The Grim Sweeper - Part 1
I’m the hooded guy with the sickle
Ultramarathon events are people-intensive undertakings. It takes a lot of volunteers and coordination with the Forest Service rangers and other government agencies to actually put on the event. Trail running is the fastest growing sector of the running subculture. But even with the rapid growth, trail runners, as a general rule, are a very close-knit community. At any event in the Southern California area, I will run into someone who I either know, run with, or knows someone I know. Trail runners are a very large extended family; we take care of each other. So at all of these events, volunteers are either current or former runners and know intuitively what a racing runner needs during an ultramarathon. Because of this love for running and love for each other, volunteers to fill the countless roles needed for successfully staging an event, are usually not too difficult to find. Often, the seemingly thankless race volunteer shifts actually fill up quickly! I had the opportunity to fill a unique role at a recent event.
The Backbone Trail traverses 67 miles across the Santa Monica Mountains of Southern California. I have run 50K races on both ends of this storied route: the Ray Miller 50K on the northernmost end in Point Mugu and the Santa Monica Mountains 50K on the southernmost end starting at Will Rogers State Beach. This past weekend, the Malibu Canyons Trail Races ultramarathon started at Point Mugu but journeyed through the middle section of the Backbone Trail.
The more familiar volunteer roles such as handing out food and hydration at aid stations, checking in runners for bib assignment, and assisting with parking logistics were all filled. But a particular role was still open when I investigated possibly volunteering: a sweeper for the 100k course. In a previous post, I described my encounter with the sweepers at my last 100K attempt. From the standpoint of race management, it is a very necessary and important role. However, from the viewpoint of race participants, they dread the grim sweeper.
Except for a very few elite runners, running for time is not the priority for the average ultramarathoner. The minimum distance of an ultramarathon is usually 50K (30 miles), so most events are held in desert or mountainous regions and sometimes both. The Malibu Canyons Trail Races have both mountain and desert conditions with the added bonus of being close to the ocean. Weather and elevation gain are definitely factors when it comes to successfully completing an ultramarathon. Excessive heat and climbing exertion increase the chances that a runner may not successfully make it to the end of the race before the sweepers come through.
The overwhelming majority of ultrarunners, given enough time, will complete the distance they have chosen to try to conquer. The mindset needed to do hard things at a high cost comes into play and almost all ultrarunners have this ability. All races have time constraints because of this fact, so even though most runners will finish if given enough time, enough time has to have limits (due to volunteer shifts and park permitting restrictions) and the 100K event at the Malibu Canyons Trail Races was no exception. Runners must make it to designated aid stations within a certain time constraint in order to be allowed to continue on. This was my downfall in my last race. Enter the sweeper.
The sweeper makes sure that there are no runners lost or injured in the wilderness and yes, this is a thing that does happen. The sweeper also ensures that the runners in close proximity know that they are in danger of being disqualified for being too slow, so the mere sight of the sweeper usually injects a burst of energy into those runners lagging behind. Hopefully. But the biggest help to race management is the sweeper collecting all the trail marking ribbons and flags put out by previous volunteers so that the racers know which trails to take and can stay on course.
Keira Henninger, the race director for the Malibu Canyons Trail Races, is well-known for a couple of characteristics about her races - climbs at both the beginning and end of her courses and exceptionally well-marked trails. I have been running her races for over 10 years and all of her races are consistently challenging but extremely well marked. I’ve done the appreciated volunteer role of handing out food and water to runners, but this is the first time I’ve filled the unenviable role of a sweeper.
Because I was sweeping the mid-section of the 100K course, there were other sweepers either ahead or behind me. But like a relay race, we sweepers had to wait until the previous sweeper made it to our assigned starting aid station before beginning our personal journey. My segment of the course started at approximately mile 38 and ended nearly 17 miles later at mile 55.
The “June Gloom” of Southern California is heavy in the air this Sunday afternoon. Even though it’s after 4, the fog is still thick and wet by the Point Mugu coast. A volunteer named Mary has been at the race site since before dawn shuttling volunteers, food, water, and whatever else needs to get from the finish line at the Ray Miller Trailhead up to the Yerba Buena Aid Station. A straight line between these two points is about six miles but it takes about 40 minutes to make the drive up to the aid station using single lane fire roads which wind their way up the Sandstone Trail. Mary is shuttling me up the hill to the aid station which will be my starting point.
Although I’ve been running and racing for over 45 years, today is a day of firsts. This is my first time sweeping and definitely the first time I’ve ever been chauffeured to the middle of a race.
“I know I’ve seen you at other Keira races, you look so familiar,” Mary offers.
“Yeah, I’ve run a lot of her races but I’ve never swept before.”
Mary’s eyes widen when I tell her this tidbit.
“Did you remember to bring a trash bag with you?”
She nods her approval when I confidently report that I brought not one but two trash bags.
“Good! You’ll probably need both of them.”
My turn to be wide-eyed. We make it to Yerba Buena.
“Glad you didn’t get car sick.”
We both laugh but I don’t tell her I was starting to get a headache from all the turns.
She pulls her Suburban up next to the aid station pop-up shelter. As I get out of the car and hoist my hydration pack onto my back, all eyes are on me.
“Yay! He’s here! Steve’s here!” There’s a definite happy vibe in the air. My mind draws a blank and cognitive dissonance sets in. This is not the welcome I expected.
“Boy are we glad to see you!” My running friends Kathy and her husband Rich are here. Kathy is the head honcho at this aid station and she runs over to give me a hug.
“Did you remember to bring a trash bag?”
“Why, yes. I brought two.”
“Good! You’re going to need them both.”
I’m now feeling a bit wary since this is the second time I’ve been asked about trash bags.
The other volunteers are scurrying over asking if they can load me up with food or hydration. I decline everything, but I am curious about this whole situation. They know I’m a sweeper so why are they giving me such royal treatment? I chit chat with Rich and Kathy and the others and they’re all thanking me and expressing their appreciation for me being there. They are all genuinely happy that I’m there with them and that I’m sweeping.
I’m smiling and laughing on the outside but the whole time I’m thinking,
“What the heck is going on here?”
Kathy confides in me that if I hadn’t volunteered, she was considering sweeping after all of her many aid station duties were over. Well, that explains why she’s happy to see me. But what about the others?
I’m more the role of the villain, not the good guy. I’m the hooded guy with the sickle, not the guy in shining armor riding a white steed. I’m the bearer of bad news, the messenger you want to shoot. In biblical times, I’m the one screaming, “Unclean! Unclean!”, so that the innocent have a chance to escape to a safe distance. I’m holding Snow White’s poison apple and definitely not delivering her wake-up kiss.
So why is everyone treating me like I’m the hero of this story?
The answer lies ahead at the Danielson Campground Aid Station, nine miles away.
Great cliff hanger, Steve! I am struck by the community you write about and that you are a part of. It makes me think about all the smaller communities that keep people connected to each other. There are so many of them, and they are so important to lives of those in them. I'm also pondering the sweeper's role as time keeper and your comment that most people would finish without time constraints. Not sure I have anything enlightening to say about this, just made me think about the need for boundaries, even when the majority of people could get it done. I guess the boundaries are there to respect the whole ultra community (volunteers, etc.). Thanks for this!
Leaving us hanging, eh!