I should write a bunch of stuff about the pre-race preparation, what it was like registering for a 100-miler only 11 weeks before the race, how many hours I spent creating a training plan for myself, how bad I am at packing/organizing/planning, the number of hours I spent running when I should have been home, etc. Key facts: my mom flew out from Virginia to watch the girls; Meggan and I left Wednesday afternoon, and drove to our shared condo with friends in Fish Haven, Idaho; Karen flew from San Diego to SLC on Thursday morning, in time for us to pick her up for the pre-race briefing; I used purple duct tape to label my drop bags. Here are some pictures of pre-race packing...and repacking...and repacking...
On Friday morning, Karen, Meggan, and I woke up at 4:15. We got ready in a fairly quiet hotel room; I was trying to make sure I did everything necessary, and I think the girls were trying to stay half-asleep for as long as possible. I ate a some oatmeal and a bagel, and drank some juice. I remember time moving quickly, and I think I was still putting on sunscreen when we arrived at the start location, in the dark, about 5:40am. For those who don't run ultras, the idea of no warm-up may seem crazy. However, when you plan to be moving for more than a full day, there is no point. I was happy to be at the start, and very excited that the taper period had gone well, with no last-minute injuries or illnesses. I checked in for the start, and took a few pictures with friends. There were about 300 runners starting the race. It was warm, already 65 degrees, and the question on everyone's mind was: "How hot do think it'll get?" I remember feeling a sense of readiness, and feeling confident. I attributed this feeling of confidence before my first 100-miler to having chosen (bribed, cajoled, begged) a fantastic crew to support me.
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| How much time will separate Kari and I at the finish? (Hint: We didn't see each other the entire race.) |
I didn't actually hear the start of the race, although Karen and Meggan told me there was little fanfare. When the people in front of me started moving, so did I; a nice leisurely walk in the dark, through the neighborhood toward the trailhead. I didn't feel like chatting with anyone, and kept my light off and walked quietly. After about 15 minutes, my watch beeped to let me know we'd covered a mile. I laughed, knowing that even that slow pace would be faster than my average page for the race! I looked around as we neared the trailhead and estimated there were only about 25 people behind me...perfect. I thought of my friends Randy and Lori in Victoria, whose typical race plan I hoped to emulate. These two each have six 100-mile finishes in the last two years, and every time I "watch" one of their races unfold, they seem to magically move forward through the field during the second half of the race, when everyone else is faltering.
The elevation profile below explains why many starters were walking; the first six miles are a 3400' climb, ending around 8200' elevation. I spent a good part of the first climb talking with a man who turned out to have also attended NC State. I drank water and snacked throughout the climb, stopped for a bathroom break, and stepped aside for anyone pushing the pace at all, so I wouldn't get sucked along. I was pleased to find my new Black Diamond Ultra Distance Z-poles were amazing, and really helped my form on climbs. They will definitely be accompanying me on runs and races in the future. The sun came up and many of us stopped to enjoy the view of the aspen turning colors overlooking the valley (sorry, I lost the pictures I took). Eventually the trail turned downhill, and I stretched my legs a bit, being careful to save my quads. I passed the next part of the course in short conversations with various runners, most of whom seemed to have much slower goals than I did. This made me feel even more confident, because I knew I was in the right place early in the race. After a short descent, we had another 1200' climb. I reached the Logan Peak aid station, 10.5 miles into the race, after 3 hours and 11 minutes, a blistering 18:11/mile pace. Results show I was in 230th place, although I didn't know exactly at the time.
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| Bear 100 Elevation Profile |
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| Entering Leatham Hollow (mm 19.6) |
It was getting pretty warm as I entered the Leatham Hollow aid station at 11:06am. Results show me in 185th place here, although I have no idea how I passed 45 people while running 12:38/mile going downhill! Meggan and Karen were waiting, and shared a funny story of confused locals watching the runners come through. As planned, Karen already had two bottles filled and we quickly switched them for the two empties I had with me (I think I complained they weren't colder, picky runner!), and loaded my pack with food for the next 10 miles. I made sure to reapply sunscreen, grabbed a bunch of grapes and moved out of the aid station quickly.
The next section was essentially flat, dirt road with very little shade. Results show I passed ~60 people in 3 miles before Richards Hollow, but I am certain that is an error. Maybe I went a little fast because I was excited after seeing the girls, but there's no way I did that well. Lots of people were struggling in the heat; I passed my extra sunscreen to one guy, and a salt tablet to another runner. I remember Richards Hollow aid station as very crowded, with lots of runners desperately drinking water, wiping with cool cloths, etc. I quickly filled my hat with ice cubes and moved on.
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| Entering Cowley Canyon AS with Alicia (mm 29.98) |
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| Arriving at Right Hand Fork (mm 36.9) |
Karen was ready to go, and after a quick 4 minutes in the aid station (more sunscreen) we were off. I left Right Hand Fork at 3:25pm, in 146th place. When I originally asked Karen to be part of the crew, I said "I don't expect you to run anything at all, just crew." That changed, and she agreed to run the next 8.5 miles. We decided this was the best section for her to run, since it was lower than the later parts (she lives in San Diego), and likely more running. She completed her first marathon this year, so I knew she'd be up to the task of pacing her brother for an average of 15-minute miles. It was still hot, and as we climbed into more open terrain we passed a number of runners struggling to balance water and electrolytes. It was really enjoyable for me to have Karen with me, participating even more directly than she'd originally bargained for, and getting the chance to experience an ultra from the inside. Read her blog for her take on the event. We were thankful for the extra water and ice cache at the top of the hill, filled my hat with ice again, and rolled down the road through a beautiful valley as the sky started to darken, which brought the temperatures down somewhat. After a couple hours, we cruised into the Temple Fork aid station (mile 45.1) just before 5:30.
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| Entering Temple Fork with Karen (mm 45.1) |
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| Thankful for my wonderful wife/Physical Therapist |
Karen and Eric were waiting at the aid station. They greeted us, and I remember being annoyed that I couldn't figure out where we were going, as they led us through what seemed to me a very busy aid station. It is clear now that I was low on calories, but I do remember being thankful that I wasn't having stomach discomfort. I think I ate something warm at the aid station, but all I really remember is the lights being super bright, and being glad to get back onto the trail. As Eric and I climbed the trail, I was very thankful to have someone to follow, and be able to turn my brain off a bit. It was just after 8pm when we left. I remember very little of the 9.6-mile journey over to Franklin Trailhead. I remember having trouble with the leaves being hard to read, and the rocks. I know my foot was really sore, and I was very thankful when we could see the lights from the Franklin Trailhead aid station. I also remember it seemed to take us forever to reach the aid station, even when we could see the lights! I imagine I was very whiny during this section, but you'll have to ask Eric about that.
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| Franklin Trailhead aid station (mm 61.4) |
The climb out of Franklin, I feel like I did better, although I also think it started to rain. I remember we passed a few people. The tape job was heavenly, and I began to revive from the food and the treatment.
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| Runners wearing rain gear are smaller than they appear |
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| Mud is much worse than it appears |
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| This discussion looks serious...I wonder what they were talking about. |
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| Yes, I just try to leave the aid station at 4:30am without a light, hat, or gloves. |
Again, however, I made a bad decision leaving the aid station and did not take a good rain jacket. [I need to get one for next season (birthday hint), and have several models already picked out.] This turned out to be a really bad decision, for the next 6 miles up to Gibson Basin were a very slick, wet climb up muddy forest service road. I got very cold, the rain did not stop, and I was definitely whiny and grumpy when we reached the aid station. I was glad to see Gibson Basin, but there wasn't much relief here because I had no drop bag here. Eric was a huge help at this aid station; without him I might still be standing under the most useless tarp in the universe, which was flapping in the brisk wind. Eric got me soup, and I stood there pathetically trying to eat the soup in my wet clothes, thinking I was the man for not sitting down in the sopping wet chairs like other runners. Then Eric barked at me to stop eating and get dry clothes on. I took out my water resistant light down jacket, he scrounged a garbage bag for me, and I was warmer in minutes.
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| I look significantly happier and more functional than I actually was at Gibson Basin AS (mm 81.1) |
I knew we'd lost a bunch of time, and I wondered where we were in relation to the 30-hour cutoff for the Grizzly Bear buckle. See awards at the bottom of this page. Eric was doing an awesome job of keeping me moving, and I finally summoned up the courage to ask him "Is it still doable under 30?" There was a pause, and his answer came back, "we've got work to do" (or something like that, keep in mind I'd been out there for 24 hours at this point). I remember feeling good hearing that answer, although I'm sure that's not what Eric meant. To me he wasn't being really harsh yet, so I knew we weren't in dire straits. We did make the decision to go quickly through the next aid station, Beaver Creek Campground, push up the last 1100'+ climb, and see where we were from there. Eric did a great job of scaring the girls, who were sitting in the car, watching for us. They were watching, but hadn't realized that the guy wearing the garbage bag was their runner.
I tried to focus as best I could in the aid; it was our shortest aid station stop since mile 50. I remember being almost frantic, trying to get the girls to understand how desperate the situation was, but I don't think I was very good at communicating at this point. Somewhere in my head, a switch had flipped and I knew it was time to GO. Even though my foot still hurt, I was willing to push with everything I had on this ascent to see what happened. I was still moving well on uphills, so I felt confident. Eventually I called to Eric, "ready to play?" and took off up away from the car. It was 7:47am, and we had 4 hours and 13 minutes to go slightly less than 15 miles, in the crazy mud. We would need to maintain a faster pace than I for any leg since mile 50, all the way to the finish, to make it under 30 hours.
Quickly I realized this was to be no picnic; slight inclines that earlier in the race we would have walked were now taken at a slow jog. Steeper sections of the climb were spent staring at Eric's blue calf sleeves and mucky shoes from a short distance away, thinking, "If he drops something and stops to pick it up, I'll run into him before I can stop." I remember passing a ton of people on the climb, race results show about 15. I felt strong, buoyed by the knowledge a finish was a near-certainty, the daylight, and the fact that I was still able to race hard past mile 85.
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| Spectacular fall colors against the mud |
We reached the Ranger Dip aid station at about 9:40; Eric ran slightly ahead and told the girls we were going through quickly. I had already checked my water bottle levels, food levels, etc., and we knew exactly what we needed. I threw everything extraneous out of my pack, since it was daylight and we hoped to be finished in a couple hours. I think the girls were a bit alarmed by our hastiness, but I don't really remember looking at them, only being thankful they were there. I remember a couple older spectators taking pictures of us as we rushed to organize and leave quickly. Then we were gone, up the super-steep but short ascent to the Gates of Paradise, the highest point on the course at just above 9000'. It was arduously steep, but I forced myself to focus on Eric's calf sleeves again and keep moving as much as I could.
Eventually we reached the top, only to be greeted by my worst fear at this point in the course: 6 miles of steep downhill, dropping from 9000'+ to the finish at just below 6000'. Although it wasn't raining as badly, there was still drizzle in parts, and the mud was unbelievable. Since the race I have heard it described using many negative terms (slick as snot, apocalyptic, etc.), but none of these terms compares with what I was calling the mud at this point in the race. My foot was on fire, and I could barely struggle downhill. I was super-frustrated because I knew my quads and legs were in good shape because I had stayed patient through the early miles, and I wanted to be finished, and to move at a better pace. Strengthening my tibialis anterior is definitely part of my ultra training from now on. Please quote me on that. Incredibly, only one runner caught us on the descent; I felt like I was hobbling so slowly that the hordes would soon come rushing past us.
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| One grumpy runner, sliding through the mud |
Before I get too carried away praising Eric, I have to mention the point at which I would have thrown something at him if I had any extra energy. It seemed that we were down the majority of the descent (we were), and we were running along a trail that was essentially a creek, splashing directly in the deepest water because if we stepped on the side of the trail we slid down the mud into the center of the creek anyway. I looked up to the left and saw a runner ascending a small hill (~100'), which looked like a huge climb to me. "Do we go up that?" I think I screamed at Eric. "Yup," he replied casually. I was really mad at him for not telling me, although when you look at the elevation profile of the race you can't even see the blip of the climb. But I did it, of course, because he said to, and the course said to, and I was going to finish. Just over the top of that little climb, we caught up to Chris, our friend Kari's pacer (she had dropped him), who decided to run it in with us. He was very congratulatory to me, and he and Eric found a casual pace on the last mile or so of dirt road into the finish. Unfortunately for them, they were dropping me, and I believe I reminded them of this fact pretty snappishly. Eventually we reached the main road, crossed it, saw Meggan, Karen, the finish line, and Kari coming back to run it in with us (she finished 7 minutes in front of me, which was so cool!) My finishing time was 29:36:34, good for 71st place. There were 167 finishers of 277 starters.
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| 100 meters to go... |
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| 25 meters... |
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| Thanks, Meggs. |
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| 100-mile finisher. |
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| Thanks to the condo crew. |
I am now a 100-mile finisher. It is an amazing feeling, and I look forward to many more running adventures. This would not have been possible without my crew, my mom watching the girls in Colorado, and lots of training hours away from my family, for which I am thankful.
The following links will lead you to information that is more accurate than my own hyper-fatigued recollection.
Eric's Blog: Pacing the 2014 Bear 100
Karen's Blog: Crewing an Ultramarathon at The Bear 100
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