Leadville 100 - 2015

I was a bit frazzled heading into Leadville.  With 3 full weeks since the Tushars 93K, my body felt sluggish and my weight was slowly climbing.  I had hoped to be 2-3 pounds lighter than last year but instead, I was 2-3 pounds heavier.  I tried to console myself with the fact that my best races hadn’t coincided with my lowest weight, and I at least had more miles, more experience, and more altitude training this year.

I was also going to have more helpers this year - pacers Bret White and Mitch Walma, in addition to Bret’s wife Lisa as crew.  While they were an invaluable help during the race, the logistics of preparing with other people in mind only added to my pre-race anxiety.  Also, with Brenda’s and the girls’ conflicting schedules, I would need to take Kirstyn and Amy with me, and not leave until early Friday morning.

I was a little paranoid about making it to check-in on time, but with 1 hour to spare, there wasn’t even a line.  And this year, since they weren’t doing the voluntary blood/urine tests, and not even a weigh-in, packet pick-up took mere seconds.

Brenda showed up later that evening and camped out with the girls, Bret and Lisa, just outside of town.  I chose to sleep in the back of my car right near the start/finish.  Unlike last year, I managed to get a few hours of sleep before the alarm went off during my deepest REM sleep.  I woke up and started the task of my pre-race prep in the confines of my Outback.  With all the practice I’ve had this year, I’ve got it down.

I had enough time to hit the port-o-potties and then walk around a bit looking for familiar faces.  Despite all the over-planning I had done, one important detail I skipped over was to tell Bret where I would be at the start line and what I would be wearing.  WIth khaki pants, a maroon hoodie over my face, and 626 other runners, I was not very easy to pick out.  I finally decided that I would start with my warm-up clothes in hand and toss them on top of my car as I ran by, a couple of hundred feet from the start line.  Sure enough, right after I did that, Bret came running alongside asking if I needed anything.  I told him to grab my clothes and on I went.

I felt like I was running a bit slower right off the start, but comparing to last year, my mile splits were off by mere seconds.  I got a chance to run and chat with Hawaiian Shirt Ray and Andrew Reiff, which provided good, calming distractions.

I made a few changes since last year.  I decided to start with a shirt and a hat, which made it more difficult for people to recognize me, yet I hoped it would preserve some energy.  I also drank less before the start and only had to make 2 pee stops around Turquoise Lake, as opposed to last year’s 5.

Unlike most ultras that start at or just before sunrise, Leadville starts a full 2 hours before the twilight.  Not having given it much consideration (I actually almost forgot to pack a light for the start until the very last minute), I had stocked my light with a fully charged, though old, battery.  I managed to squeeze just enough time out of it to last me till the sky brightened slightly, a bit before reaching May Queen.

In addition to feeling like I was running a bit slower than last year, there were throngs of runners passing me before the first aid station.  Apparently, I was running a bit slower as I got in 3 minutes behind last year’s time, and 5 behind my goal.  I wasn’t at all worried and was actually pleased that I made it in and out of May Queen in about half a minute.  I set a goal for this year to move through the aid station in 30 seconds, except for Twin Lakes return.

As I was leaving, I saw Katrin and later told David that she was right on my tail.  On past the aid station I went, looking for Bret, but as it turned out, he didn’t make it there, and even if he had, he couldn’t really help other than to give me a pat on the back as I ran by.  Up the short road section we went and turned into the parking lot and the trailhead.  Some #$%^&* took a huge dump right at the entrance to the parking lot.  I just can’t believe that it was a runner.  If I had seen a fellow runner doing that I swear I would have kicked them in the side of the head, man or woman.  There’s just no excuse for that.

Anyway, on  through the small lot we went and onto the rolling trail.  Runners were still zipping on by and I commented to Hawaiian Shirt Ray how they were starting out too fast for even a 50 miler.  Not to brag, but this is really where the experience and maturity make a huge difference in being able to hold back, knowing that it’s going to be a very long day, and rushing early on will only make it longer and more painful.

By the time the trail broke out onto Hagerman Pass Road, most of the passing had stopped.  Katrin had caught up to me and we were able to chat a good bit all the way up to the top of Powerline, as we passed a handful of people who were starting to pay the price for a fast start.  At the top, I took advantage of my longer legs, gravity, and my newly added weight to pull away from Katrin.  Most people argue that you should ease down Powerline to save the quads for later in the race, but I think I’ve got the downhills worked out well enough that I can really take advantage of them without any damage.  On this section, I also ran alongside Jamie Reichler and enjoyed a nice chat as we rolled on down the hill.

Despite the forecast for mostly clear skies and 0% chance of precipitation, even this early in the morning, the clouds started to build up and by the time we had crested, a light drizzle started to fall.  Soon, the drizzle turned into pretty steady, though light rain, and the powerlines that give this section it’s name, started to sizzle audibly.

Last year, at the bottom of the descent, there was a guy on the sidelines counting off all the runners.  I was looking forward to this again as I was secretly hoping to be even further back, but he wasn’t there.  After a couple of short climbs on the paved road, we came upon Fish Hatchery (the site of the old aid station) and turned into the bright sunrise towards the Outward Bound aid station.  I came in right at 4:20, making up 5 minutes on this section that I had lost on the first one, and putting me back onto my goal time.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Brenda and the girls just as I turned off the road and was able to give them all a high-five.  It’s such a mental and emotional boost to see them along the course, but I also feel bad that they have to spend so much time getting there and waiting around, just to get a quick high-five, or 2 second hug.

As I made my way over to the drop bags, Bret met me with bag in hand.  I made another quick transition, though I forgot to drink my usual can of club soda.  I love this aid station because all the spectators are lined up along the east side and everyone cheers us on.  Among all of the noise, I did hear a few calls of “go Adrian” and saw Sean Wetstine and a few other familiar faces.

For the second year in a row, the course went cross country, through the Outward Bound property.  The path was mowed through the fields, and this year there seemed to be fewer holes hidden in the grass, waiting to end an unsuspecting runners day with a twisted or broken ankle.

Back onto the paved road for a bit, then off onto more dirt towards Treeline, I was slowly “passing” more runners along the way.  I use quotes because I wasn’t so much passing runners, as they were falling back.  I certainly don’t relish anyone’s struggles, but it did confirm that my slow start was a smart move.

Treeline is another motivational spot.  There’s no aid station, but crews, spectators and families line the dirt road for a good half mile and wholeheartedly cheer all of us on.  A little further up and I recognized one of the runners - a woman from Wisconsin whom I had met the previous day.  It was her first 100, and she was looking pretty good.

