Leadville 100 (The Race Across the Sky) - 2014

I try not to put too much emphasis on a single race, just in case it doesn’t go down quite right, but The Leadville Race Across the Sky definitely stood out on my 2014 calendar.

the Big One!

Much was in flux up to the last minute.  Cole had volunteered to pace me for the whole 50 mile return months earlier but his work schedule got in the way and he had to bow out.  Then, 10 days before the race, he was back on board.  My boss, Larry, had offered to crew for me well in advance, but I thought that was going to fall through when his mom passed away shortly before the race.  He used the race as an opportunity to have some quality time with his son Jackson, who was also a big help.  And I didn't think my family would be there, but days before the race, Brenda got the use of a house form the family of a former student.

view towards the course

In the weeks before the race, I had laid out a detailed spreadsheet with a range of times for all the aid stations, as well as the supplies that I would need.  I then poured over dozens of race reports, adjusting my times by precious minutes.

I took Thursday afternoon off so I could start enjoying the Leadville race atmosphere.  I checked in, weighed in (before dinner), and volunteered to have my blood and urine tested as part of a CSU study on how ultra-running affects the human body.  I normally hate needles, but figured it would be interesting.  I then went to the pasta dinner at the school and chatted with a bunch of other first-time runners but with a couple hours of remaining daylight, I decided to drive portions of the course.  I had not been on a single part of the race course before and I wanted to get a feel for it in addition to noting some of the turns.

Just before dark, I got down to the house that my wife had borrowed for us for the weekend.  I had assumed I would be on my own and camping out in the back of my Subaru, but Brenda snagged this house and now I was going to have my whole family there for moral support, not to mention a warm bed and hot shower.  Given my lack of altitude training, I briefly considered sleeping at the top of Fremont Pass, but figured I would be better served by getting a longer, better night of sleep in a real bed.  This would turn out to be a smart move.

the infamous Powerline

My training had been going reasonably well leading up to the race, though I had not spent nearly as much time at altitude as I had hoped.  All my FB friends kept posting pictures of their high-mountain runs, which made me feel even less prepared.  I had dropped a few pounds in the preceding weeks, but was still a couple over what I thought my ideal racing weight should be.  And the summer sun degraded my lunch-time training runs into heat-surviving jogs.  All the little things that I thought would add up to my benefit weren’t quite coming together.  The one bright spot was that on Wednesday, I finished my training jog with a 1 mile sprint and took a few seconds off my PR – at least I still had some leg speed left.

Sugarloaf Pass

Friday, the pre-race meeting was all it was hyped up to be.  Ken Chlouber and his wife got everyone fired up, while the doctor’s speech had us all laughing at our eminent demise.  Afterwards, I drove more of the course and decided that I wanted to see the infamous Powerline.  Luckily, I took a water bottle with me, because my quick peak of this section turned into a hike up to the top of Sugarloaf Pass with a jog back down (in sandals).  I felt less intimidated knowing what was to come, but had I depleted myself and pushed a little too much 13 hours before the race?

We got the girls to bed and after going over my race plans again with Brenda, I hit the sack, expecting to get a good 3 to 4 hours of sleep.  After counting sheep, bunnies, and lots of other cuddly creatures, forwards and backwards, I finally rolled out of bed at 2:00 AM, after having gotten a total of zero minutes of sleep.  I was going to race through all, or most, of the following night, after getting absolutely no sleep the previous night – yikes!  At least I got a good night’s sleep on Thursday.

I rolled into Leadville about 3:30 and found a parking space just 2 blocks from the start, then spent the next 20 minutes fretting about whether this was a 2-hour maximum parking street or not.  After sending off some last minute texts to Larry, I grabbed my bottles and headed for the start, making a quick stop by the port-a-potties.  Finally in the starting chorale, I looked about for all the people that I knew.  700 runners and I didn’t spot a single familiar face.

The Leadville 100 is the largest 100 miler in the country and while only 50% of the field finishes in an average year, the top end of the field is extremely competitive.  Looking around at all the other runners was quite intimidating.  It brought back memories of my very first race, five years ago – standing at the start line of the Colfax Marathon, thinking that everyone knew what they were doing, except me.  8,000 miles and 175 races later, I still felt like I didn’t quite belong there.

With a starting temperature of 39 degrees, I debated what to wear until 90 seconds before the gun, when I threw off my shirt and shivered in anticipation.  Had it been 89 degrees, I would have still been shivering with nervous excitement.

Bang!  We were off.

Having read numerous stories about getting caught up in the “conga line” around Turquoise Lake, I started not too far off the front.  Every once in a while I would take my eyes off the road and turn back to see the endless stream of headlamps bouncing down the boulevard.  It’s a pretty amazing site.  Even though the race starts in the freezing cold darkness at 4:00 AM, hundreds of spectators lined the road to cheer us on.

After less than a mile on the 6th Street pavement, the course takes a quick dogleg to the left, onto the Boulevard, which is a nice, long gravel road, with a gentle downhill (feels less gentle on the way back).  This isn’t an exciting element of the course, but it gives time for everyone in the large field to settle into a pace/position.  The crowds dissipated in this section, but there were still some brave souls out along the road.  I was concerned about balancing a quick pace (to avoid traffic at the lake) as opposed to starting out easy, but was able to relax into an 8 to 9 minute pace which seemed to be just about right. 

There’s a steeper, rockier section at the end of the Boulevard before turning right and following the railroad tracks for about a mile.  On this section, I finally found Sean Wetstine and a couple of other familiar runners.  I also made my first, though definitely not last, pee break.

After turning onto a short section of pavement, we crossed the river and started a gentle climb to the west.  At the transition back to dirt is the Sugar Loafin’ Campground, on the right, where it seemed that everyone was up and awake to cheer us on.  Another mile on the road and we made a right turn up “mini-powerline”.  This section is steep and covered in river rock, but luckily is only a few hundred yards and provides a welcomed walking break. At the top, we crossed the road and hit the single-track along Turquoise Lake.  The trail was well marked with glow-sticks and in many places, lined with spectators from adjacent campsites.  I only took small sips of the Shaklee Performance in my Amphipod hand-helds, but was apparently over-hydrated, as I took 5 pee breaks on this section.  It was rather annoying having so many runners pass me by, even though the few lost minutes weren’t all that important this early in the race. I don’t know if I timed it right, or if it was the reduced number of runners, but there were no back-ups going around Turquoise Lake and the coil of lights around the edge of the lake was pretty cool – to think, I was racing against all those little dots of light.

About 2/3 of the way around Turquoise, I had a very rare negative ultra-runner experience.  I could hear him from more than a hundred yards back – “ON YOUR LEFT”, “ON YOUR RIGHT”.  The jerk was screaming like a drill sergeant.  I told him how obnoxious he was as he passed me, but he either chose to ignore me, or had headphones in his ears and couldn’t hear me.  I honestly felt like giving him an elbow to the windpipe as he passed.  I couldn’t care less about being passed this early in a race, but he certainly didn’t need to ruin the beauty and tranquility by screaming at everyone.

