Bear 100 Mile Endurance Run Race Report 2.0

A couple weekends ago I made my second attempt at The Bear 100 Mile Mountain Run. While both attempts at the race ended as DNFs (Did Not Finish) my experiences in each could not have been more different. Ever since last year’s race The Bear has been on my mind. Last year I felt strong and prepared and was able to enjoy the race. I was also able contemplate a number of things during the race and it ended up being an important milestone in my life. However, because it ended up being cut short because of an injured knee at mile 70, when I felt fully capable (at least at that point) of finishing the race, I left frustrated and focused on returning to redeem myself.

The damage to my knee was significant and the recovery process ended up being months long. When I started training again I eased into the miles and intensity in, what I thought was, a deliberate and conservative manner. I also added more core, strength and flexibility work, with the intention of minimizing the potential for injury. Despite my best efforts my preparation ended up being far from adequate for a couple of reasons. First, when I went to sign up for the Bear I ended up 101^st on the waitlist which I felt meant I had no chance of making the start list. So I, in a panic, signed up for the only Hardrock qualifier left during this season which was the Grindstone and which was scheduled for a week later than the Bear. However, four weeks out from the start of the Grindstone, and three weeks from the start of the Bear, I found out that a work commitment was going to make running Grindstone impossible. So I e-mailed the race director of the Bear and begged to be added to the start list. Fortunately he was kind enough to allow me into the race which made me happy but which also meant that I lost a week of training. The second and more critical problem was that during the final months of my preparation I was hit with three significant injuries: I reinjured a torn hamstring, I developed a small tear in my right calf muscle, and my lower back went out in fairly dramatic fashion (a long term injury of mine dating back to high school). Add to these injuries the fact that I caught a bad case of the stomach flu and also a nasty cold, again both in the final three months before the race, and the damage to my fitness was significant. These issues meant weeks of lost training. The biggest hit to my training was my inability to get in long runs and hill work. In fact, I had only one run exceeding 20 miles (a 27 mile out at Torreya State Park). The significance of this is difficult to overstate. Long runs are the bread and butter of ultra training. Further, given that The Bear is a mountain 100, I knew my lack of hill training was going to become evident very early on in the race. While you can ‘fake it’ in many shorter races, when it comes to a 100 mile mountain run you have either done the work or you have not. If you have not you’re in for a world of hurt and you’re not likely to achieve your goals.

Of course I recognized my inadequate preparation and was forced to reevaluate my goals. I decided that my first goal was to finish and I did not care about time. I simply had to get to the finish line in under 36 hours (the finish cut-off). My second goal was to not quit. I was not leaving the race unless I was forced to by the race staff (because I was unable to meet a cut-off or for health reasons) or because I seriously injured. I knew I was not as prepared as I would like but I was ready to push myself and I was ready to suffer. Given these facts, I started the race in far more serious frame of mind than the year before. I knew I was going to have run very conservatively and that it was still going to hurt.

The Bear starts with a long 12 mile climb to the top of Logan Peak. Within the first few miles my quadriceps began to protest. They lacked power and began to tire-out. While last year the climbs seemed easy and natural, this year I knew I was in for a suffer fest. Compounding the early sorry state of my legs was my lower back. It was protesting mightily. The pain was most significant when I would lean into the climb. So I had to keep myself more vertical than was natural which engaged my gluts and my hamstrings more than I would have normally. Instead of enjoying the beautiful landscape and pondering various life events, I was forced into a challenging mental game of struggling to make forward progress and to stay positive while dealing with declining legs and an achy back and doing this far too early in the race.

The long decent off of Logan Peak was an early test of the knee I had injured last year. Fortunately it held up just fine. My quads continued to get worse but my back handled the descent surprisingly well as long as I a maintained a straight upright posture. When I reached the Leatham Hollow aid station (mile 19.66) I was roughly 2 hours behind my time from the year before, but that was, at least in part, planned. I knew I needed to go easier, however, even if I tried I could not have gone any faster. My legs would not have allowed it.

The sun was now fairly high in the sky and it was getting hot. While low to mid 80s likely does not sound terribly hot to my Florida friends, direct sun high in the mountains has an intensity unlike anything felt at sea level. Starting at the next aid station (Richard’s Hollow – mile 22.5) I started filling my pack and hat with ice and dipping my hat in every body of water I passed. Dealing with the sun and heat was a serious issue and they resulted in an early end to many runners’ races. One of the more popular symptoms was an upset stomach. I saw far too many people emptying their stomachs on the side of the trail in these early miles of the race. My stomach got a little queasy but luckily held it together and I was able to continue to take in calories. The heat and the sun weakened and annoyed me but that was it.

The next fifteen or so miles passed with me continuing to slow as my quads got worse and my energy levels declined. Nevertheless, I was able to stabilize my back by utilizing hiking poles, which Van smartly recommended I set on a tall setting so that I would keep my back straight and upright. From then on I had only minor issues with my back. The hiking poles certainly helped with my quads too, however, there was no stopping their decline into uselessness. At mile 37 Darin joined me as a pacer which was great, especially once the sun dipped low enough that the mountains shaded us. This lifted my energy and the flat terrain allowed me to rest my quads. I entered Temple Fork aid station (mile 45) feeling better, still tired and with weak quads, but better nonetheless.

I left Temple Fork at dusk and hiked uphill into the dark by myself. My quads protested mightily and it became a serious mental challenge to keep myself moving forward. This was the name of the game for the entire run. It was a huge mental challenge as I had to somehow keep myself motivated and positive while the suffering continued to get worse. I have never faced such a prolonged challenge. It seemed so natural and logical to simply quit. On the face of it there was little reason to believe I could finish and I knew things were only going to get worse. Yet I had to keep these thoughts at bay and focus on making forward progress by setting small goals and thinking no further than the next aid station.

Nothing much changed though Tony Grove and into Franklin Basin (mile 61). I arrived in Franklin Basin very tired and with a growing frustration over my physical state. I was now facing time cut-offs for the aid stations (if you don’t make it into each of the remaining aid stations by a certain time they will pull you from the course). I was also dealt a major psychological blow when the Franklin Basin aid station volunteers informed me that the cut-off time listed on the website and in the race materials had been changed. Instead of being 5 hours ahead on the cut-off I was only 2 hours. This may not seem like a big deal but the cut-off times get tighter as the race goes on and I was consistently getting slower.

The fact that the time was changed without informing the runners upset me and I left in bad state of mind. Fortunately I now had my friend Van a pacer. We were headed into the infamous leg of the race that had ended my run last year. We made very slow yet steady progress. This is a steep and challenging portion of the race with a number of false summits to demoralize and frustrate the runners. My fatigue was now reaching critical levels and my quads were now at a point that I was losing some control over my legs. Yet Van kept me focused on moving forward and that is what we did.

We reached Logan River (mile 69.54) in a sorry state. This is the aid station where I was forced to drop last year however this time we moved on quickly and I was happy to be moving beyond what I had done last year. This happiness died almost immediately however. My fatigue reached critical levels and I started lose it mentally. Several times I fell asleep while hiking. I started to stumble and weave from side to side. I also had a hard time forming words and each step took considerable effort as my quads were constantly on the verge of failure. There was an entire portion of this leg that I still cannot remember other than one very clear hallucination where I saw my dog Rio. He was standing in the middle of the trail ahead of me and was looking so happy, as he always does on our runs. It made me happy to see him and I excitedly told Van about him being there. Van said something that I can’t remember and then Rio disappeared. That was a bummer. Rio would have been great to have along.

I was now moving so incredibly slow and the cut-offs were getting closer. However, I couldn’t even think about them. I was in a deep fog and my quads were threatening complete collapse. Every single step was a tremendous challenge. I faced each one with a certain degree of fear. Normally in a run steps blur together and your legs move quickly and your focus is far ahead. That was not the case now. Instead of focusing on the next aid station or even 10 yards ahead, my focus was now entirely on forcing my leg to move one step further. It was an agonizing ordeal.

We made it into the next aid station about 2 hours later than Darin had expected us. I was having a hard time thinking and talking and was just so weak. I sat there trying to wrap my ahead around what it was going to take to keep going, and it was almost too much to handle. However, being at a lower altitude, sitting down, and getting some food and water into me seemed to do some good. My legs were no better but I felt a bit of energy to return. Also, Christian Sabey had joined us and was set to pace me for the next 11 miles or so. Van and Christian did the math and I had to average 18 minute miles in order to finish by the final 36 hour cut-off. While sitting here two weeks out from the race that seems so insanely slow at the time that was right at or, as I would come to find out, beyond my limit.

An aid station volunteer got me a Rock Star energy drink which went down easy and felt great. After standing up to leave the aid station I gave Darin a hug and let her support me. It felt so good to let her hold my weight and I did not want to let go and endure what I knew was ahead of me. But I did let go and Christian and I headed out. At first, because of the energy from the drink and my rest, I was able to stick right at my 18 minutes per mile goal. However, in about a mile my physical and mental state nosedived.  I was losing all control. I could not keep my eyes open, I could hardly talk, I could not walk straight and finally my legs simply gave out and in a flash I found myself collapsed on the ground. From this point on Christian got us focused on damage management, with the goal of avoiding future collapses. We noticed if I attempted in any way to increase my pace my legs would give out and so we ignored the clock and simply tried to keep me up right. Soon I was taking 5 minute naps every so often and we creeped along with Christian closely monitoring my moves.

We arrived at the Gibson Basin aid station (mile 81) in a pretty bad state but the aid station was a pleasant surprise as we had forgotten about it since crews were not allowed at the station and therefore we had not included it on our list.  Christian had become concerned about my health and would have preferred that I dropped at Gibson Basin. However, I was not going to voluntarily drop and so after some refueling we headed out. It was again getting hot and we entered about a two mile stretch of exposed high altitude trail. This portion is a complete blur and about all I can remember is a patch of trees that Christian had as our goal which never seemed to get closer. Christian’s ability to keep me moving forward was remarkable. Once we reached the trees I took another 5 minute nap and we started on a long gentle downhill in the shade. The grade was just about perfect and my naps became less frequent, although my pace did not increase very much as my quads had nothing left.