This section of the course is a bit tough on the way out.  The uphill grade is almost at that fine line where it’s not quite steep enough to justify walking, but running is slow and uninspiring.  Soon enough, Halfpipe came into view.  This was the slowest aid station help of the day - I had to wait a full 5 seconds to get my drop bag.  I point this out because it was literally the slowest service of the day.  In a race with 627 starters, to wait a maximum of 5 seconds for one-on-one service is an incredible testimony to the race organization, staff and volunteers.  Clearly, the complaints from 2013 were taken very seriously.

Despite all the time and effort I had put into it, I did not have my pacing chart memorized, so I didn’t know how I was doing, but as it turned out, I was a mere 1 minute off my goal pace.  Another 30 second or less transition and I was off again.  More dirt roads, and eventually onto some nice, forested, single-track along the Colorado Trail.

I barely slowed down to get some fresher water at Mt. Elbert, knowing the next 3 miles or so to Twin Lakes were mostly downhill.  It felt like I flew down those next few miles, though in reality I was running +/-10 minute miles.  Onto a short section of rocky road, off onto the stupidly steep descent into the aid station, and I was there.  Brenda and the girls were once again there to greet me!  Downing 2 full cans of club soda before the Hope Pass climb, I took a little longer, though probably still less than a full minute.  I also stuffed my shorts with 2 bags of Doritos to fuel the ascent, gave quick hugs and promised to see them in a few hours.  I still felt good, and though I wasn’t aware at the time, my 1 minute deficit remained unchanged after 38 miles.

Twin Lakes probably boasts the greatest number of spectators along the course, but they are spread out throughout the town.  Again, I was encouraged with loud cheers from strangers, and a few who knew me, though in my rush, I didn’t recognize most of them.

Through town, across the highway (with traffic stopped by police officers), through the parking lot, and out into the grasslands.  There’s something about this short section that annoys me.  Instead of a direct path towards the looming pass ahead, you have to turn way off to the west and almost circle back again.  I guess the alternative would be to swim across the lake, but still, it seems indirect.  Though the water levels were slightly lower this year, there were still plenty of muddy water crossings before we even got to the main stream.  There was a guy in front of me who was doing everything he could to keep his feet dry for a while.  I couldn’t help but laugh as he finally came across a section where the trail and the tributary were one and the same.  There’s just no way to avoid wet feet, unless there’s a major drought.  Get over it, plod on through, and rest assured that your feet will dry as you climb.

The actual stream was a little lower than last year (only up to the knees), and the water was so cold, it actually made my feet hurt.  It was nice to wash all of the mud away, as outbound, once you cross the stream, you’re done.

Shortly after the crossing, I heard a runner up ahead being congratulated for being the 4th female.  I thought this was a good sign for me, as it meant that I was really moving up in the overall rankings.  I caught up to her and we wound up climbing most of the way together.  Unfortunately, that was not such a good sign.  I should have been able to really move up towards Hope Pass and drop quite a number of runners.  For some reason, I just had no power.  I wound up passing only a few runners, but mostly because they were hurting from the altitude.  I felt fine, except for the lack of climbing power, but was losing time.  By the top of the pass, I would be a full 20 minutes behind my goal and climbing slower than last year.

As we got closer to the aid station, we passed a runner laying on a log.  There was another person with him and we didn’t think much of it, but as we continued on, there were a couple of people running on down the trail, with fluids and equipment, clearly to help out.

The llamas finally came into view and I was ready for some cold drinks.  Going up with a single bottle was a strategic decision which I was prepared for better than last year, but I was still thirsty and needed to rehydrate a bit before continuing on the next section, which would also be a bit of a stretch with a single bottle.  I graciously accepted a cup of Coke from a young volunteer, drank greedily, and immediately spit it back out. FLAT!!  For the life of me, I can’t understand why runners drink flat soda.  It’s just gross.  I asked for a non-flat soda and was a bit miffed when I was told that there was none.  I settled for some ramen, water, took a couple of cookies for the road and headed on up towards the top of the climb, still a bit disappointed.

I knew I wasn’t moving as well as last year, but I stayed positive and appreciated that I hadn’t yet come across the leaders.  Last year, Rob Krar came flying down as I was still a half mile from the summit.  This year, I didn’t see the leaders until I was at least a half mile down the other side.  I guess we were all moving a bit slower.

I felt fine on the descent and passed a few more runners, despite the steepness, which isn't all that conducive to easy running.  Last year, I struggled a bit from the trail junction at the bottom to the Winfield.  I didn't know it was so long and rolling and I had run out of water.  This year, I was much better prepared, mentally, and hydraulically.

Though I couldn’t remember any of my other split goals, I knew that I wanted to be to Winfield in around 9:50.  As I approached the aid station, my watch read 10:18.  Only 2 minutes ahead of last year.  I was not thrilled with this revelation, though I knew full well that I was losing time as I climbed up the pass.  I still remained positive and hoped that my slower first half might leave me fresher.  If I could negative split the course and still break my 21 hour goal, that would be a doubly awesome result.  Impossible dreams seem so achievable in the middle of an ultra.

I saw Mitch as I neared the aid station and we ran in together, as I barked out instructions.  Even as  manager at work, I’m not overly demanding, so to be telling someone what to do, what I needed, was a bit of an odd experience, but Mitch and Bret performed admirably all day (and night).

One can of club soda guzzled, one in hand, 2 fresh bags of Doritos in my shorts, and we were off with another sub-one minute stop.  Normally, passing runners greet each other with friendly words of encouragement, but in this case, I let Mitch handle all the greetings for the both of us so I could save my breath.

The climb back up the south side of Hope was no faster than the north side.  I still didn't have any power.  Last year, I passed a good number of runners on both climbs.  This year, we passed only a couple.  It was a bit warm and I was doubly glad when we finally crested the pass and felt the cool wind.  Mitch sent out an update text to the rest of our gang and we galloped on down towards the aid station.  Oncoming runners were looking more and more haggard, though all were polite and supportive.

I told Mitch to go up ahead and get me a fully fizzed Coke, no matter the cost, along with some nice, salty ramen.  When I arrived, just behind him, we were informed of the reason for the flat Coke.  When you’re packing everything in for hundreds of runners on the backs of llamas, weight is an issue, and Coke is heavy.  Smartly, they had realized that carrying dozens of two-liter bottles or six-packs, was simply not an option, so instead, they brought up Coke syrup and mixed it with water.  I probably would have done the same thing were I in their shoes, but I still couldn’t bring myself to drink the stuff.  So instead, I had a few cups of ramen and broth, grabbed a few more cookies, and we headed on down the trail.

