Many ultrarunners will tell you their crew has the hardest job between the start line and the finish line. After crewing 140 100-mile trail races, I can tell you with certainty that it depends on the race. Here is the view from the crew for the 2024 Bighorn 100 Trail Run.
I was at Scott Park in Dayton, Wyoming, where the Bighorn 100 runners were lining up to catch a bus to the start. Each runner was somewhere between hopeful and certain that training, preparation or relentless perseverance would result in a finish. I watched crews working on last minute instructions with their runner, and knew that the crews also hoped their planning and preparation would make a positive difference in their runner’s outcome.
This was to be my husband Mike’s 222nd 100-mile trail run finish, if he finished. Last year, the finish rate was 59%. I wished we had asked the race director for lucky bib #222. As I lamented that oversight, runner #222 walked in front of my truck. It felt like a good omen.
I knew how to crew this race since I’d already crewed Mike six times in this race. However, my experience always reminds me that sometimes things go wrong. While crewing, I just try to keep the “oops” moments to a minimum.
My first decision was to skip the start of the race, since I prefer to use that time to focus on what I would need to get my runner to the finish line. I headed back to our hotel in Sheridan, Wyoming, to gather what I would need to spend two days crewing from our truck. That included food for both Mike and I, a cooler to keep food cold, various tools to prepare and heat food, supplies for sleeping in the truck and plenty of clothes to stay comfortable. The temps in this race can take you from your swimsuit to your snow suit. And as I left the park, I saw an owl sitting on the top of a utility pole. Another good omen.
My first aid station stop would be Dry Fork. Since there was plenty of parking, I decided to go early and read until Mike’s arrival. Some races have minimal parking at aid stations and arriving early means taking a parking spot that another crew really needs. The Dry Fork area has ample parking, and it is the prettiest parking area of any ultra I’ve ever crewed. It has abundant wildflowers, spectacular vistas and an occasional moose that wanders into view.
With a walk that was a third of a mile from the parking area to the aid station, I calculated when I should have the chicken salad sandwich he requested ready, along with a bottle of Milo’s Sweet Tea. Gathering my gear and Mike’s food, I walked down to the aid station, feeling somewhat like a pack mule.
The crowd of crews and spectators at Dry Fork reminded me of a fun block party – there were runners coming in, many crews made up of friends and family members, as well as lots of children and dogs. The line of sight for runners coming into that aid station made having a pair of binoculars a valuable tool for spotting a runner well before their arrival at the aid station. The aid station volunteer who managed the entry tent for runners and their crews should win an award. She reminded me of a kind-hearted drill sergeant – efficient, focused, dead serious about her role, yet patient and understanding.
Mike was doing well at that point in the race, and we got through his stop quickly.
I returned to the truck to get ready for the drive to Sally’s Footbridge aid station by reviewing the driving directions and Mike’s estimated arrival time there. It was another long drive, but the race director did a good job warning crews about the drive to Sally’s, the last part of which is treacherous, narrow, has three stream crossings and limited parking. The road hasn’t improved with age, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I arrived. I squeezed the truck in between two trees and gathered up Mike’s food (spaghetti heated in a rechargeable Bento Box and Milo’s Sweet Tea), and a chair for me. After another long walk and another stint as a pack mule, I set up my crewing area. I had noticed some closer parking spots as I walked to the aid station, so I returned to the truck and moved it closer to the aid station. It was about to rain, and I wanted the truck as close as possible.
I spent some time talking to crews around me, and found myself amused that one crew was debating whether to telltheir runner what she was going to wear when she left Sally’s, or if they should ask her what she wanted. They worried she would not choose wisely. The crew finally decided to lay out the runner’s clothing options and guide her to the ones they believed would keep her warm that night.
When Mike arrived, he wanted to change shoes and socks, so I moved into pit crew mode to minimize the time he spent there. Mike’s shoes were covered in slimy mud, which meant my hands were filthy when we were finished. I don’t know of any other time I would get my hands in that kind of muck voluntarily, but minimizing time at an aid station is a vital crew function. The very slight rain we had wasn’t a problem and actually reduced the temperature to a more comfortable level.
