Race Report: 2024 Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run
I’ve never written a race report. I read many in the past, so I thought, Why not finally write one?
Oh, wait. You thought this was going to be a race report in that I was going to write about how my running the race went, in typical race report fashion? Gotcha. I didn’t run. But, I was at the race, and this is a report of things, so, yeah, I’ll claim it as a race report. I’m weird that way. Much like a third-grader giving a report on their activities over a summer on the first day of school, here is my report on my TRT time.
I arrived in town, and asked George, the RD, if he needed any help. Duh. I tagged along to do the load out for the Bull Wheel Aid station perched atop the highest point of Diamond Peak ski area. I covered it a bit here, no need to repeat.
My race-day TRT started early: up at 0230 to arrive at the field around 3:00 am. I didn’t think forward enough to see if I could get access to the field, since it was all locked up. Not an auspicious start. But, George the RD showed soon and unlocked. I started the coffee (always a first thing) and got set up. My part was timing and tracking, so I needed to be there and ready even before the first runners arrived. Mark and Sydney, my partners in timing and tracking crime for the next 40 hours soon arrived with the trackers, and we started to get set up.
Of course, we weren’t quite able to get all the way set up before runners arrived. The combination of nerves and adrenaline don’t usually combine to make a runner late for an event.
Nevertheless, with a little additional help from Jay and my own man-cub, we got all the 100 milers trackered and off to the start line. Then, we did the same with the 56 milers and 50 Kers. The time lapse of the flow is fun.
After the runners left, I had time to go for a short run myself before taking up my station at the finish line as the timer. I took the trails up the canyon and descended along the trail the runners would take, checking the markings. All looked good. The wet, fat, paw prints I saw on the trail looked good too. I didn’t see the kitty who made them, though I’m sure the kitty saw me. A bit spooky to be sure, but I’m too grizzled and skinny for a meal in summer. Winter might be a different story.
Over the course of the next 30+ hours, I was blessed to witness so many celebrations as the runners conquered the course and their perceptions of their own limitations. There were shouts and cries of triumph from runners and supporters both, as the combatant entered the finish chute. And, yes, a few tears too. More than once I had to turn away to keep the tough-guy facade in place. No misty eyes for me, no sir.
And now, in no particular order, are the things that stand out for me, now that I’ve had a couple of nights’ sleep.
A 50K runner was approaching the finish with family and friends cheering him in. He was hurting and moving slowly. He’d been fighting the fight for 12 hours or so and it obviously was a tough one for him.
Approaching — fast! — was a 56 mile runner. He could have easily overtaken runner #1, but stopped shy of the finish, allowing runner #1 to get in and sat with family and supporters before crossing into the tent. He looked at me, and said, “I wasn’t going to be a dick.”
I made his time reflect when he stopped to let runner #1 get the support and accolades from his supporters and not when he finally crossed the line later. I’m not going to be a dick either. The RD can fire me if he wants to. The ball’s in your court, George!Wind. Holy downbursts Batman! The finish chute tried to do its best airfoil impersonation and take off, despite six barrels of water trying vainly to stick it to the earth. Even with numerous people hanging onto it, it was still trying to lift. We eventually brought a couple of trucks into the field and anchored the chute to them, since everyone role-playing an anchor had other things to do. Problem solved.
A runner arrived, and I captured his time as a finisher. He waved me off and said he was a DNF, and had cut the course to get down. Honesty, man. It’s so nice to see. It’s not unusual in trail running, though. An endurance race is more a race against yourself than anything else. If you cheat, you only cheat yourself. Good on ya, Stanley.
Ribs. For the fourth year (I think it’s the fourth, I could be wrong. See goldfish comment below.), we at the finish line have been blessed by Jesse the Grill God™ who brings us a couple of racks of ribs to our home away from home finish chute at noon on Sunday. Despite my natural inclination to grab them ALL and go, we (as usual) invited the med tent to share. “Take care of those who take care of you,” I always say. This year’s racks were amazing. Jesse told me he finished them with a lemon zest, and wow. Lip smacking goodness! I think they might have been the best set yet. Then again, I have the memory of a goldfish, so every year is the best set.
The volunteers. Man, they are the primary reason I return every year to do this nonsense of staying awake for 40+ hours. Them and the runners, of course. (And ribs!) I haven’t found a consistently nice, friendly, and nauseatingly happy group of people I’d rather spend time with in a hot, windy, dry yet sweaty environment for a long-ass weekend. Notably, Katies 1-3 who are all awesome in their own individual Katie-ways, the Shabela triumvirate who kept me going through the day and night with coffee, soup, quesadillas and smiles. And Al and Dave who keep the whole stinkin’ place from falling apart from start to finish.
Yeah, I pulled an Irish goodbye on most of you, but that’s my chickenshit way of avoiding feelings, cuz those things suck.
Be kind, and take care of yourselves. If you can, care for someone else, too.
Slang, out.