As we headed on out, we witnessed one of the saddest sights in ultrarunning - stopping runners and tagging their bibs for missing the cut-off.  Though we all know it’s for the safety of the runners and volunteers, it’s never easy.  Some of those runners had trained for a year or more, traveled from far corners of the country, had friends and family come out, and now, their race was over.  Running 45 miles should never be seen as a failure, but when you’re goal is a full hundred and a silver buckle, it’s painful to fall short.  For the remaining runners on the trail, it was hard to look them in the eyes.

Close to the bottom, Mitch and I passed the 3rd place woman.  She was moving quite well, but my downhill running abilities allowed me to catch her.  Her pacer asked us a few questions about the women’s field behind us and then tried to motivate her to speed up.  My feeling was that it was way too early for that kind of a push, but she re-passed us at the stream crossing.

The descent was a bit faster than last year, but not quite as fast as I had planned, and my deficit kept growing.  By the time we reached Twin Lakes, I would be 50 minutes behind my goal.  As soon as we popped out into the parking lot, the whole gang was there to greet us - Brenda and the girls, Bret & his wife Lisa, and my boss, Larry and his son, Jackson.  As he had done last year, Larry had a table and chair all set up.  My shoes were out and untied, along with fresh socks and a towel to dry my feet.  A cooler was filled with ice and cold Cokes (delightfully fizzy).  Despite all the friendly faces and comfortable amenities, I was in and out within about 90 seconds.  I had changed socks last year, but this was the first time that I actually changed shoes and man did it feel nice.  The shoes were literally brand new, never even having been on my feet.  The first few steps felt like I was bouncing on fluffy pillows.

Mitch stayed back with the gang and Bret took over the pacing duties.  We made our way through the frenzied crowds lining the streets of Twin Lakes, past the aid station, through the timing arch, and on up the hill.  I warned Bret that I just didn’t have any climbing power and he patiently stayed by my side as we slowly plodded up the climb.

Once up, the trail rolled with minor dips and hills.  I still had pretty good speed on the flat and downhill sections, but just couldn't muster up any power to climb.  It was a bit frustrating, but I was feeling pretty good otherwise and kept a positive outlook.  As the trail tilted more generally down, I was able to use the speed to pass a few runners, including the 3rd place gal.

We eventually made our way to Halfpipe.  Bret went on up ahead to get my drop bag, take care of his needs, and secure me some more fizzy Coke and salty ramen.  I wound up putting on a shirt just before the aid station as I didn't want to succumb to shivering and lose much needed energy.  I had regained 5 minutes and flew through the aid station in less than 60 seconds.

Generally downhill, I continued on at a decent pace, even managing a few sub ten-minute miles along the way.  Treeline was just as crazy as earlier in the day and provided much welcomed energy, along with a convenient port-o-potty.  I had managed my stomach well all day, and it was still feeling fine, but 16 hours is a long time to go, without going.

Back onto the paved road for a bit, then onto the fields of Outward Bound.  I turned on my light as it was getting pretty dark, and even though the holes were few, it would only take one to bring my race to an end.  Bret texted our team and they were prepared and waiting as we came in.  Loads of noise, energy, and excitement again at this big aid station.  I made another quick transition, dropped off Bret, and continued on with Mitch by my side again.  Unlike last year, I already donned my hat and gloves, and though I would have to remove them in a bit, they kept me from experiencing the bone chilling shivers that could quickly sap my energy.  I had regained another minute, but more importantly, I knew that I had the energy reserves that were missing the previous year.

We wound our way along the asphalt road and turned off towards Powerline.  As we made the left turn to face the climb, several lights could be seen slowly moving up ahead.  I felt good and I knew this was the opportunity I wanted to move further up the ranks.  I still wasn’t climbing quite as well as I might have liked, but better than I had on Hope Pass, and surely, most of the runners ahead would not have paced themselves as well.

Sure enough, we climbed at a steady pace and gradually started passing one runner/pacer pair after another.  I kept fueling and hydrating well, ran the downhills, and pushed up the hills as much as I could.  It’s always hard to tell when you’re nearing the top of Powerline with all of the false summits and I didn’t count them or keep track of the mileage.  I knew that we were close when we heard the horn.  I told Mitch about the impromptu stoner aid station that had saved my race and my life the previous year.  There was no way to tell if they would be there again, but I sure hoped so.  When I heard that distinctive horn, my adrenaline shot up again.  I couldn't wait to see them and thank them for the previous year.

I was blown away when we finally arrived.  Last year was a small gathering of a few people, with a table of coke, water and pretzels.  This year, they had hundreds of glow sticks stretched along the trail, lighting it up like a runway.  They used some to spell out “Nice f’ing work!”, along with a large banner reading the same.  They had more snacks, and way more people, and they were totally fired up. They had music blaring.  I wish I could have stayed up there and partied with them all night.  If for some reason I’m not running this race in the future, I will be either pacing or crewing for someone, or I will hike up to the top of Powerline and hang out with the stoners all night long.  This was simply the best aid station of any race, EVER!

Unfortunately, I had a race to finish, so I downed some more fizzy Coke, grabbed some mini candy bars and cookies, turned down a joint, and galloped on, refreshed by the knowledge that I was done with the significant climbs and the pure energy exuding from that awesome group of people.

I was really looking forward to the descent and was able to use my downhill speed to catch a couple of more runners.  One guy we passed right before turning onto Hagerman Pass Road called out my name.  Surprised, I asked who it was.  He said Bob, and it took me a few minutes to scroll through my metal contact list before I realised it was Bob Sweeney who had talked me into running the 8K cross country race back in February (and who totally kicked my ass in that race).

As Mitch and I ran down Hagerman Pass Road, I was surprised to glance back and see Bob and his pacer still close behind.  I wasn’t trying to outrun him, but usually, if I pass someone this late in a race, and especially on a downhill, they don't have much of a chance of re-passing me.

By the time we turned off onto the trail section, Bob was literally on my tail.  I pushed the pace a little and held him off as we descended, but as soon as the trail started to roll, I knew I couldn’t keep it up and pulled off to let him and his pacer by.  Mitch was running up in front of me at this point (to find and light the trail) and he didn’t notice that I had fallen back until they told him “hey, your runner is back there”.  He just saw the light behind him and assumed it was me.

We eventually made our way to the trailhead (where thankfully, someone had cleaned up the disgusting mess from this morning) and onto the short stretch of road.  As we turned off to May Queen, even though it was nearing midnight, the road was lined with energetic spectators.  We found Bret and Lisa easily, and made a quick, final transition.

Bret and I ran right through the aid station as there was no need for an additional stop.  I checked the time and felt pretty certain that we could break 22 hours.  As we ran through the quiet campground, a runner came up from behind.  Sure enough, it was Bob again.  We had apparently passed him at the aid station.  He sped by and I tried to push for a little, but 12 miles was too long for a finish sprint, so I let him disappear into the darkness ahead.

I thought we were making pretty decent time going around the lake, but my splits show a lackluster 12 to 13 minute mile pace, though I guess at the end of a tough 100 miler, that’s not too shameful.

Though in better physical and mental shape than last year, the trail around Turquoise Lake seemed to be never ending.  I was so incredibly happy to finally cross the road and stumble down the mini-powerline.  We then hit the dirt road and headed on down towards town.  Even though downhill (I definitely felt the up in the morning), I wasn’t quite moving as well as I might have liked (more 12 minute miles).  Along the creek, up the short rocky section, then onto the boulevard.  Again, I had hoped to run this a bit quicker, but it was still a respectable pace.

We had passed a couple of runners just before leaving the lake, but no signs of anyone else since.  As we neared town, I could see a faint light on the road ahead.  The runner was walking and we passed easily, with some words of encouragement.  Then there was another light farther up ahead.  We were getting closer to the end of the dirt and I couldn’t tell how far ahead he was, but I pushed on.  As we came to the edge of town and turned onto 6th Street, the runner was still a good ways off.  I pushed hard up the hill by the high school.  I put forth a final burst of speed coming down the hill, but soon realized that it was futile.  There just wasn’t enough distance left to catch up.  I eased up a bit and finally made it onto the red carpet and the finish line, knowing I had done my best.  21:54:34.  A bit closer to the 22 hour mark than I had thought back at May Queen.  Almost an hour off of my goal time, but a good 43 minutes better than last year, and feeling good the whole way.  Despite not having any climbing power going over Hope Pass both times, I ran a strategically smart race, managed my nutrition and hydration well, and ran a really good race.

I quickly moved into the warming/medical tent and took great pleasure in finally sitting down and chatting with Bob, who had finished about 10 minutes ahead of me.  A friend brought me some soup, but that final effort left me a bit queasy, and it was a good half hour before I felt stable enough to eat and the shivering stopped.  I did eat some soup and ramen, then finally made my way to the car at 3:00 AM for a few hours of sleep.  I had parked right on 6th Street, less than a block from the start/finish.  It seemed ideal since I would have such a short walk.  I crawled into the back of my trusty Outback, warmly dressed, threw on a thick comforter and fell asleep.

Unfortunately, only about 1 ½ hours later, I was prematurely awoken by the screams and cheers for the sub-25 hour runners.  Hadn’t thought about that when I scoped out this perfect parking/sleeping spot.  WIth all the noise, and my empty, gurmbing stomach, I soon gave up.

I got to watch a bunch of runners finish, then had a nice breakfast with my family, crew, and pacers.  Then I returned to the finish line to watch more runners finish.  It’s so awesome to watch the crowd continually build up as the clock nears the 30 hour cut-off.  I just can’t emphasize enough what an awesome experience it is.  Whether you’re a runner or not, if you ever have the opportunity, come watch the final finishers at the Leadville 100.

I am incredibly thankful to my wife and daughters for putting up with my crazy obsession.  I am also thankful for the time and work that Mitch, Bret, Lisa, Larry, and Jackson invested in me for this race.  They not only helped me cut down my time, but made the whole experience so enjoyable.

Though I did miss my optimistic goal of 21 hours, I had a great race that I’m very happy with.  One of the things that I’m most thrilled with and proud of is my patience and pacing early on in these long races.  As proof, this is my placement throughout the race, from May Queen to the finish; 173, 105, 81, 60, 58, 50, 46, 38, 36, 34, 25, 22.  With 10:18 to Winfield and 11:37 on the return, I clearly did not speed up, but obviously most runners slowed way more than me.

Garmin File

Pacing Spreadsheet

Tushars 93K

Starting at the Eagle Point Ski Resort, at 10,000’, I had expected to wake up to some pretty chilly temps, but was pleasantly surprised.  It had not dropped nearly as low as I had expected, though it did give me a bit of concern for heat of the afternoon.

The 5:00 AM start meant almost an hour of darkness, as well as the prospect of a rewarding sunrise.  We started off down a short section of dirt road and soon turned off onto gently climbing single track.  The string of headlamps ahead and behind were cool, but I knew a picture just wouldn’t come out.

 

After topping out at the first saddle, switchbacks wound our way down for a bit through the trees.  As we crossed a meadow, I smelled smoke, and sure enough, we were greeted with some cheers and encouraging words from a couple of campers - I wonder how surprised they were to be woken up at this hour by a long stream of runners.
 

Another little climb and the sky started to brighten, illuminating the awesome mountain views around us.  This north side of the mountains was even more rugged and Colorado-like than the south side that I had seen the previous day.  The sunrise was so pretty, I had to stop and shoot a few pictures, and take a stupid fall onto my elbow while not paying attention to the trail.
 

Pretty soon, we could see Alunite Ridge aid down and across a valley.  Turd’l was there taking down numbers and told me I was already more than 15 minutes behind “the boy with the neck tattoo”.  After refilling my supplies and grabbing an entire stack of pancakes, I headed on up the road, towards another pass.

I was running in and amongst people this whole time so it was nice and sociable.  Making a quick descent down into another beautiful, lush valley, I managed to pass a handful of runners, but we were just jostling positions back and forth depending on the terrain.  Most everyone had settled into a good position/pace by this time.

As we started to climb, there was a section where the trail was overgrown and we all stopped to look for the next marker.  With only about a minute lost, the climbing continued, and I found myself alongside Jamil Coury, from Aravaipa.  Him and I would run together pretty much all the way up to Copper Belt Peak.

As the big climb up to Mt. Delano (+12,000’) started, I was able to pass a few more runners.  Though the climbing was slow and tough, my time at altitude definitely gave me an advantage over many others.  Matt had told us that the area was home to a herd of mountain goats, and sure enough, we could see white dots moving many miles away on a distant ridge.

As we got higher up on the ridge, the open, lush, green tundra was so reminiscent of the Sound of Music (which I had just watched with my daughters the previous weekend) that I couldn’t help spinning around and singing in a horribly off-key voice.  Julie Andrews would be turning over in her grave if she were dead.  Who knows, my singing might have finally done her in.

The drone had been up and filming, but had been brought back down due to gusty winds.  Too bad.  With some professional sound dubbing, and a digitally imposed dress to cover up my hairy chest and back, and some flowing locks on my head, I could have been a dead ringer for Maria.

The actual peak seemed to sneak up on us as it had appeared to be much further off from below.  After a couple of quick pics, Jamil and I headed off down the other side.  The trail was quite defined in some areas, and in others, we were following flags over open fields.  It seemed like we were moving reasonably well, but the runners that we had spotted up ahead of us on the ascent were nowhere to be seen down below.  Soon enough, we came across the half marathoners as they were making their way up to the peak, which was their turn-a-round point.  That would be one heck of a half marathon!

After a long, fast descent, we hit a dirt road and started a moderate climb towards the Mud Lake aid station, which was managed by Britta.  She hadn’t taken note of Travis coming through, so she couldn’t give me any kind of an update ast to our relative positions.

Shortly after leaving Mud Lake, we started a long single-track descent through more forested, Colorado-like terrain, bottoming out near a deep blue alpine lake.  From there, we were back onto a 4-wheeler road that climbed towards Bullion Pasture aid.  Jamil would periodically pull ahead as he pushed more on the climb, but I would re-catch him on any runnable sections.

Mud Lake had been pretty quiet, but Bullion was a hub of activity, as it was situated at a trailhead and there were crews, spectators, and other users around.  Turd’l was there and without my even asking, he told me that Travis was no more than 10 minutes ahead.  Haha!  I knew he was starting to fade and I would be able to reel him in soon enough.

I didn’t realize just how soon.  Less than a mile out from Bullion, Jamil and I were pushing the pace on the downhill road when I heard “son of a…!” from the bushes.  Sure enough, Mr. Speedy was taking a potty break off the side of the road - must be all the gross Hammer gels he keeps shoving down his tattooed throat.  Within seconds, he came whizzing by us.  Jamil and I looked at each other and shook our heads - young punk just doesn’t know when he’s been whooped.

We flew along these 3 miles of downhill road with sub 8 minute miles - partly because the terrain was so well suited for speed, but also because we wanted to to get the hell off the damn road.  Matt had warned us that this area was one of the most popular with 4-wheelers, but man did he undersell that.  It was a nonstop stream of those obnoxious things, kicking up a continuous cloud of fine dust as they flew by.  It’s no fun chewing on gritty dust as you’re struggling to filter through some oxygen to fuel the legs.  Luckily, we made it down to the Copper Belt aid station pretty quickly and left the motorized frenzy behind.

I should have taken a minute to down my full can of club soda, as I would be dreaming about it later, but I wanted to hang with the group.  Jamil, Travis, another runner and I, all headed out of the aid together and started the long climb up to Copper Belt.  Much of the climb consisted of switchbacks along the face of the mountain that was treeless, but lush with undergrowth.  Not far up these switchbacks, we started coming across the leaders as they flew back down.

As we got higher up, I started to slowly pull away from our small group.  Soon, the trail came out onto the side of a rather steep slope composed of small pieces of light colored slate.  The “trail” consisted of a barely perceptible notch in the otherwise continuous slope.  This would have been a horrible place to pass oncoming traffic.

As I got higher, I was able to catch and pass a couple of runners.  Among the returning runners was the lead woman - one that I hadn’t recognized previously.  I was a little surprised not to see Jenessa in the lead.  I soon realized she was just a short distance ahead of me.

The trail leveled off a bit, actually dipped for a short distance, and then the flags took us on a sharp right turn (almost doubling back) and up along the ridge line to the peak.  I punched by bib, snapped a few quick pics, enjoyed another awesome view of all the peaks, and turned around for the descent.  I soon passed Janessa, who had come in 1st place at Antelope Canyon.  This boosted my confidence a bit, but I later found out that she was having some digestive issues that day and would later drop out.

Back onto the trail, I came across the ink-necked punk and was tempted to “accidentally” elbow him off the side of the mountain, but the terrain wasn’t steep enough to make it worthwhile.  The return trip off of Copper Belt was doubly nice - running downhill is always a treat after a hard climb, and it was energizing to see all the runners coming up and exchanging encouragement.

By the time I got back down to the aid station, I had emptied my bottle and totally relished the cool, refreshing can of club soda I had waiting for me.  Unfortunately, the next 3 miles would be back on the busy, dusty road.  This time, moving slowly uphill.  I was quite pleased to encounter only a few vehicles, but man it was way slower going back up.  I was starting to feel the effects of all the climbing.

Finally back up to Bullion, Turd’l was pleased to hear that I had literally caught Travis with his pants down.  The next 7 miles would be almost all downhill, and on nice single-track.  I was quite happy, but even with gravity in my corner, I still wasn’t moving quite as fast as I would have liked.  The terrain, vegetation, and temperature changed noticeably as I dropped about 3,000’.  At the bottom of the valley, there were many families camping around the creek and eyeing me with curiosity.  At one point, I passed a small group of people looking wearily into the base of a bush.  Apparently, they had just spooked a rattlesnake!  That’s the last thing I needed to worry about.

After a short climb up a road, I came upon the Miner’s Park aid station.  There was another runner there who was just heading out, so I didn’t want to stay too long.  I took time to down 2 full cans of club soda, refilled my supplies, grabbed a second bottle, and headed off.  Unfortunately, when the volunteers filled up my bottles, they put about 18 oz. into each 20 oz. bottle.  The extra 4 oz. would have been so incredibly welcomed a few miles later.

The climb consisted mainly of an old abandoned road that climbed relentlessly up the slope with an unfathomable number of switchbacks.  There were periodic boulders and trees that had fallen across the road and it was covered by waist-deep grass that was luckily dry due to the lack of rain over the previous days.  In the lower sections, I had that rattlesnake in the front of my mind as my feet moved through the thick, green vegetation.

I was hoping that I had reserved enough in the tanks for a strong surge to power up this final major climb and callously step over the writhing bodies of lesser runners as they lay helpless along the trail.  Unfortunately, I was moving OK, but I was not immune to the effects of the previous 40+ miles and 12,000’ of elevation gain.  And the runners ahead of me were nearly as green and reckless as I had hoped.

I did wind up catching one runner - the guy who had left the aid station just ahead of me.  And I certainly did not zip on past him.  It was more like a couple of tortoises, slowly making forward progress, with one being ever so slightly less slow than the other.

Despite the cloud cover and having just filled my stomach up with the two cans of club soda, the heat (somewhere in the 70’s), exertion of the previous miles, and the climb, left me parched.  Before I knew it, I had already gone through half of a bottle and I had gone less than a mile.  I quickly realized the potential gravity of the situation and cut back to small, rationed sips.  All day, we had run along or across babbling brooks of clear cold, delicious water, and here where I would have sold my soul to the devil (again), there was nothing!

The minutes felt like hours.  Every mile took an eternity.  Finally, I broke through the suffocating vegetation and out above treeline.  The cool air felt and tasted so refreshing.  But the the celebration did not last long.  The course broke off of the old road and climbed very steeply up the tundra.  Following a ridge, there was still no flowing water and no people around.  The flags led ever up and up.  Some sections were quite steep and the wind was blowing, but on I climbed.

Not too far back, I could see the guy that I had passed.  Up ahead, there was nobody.  On and on, until I finally topped out!  I celebrated by draining the last few drops out of my bottle.  I could see the Alunite Ridge aid station below.  Sure it was a ways down, but it was downhill and I was sure I would be there within 10 thirsty minutes.

The flags went steeply down to a little saddle, then turned off and to the left.  WTF!  The aid station is down and to the right.  But sure enough, I could see multiple flags lined up towards the left, so that’s the way I went.  The course went back onto a rough, rocky road, so I figured that this was probably a more measured descent and would soon turn the corner and head straight for the life nourishing liquids contained within that chaky brown tent.  But noooo!  The road led further and further away from my goal.  Down and down it went, but in the wrong direction.

It finally bottomed out, and then started to climb… What kind of cruel joke was this?  There was running water now!  I was so tempted, but I was so close.  Would it be worth the risk now?  Surely the tent was hidden from view just a few steps away.

Up?  Why up?  Why didn’t we just come straight DOWN upon the aid station?

Up a little more, then down, then up again, and there it was…  I wept.  Or at least I would have, if my tear ducts weren’t as dry as my raspy throat.

I stumbled in through the tent flap and drove straight for club soda in my drop bag.

After draining the first can, I looked around and noticed 2 other runners getting ready to depart.  This added to my urgency, but I drank another can and decided that I needed a shirt as the lowering temperatures were now starting to have an effect on my weary, dehydrated body.

7.5 miles to go!  I headed out just behind the other runners and soon passed them, though only because they stopped to rearrange gear.  I certainly wasn’t moving very fast.  I was still running reasonably on the downhills, but just had nothing to power me uphill.

I kept looking back, as one of the guys stayed pretty close on my tail, but he eventually dropped back.  My memory of this section was pretty hazy, but I soldiered on, watching the mileage on my Garmin rise agonizingly slow.  Eventually, I recognized the area where we had come upon the campers that morning.  I knew there was only one final climb through the forested switchbacks.  I pushed on and finally topped out at the saddle.  Almost all downhill from here!  I surged forward with a blistering 11 minute mile.  I hit the junction where the half marathoners turned off.  Down through the meadows.  Down through the ski area.  Down to the ski lift.  And then up.  A final ¼ mile uphill push to the finish.  I trudged up and the finish line came into view.  Spectators started cheering and I broke into an actual run for the final hundred feet, even though it was still uphill.

I did it!  A bit under 15 hours, and still in daylight.  This was one tough 55 miler with almost 17,000’ of elevation gain, and 4,000’ of that was from mile 40 to 44!  The scenery was absolutely spectacular and not what most people would expect in Utah.  I think this race deserves a bit of a warning - it is tough! Middle of the pack runners will need to keep an eye on the cut-offs.  Back of the pack runners may want to think about a shorter distance.

There are only two things that I would change about this race.  If at all possible, avoiding the 3 miles of 4-wheelers between Bullion and Copper Belt would really be nice.  Secondly, there needs to be at least a water station somewhere on the climb from Miner’s Park.  I could have easily used 60 oz. on that section and if it had been sunny and hot, 80+ oz. would have been needed.

I am sad that this was the last of Ultra Adventures Grand Circle series.  Each race has been so incredible and I have been honored and humbled to be a part of it.  Matt and his crew just keep outdoing themselves with each race.  Stay posted for a wrap up review of the whole series.

Garmin File

Capitol Reef 100

After a night of intermittently heavy rains, the race started under mostly cloudy skies.  I had some trepidations, as my first rain jacket was safely packed away in the drop bag at mile 19.

The small group of 29 started up the driveway, across the road, and onto a dirt road towards the foot of the mesa.  Right off the bat, Travis jumped to the front.  I assume he was trying to bank some distance in his futile attempt to beat me - so immature.

All the recent moisture made for some thick, gooey, clay mud in spots - great for kids to play in, not so great for starting a 100 mile race in.  The scenery was magnificent right from the beginning. The low clouds/fog slowly broke up, providing spectacular views of the sandstone cliffs, illuminated by the rising sun.  Hopefully you can imagine the beauty from my descriptive words since the #$%^&*ing camera @#$%^&ing died as soon as I turned it on.  I actually wound up tossing it into the bin of snacks at the self-serve aid at mile 2 and retrieving it on the way down the next morning.

We were starting to spread out a bit, but most runners (except for that punk, Travis) took a measured approach to the long climb.  The higher we ascended, the more the views opened up to the green valley below, framed by red sandstone walls.  The whole section up to Government Creek was a pretty mellow climb on a gravel/sandy jeep road and I made a mental note of how awesome it was going to be running back down at the end.

Government Creek Aid was a quick stop to refill water and grab a snack, and also the start of the mosquito zone.  Not a single one before the aid station, and then swarms thereafter.  Unfortunately, the terrain got a bit steeper also, meaning slower progress, which translated to better feeding for the flying parasites.  Shortly after the aid station, I found myself running alone, pretty much all the way to Donkey Reservoir.  This was a relatively low point for me.  The mosquitos were having a field day with my shirtless upper body, the terrain was rolling, with some steep little dips and climbs, the trail was overgrown with baby aspens so that you couldn’t even see your feet as they got mired in more gooey mud.  And on top of all of that, my Fenix 2 decided that there were no satellites to be found, at 9,000’, near the top of a mesa (I’ll write a separate review of this piece of Garmin crap later).

This section transitioned from rough ATV trail to single track and we ran through a good sized burn area where the ground cover (small aspens, and other shrubbery) were just so incredibly thick.  With the recent moisture clinging to the leaves and softening/slicking the trail, it really felt like a rain forest.  Despite all of the climbing up to this point, there were intermittent views of the real top of the mesa - a reminder of us just how much higher we were going.  As with the whole course, the terrain was incredibly diverse.  There were sections of trail that reminded me of the northeast, with slick granite boulders interspersed among the pine forest.  There were also some open meadows, with hidden boggy areas to moisten the feet in preparation for the tenderizing pounding that was to turn them into hamburger meat.  Some parts of the trail were literally covered with strawberry plants.  I didn’t see any actual berries, but the density of the red stems gave the trail a pinkish hue.

Donkey Reservoir was the first drop bag aid station, so I reloaded on snacks and drink mix, downed my usual can of club soda, stuffed a bag of Doritos into my shorts and headed on down a 4-wheel drive road.  The nice downhill was so pleasant to roll down, that I soon found myself at an unmarked intersection.  After looking around for a bit, I kicked myself for the stupidity and headed back up the hill for more than a quarter mile where I had missed a reasonably marked turn - 15 minutes down the drain.

Shortly after getting back on course, I heard voices up ahead.  Runners that I had passed a while back were now up in front.  I caught up to them shortly and three of us (me, Anthony Fetter, and Jeremy McDonough) settled into a nice pace and friendly conversation, which soon turned into vile cursing as we realized that we hadn’t seen a marker in a while.  Of course, it was on a nice downhill section, so we turned around and headed back up the trail to the pretty well marked turn that we had missed.  Anthony actually ran up ahead of me and Jeremy and wound up going the wrong way for a bit - poor guy, he did that so many times throughout the race, yet still came in 5th.

A few of us wound up heading out of Chokecherry Aid together, including a guy running in minimalist sandals.  After a bit, the real climbing started up to the top of the mesa.  I was amazed at how Colorado-like it was in this section.  We went up a steep, narrow valley, with sheer granite walls and a stream cascading down the middle.  It really felt like I was nearing treeline in the Rockies, including countless white Columbine scattered everywhere amongst the granite boulders.  By the time I topped out, I caught back up to Anthony and we wound up running together for quite a bit.  He took off out of Chokecherry before me, but with some gentle downhills through the meadows, I was able catch back up.

The two of us went into Pleasant Lake Aid together and I was a bit surprised to see Travis’s dad’s motorcycle there.  Sure enough, Travis had just left a minute before we got in and I could still see him in the distance.  He was in 4th, and I could tell he was tiring from the fast start.  Smelling blood, I was in and out of the aid station pretty quickly, figuring it wouldn’t be long before I caught up.

Travis must have gotten a shot of adrenaline from my pursuit, cause he wasn’t as easy to catch as I had thought.  I tried not to get into a real chase, as we were only 35 miles in, after all, I’m supposed to be the mature one.  I probably did push just a tad too hard, but I was having fun.  The terrain was spectacular.  We were running right along the edge of the mesa with panoramic views towards Capitol Reef, the race’s namesake.  Most of this section was in the pine trees, or right along the edge, but there were also a few alpine meadows.  As the course skirted around the edge of one of these, I noticed the back half of a fawn just a few feet away.  There was no blood and gore, not entrails.  It was just bitten cleanly in half, as one would bite a hotdog.  That is the creepiest thing I have ever seen on a race.  Luckily, it was early afternoon with the sun shining brightly, but I couldn’t help think that on the return, I would be passing through this area right around dusk.  I sure hoped the creature wouldn’t come back for the second mouthful when I was around.  By that time, I would be even more odiferous, encrusted in sweaty salt and sugary driblings, and I would be fatigued, stumbling along at an easily catchable pace.  Yikes!

All good things must come to an end.  What goes up, must come down.  It was now time to drop off the south end of the mesa towards the turn-around.  I vaguely remember Matt mentioning something about a steep, rocky section, but man did he undersell this.  Imagine a mile-long “road” at about a 50% grade, covered in jagged rocks ranging from fist to head size.  It was full-on quad-burning braking all the way down, trying to pick the cleanest line and stay upright.  Falling would have been most unpleasant.

Somehow, I managed to get down without a fall and the only damage was to my already raw feet.  A little way on a pleasant double track, and I could see the Long Lake Aid Station ahead.  And lo and behold, Travis was just heading out.  I yelled out to him, and though he was still off in the distance, I could tell by his slumping shoulders that he was less than pleased to look back and see me.

I made a quick stop through the aid station.  The ladies running it were awesome, as were all of the volunteers.  Travis had warned them of the “naked guy” chasing after him.  As I retrieved my drop bag, I noticed that everything inside was soaked.  No big deal, except for the shirt that I might need on the return trip.  Apparently, one of my cans of club soda leaked out.  Luckily, they’re just carbonated water, with no sugar, so there was no mess, just wet.  I pulled the shirt out and one of the gals graciously took it and hung it on a chair in the sun to dry.

I headed out as fast as I could and was a little surprised by the bit of climbing, as I had assumed it would be all downhill.  At the top of a good long climb, I saw Travis up ahead and in my best Stanley Kowalski bellow, I called out “STELLA!!!”  I’m not sure why, but I was tired of just calling out Travis’s name.  For the next few miles, as the terrain rolled through groves of giant aspens and open meadows, I would periodically catch glimpses of Travis and call out to him - “STELLA!!”

By mile 46, I finally caught up to the young punk.  I would have liked to hang with him for a while, to chat and gloat, but I had recently realized that my first flashlight was back at the previous aid station (mile 58.5) and at the current pace, I might not necessarily make it before dark.  I was feeling good and the terrain was rolling downhill, so I pushed on.  After a couple of miles, I finally came up on the leaders as they were heading back.  My GPS was still dead, but in asking them the distance to the turn-around, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that their lead was less than 2 miles.  This gave me a nice boost and I coasted into the Chriss Lake Aid Station just shy of 12 hours into the race.  Not too bad given the difficulty of the course and my extra ½ hour of wondering.

To add to my happy mood, I was surprisingly greeted by my favorite cheerleaders - Amy, Kirstyn, & Brenda.  I really wasn’t expecting to see them as it was a good bit of a drive and my arrival time was anything but certain.

Luckily I had packed 2 cans of club soda in this drop bag, because another one of them leaked out.  I went through pretty quickly and even Travis’s step-mom helped me out, though she made me promise not to let Travis know.  So I grabbed a couple of snacks, took a quick picture with the girls, bade them farewell, and told them to expect me around 6:00 AM.

I also learned that the sun was setting a bit later than I had feared, and with the rolling terrain back to Long Lake, I would have plenty of time.  With that concern out of my mind, I still pushed on knowing that I should make the most of the daylight and buoyed by the knowledge that the leaders were so close ahead.  If I could just hold on, I’d at least be 3rd place male - one more tomahawk to add to the collection.

I love out-and-back courses: you know what’s in store for you on the second half, there’s a real sense of accomplishment and relief after the turn-around, and you get to see all of the other runners (slower and faster).  It was really nice to see all the oncoming runners, especially on a remote course with such a small field.  Everyone encouraged each other on and I tried to let them all know what the distance and upcoming terrain was like.

I made it back to Long Lake in plenty of time.  I ate some snacks, restocked my supplies, donned my now dry shirt, and packed my flashlight.  After a short distance, I was back to the “river of rock”, this time staring up with a craned neck.  I tried to hold to a sustainable effort, but even that was tough.  I crested the top of the mesa just as the sun was shining its final rays on the valley floor to the east - what an awesome picture that would have made.

