"The highlight of my 2003 running season was the successful completion in under 30 hours of the Western States Endurance Run. It was a memorable achievement and is recounted here in a moving letter written by my daughter (and pacer), Heidi Schaller."

--Walter Schaller

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100 Miles, 30 Hours — The Ultimate Test

It has been called "A Race for the Soul," and it may be the ultimate test of physical conditioning and mental tenacity. A week ago my father was at the starting line of The Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run to take the test.

His goal was to finish the race in less than thirty hours and become one of the elite few who have been awarded the coveted WS100 bronze buckle. Between him and that goal was a grueling course through 100 tortuous miles of mountain canyons.

Four hundred talented and courageous runners, experienced and fit, well prepared both mentally and physically, would start the race. In spite of their talent, skill and preparation, history suggested only half would finish.

The adventure would begin at 5 am, Saturday, June 28, in Squaw Valley, California, near Lake Tahoe. The runners stood on the Squaw Valley floor at 6,200 feet elevation. Those who made it to the finish line in Auburn, 100 miles away, would ascend another 15,540 feet, and descend 22,970 feet through remote, rugged territory. They would brave serious risks, from cougars and rattlesnakes to dehydration and renal shutdown. And along the way, they could expect the 50-degree temperature to double.

Dad only knew one thing for sure: He had to be in Auburn by 11 o'clock Sunday morning.

A four-mile, 2,500-foot ascent was the first test for the runners. Dad crested the mountain and continued on the course toward the first checkpoint. After only 11 miles, he found himself nine minutes behind the pace he would need to finish in 30 hours. The high mountains and narrow paths shared by runners had conspired to put him behind schedule. Disappointed but determined, he picked up the pace. At the 17-mile mark he had made up the deficit and was, remarkably, 30 minutes ahead of his required pace. But he felt he needed a one-hour cushion in case something went wrong in the latter stages of the race. Somewhere along the line, he would need to gain another half hour. And at Mile 25 he was ecstatic to learn he had his cushion.

Only 75 miles to go!

Anxiously, I waited at the aid station at Mile 56 for my father, watching as exhausted and injured runners descended the hill toward their cheering support crews. Many would suffer from dehydration and 130 runners would choose to--or be forced to--drop out at this point. Volunteers were ready with a wide variety of power snacks, soup, water, and first aid. As my father jogged in he smiled and proudly told me he was an hour and 10 minutes ahead of the 30-hour pace.

It was 7:30 in the evening and I insisted he take one flashlight for the next six-mile climb. Six miles later, at 9:30 pm, I would join him with more flashlights and power snacks to pace him in the darkness. Seven and a half hours we would run together through 38 miles of darkness. We would manage to stay ahead of pace, but we would encounter obstacles in the night that would slow us down. Poor visibility on narrow, rocky paths with steep cliffs to one side prevented us from running. Unfortunately, the treacherous rocky downhill sections had pained Dad's quads to the point where we had to walk most downhills, anyway. Power walking was our alternative to running.

We learned not to count the distance that remained ahead of us but rather to look forward to each upcoming aid station and the encouragement of the volunteers who waited for us there. At Mile 78 we crossed the American River in swift, chest-deep 45-degree water. It was 3 am when Dad sat down for the first and only time during the race, only to change into dry shoes.

As the sun rose over the California canyons, Dad told me how special it was to see the sun rise twice in the same endurance run. At Mile 85, Dad was saved by a salt tablet, which prevented swelling and weight gain and possible withdrawal from the race. Now only 15 minutes ahead of pace, the last 12 miles were grueling as scorching temperatures reached 100 degrees. But in spite of excruciating pain, particularly when descending, Dad's strength and courage enabled him to persevere. He conquered his first 100 Miler, finishing with just 13 minutes to spare!

At the awards ceremony we learned he was, at age 66, the oldest runner to complete the run (and perhaps with the support of the youngest pacer).

My father is now the proud owner of this coveted bronze buckle: