*From September 2017
This past weekend, I helped crew/pace for my friend Chris at the Tahoe 200. Yep, that’s right, 200 miles. Chris and I met while traveling on the STRAY bus in New Zealand early 2015. The trek around Lake Tahoe started at 9:00 AM Friday and culminated the following Tuesday afternoon. I arrived in Tahoe Saturday afternoon to link up with Chris at Heavenly, which also signified the 100-mile point. He recuperated, refueled and geared up for the dark, cold night ahead.
We left Heavenly around 6:30. There would be no aid station for another 20 miles. Chris’s ankles were taped and wrapped, but that didn’t quell his spirit for the trek ahead. We walked, shuffled, jogged and conversed as the day gave way to night. We would stop occasionally to in an effort to relieve the pressure caused by the bandages tightly-wound around his ankles. At times, we were accompanied by others, exchanging words of encouragement. As the hours got later and later, that ubiquitous sense of care becomes more evident.
The night got longer, colder, and darker. At times, the trail became rockier. Combine those factors with sheer silence and fatigue, and everything becomes a little more formidable. A half-mile felt like 4 miles. The night got longer and longer. Since we were power hiking, it was difficult to keep warm. Temps had now dropped into the low-40s. Coming from triple-digit temps, this felt bone chilling.
Also, it’s difficult to gauge progress at night because all you can see is the luminescent glow beaming from your headlight five feet in front of you. This makes it difficult to stimulate your mind. That lack of stimulation added in with extreme fatigue and you have a recipe for some serious mind games.
It was now nearing midnight. At times, the fatigue was evident when Chris whether or not we were on course or how much longer we had remaining until the aid station. I estimated we had nearly 3 more miles remaining. Mike, another participant in the race, claimed that we had at least 5 to go. This was the second time, Mike had estimated that there was more than what actually remained. This was deflating. Without missing a beat, Chris replied, You’re a real Debbie Downer man!
Whether it was due to fatigue or frustration, Mike didn’t reply. About 20 minutes later, we arrived at a sign that stated: Spooner Summit 3 miles. I laughed, probably because I didn’t know what else to do.
As the night wore on, so did our spirits. We inched closer and closer to Spooner Summit. It was now 1’clock. We needed Spooner Summit. Chris’s water supplies were low and, in addition to his ankles, his left knee was hurting. Switchback after switchback, I continued to reassure Chris that we were almost there. In reality, I had no idea. It was getting pretty grim.
Finally! At 1:45, I saw the light. There it is Chris! We’re going to get your ankles and knee looked at, some real food in ya, a quick nap and you’ll be ready to rock! We slowly entered Spooner Summit. Ahhhhhhh, yes!!!
The volunteers were outstanding. Almost immediately, they provided us blankets. There was another EZ-UP next to the aid station that had cots, yoga mats, blankets and chairs, all surrounding a propane heater. Other participants were gathered there. They were wrapped in blankets like burritos and probably deep in the REM cycle. Speaking of burritos, the wonderful volunteers made us some breakfast burritos and chicken broth. Double-bonus!
Since my duties as pacer/crew required a little extra focus, I had a heart-warming half-coffee, half-hot-chocolate combo. Wrapped in a blanket, I gingerly walked back to emanating heat with a burrito in one-hand and a coffee/hot-chocolate in the other. There was a spectator standing next to me. We both nodded and smiled.
It’s the little things isn’t it?
She replied, Oh yes, it most definitely is.
Directly below the heater, Chris was passed out on a yoga mat next. Slowly, I was warming up. Accompanied by some light Pearl Jam in the background, I smiled while savoring my caffeinated-hot chocolate. In that moment, I had all I needed: Warmth, a hot meal/drink, shelter, and support. It didn’t take too long before mind slid into a deep slumber.
This moment of respite is one I won’t forget. It would have never happened without the remote darkness or frigid temperature or the mounting impatience. That’s what it took to make Spooner Summit feel better than any 5-Star Resort. There are plenty of lessons to pull from Tahoe; however, the lasting takeaway is that generosity, warmth, shelter, and encouragement go a long ways. One certainty is that they help one go a long ways. Either way, it really is about the little things!