As I left the aid station, I got behind a truck whose driver maintained a speed of roughly 4 miles per hour. It was a painfully slow pace, even for the road to Sally’s. I had a hard time appreciating the care with which he was driving, but I patiently idled along behind him knowing that I had plenty of time to make it to the next aid station. The drive to Jaws was going to take about two and a half hours, and last year I saw 32 moose on the same drive, so I looked forward to the opportunity to see wildlife. Unfortunately, this year I only saw one.
The parking along the forest road around the Jaws aid station was muddy due to an afternoon downpour. My first attempt at parking resulted in the back wheels of my truck spinning in mud. I changed over to four-wheel drive to get myself out and decided it was better to park farther away rather than risk getting stuck in the mud. After finding solid ground, I parked and got the truck ready for my overnight stay. I wanted it to be ready when I got Mike through the aid station so I would not have to get my sleeping space ready during the coldest part of the night (Jaws tends to be a seriously cold aid station). This year, the wind wasn’t bad and temps were just around the “suffer” level. Last year, they were at the “I want to curl up in a fetal position and cry” level. I heard a crew member tell a pacer waiting for their runner, “I need you to keep him at 2.77 mph.” That was an interesting challenge for a pacer. Another pacer struggled to put gaiters on over his shoes until his buddy told him, “Bro, they don’t go on that way.” A runner desperately called out multiple times for Christina. Christina never appeared. Maybe she was behind someone driving 4 miles per hour.
Mike came in with muddy, wet feet and wanted to change shoes and socks again—I still had mud under my fingernails from the last shoe change. He said his feet would be muddy and wet again in about 30 minutes, but at least they would feel good until then. I quickly got him through a shoe change, a wipe down, and tried to get him to eat. Mike is allergic to dairy, and a lot of the hot foods at aid stations contain cheese or milk, which is why we bring the bulk of his trail food with us to races.
I left Jaws at 7 a.m. and stopped about 20 miles down the road at Burgess Junction for breakfast at the Moose Crossing Café. Being able to wash my hands with hot water and soap, and use a proper toilet almost made me feel like a princess. Almost.
The restaurant manager was explaining to people at another table that a 100-mile trail race was going on that weekend. The café even had the race tracking program on their television. A middle-aged guy at the table next to me said, “I don’t even have a name for that kind of stupidity. Don’t they know what trucks are for?” His buddy replied, “Our wives would probably use the same word to describe the way we’ve been eating this weekend.”
I enjoyed the hot breakfast and bought a piece of peach pie as a special treat for Mike.
After breakfast, I drove back to the Dry Fork aid station and spent some time reorganizing the truck and stowing away my sleeping supplies. Mike arrived a little behind his anticipated pace and told me he needed to change his shoes “in record time.” After many races together, we have the shoe-changing routine almost perfected. His stomach was still unhappy, but he decided to take a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on raisin bread with him. I knew when he declined the fresh peach pie his stomach and calorie intake was suffering. I offered the peach pie to the runner sitting next to us and he replied, “Really? Yes!” It’s always nice to see a runner’s face light up over something so simple.
After Mike left Dry Fork, my crewing was finished. I drove 58 miles back to Sheridan to take a shower and put on some clean clothes. Feeling a bit more human, I returned to Scott Park in Dayton to wait for Mike to finish, and to cheer on the other runners. I enjoyed sitting at the finish line and watching the emotions of the runners as they finished. I also enjoyed the beer vendor at the finish line.
So, was this race harder for the runner or the crew? It was harder for the runner, no doubt. Mike finished his seventh Bighorn 100 in 34 hours and 23 minutes. I drove over 300 miles while crewing, but had no real crises to deal with. I’d like to think my good luck omens from the start of the race helped, but #222 dropped and it turned out the owl was a fake one meant to keep birds away from the utility wires. Sometimes it’s best to just believe in yourself.