I finally pulled into May Queen (mile 12.5, not 13.5 as advertised) in about 2:12, only a couple of minutes behind schedule (damn the pee breaks) and in 168^th place.  The aid station was incredibly well organized.  I had my drop bag handed to me within seconds and even had a table to open it up on.  I quickly re-stocked, filled my bottle, and dropped off my flashlight.  Crews did not have access to the drop bags so heading out of the aid station, the route was lined with crews and supporters with just a narrow path for the runners to pass.  This was quite energizing and it’s been compared to Tour de France cyclists riding the mountainous sections through fronds of cheering fans.  I doubt there was a single person in that crowd that knew me, but they all cheered like they did - what a way to welcome the morning!

After a short bit up the paved road, we turned off to a trailhead and hit another section of single-track trail that would dump us out on Hagerman Road.  Part way up to Sugarloaf Pass, the sun fell upon us, giving a preview of the day’s heat.

Coming down the top of Powerline, I caught up to Enrique and we were able to chat for a couple of minutes before I passed him. I was glad to have hiked and jogged Powerline the previous day, as it was not at all intimidating.  I was able to run most of it at just over an 8 minute pace without hurting my quads.  I think I might have been passed by a couple of runners, but I was doing most of the passing on this section.  At the bottom, a guy on the side of the trail told us our standings – I was now in 118th place.

The section to the Fish Hatchery/Outward Bound aid station was long by almost a mile, making up for the shortness of the previous section.  The aid station was visible as soon as we turned the curve by the Fish Hatchery.  It looked like a giant festival in the field, and it pretty much was. There was a huge area for parking and partying, along with a very well organized aid station.  I came in around 4:20, having made up a couple of minutes (based on overly optimistic goals) and now in 110^th place.

Again, there was no crew access directly at the aid station, but all the crews were lined up right past it.  I was quickly handed my drop bag and just as I opened it up, Cole appeared standing above me.  We exchanged a few words as I refilled and resupplied again, but I didn’t take very long.  I picked up my sunglasses (to keep my eyes from getting too fatigued before the night), and dropped off one of my two hand-helds since the next few aid stations would be close enough together.  I could have actually started off with just a single hand-held, given how many pee breaks I had to take and it would have made holding the flashlight and eating much easier in the first segment.

They had informed us at the pre-race meeting that the 1.5 miles from the aid station was being re-routed through the Outward Bound property and off the pavement.  Most people were happy, as the softer surface would mean less impact than the road, but I knew that it would also mean slower times.  What we didn’t anticipate was that the route was basically a mowed swath through fields of native grasses, with many ankle-breaking holes hidden along the way.  I was lucky to only catch the edge of a couple of holes, but was quite worried about coming back later, in the dark and fatigued.

We eventually made it back onto the road for a bit, then cut across on a double-track section towards a collection of dirt roads and Treeline.  I don’t know why they call it that, since it’s nowhere near treeline, but this is an area for crew access without an official aid station.  You run along this gravel road, lined with vehicles.  It’s like a linear tailgate party at a major football game.  Again, there was no one here that I knew, but you couldn’t tell by the volume of the cheering.

The next aid station was Half Pipe, and I arrived there much faster than anticipated, in 5:21, and climbed further up to 93^rd place.  There is no crew access to Half Pipe at all, but again the volunteers were amazing, got my drop bag immediately, and even a chair for me to sit on.  After the quick break, I was off again along the gravel roads.  Unfortunately, soon after leaving, I started having some stomach issues - nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a pit stop in the woods.  Normally this is no big deal, but I had to wait until there was enough tree cover, and after 30+ miles, squatting in the woods is pretty rough on the knees and quads.

The climb up to the Mount Elbert mini aid station was not nearly as bad as I had anticipated. Most of it was runnable and after the first couple of miles, we got onto some pretty nice single-track, surrounded by giant mushrooms from the wet summer.  The aid station was water only, but there were vehicles and volunteers there - more than I was expecting.  The water itself was in a gigantic plastic barrel with about a dozen spigots all around. I filled up quickly, dumped off some trash and was back on the trail in less than a minute.  Twin Lakes was soon visible down below, but it was still another 3 miles away.  Most was on a nice, runnable, downhill trail with only the last mile or so on a gravel road.

You arrive at Twin Lakes via a short, very steep drop, as the crowds cheer on.  I've heard of people falling here, much to the amusement of the spectators, but it didn't seem that difficult. I made it through the arch, had my drop bag handed to me and then was able to go into the open medical/aid station building to sit in the shade.  Due to my pit stop, I arrived in about 7:09, but had only inched up a single place to 92^nd.  I took a couple of minutes to down a can of ginger ale, along with a club soda, as I refilled my bottle and supplies.  I also had a volunteer help me spray on a fresh coat of sunscreen. On my way out, I bumped into Corky - nice to see a friendly face.  He was very encouraging, as always, and offered to help in any way.  I thanked him but didn't need anything so I took off, and luckily only made it 10 feet before realizing that I had forgotten my sunglasses. After retrieving them, I was finally off through the little town, thoroughly lined with cheering families and fans.  I actually saw a couple of people that I knew, but for the most part, they were all strangers screaming their lungs off for me and all the other runners - way cool!

Across the highway, through the parking lot, and off through some grassy meadows we went.  The trail turns much more to the west than I had anticipated, but after about a mile we got to the water.  I was expecting a deep river crossing, but well before that, we had numerous water crossings ranging from shin deep to crotch deep.  Some were clear and clean, some were muddy with hidden bottoms, but at least they didn't suck my shoes off.  The real stream crossing was nice, cool, and refreshing.  The water was flowing pretty well, and we could have probably done just fine without the guide rope.  I was thinking it would be more useful on the way back when many runners would be feeling the effects of altitude and distance.

Now on the other side, the water quickly drained out of my shoes, and within a half mile or so, we were climbing towards the infamous Hope Pass.  Despite having downed 2 full cans at Twin Lakes, I was surprisingly thirsty and had to start sipping from my bottles much earlier than anticipated.  I was a little worried, as I had gambled in only taking a single bottle on this section.

Once the climb started, there were very few opportunities for running, but the hiking wasn't too bad.  I kept an eye on the trees, knowing that the aspens should dwindle about a thousand feet below tree line.  And as much as I love aspens, I was quite happy to see them gone, signaling good vertical progress. Soon after, I came upon Sean again, who let me know we were getting close to the aid station.  It was another mile before I finally heard it and then broke through the trees to see the famous Hope Pass (Hopeless) aid station.  I was out of water by then and thrilled at the sight.

You simply can't get the feel for this remote aid station from words or pictures.  Nestled up at about 11,500 feet above sea level, it's a small city of bustling activity full of volunteers, runners and the lamas who carried everything up.  That's right, volunteers pack everything up here on their lamas for the benefit and safety of us runners.  I had a volunteer run up ahead to take my bottle and fill it.  I drank about half, refilled, dumped some trash, and was quickly off again to the pass looming in the distance.

The pass itself, the high point at 12,600 feet, looked much closer than it actually was.  Climbing, at this elevation, I certainly wasn’t setting any speed records. Nearing the pass, the two lead runners came down, only a few minutes apart.  Stepping out of the way, I congratulated them as they ran by. I passed a number of runners who were starting to feel the effects of the altitude and going out too fast, but the beauty of the surrounding mountains made the effort seem easier and eventually, I crossed the timing mat at the very top.  I made really good time on the climb, getting up in just over two hours, 9:11 into the race, and had moved up rapidly to 62^nd place.

