lot of walking as my ITB is acting up. It's a
long 5 miles to Peachstone aid station including one nasty long descent
through a minefield of rocks. Russ is patient with my slow progress and
my pussyfooting through the rocks in the dark. All along the way he has
stories, anecdotes and jokes to keep me occupied. At Peachstone, I see
several old friends including Tom and George  but don't wait too long as
the ITB stiffens up otherwise. I'm getting the blues here, trying not to
think about having to walk another 30 miles through the dark with the
ITB throbbing away. I drink a cup of coffee and pop a No-Doz to lift me
up - and it works as we find ourselves running much of the way, and even
walking fast up the steep climb to the Ford's Bar AS.

But too soon I'm back to the walking mode. The final five miles by the
river to the Rucky Chucky Crossing goes slowly. It is during this period
that I talk to Russ about never running one of these 100 milers again.
Funny, but I really, really mean it at the time and I try to somehow,
desperately think of a way to make me remember this so I don't have to
go through this again! All ultrarunners know this feeling!

I'm still at 164 lb. although I've hardly peed at all. I'm taking my
Succeed pills for electrolytes, drinking a lot and the liquid isn't
sloshing about - so why aren't I peeing? The river is low and race
officials have set up a different cable system across. They seem to need
much fewer people in the river to help us - I am a little disappointed
as I had hoped the water level would come high enough to chill out my
ITB! At the other end, we grab our drop bags and I change clothes and
shoes. I have a sore spot on the ball of a foot and look for a
podiatrist, but none there. Then I run into some great luck and another
runner's crew person helps me and - guess what, he is a podiatrist. He
does a great job on  my foot and we leave the aid station walking
comfortably.

But guess again - after the steep climb up to Green Gate aid station, my
other foot has the same problem. Again, I'm thinking that with a
somewhat different gait because of the ITB, the blisters may have
resulted - I normally don't get so many (except WS once before). We look
for a podiatrist there, but none in sight. So we limp on through the
five miles to Auburn Lake Trails. I have now decided beyond any argument
that this is my last 100 miler. Period, no way again, baby - this is it!
Especially now that I have developed another ailment I've never before
had on a run, the dreaded diarrhea. I mean, how much fun can one person
have during one night?? I'm surmising that the overdosage of Vioxx is
giving my intestines a fit and causing the diarrhea. I'm also secretly
thinking of how I can work out a way to drop out of the run without Russ
stopping me! Which excuse will I use - the ITB, the ankle, the blisters,
the diarrhea, or what?

But of course, it's just idle thoughts. I become preoccupied with which
aid stations have porta-potties available, and will they be the green
Vacant or the dreaded red Occupied - or if none there, where will I find
space hidden in the dark off the trail and away from the volunteers at
the aid station. I know this trail too well - there is Poison Oak
everywhere and the trail is carved into a hillside. If you have to go,
you have to go, but you have to go on a hillside hanging onto a tree,
probably with Poison Oak vines climbing all over it!

At the ALT aid station, a helpful lady does her best to treat my two
blisters on the left foot. Once we get past the Auburn Lake Trails aid
station I limp through the night along the four or so miles to Brown's
Ravine. While I say "limp", it actually is a fairly fast power walking
speed - I'm amazed that I'm generally doing more overtaking than being
overtaken. Through all this, Russ keeps a steadfastly positive attitude
and keeps chatting away. He knows it's just a matter of time and that
there is no way I'm in any real danger of trying to pull out. The
blisters on the left foot continue to hurt despite the moleskin applied.

Brown's Ravine is a notorious aid station run by Dennis Scott and his
Hash House Harriers and features LOUD  rock music blasting away into the
night scene. It really is quite surreal. I had tried to persuade Dennis
before the race to put on some nice reggae music that I could groove to
through the night, but instead we come across the customary doo-wap as
we closed in on their generators. I knew there were no porta-potties in
the middle of this wilderness, but also knew the likely places to use.

Now it's around 5.00am and beginning to get light. This is the time all
100 milers come to life again and experience their body clock telling
them to get up, get going and get this over with. And I know there's not
a damn thing I can do about it because any attempt to jog has my
blisters screaming in response, my ITB crying out and worst of all, my
bowels churning away. I know I'm going to get overtaken by lots of newly
awaken runners and guess what - I don't care! I hobble down the steep
descent from Brown's Ravine to the river trail. Russ tries every now and
then to get me running, but after a few steps, I grunt at him and walk
again.

