Running Online

Inventing 100-Mile Trail Racing

By
Gordy Ainsleigh
of Marathon & Beyond

There are defining moments in every person's life when he or she must decide either to be sensible and do the reasonable thing or to embark on a perilous journey through a fog of uncertainties and attractive unknowns that cannot possibly be estimated for their risk potential. Faced with such a choice, we make our best guess and then either turn back or press forward.

Those who go forward and make it through the fog-shrouded unknown to the far shore often partake of great adventures--and possibly even become famous in the doing. Those who don't make it through in one piece often end up devastated or dead--and possibly famous, also.

For me, the afternoon of August 3, 1974, was one of those defining moments.

An Inauspicious Start

As so often seems to happen with events that change so much in a person's life-- and in our world-the day began with a conspicuous absence of fanfare. Roughly 10 minutes before the 5:00 A.M. start of the world's premier horse endurance event, the Western States 100-Mile One-Day Ride, I approached Betty Veal, the head veterinary secretary, and Ralph and Betty Dever, the head timers, who were quietly making their preparations for the start of that year's big event.

"Well, I guess I'll head out now," I said.

They said, "Good luck, Gordy," and timed me out.

With that, I disappeared into the darkness before dawn: an endurance rider without a horse but with a good bit of running talent and savvy, sidelined for over a year by a lameness-prone steed, going for a day and night of great adventuring with my horse-riding comrades.

My earlier training for the 42-mile Levi's Ride & Tie race in Klamath Falls, Oregon (which my partner Jim Larimer and I had won), had left me in excellent condition to run in the marathon-through-50K distance. On top of that base, I did six weeks of specific training to prepare myself to run with the horses at Western States. I continued with my regular workouts, but I also ran from Michigan Bluff to Auburn (a distance of 44 hilly miles) every 9 or 10 days.

As the daylight of August 3 dawned and the morning wore on, I shared the trail with my favorite people and their magnificent beasts. I ran with exuberance and vigor, occasionally racing with the horses, happy to be alive and still part of it all (even though horselessly), after having missed out the year before when my horse went lame at Robinson Flat (30 miles).

In Trouble Early