The top part of the other side was nice and runnable, but soon it got so steep that the pace slowed down and the effort increased, just to stay on my feet.  Part way down this section, I caught back up to Max and we ran together for a while. I counted the oncoming runners, but gave up after the first dozen. Once we hit the trail junction that parallels the road, I was able to run well again and dropped Max. It was really getting hot and my water was running low.  I asked oncoming runners how far it was but none knew.  As I downed the last bit from my bottle, a guy told me it was less than 1.5 miles. This section was climbing again and went by rather slowly until the final descent towards Winfield.  Just before the road, I was greeted by Katrin's husband, David, who was sitting by the side of the trail, taking pictures.

I popped out onto the road, ran down another half mile or so and finally arrived at the aid station in 10:19, and now in 50^th place.  I saw Cole just as I came in, so he was able to get himself ready and help me out too.  I weighed in with a loss of only 2.2 pounds - not bad.  I was pleased not to be too light and dehydrated. I again drank a can of ginger ale followed by a can of club soda and gathered my stuff for the return trip.

The climb back up Hope Pass is shorter, but much steeper and the hot afternoon sun was going to be at our backs, so I knew one bottle wasn't going to cut it. In addition to my hand-held, I took a disposable bottle of water that I had in the drop bag.  This was definitely a smart move as I would drain both bottles by the time we got back to Hopeless.

We took off and saw David again as we got back on the trail.  This early part was nicely runnable until we hit the trail junction and started the climb. Cole stayed right behind me on the climb back up. It was slow, hot and lots of runners were coming down, but most were very good in stepping out of our way - lead runners (those going back already) had the right-of-way, though our pacers did not.

We came across Sean soon after we got on the trail, then Katrin, Enrique, Junko, and Rachael, before we hit the top.  There was only time for a few quick encouraging words, but it was really nice to see all the familiar faces.  I wasn't setting any speed records on this climb, but neither was anyone else around me and I was slowly passing more runners. Cole was keeping track of his Runners Roost teammates and encouraged me to pass them all, which I think we did.

We finally crested the pass and I had Cole send a text to Brenda, telling her and Larry that we expected to be back in Twin Lakes around 5:15 PM. I had left them pretty large windows of time depending on my progress, but this text update would be accurate to within a few minutes. Coming back down towards Hopeless, the runners still heading up were looking more and more worn.  They were all still very polite in stepping out of the way and we exchanged encouraging words, but many were clearly suffering. It's tough seeing fellow competitors like this. Many had spent all of the previous year training, some had traveled from afar, yet most of them would not get to cross the finish line.

Hopeless was no less of a morale boost the second time around. In addition to filling up on water, I also grabbed some saltines and a handful of chocolate chip cookies (all of which had been carried up on the backs of lamas).  I ditched the disposable bottle at this time as I figured it would only be another 45 minutes or so to Twin Lakes.

The run down was fun.  The trail was steep, but easily runnable.  I had to keep Cole back, as he would have run even faster, but I had 50 more miles on my legs than him and we still had 45 to go.  We passed a few more runners, but soon, there were no more heading back up.

Cole enjoyed the river crossing at the bottom, but I think he was unpleasantly surprised by all the additional water afterwards.  We eventually made it to the parking lot on the south end of Twin Lakes when I saw my daughters waving at me.  Brenda was right behind them, but it took me a few seconds to recognize Larry. He literally had to pull me off to the side and almost shove me down into the chair he had set up. He told me he was going to do all this, but for some reason it had all slipped my mind and caught me totally off guard.

Amy was holding an umbrella to shield me from the sun as Kirstyn helped to hand me stuff.  It was nice to sit down for a quick couple of minutes.  I pulled off my socks and shoes, dried and re-lubed my feet, put on new socks, and my moist shoes.  All the while, Larry kept stuffing Cheetos and drinks in my face in between every breath. His son Jackson was there too, filling my bottle and taking care of other supplies. I dropped off my sunglasses here as I knew we would be in the shade until sunset.  I had left a note for myself to tell my fatigued brain if I would need a light yet.  We were still on a very fast pace and I knew we would make it to the next drop bag at Pipe Line well before dark, so that was one less thing to carry for now

I would have loved to stay longer, enjoying my family and friends, but the clock was ticking, I was feeling good, and there were still 40 miles to go.  I gave thanks and kisses, and soon took off through town.  We crossed under the arch at the official aid station, where we didn't need stop since Larry had already pulled all my gear, and headed off up the steep little climb.  With the stop, I passed through in 13:25, and moved up some more to 39^th.

We settled into a decent fast-hiking pace up the hill but were quite glad when things leveled off enough to do some running.  A bit further and we got back to the Camelbak water station at Mount Elbert.  Water fill, trash dump, and off we went in less than a minute.

The next couple of miles were nice rolling single-track that were fun to run on, unfortunately, my stomach started to act up again, necessitating another quad-burning pit stop in the woods and then a few minutes of slow running to loosen back up.  By the time we got back onto the gravel roads, Cole had taken the lead and we were moving at a pretty good clip (good for 65 miles into a hundred, that is).  This would be the start of my biggest mistake of the day.

We eventually rolled into Half Pipe in 15:20 and still in 39^th Place. I was surprised to see Larry and Jackson again, as there was no crew access to this aid station, but they had ridden their mountain bikes in for a few miles to be there. I downed 2 cans of coke and some ramen, resupplied from my drop bags and took my flashlight, as I didn't think we'd make it to Outward Bound before dark. I gave Larry an estimate of 9:00 for him and Brenda to meet us there.

We continued to push the pace, with Cole leading, on the gravel roads out from Pipeline.  But soon enough, my stomach was back at it and I was off into the woods with my knees and quads cursing my digestive system for putting them through this.  Had my intestines timed it right, I could have at least sat on a comfy seat in one of the many port-o-potties at the aid stations.

I'm sure it was frustrating for Cole to stand by on the trail as runners that we had worked so hard to pass, were now re-passing us again.  We ran through the Treeline crew area and although we didn't have a crew here, were cheered on by everyone else's.  It's amazing how many people were camped out there, just for the opportunity to see their runner for a few brief minutes, and encouraging strangers in the meantime.

We turned off the gravel roads, onto some double-track, and soon we were on the asphalt, keeping a pretty good pace, though only passing a few other runners.  I warned Cole about the upcoming section through the Outward Bound fields with the ankle-breaking holes, and soon we were right there.  Cole was still leading and about half way through, it got dark enough to turn on the flashlight.

We made it safely through the fields, came into the Outward Bound aid station and looked around for Larry, Brenda and the others, but could not locate them. We had somehow made it there more than 20 minutes ahead of our prediction (a clear sign of the trouble to come).  We ran the section in about 1:15, coming in at 16:36, and having moved up only 2 more places to 37^th, despite all the hard work. My drop bag was still there so we knew that Larry had not made it yet. I drank another coke, refilled bottles and supplies, took a pair of gloves, and almost headed out when I decided to throw a long-sleeved shirt around my waist (I had been running shirtless till then). We took off, got about 100 feet to the asphalt road and I started to shiver uncontrollably.  A quick stop for me to put the shirt on, and we were off towards the Fish Hatchery. It took a good half mile for my body to warm up and stop shivering, though we were still moving at a great pace.