Soon we're walking up the steep climb to the Highway 49 crossing. I
actually prefer the climbs since my walking speed is such that I can
overtake some other runners - imagine how slow they must have been
traveling! At the aid station by the crossing, they try to get me
weighed on the scales, but no way, baby, I've spotted a porta-potty with
a green light - I shake them off and dive for the toilet. After that
relief, I'm much more polite and get weighed (still around 164 lb.) and
even manage to say something friendly to Lucinda, Dan, Julie, Janet and
Nancy, my friends who are waiting patiently for me to appear and move
on.

Leaving the Crossing AS, we climb again on single track up to the
beautiful meadows by Pointed Rocks and another part I am dreading - the
steep and rocky downhill to No Hands Bridge. Here again we are passed by
runners "smelling the barn" and actually running, not hobbling. Russ
casually asks me what my best time is on this race. I don't want to tell
him. He persists and drags it out of me. I know what's going to happen
and he quickly calculates that we can beat that with some running. I
tell him that I really could care less about beating my PR, but of
course I'm talking to a brick wall. What I should have done was to flat
out lie to him and make up an impossible goal.

At No Hands Bridge aid station, I grab some Coke, and we pose for our
buddy Gary Gade, who wants to see the two shaved heads under our caps.
All my group is there and as I move on, I can sense Russ is telling them
I can beat my PR and for all of them to be at Robie Point so they can
encourage me and run in with me. I have tried to tell Lucinda that no
one should be at Robie Point because this is absolutely what I dread.
It's all deja vu - last time at WS, my pacer Kathy Hamilton, decided I
was going to beat 27 hours and 30 minutes and a frantic sprint at the
end got us there with 5 seconds to spare.

But I have the last laugh, or so I thought at the time. The desperate
attempts to jog in response to Russ' exhortations got my bowels in full
protest mode and I have to make a desperate and ungraceful move to
behind some bushes. Now surely there is no chance that I can beat my PR
and so I can hobble in without pressure. But my walking speed is fixed
now at a fairly fast pace and as we climb up the trail to Robie Point, I
can hear Lucinda and my friends shouting encouragement.

We get onto the road and there is 1.3 miles to go and 19 minutes to beat
my PR. As anyone who has ever run WS knows, the trouble is that the
first half of that distance is all uphill and just about unrunnable to
anyone other than the ultrarunning legends. I power-hobble up the road
and as luck would have it, at the top of one of the climbs a vehicle
stops and two of the above mentioned legends, Ann Trason and Carl
Anderson, stop and shout their encouragement. This inspires me - how can
I continue to hobble in their eyesight?

We run the short downhill and even some of the next uphill. At the white
bridge it's all downhill and I'm getting in the groove with all the
shouting from my group. So we take off down the road and around the
track at full pelt as I ignore what my bowels are trying to yell at me.
And we make it in 27 hours 26 minutes and some loose change.

And guess what - as I hug Russ and hug Lucinda  and get my medallion
from Greg, I can feel the negative thoughts going away. And as I thank
Dan and Julie and Janet and  Nancy and Diane and Joe, I now feel that
deep, deep satisfaction of knowing that I beat the odds. Last year, I
finished one 100 miler (Leadville) and dropped out at the 50 mile mark
of another (Angeles Crest). I now felt I had made it up to myself for
that drop at Angeles.

I'm thrilled to see Yosemite Patty finish along with Bill, who has paced
her the whole 100 miles - this is the same Bill Finkbeiner who has
finished every one of the Leadville 100 milers. And that my friend,
Tomassa, makes it through after a year recovering from a road accident.
And that John and Terry Rhodes, running every step of the 100 miles
together make it as the last finishers with minutes to spare before the
cutoff. But as always there's the heartache of seeing a runner come
through about a minute over the 30 hours. And of learning that my buddy,
Chris, was pulled off the course at Michigan Bluff and lead to the med.
tent with IV's in both arms.

As I'm writing this, on Monday night, I really don't feel like I've run
100 miles the previous two days. My ITB is still sore and the blisters
on one foot can still be felt, but my body feels just fine otherwise. My
insides seem back to 100% and the ankle swelling is down. And I'm even
thinking about the next one!

So in summary, I would say it wasn't pretty, it wasn't fast, it wasn't
pleasant - but a great, fantastic experience it definitely was. Would I
have started the race if I had known how the ITB probably caused my knee
and quad pains, my blisters and my diarrhea (through medication) and how
much misery they all collectively brought - NO! But that's all 20/20
hindsight and I'm left with great feelings about the race, my pacer
Russ, and everything else. The hurting was temporary, the satisfaction
is for ever.

Every time I run a 100 miler, I'm amazed at how much goes on with
pulling a race of this size together. Greg and Royce and all the
hundreds of volunteers, thank you very much for allowing us this
experience and putting the event on so successfully.

Now it's back to the drawing board to heal my ITB and to not enter any
more races until this is accomplished!

Barry Fisher