The Four Hardest Hours of My Western States

I've finished the Western States 100 four times since turning 45.

I've experienced heat.

I've experienced stomach problems.

I've experienced low points.

But I'd never experienced a night like this one.

From about 10:00 p.m. until nearly 3:00 a.m., I went through one of the most difficult stretches I've ever faced in an ultramarathon.

It wasn't one thing.

It was sleep deprivation from race week.

It was inadequate nutrition after nearly an entire day on the trail.

It was hypothermia.

Earlier that evening, I had spent hours climbing through the canyons with an ice bandana around my neck trying to keep my core temperature under control in the canyons

Just a few hours later, I was fighting to stay warm.

That contrast was something I had never experienced before.

By the time I reached Foresthill, I climbed into our crew truck, turned the heater on full blast, and sat there for about ten minutes just trying to get warm enough to continue.

Then James Poole and I headed back onto the trail.

From there until nearly 3:00 a.m., we were moving at barely 1.5 miles per hour.

It was dismal.

I wanted nothing more than to lie down on the side of the trail and sleep.

But I was afraid.

I knew that if I stopped moving after spending hours battling the cold, I might truly become hypothermic.

So we kept moving.

Very... very... slowly.

During those hours, no amount of caffeine—or any legal stimulant—was going to solve the problem.

My body needed time.

Movement.

Warmth.

And someone beside me who refused to let me quit.

That someone was my pacer and dear friend, James Poole.

James kept me awake when every part of me wanted to close my eyes.

He kept me talking.

He kept me moving.

Most importantly, he believed in me during the moments when I wasn't sure I believed in myself.

Sometime around 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, we reached the infamous Rucky Chucky river crossing.

The water was freezing.

Ironically, it woke both of us up.

The moment we climbed out of the river, we had no choice but to charge up the steep hill on the other side simply to warm ourselves.

Not long afterward, the eastern sky began to brighten.

The sun came up.

Warmth returned.

Our energy returned.

Our spirits returned.

What had felt impossible just an hour earlier suddenly felt possible again.

The night doesn't last forever.

Eventually, the sun always comes up.

---

After the race, several people asked me what got me through Western States.

The honest answer is...

It wasn't one thing.

It wasn't caffeine.

It wasn't grit alone.

It was thousands of decisions I had made long before race day.

One of those decisions is CloudLine.

During Western States, I drank nearly 3 liters of cold-brewed CloudLine Red alongside my normal race nutrition and hydration.

I reached for it at Robertson Flat (mile 30), Foresthill (mile 55), Michigan Bluff (mile 62), and again just before crossing Rucky Chucky at mile 78.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about why I kept reaching for that bottle.

It wasn't because I believed tea would get me to the finish line.

It was because, after asking so much from my body, I wanted to give something back.

Every time I reached for CloudLine, I found myself thinking:

"I know I'm asking a lot from you. I know you need carbohydrates to keep moving. But I also want to give you something real. Something from nature. Thank you for carrying me this far."

That simple ritual reminded me that performance isn't just about pushing harder.

It's also about taking care of the body that's carrying you.

That's what CloudLine has become for me.

Not a miracle.

Not a shortcut.

A daily ritual.

A reminder that health isn't built by one race, one workout, or one product.

It's built by thousands of small decisions made consistently over a lifetime.

At 50 years old, after my fourth Western States finish since turning 45, I don't believe I've discovered a secret.

I believe I've simply stayed committed to those small decisions.

Every day I try to move my body.

I prioritize sleep whenever I can.

I eat foods that nourish me.

I surround myself with people who make me better.

And every day, I choose to give my body something real.

Some days that means slowing down.

Some days it means listening when my body is asking for rest.

And some days, it means brewing a bottle of CloudLine.

Not because I expect it to perform miracles.

But because it's one of the daily rituals that reminds me to invest in my health.

If there's one lesson Western States reinforced for me this year, it's this:

The big moments in life are built on thousands of small moments.

The finish line wasn't earned on race day.

It was earned over decades of consistent choices.

That's the philosophy behind CloudLine.

Choose something real.

Choose it consistently.

And trust that those small choices will carry you farther than you ever imagined.

Follow Ultra Endurance Athlete James Poole linktr.ee/jamesdpoole

Run on Real.

— Vic