We got to the turn-off for the Powerline and the were a number of cars on the edge of the road with more cheering supporters.  We ran for a bit on the gravel road but as soon as we got to the bottom of the climb, my body just shut down. I was starting to shiver again, though not as severely as earlier, and I just had no fuel left in the tank. Here was the second crux of the race, an ideal section to reel some people in, and I could barely walk. The steepness of Powerline had nothing to do with my breakdown, it only magnified the time lost. I was simply out of juice and would have been slowed to a walk even on a downhill. I was finally paying the price for the fast pace we set on the previous 20 miles. Had we held back by just a bit, I would have been able to easily power-hike up and leave more runners behind.

For those that haven't gone through a serious bonk, it's really difficult to comprehend. Red-lining by just a hair will hit you like a brick wall, and by the time it does, recovery is a slow and difficult process, eating up significantly more time than you gained with the previous speed. So why would one do this, you would ask. Unfortunately, there is no clearly visible "red-line"' or needle, so you can't adjust the throttle just under it. You don't know you've red-lined, until you hit the wall, and by that time, it's already too late.

I warned Cole that I was going to need some time to recuperate. I'm sure he couldn't have been thrilled, but he stayed supportive and encouraging throughout. I ate a bag of chips, two Honey Stinger wafers and a gel, drank water, and walked ever so slowly up the hill. A few sets of runners and pacer passed us, but I couldn't do anything about it.  When we hit the dip, about hallway up, there was a pocket of chilled air and I started to shiver again. I was concerned about the temperature dropping towards the top and potential wind that could spell serious trouble. I wished I had a hat and a jacket. Cole had a long-sleeve shirt in his pack and I almost had to ask for it, but I pushed slowly on hoping to further recover before hitting the top.

I had read accounts of the many false summits on the Powerline climb, but they didn't make sense when I had scouted it out the day before and had run down earlier that morning. Now I understood. In the darkness, and especially if you're struggling, the top seems to be ever elusive. I was running out of water and praying for the climb to end but it just kept going on and on. At one point we started hearing some kind of a horn, and then music.  What the ...?  As we got closer, we realized it was an aid station, but wait, there wasn't supposed to be an aid station at the top of Powerline. Like a mirage that turns into life-saving reality, this group of stoners had driven up to the top of Sugarloaf Pass and set up an impromptu aid station/party. I could have kissed them!  I filled up my bottle with water, but they also had coke!  They had poured out lots of cups to de-fizz, as most runners like it that way. When I told them that I didn't, they handed me a 2 liter bottle. "Just chug.  That's the way we roll up here man". I did. And it was like a magic elixir. I didn't recover completely, but it certainly brought me back to life. I'm glad these guys decided to party at the top of the pass as they truly saved my race. I thanked them repeatedly before Cole and I took off into the darkness and down towards May Queen.

I wasn't fast on the way down, but at least I was now able to run and start passing some of those that had gone by during the climb. One guy, with a female pacer was loudly grunting every breath. It was almost as annoying as the obnoxious guy in the morning (maybe it was even the same guy?). He claimed he was power-breathing, like tennis players do, but I could not stand to be around him. I'm sure my less-than-cheerful disposition didn't help, but I was encouraged to run faster just to get out of earshot of him.

Hagerman Road seemed to go on much longer than I had expected but then we dropped off onto the single-track that would lead us to the last aid station. This section was also endless and due to our slow progress, my flashlight was fading. I had a spare battery and wanted to stop and replace it, knowing the fresh light would make it easier (and safer) to run, but I kept thinking that we almost there.

Just as my light got totally useless, we finally crossed the small bridge and came out into the trailhead. Just a short road section, and we would be at May Queen.

Jackson & Larry

As we made our way through the crowd (yes, there was still a crowd at well past midnight) this guy came running alongside of me. At first I thought he was another runner wanting to pass, but he was running right by my side, staring me in the face. What the ...?  What was this guy's problem? I was getting ready to use my elbow to regain some personal space, then Larry appeared on my other side.

I guess I must have been a bit out of it. It was Jackson who was running by my side. He was staring because he didn't quite recognize me now that I was wearing a shirt. With some quick pats on the back and words of encouragement, they sent us on into the aid station, where crews were not allowed.

I came through in 19:29, miraculously not having lost a placement.  I got my drop bag and headed into the medical tent where they had a heater going. Cole tried to spur me on to get this last section done, but I needed to warm up and fuel up. I only took a few minutes, but it was necessary. I took warmer gloves and a hat and considered taking an additional shirt, but I didn't. Knowing that the cold night air would hit me like a brick wall, I readied myself and sprinted right out of the tent, trying to maintain my body temperature. It didn't work. As soon as I stepped out, I was once again shivering uncontrollably. It was so bad, I thought about going back and putting on a pair of pants and another shirt, but I pressed forward and after a few hundred yards, the shivering started to subside. Eventually, I was even able to take off the hat.

Cole led the whole way around Turquoise Lake and I had to drop back a few times so that I could eat. I didn't want to burn out again like I had done earlier. At our pace and with my state of mind, the lake trail seemed to take forever. I was so glad when we were finally done with it. We crossed the road and started down the mini-Powerline. It was slow going, but luckily not too long. Down to the bottom and we were on a gravel road. Though slightly downhill, running was definitely an effort at this point.  I was spurred on by Cole running up ahead, as well as lights closing in from behind.

We made it through the intersection by the Sugarloafin' campground, across the river and railroad tracks, and then on the road along the tracks. We eventually made it back to the bottom of the Boulevard. This initial section was steep enough to necessitate walking, but once up, it was back to a run. Cole stayed well in front for the rest of the way. It was somewhat frustrating because I couldn't even see his dim light at times, but I know he was trying to pull me forward (and he did). I wouldn't have been good company at this point anyway. I was definitely struggling and I wanted to be done, but I was also pleased that I was running the whole way. We came up on a runner/pacer combo just as we got to the edge of town, passed them, and ran on up the final hill by the school. There were still a few people out to cheer at this crazy hour of the morning. I could see Cole running well up ahead in the streetlights as we had planned early on. He was going to let me finish on my own and hopefully snap a few pictures.

The finish line was visible from the top of the hill, but there was still a ways to go. I got closer and closer, and with less than a quarter mile, I glanced back to see a runner closing in. This race hadn't worked out quite like I had dreamed, but there was no way I was going to be passed before the finish line. I dug deep, pushed hard, and sprinted (at least what seems like a sprint after 100 miles) all the way to the finish without being passed. 22:38:20. A bit slower than I had hoped, but a very respectable time and more than 2:20 ahead of the big buckle time.

getting poked and prodded

Someone hung a finisher's medal around my neck and I stumbled over to the medical tent as Cole, Larry, and Jackson joined me. I didn't need medical attention but I had volunteered for a CSU medical study on the effects of ultra-running on the human body and it was now time for the post-race test. I weighed in at only 0.2 pounds less than my starting weight, and a full 2 pounds more than Winfield. Some of this might have been the shirt and a few items in my pockets, but it was still very good news. As much as I hate needles, the pre-race test had gone smoothly and I was genuinely curious to get any results, so I sat down by the heater and as Larry helped to pull a pair of pants on me, the medical guy proceeded to jab at my arm. I was tired and in no mood for more pain yet it took minutes of repeated poking and jabbing to finally get a vial full of blood.  They also handed me a cup for the urine test, but I just walked away. I had had enough.