I allowed my legs to recover a bit, but soon broke into a run again.  I really wanted to take full advantage of the diminishing daylight.  On this kind of terrain, running at night is always slower.  I was quite surprised to see a couple of runners still heading out.  I doubted they would make the cut-offs, but they seemed to be in good spirits.  I finally succumbed to the darkness and turned the flashlight on.  I was a bit nervous as I still had some distance to go and only the one light.  If it flaked out on me for any reason, I would be stuck, probably doing jumping jacks to stave off hypothermia until another runner came along.

As I had guessed, between the familiarity of the course and the reflectivity of the markers, the route was much easier to find on the return trip.  I don’t know if it was simply out of the beam of my flashlight, or if it had been retrieved by the murderous beast, but I didn’t notice the fawn remnant.  I did, however, make plenty of noise, just in case.  In addition to some gibberish talk and a variety of song snippets, the recurring theme seemed to be “mamma said there’d be days like these…”  Seemed appropriate for the low points as well as the high ones throughout the night. And I’m pretty sure I was singing in tune the whole time.

Pleasant Lake seemed to take forever - one of the detriments to not having a working GPS (damn you, Garmin!).  Every little rise was topped with disappointment as the trail continued on and on into the darkness.  Finally, I saw the dim, khaki glow of the aid station tent in the distance.  As I approached, I was surprised to see two lights coming out of the tent and continuing on the trail.  When I inquired within, I was shocked and delighted to learn that it was the Virginia Beach couple and the leader was only about 15 minutes ahead of them.  Wow!  I must have been really hauling butt since the turn-around.  Travis’s dad was in the tent and helped me out as I gave him news of his son.  I moved in and out pretty quick, excited to catch the couple and possibly run with some company.  It took me all the way to Chokecherry to actually catch them, but I was still making progress.

The three of us left the aid station pretty much together and ran close for a while.  We did a little bit of chatting but soon I started to pull away.  Unfortunately, after we passed through the open meadows and got back into more forested areas, I had a bit of trouble finding the markers and they caught up to me.  We basically ran together until the top of the big descent as it was much easier to route find with three sets of eyes.

At the start of the descent, the trail became pretty distinct and I was able to jog down the slope at a better pace, increasing the distance to my pursuers. I made my way into Fish Creek Aid and was disappointed to learn that the leader had substantially increased his lead.  Between that bit of news and the effort of the past miles, I continued to slow down.  I was constantly looking back in fear of being caught, but I pretty much lost hope of a win.  You would think that the prospect of a second place finish would have been pretty energizing, but I was beat.  The course and my effort were really taking their toll.  It was also around this time that I caught sight of the rising moon.  Normally this would be pretty uplifting, but it only made me more aware of how late it was and that I would not come close to finishing by sunrise.

The remaining 19 miles dragged on interminably.  I was out there alone and the aid stations took twice as long to appear as I wanted/expected.  The climb up the road to Donkey felt like it was miles long and the sky was just starting to lighten.  Not long after I left the aid station, I was able to put the flashlight away.  The increased visibility was welcomed, but knowing how far I still had to go after sunrise was not.  The section between Donkey and Government was my lowest point on the way out and those memories were still relatively fresh.  Though the past 24 hours had dried the mud and the foliage, the mosquitos were almost as bad.  This time, I had a shirt on and was doused in repellant so I didn’t get bitten much, but they were just the annoying tip of the iceberg that I didn’t need.  Though mostly downhill, the rolling terrain went on and on, lengthened further by my slowing pace.

After cresting the final hill and descending for what seemed like hours, I was convinced they had packed up the Government Creek Aid Station and moved it.  By the time I finally reached it, I was downright cranky.  I topped off my water and grumbled a heartless thank you to the volunteer as I continued on down.  I wasn’t feeling strong enough to fully take advantage of the ideal finishing downhill that I had looked forward to since the previous day, but it did improve my mood a bit.  I also started seeing runners coming uphill for the shorter distance races and put on a more cheerful facade.  They were all so incredibly supportive and encouraging, I didn’t want to come off as an ungrateful, self-centered jerk.  Sure, I was tired and disappointed in my time, but I had run almost 100 really tough miles and was in second place.  Most of these runners saw me as an inspiration and I had an obligation to live up to.

As the elevation decreased, the sun and temperature rose.  With my long-sleeve shirt and pack on, I was getting toasty and the miles dragged ever on.  It felt like I was approaching the event horizon of a black hole, where time parabolically slows down to almost infinity.  After what felt like 50 miles since Government Creek, I finally came upon the self-serve aid station with 2.25 miles still left to go.  I dug through the bin and retrieved my stupid, dead camera.  I also found some tasty tea biscuits that just melted in my mouth.  50 feet down the trail, I paused and almost turned back for another handful, but decided against it.  I wanted to be done.

I had tripped and stumbled numerous times during the race, but never hit deck. At least, not until now.  At mile 98, on a smooth double-track, I landed face down in the sand.  This did not improve my mood!  I dusted myself off, spit out the grit, and after a few choice words for myself and the trail, carried on.  A few lifetimes later, I finally heard the road, then saw it, then crossed it.  How the hell did the damn driveway into the lodge get so long!?  I swear it was only 100 feet on the way out, now it felt like a couple of miles!

I could finally see the lodge, and the cars, and the finish!  As I slowly jogged on, I saw Brenda and the girls stooped over some rocks.  Just as I was passing them by, they finally looked up and saw me.  Kirstyn and Amy jumped up and ran across the line with me.  It was over! 26:49:29.  Holly crap.  How did it take so long?

Second place overall, and the toughest 100 I’ve run yet.  I was a bit disappointed in having slowed down so much over the last 30 miles, but that’s just my obsessive, perfectionist nature.

The course markings could have been more frequent.  Though the only two times that I got lost were strictly because of my inattention, the stop and go required to find the next flagging on some of the mesa top sections was extremely fatiguing.  This is a relatively small “issue” which I’m sure Matt will fix for next year.  For a first-time event, things went very smoothly, especially since they had apparently lost a number of experienced aid station volunteers at the last minute due to a funeral.  Matt and Turd’l had warned us at the start about the “inexperienced” volunteers but I can’t think of the slightest complaint with the aid stations.  Everyone was so incredibly helpful and supportive.  It was awesome.

As I said, this was the toughest 100 I’ve run yet.  It was also my favorite.  Monument Valley was probably a little more more picturesque, but this course was so incredibly diverse.  Going from colorful sandstone, to lush jungle-like trails, to giant aspens, alpine meadows and columbine in the thin air at 11,000’+.  I know the 50 miler covered the same route, but seeing it twice on the 100 is totally different.  I hope Matt can put on the 100 again next year.  This race, more than any other in Ultra Adventures’ Grand Circle series is destined to become a classic.