We walked off towards the food/warming tent and I sat for a few minutes while sipping a ginger ale. I recapped parts of the race with Larry and Jackson before they walked me to my car.  Have I mentioned how much I love heated seats?  We parted ways and I drove back towards the house and my sleeping family. I snuck in around 3:30, took a quick shower and hopped into bed for a 3 hour nap.

On Sunday, I was tired and sleepy, but otherwise fine.  I drove back into town to watch the last couple of finishers squeaking in under the 30 hour cut-off.  This is a pretty amazing site and next time, I would go down earlier to enjoy this even more. While I had re-fueled, showered, and slept, these people were still out there, working their way towards the finish.  While it's fun to watch the leaders, it's these end-of-the-pack runners that are truly inspirational. They work harder and longer, are out there through more weather, and push themselves to new limits for the sheer joy of the accomplishment.

with Larry at the office

While I wasn't completely satisfied with my performance, I posted a very respectable time and learned some important lessons. If I can work the kinks out and run a smarter race, I feel like I can drop an hour, or even two. 2015, here I come!

Garmin file 

Silver Rush 2014

After putting the girls to bed and kissing Brenda farewell, I hit the road Saturday night, and finally pulled into the parking lot at the base of Dutch Henry Hill right about 11:00 PM.  I quickly folded down the rear seat and set up my “bed”, but sleep eluded me, dozing on and off for most of the night, until my internal clock roused me just before 5:00 AM.  I groggily rolled out into the chill morning air and somehow set off the car alarm, though I quickly fumbled for my keys and shut it off.  With no line, I quickly picked up my bib and race packet and made my way back to the car to start my pre-race prep.

As I was getting myself together, I glanced over at the car to my left (which was there from the previous night) and recognized Rachael.  After some quick greetings, we both resumed our preparations.  Upon a last minute review of the forecast, I decided to go shirtless and with a single water bottle.  In the cold, pre-dawn air, I rushed through the sunscreen application and unfortunately missed about a quarter of my back.  Of course I didn’t know that until that evening when I sat back uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

I had just enough time to throw my drop bag into the back of the waiting pick-up, hit the lineless port-o-potties, and toss my warm clothes into the car before jogging down to the start line.  I saw many familiar faces as I made my way up towards the front, in time to listen to the national anthem.  And then we were off!

I briskly walked my way up the steep ski hill, watching others foolishly overexert themselves.  While I certainly didn’t want to be stuck at the rear, going into oxygen debt in the first 200 feet of a 50 miler is not a wise move.

After the first mile or so, we settled onto a dirt road section which made socializing easier.  There were lots of greetings, reconnections, and new encounters as we slowly made our way up.  I hooked up with Sean Westine and we chatted for a good bit.  He told others that I was a good guy to pace off of as I tend to run a steady effort throughout a race.  It’s taken me years to improve my consistency on long races and I appreciated being acknowledged for it.

Many runners passed throughout these first 8 miles or so, and it wasn’t until we got close to the top that I started to reel a few of them in.  Once we poured out onto the road, I took full advantage of my downhilling abilities.  I passed more runners as I ran a few 7+ minute miles, but didn’t push my limits, as the day was still young.  The views looking back towards the Leadville valley were magnificent.  The snow-capped peaks glittered in the morning sun, above a cloud-shrouded valley.

There seemed to be even more cars lining the road to the Printer Boy aid station, with welcoming cheers and energy.  I made my way quickly through the aid station and dove off into the woods.  As the single-track led back out onto another road section, I was surprised and a little disappointed to see Sean and a few other runners right on my tail.  It was too early to be competitive, but I figured that my fast downhill would have separated us a bit more.  Oh well, I tried to look on the bright side, figuring that it was a sign that I wasn’t over doing it yet.

Making our way up towards the Rock Garden aid, I kept slowly passing other runners.  I was really looking forward to the alpine terrain from the Rock Garden to the high pass before Stumptown.  I could feel the altitude a bit in my head, but my breathing was fine, and I was running well.  But in the treed section before the pass, I caught a toe and hit the trail.  It wasn’t quite the ninja-style roll I would have liked, and I ended up flat on my back for a brief instant.  I bounded up quickly, as the nearby runners inquired to my condition.  I was fine, losing no more than a second and a small patch of skin on my left elbow.  I did also gain some gravel on my bare back, which was an itchy annoyance for the rest of the day.

Feeling strong, I made my way past more runners on the way to the pass, and then continued my progress down the other side.  Unlike the previous year, I remembered that it wasn’t all downhill to Stumptown so I wasn’t as mentally drained by the undulations.  I saw the lead runners coming back, two miles before the turn-a-round.  I told myself not to bother counting runners like I typically do, but I did anyway.  I got up to 15 before coming close to the chaos near Stumptown and giving up, with an estimate of thirty something.

The aid station was moved a few hundred feet and I found it to be a bit more confusing as out and in-bound runners had to cross over.  I also didn’t have the luxury of a personal valet volunteer like in the past, so I found my drop bag and refueled on my own.  A little way out, I came across Rosarita, waiting on the sidelines to cheer on and assist her husband, Henrique.  She graciously asked if I needed anything, but I was good, thanked her, and slowly proceeded on.

For the second race in a row, I had employed a new strategy, taping over the time and pace on my watch.  The intent was to run the first half totally by feel, without the undue pressure of racing against a time goal.  This is quite effective, as long as peeling the tape off doesn’t reveal an unexpectedly slow time.  The tape revealed good news.  I was right on track for my 8:30 goal, IF I could maintain the same pace for the second 25 miles.

I felt strong as I made my way back up to the pass, and exchanged a “god job”, “nice work”, or “way to go” with each oncoming runner.  As I neared the top, I could hear runners noting that the gal who I was chasing up the climb was the number 1 female.  This shocked, but also energized me, as I had previously finished with the 4^th or 5^th place women, and here I was barely past the half-way point, closing in on the leader.  A little way down the other side, I finally passed her, and we exchanged words of encouragement.

I kept passing individual runners every mile or two as I made my way back to the Printer Boy aid station.  With a large chunk of refreshing watermelon in my hand, I quickly left towards my least favorite part of the course – climbing back up the road that I had sped down that morning. It was now the hottest part of the day, with a strong, high-altitude sun and in contrast to the 7+ minute miles coming down, I was now struggling to push 12+ minute miles on the way up.  All the while, I was carefully calculating my chances at that elusive 8:30 goal.  Things were not looking too good as I finished the climb with a 14+ minute mile, but at least it was over.  I would have 1:35 to run the final 10.5 miles.  That doesn’t sound too tough, given that it was “mostly” downhill, but running 10.5 “mostly” downhill miles at the end of a 50 miler, at altitude isn’t quite as easy as it sounds.  I also remembered from last year’s experience that the final couple of miles are pretty flat and exposed to the hot afternoon sun.

I topped out with a guy named Ted, and we exchanged positions repeatedly as we came into the last aid station.  I made quick work of refilling the bottle and downing a few cups of Coke.  With only 7.5 miles to go and a partly cloudy sky, I handed off my emergency poncho to one of the volunteers and told him to give it to anyone of the later runners who might be caught up in the expected storms.

As Ted and I sped off together, we were told that we were in the top 15 or 20.  Wow!  Much better than I would have expected.  I stayed on Ted’s heels for the first half mile, but he was pushing a bit too hard and I knew I had to save something for the last couple of miles, so I let him go.  Luckily, he never got too far, and on the straighter sections, I could still see him up ahead.  We caught and passed a couple of other runners and eventually, I was back on Ted’s heels.  We ran together for a few miles and I noticed that he was now showing signs of fatigue.  I didn’t know if he was in my age bracket or not, but with about 2.5 to go, I pushed the pace on a flat section and he fell back.

I knew 8:30 was possible, but far from guaranteed.  I also knew that I wanted to eke out every single placement I could, both age group, and overall.  I passed two more runners, struggling with the heat, and then, with only a half mile to go, I passed one last runner (and a very important one at that).

It felt like an eternity, but I finally passed through the inflatable arch, wound my way around the top of hill, and careened down the impossibly steep section to the finish line.  The clock read 8:26:02 and the announcer welcomed me in as first place in my age group, as two young ladies handed me my medal, coffee mug, and my award - an awesome gold-panning pan.  It wasn’t until quite a few minutes later that I looked up the results and realized that the last runner I passed was number 10.  I finished 10^th!  That was even better than the age group win and beating my time goal.

I hung out at the finish for a few hours, watching so many friends finish.  I felt great, except for being rather dehydrated.  Every time I would get up from my chair, everyone stared as I teetered and came dangerously close to passing out.  It took more than an hour of resting and drinking for that feeling to dissipate.

The SilverRush was my first 50 miler and still among my favorite races.  It is exceptionally well managed, has a nice large field, and always attracts many friends.  I hope to keep doing this one in years to come, though it’s hard to imagine topping this year’s results.

Garmin Connect File 

Bryce 100 - My first 100 miler!

There wasn’t a whole lot of pressure, as I had no doubt that I could finish the Bryce 100, unless I had some kind of physical issue or injury.  I initially set myself a goal time of 28 hours, though in setting up a more detailed timeline, I figured 26 was pretty doable.  Given that it was my first, I would have been happy with just a finish.  I was truly out to just enjoy the experience.  I even took my phone along to take pictures and videos along the course.

I spent quite a bit of time planning out my needs for this race (even more than usual).  Going through the course map, elevation profile, and aid station chart, I planned out a range of fast to comfortable pace for the entire race.  Based on these times, I packed a drop bag for every aid station with all the supplies that I could possibly need.  The bag for the turn-a-round was just a quart sized zip-loc, but all the rest were large bags and stuffed pretty full.

Even though the forecast was for a high of 68, I knew that the high altitude sun would make it feel much warmer.  I decided to go with a hiking shirt and hat instead of my typical shirtless look.  I hoped it would keep me cooler, while also avoiding the constant application of slimy sunscreen.  Additionally, the pockets would be invaluable for storing a few small supplies, as I wouldn’t don a pack until mile 65.

I woke up a bit early, went through my pre-race routine, and hopped on the first shuttle for the 15 minute ride to the start.  While I had on warm clothes, the barrel fires at the start were quite nice and provided good congregation areas.  A few more shuttles and I saw Rachel and Katrin, the only two familiar faces at this race.  We took some pictures, chatted, and soon it was time to roll.  Both the 100 and 50 milers were starting at the same time, so there were a few hundred runners in all, but the race starts with 2 miles of dirt road, so there was a reasonable opportunity to spread out.

I chatted with Katrin as we ran together for the first 1.5 miles, but she was itching to race, I didn't have much energy and was consciously trying to take it easy, so she soon disappeared into the crowd ahead.  We were pretty well spread out once we hit the single-track, but runners were still vying for position.  As is typical, I was mostly being passed on this section.  I couldn’t tell who was running 50 or 100, but listening to the loud breathing, I knew that most were simply running way too fast.

We came to the edge of the plateau, just as the sun was rising.  The cameras came out as runners took turns pulling off to the side of the trail to record the spectacular scenery.  Some killed two birds with a single stone by taking pee breaks with a view.  In one spot, there were five guys lined up, watering the weeds, and taking in the sights.  The bright red hoodoos were just as magnificent as anything in the National Park, and we were running next to, over, and through them!  The trail was relatively smooth, and the pace was modest, which allowed our eyes to take in the full beauty.

I was quite happy letting everyone go by until we started the long downhills.  I wasn’t in any hurry, but I also didn’t want to waste energy and trash my quads slowing down more than necessary.  I zipped around a few clusters of runners, so I could run my own pace and have an unobstructed view of the trail ahead.  It seemed like no time at all before we made it down to the first aid station at Thunder Mountain, just past 10 miles.  I took a bit longer getting things out of my drop bag than I would have liked, forgetting things and having to retrieve the bag 3 times.  Then, the only minor glitch in the whole race setup happened.  The runners were still so bunched up that we had to wait in line to fill our bottles.  This cost me a whopping 30 seconds , which seemed like an eternity at the time.  I grabbed a mini-muffin from the station, along with a bag of Doritos and sunglasses from my drop bag and was soon on my way.

The next few miles wove in and out and up and down some very minor valleys, almost contouring the terrain.  One of the guys was telling everyone how he goes out nice and slow and is then able to run later on when others are barely walking.  I agreed with his approach, but the way he presented it, he came off as a rather boastful know-it-all.  As I passed, I vowed to myself that no matter what, I would not let him catch up to me.

Soon after Thunder Mountain, my stomach started deteriorating.  It was  nothing serious, but enough to annoy and distract me, forcing an unplanned side-trip into the woods before I made it to Proctor Creek, after which I felt quite a bit better and then continued to improve over the next few miles.  At Proctor, I managed my drop bag resupply much better, had no back-ups with the water, and was able to head out pretty quickly, though not before grabbing two freshly made pancakes off the table. OMG, they were still warm, and even without anything on them, were two of the best pancakes I had ever tasted.

Miss-step on a creek jump

The next section climbed just a bit and then meandered through some beautiful, aspen lined meadows.  At about mile 23, we hit a junction where the 50K’ers would turn left.  From there, we turned right and headed for a long decent, down into the valley.  On one of the sandy downhill sections, I had a misstep, landed hard on my left foot and took the impact through a twisting of my lower back.  It scared me a bit, but I kept going and never felt a thing (until a couple of days after the race, when I woke up with a seriously sore lower back).

After we started climbing back up for a bit, I passed another runner and asked the usual “how’s it going?”  Most reply “fine”, “great”, etc., but this guy was brutally honest.  “Not so good, I’m peeing blood”.  We chatted for a bit and he assured me he was feeling fine, other than that small detail.  His plan was to walk slowly up to the next aid station and drop out - smart move.

Back on top of the plateau for a bit and then, at an overlook, in addition to the beautiful pink cliffs and hoodoos, I could see the next aid station just below.  I was also able to finally get decent reception on my phone and sent out an update text to my family and friends.  At Blubber Creek, as I was re-stocking from my drop bag, I was alarmed to see Katrin sitting in a chair, having her ankle tended to.  Apparently, she had hurt it a few weeks ago, then re-twisted it a few miles back.  I felt bad, as I thought her day might be over – little did I know.  Within a couple of miles after Blubber, on a moderate climb, I turn around to see her catching up to me.  I can’t drop this girl even when she’s injured!

We actually wound up running together for the next 13+ miles.  She would pass me on the uphills (as she has the weight advantage), and I would catch up on the downhills (as she was treading lightly on her ankle).  We went through Kanab Creek together, where I dropped off one of my bottles, as the next few stations were only 5 miles apart.  We then traversed along the edge of the limestone cliffs with more stunning views before starting to descend down a loooong gravel road section towards Straight Canyon.  The descent felt good at first, but after a while, I was praying for some uphills to give my hip flexors a break.  The upper part had a long section with no markings, so I made a mental note of that for the return.  It really wasn’t an issue as the entrance onto the road was clearly marked, as was the turn at the bottom.

After what seemed like an eternity, though it was only 4 miles, we were at the bottom.  Straight Canyon was the first crew/family accessible station, so there were more people present.  Another quick re-supply stop, and Katrin and I took off together again.  A quarter mile on this road was more than enough.  The dust was incredibly fine, and I was glad there weren’t many cars at the time.  We then turned right onto some nice single-track that gently wound up through aspen groves, on the edge of a large meadow.  Though Katrin was behind me on this section, she was pushing the pace and I would soon pay the price.  We came off the single-track and made a left onto a gravel road that would take us up to Pink Cliffs and she continued on by, as I realized I needed to ease up.  We were now back out in the hot sun and Katrin’s pace and 42+ miles were taking their toll on me.  These next few miles were the low point of my race.  Not only did Katrin quickly disappear, but another runner that we had recently passed, re-passed me like I was standing still.  I tried not to get too demoralized, as I knew there was plenty of racing to go and the temperatures would soon drop.  That’s one of the big advantages of a long race – there’s plenty of time to recover.

Near the top, I was so mesmerized by the beautiful views that I stepped right over a log that was strategically placed across the path to direct runners to the left.  I went straight to the cliff edge, took some pictures and continued to the right.  After a few hundred feet of scraping my legs on the Manzanita, along a very narrow “trail”, I realized something was not right and smartly turned back.  Having lost only a few minutes, I was back on the right trail, which was very clearly marked and heading up to towards the high-point of the race at the Pink Cliffs aid station.

I took a few minutes here to get myself back in the game, taking my shoes and socks off for the first time and slathered my toes with Vaseline.  I needed some more substantial fuel, so I asked the volunteers for a ham and cheese wrap, with a touch of mustard.  Man, was that good!  I had 2 cans of club soda in my drop bag – one for each visit through the station, but I decided that I was in desperate need of liquids so I drank one and took the second with me.  I walked for a bit, even though it was a nicely runnable downhill road, eating my wrap and drinking my soda.  When I was done, I slowly started to run down towards the turn-a-round.  Part way down, with about 3 miles to go, I came across the lead runner heading back up.  I was pleasantly surprised that he only had a 6 mile lead on me.  I think that gave me a psychological boost and I started running a bit better.  Soon, the course took a left turn off the road and back onto some nice single-track.  I though this whole section was going to be a constant downhill, but the trail portion was somewhat level, with minor climbs and descents.

I continued to count returning runners to get a sense of my placement.  I eventually came across Katrin and her pacer, Allen (she was the 4^th place woman).  By the time I reached Crawford, I only counted 15.  I was in 16^th place at the half way point – much better than I would have thought.  I f I could keep things for the second half…

Unfortunately, the club soda that I had in my drop bag had been sitting out in the sun and was rather warm.  I kept pouring in cool Coke from the aid station to make it more palatable.  I also ate a bunch of potato chunks, heavily dipped in salt.  Soon, I was off.  Only 50.5 miles to go!  There was a lot of runner traffic coming down the trail and all the encouraging exchanges helped to energize me.  For the first mile or so, I would tell everyone how close they were and watch their faces brighten.

I was surprised to run more of the climb than I had thought.  Nearing Pink Cliffs, a couple of ATV’s came down the road.  They weren’t doing anything wrong, but the fine dust they kicked up was blinding and chocking.  A few runners made some nasty remarks, but we were on a road.  What do you expect?

Back at Pink Cliffs, I had no club soda waiting in my drop bag, so I downed a good bit of Ginger Ale from the aid station supplies.  The cool sweat bubbly really brought me the final steps back to life.  It was here that I saw Rachael again.  She had also twisted her ankle, but appeared to be moving well.  I later found out that she dropped at the half way point as it was nearing dark and she hadn’t planned her headlight drop at the right distance.

Heading back down the section that had nearly brought me to my knees a few hours earlier, I took my revenge, running some sub 10 minute miles.  That sounds pretty slow, but 55+ miles into a 100, it’s actually a decent pace, even for a downhill.  The temperature was finally starting to drop and there were still lots of runners heading up, which added to my renewed energy.  By the time I neared Straight Canyon again, the outbound runners had dwindled down to nothing.  I reloaded from my drop bag, drank some soda, and proceeded to take my shoes off so I could clean my feet and put on a pair of fresh socks.  I hadn’t felt any discomfort, but WOW, there was a big honking blister on the side of one of my toes!  I took a pin off my bib and popped it.  Then I slathered my toes again with some anti-friction cream I had in the bag.  I donned a headlamp and picked up a small emergency flashlight as I wasn’t completely sure I would make it back up to Kanab before dark.  I got some refreshing ice in my bottle, grabbed my customary can of club soda, and headed up the long climb.  As soon as I stepped away, I regretted the ice.  With the sun down, and my energy supplies lowered, it was downright chilly until I really got moving.

I was pleasantly surprised that I was able to run a decent portion of the climb.  I traded positions for a while with a guy who said that he had gotten lost and tacked on 6 extra miles!  I don’t know why anyone would go that far without seeing a marker, and if he had run that many miles, he would have been in contention for the lead.  Something told me he might have been exaggerating a bit.

It was on this section that I hooked up with Mark Moran from Eugene Oregon.  We would wind up running the next 20+ miles together.  He was a bit concerned about losing the trail in the darkness on some upcoming sections that seemed to be minimally marked.  As it turned out, the markings were quite adequate, but I was definitely glad to have company.

Just as darkness was settling in, we made our way into Kanab, where they had a nice big fire going.  I was quite surprised to see Katrin again as she had been a couple of miles ahead of me at the turn-a-round.  We all took a few minutes to prepare for the night.  I changed shirts and threw on a pack for the first time in the race.  As I left the aid station, Mark and Katrin were right on my heels.  They turned their lights on right away, but I chose to wait as long as I could to save batteries and allow my eyes to better transition to the darkness.  Once I did click the switch, I was pleasantly surprised at how well the small, hand-held flashlight worked.  I had only done a brief test of different lighting options a few days earlier and decided on this light even though I had always used a headlamp in the past.  I wore a headlamp as a back-up, but the flashlight gave me so much better depth perception, I think it made a huge difference in reducing eye strain and fatigue.  The only downside was that I was assuming the battery would last 1 to 1½ hours, but I wound up only getting about 45 minutes out of each.  I had enough batteries, but swapping them out every 45 minutes was a bit of a pain.  I would stretch it out as long as possible, with the light becoming almost dangerously dim, then swap batteries and feel like I was running in daylight again.

As we were running along the edge of the plateau, I saw a big red light to my right.  At first, I thought it was a fire from the next aid station, but I soon realized that it was the rising moon.  What a site!  It went from reddish orange, to orange, to the typical yellowish moon.  I was looking forward to it rising high and providing some usable light as we were less than 2 days since full, but it never did turn out to be very useful, just pretty.

Mark and I put a little distance between us and Katrin as we made our way into the Proctor aid station.  I downed another can of coke, refilled a bottle and we were quickly off.  Soon, we caught up with Gia, the 3^rd place female.  The three of us ran together for what seemed like an extra-long stretch.  The course soon dropped off of the plateau and down into a valley.  There were a couple of short, yet very steep sections here, where we caught up to and passed a couple of other runners.  We eventually hit the bottom and started the climb back up the other side.  We kept waiting for the trail junction where the 50Kers had broken off, which would also be near the top of our climb, but it seemed to take forever.  At one point, while Gia was in the front, she took a bit of a fall.  She wasn’t really hurt, but it shook her up enough that she started falling behind and we wouldn’t see her again, though she did hold on for 3^rd place.

We finally got to the trail junction shortly after dropping Gia and continued on through some of the open meadows that Mark and I had been concerned about the markings.  It turned out that the markings were even easier to spot at night and we had no problems finding our way.  We could hear voices up ahead and as we popped out of the trees, we finally saw the Proctor Creek aid station ahead – only one more to go!

There were a few other runners at the station, including the number 2 woman.  I stayed real close to the fire as I refilled a bottle and downed another can of coke.  In need of some additional sustenance, I grabbed a simple bean burrito from the volunteer and headed out, with Mark on my heels, along with another runner.  As soon as I stepped away from the fire, I began to shiver.  I was wearing shorts, a long-sleeve top, and thin pair of gloves, which felt just right when we were moving, but even a short break by the fire was enough to cool my body off instantly.  Luckily, it only took a couple of minutes of climbing to stabilize my temperature, helped along by the delicious bean burrito.

Mark had mentioned that he wanted to break 24 hours so he could get the big buckle.  He was glad when I informed him that everyone who came in under the 36 hour cut-off got the same buckle, though a bit disappointed when I told him that our chances of breaking 24 hours were pretty slim.

It was just out of Proctor that Mark started falling back, but the new runner that we had picked up stayed with me.  Milton asked politely if he could run with me.  Heck yeah.  I would have run alone if I needed to, but having company was definitely better.  We got to chatting and I found out that Milton had never run more than a 50K.  He was doing great.  He had been running with a couple of other guys, but they had slowed down significantly and I think one might have dropped at Proctor.  Milton kept complaining that his legs were tired and he wanted it to be over, but he wasn’t even breathing hard and we ran together at a decent pace, trading the lead periodically.

The next 8 miles to the Thunder Mountain aid station seemed to take forever.  There was not much climbing, more contouring, but it was relentless.  We eventually came up on the cheering volunteers and warm fire we had been looking forward to.  Again, I situated myself right next to the warm fire, refilled a bottle, got batteries, and downed another can of coke.  I took off excitedly into the darkness, thinking that there was a slight chance to break 24 hours.  Milton called after me “hey, mind if I continue to run with you?”  The more, the merrier.

Based on memory and the profile, I was expecting a solid 5 mile climb out of the aid station, but to my pleasant surprise, it started off more rolling and mostly runnable.  We eventually made it to the base of the hoodoo cliffs and started the meat of the climb, but it wasn’t nearly as long or grueling as I had anticipated.  With less than 8 miles to go, we were on top of the hoodoos and I was feeling great.  I kept a close eye on the Garmin and we still had 24 hours within reach!  Milton was pushing the pace when he was in front, but then he made a pit stop and told me to go on ahead.  I didn’t hesitate.  I took off at what seemed like a sprint, though it was probably more like a 10 minute pace, and was quickly putting some distance back to Milton’s light.  As I continued on, I saw a light up ahead.  The possibility of passing another runner at this late stage only added to my adrenaline.

I caught up to the light faster than anticipated and quickly realized why.  It was Leslie, the 1^st place female, curled up by the side of the trail.  She was not feeling good and asked for my help.  I knew this would cost me the 24 hour mark, and probably a placement or two, but I had absolutely no doubt about what my responsibility was.  I would be ashamed to cross the finish line, leaving behind a runner in need.  Leslie said she wasn’t able to keep anything down and had been struggling since mile 70.  She felt dizzy and was scared of the steep, loose slopes, so I gave her a caffeine pill and my arm.  We walked together for a while and within a few minutes, Milton caught up and joined the parade.  Leslie was lucid and coherent and soon was able to walk on her own between me and Milton.  A few more minutes passed and we had made our way out of the “dangerous” parts of the trail.  Leslie seemed to be doing better and insisted that Milton and I continue on our own, feeling bad that she had collapsed so harshly after running such a great race.  This was her first hundred and she was still concerned with her placement, asking me questions about the three women behind her.  She asked me to notify her husband, who was waiting at the start and I took off.

I had been feeling good before I came across Leslie, and now I had just had a 15 minute rest, so I took off like a bat out of hell.  Looking at the Garmin, I still had a shot at the 24 hour mark, and if I could pull this off after stopping to help her, it would be an even sweater accomplishment.  It felt like I was flying, though I was only managing 10 to 12 minute miles on the undulating terrain.  I had to make one more battery change and then a quick pit stop in the woods, but the closer I got, the surer I was that I would make it.  I finally hit the dirt road – only 2 more miles and the sky was just brightening up.  I had plenty of time but was so elated, I sprinted the final miles at a 9 and 8 minute pace!

I crossed the finish line and headed straight for the fire to avoid a sudden drop in body temperature.  I found Leslie’s husband and told him that she was struggling, but wasn’t in any danger.  One of the volunteers got my finish-line bag and I quickly put on warm clothes.  I then went over to the timing table and inquired about my placement.  I knew I was top 20, possibly top 10, but I wasn’t sure.  5^th place!  Unbelievable!

Ultra Signup had my finish time estimated at just over 26 hours and in 26^th place.  Finishing my first 100 in under 24 hours and in 5^th place was pretty darn sweet.  Most important of all, once I slowly recovered after the first climb up to Pink Cliffs, I kept getting stronger, felt great, and was able to run well all the way to the finish.  Sure, I was tired and glad to stop running, but I felt awesome.

Within a few minutes, I took a van back to my hotel.  Since it was only a bit after 6, I tried to enter the room quietly, but was thwarted by the security chain that my wife had engaged on the door.  I had to knock and wake her up to let me in.  After a quick kiss and congratulations, she crawled back into bed as I consumed a couple of granola bars and jumped into the shower.  I forced myself to stay up all day on Sunday so that I wouldn’t totally screw up my internal clock.  It was difficult keeping my eyes open at times, but I managed and finally went to sleep around 7 PM.

Ultra Adventures put on a totally awesome race.  I’m sure parts of my feelings are due to the fact that I had an awesome race, but still…  Other than the insignificant issue of having to wait 30 seconds to fill my bottle at the first aid station, everything else was run like a well-oiled machine.  The volunteers were magnificent.  At most stations, I had a personal valet helping me with my drop bag, getting water, etc.  The course was very well marked and the venue is simply unbeatable.  No matter how miserable you may be feeling and how much you may be suffering, all you have to do is look up at the glorious scenery and you can’t help but smile in awe.  I started planning next year’s return before we even left.

Garmin link