When I was collapsed on the ground about 5 miles earlier a passing runner had secretly taken a picture of me which he showed to Van and the workers at the mile 85 aid station. I was now hours behind schedule and the volunteers and Darin and Van had become worried. So much so that Van and Darin borrowed an ATV and were driving up the rough four-wheel drive road to find me. With about two miles to go before the aid station we ran into each other. Van and Darin offered to give me a ride to the aid station, as I could no longer continue to meet the cut-offs, however I did not want to be driven out. I had to keep going until I made it to the aid station where I knew my race would end. So with Darin now at my side and Christian slightly ahead I walked it into the Beaver Creek aid station at mile 85 where my race ended.

The end did not feel very dramatic. I came into the final aid station as a stumbling mess. I had given it absolutely everything I had. While I did not meet my first goal, I met my second. I did not give up. It would have been so easy to have quit in one of the three prior aid station and it would have been justifiable. Heck I could have easily justified quitting at mile 30 or 40 or any of the previous aid stations or I could have simply pulled myself from the race weeks before the start given how my training went. But for whatever reason it was important to me to line up and give it everything I had and that is what I did. Unfortunately my best was not enough. But I can live with that. I now know that with the right training, and a certain amount of luck, finishing the Bear is well within my ability. This is not to say that I’m entirely OK with not finishing. I never want to be OK with that. You enter a race to finish. For whatever reason that remains important to me. However, I’m proud that with the odds stacked against me and with a race that went south from nearly the beginning I was able muster the mental strength to keep moving forward and to do so for 85 miles. I’m happy to learn that I can do that.

I left the race with no significant injuries. However, even now, 16 days since the race, I’m still dealing with significant and near constant fatigue and my quads still feel dead. I’m also having trouble sleeping and my mind, at times, still feels foggy. Clearly I taxed my system in a significant way and it is having trouble resetting. I’ve never dealt with this before.

A huge thanks goes out to Van, Christian and Darin. People’s true colors come out during significant adversity and they were so wonderful. What amazing people. Thanks to my Aunt Carol and Uncle Bill and my Aunt Diane and Uncle Marvin. They put us up and entertained us. It would be very difficult not to do the Bear again simply because I enjoy my time with them so much before and after the race. It is great to have an excuse to travel to Utah and spend time with them. Finally thanks to those of you here in Tallahassee who helped with our kids while we were gone. Given our kids’ schedules that was a major undertaking and we appreciate what you did very much.

Will I line up next year? I don’t know. I love the race and finishing it remains important to me. But the sacrifice is huge in so many ways and the timing of the race is less than ideal. So we will see. It is hard to imagine not doing it but that doesn’t mean I should or will.  

Me and Christian heading out (mile 75)...

and me collapsed in the dirt (mile 78ish).

Bear 100 Mile Endurance Run Race Report

This past weekend I attempted to run The Bear 100 Mile Endurance Run. It was an incredible experience and one that will stay with me for the rest of my life. However, it did not end the way I had hoped. Below I attempt to retell the story of my Bear adventure, which requires a bit of the back story and a rather long blog post (my first by the way).

The Back Story

I have always been a runner and a lover of mountains. Both of these, especially the love of mountains, seem to run in my family. I was born and raised in the perfect environment to nurture these interests, that being Colorado. I also ran competitively through high school and in college but faced injury after injury throughout my competitive career. It ended with surgery on both calves for chronic compartment syndrome and a long break from any consistent running. Fast forward 11 years and I found myself living in Tallahassee, FL. Inspired by my wife accomplishing her goal of running a marathon, I began running again. Through some experimentation I was able to overcome some long lingering issues related to the earlier compartment syndrome surgery and began to run fairly consistently and see some improvement in my general fitness and ability. I found that I was most comfortable on the trails and as I searched the internet for inspiration and information regarding trail running a whole new world opened up to me in the Mountain/Ultra/Trail (MUT) running blogosphere. Inspired by what I read, I committed to running my first ultra, the Lookout Mountain 50 miler. The first year I tore a meniscus in my knee and was unable to line up. However the second year I had a very memorable and educational experience. Suffice it to say, the first 25 miles were terribly painful and the last 13 were just about perfect. It is a race I will never forget. It was made all the better by the fact that my friend Van Aston was there to pace me for those last 13 miles.

My relative success at Lookout Mountain caused me to eye and even greater prize: The Hardrock 100. The Hardrock 100 is the grand-daddy of 100 mile mountain races. A wicked run that gains a total of over 33,000 feet in ascent and reaches elevations in excess of 14,000, all in the San Juan mountains of Colorado. It is awesome; nothing could be radder. It  also has a special importance to me and my family because we have roots in the San Juan Mountains. My dad worked in Ouray during college and then located to the area for some time after college, which is when he met and married my mom. During my dad’s early years in Ouray he was good friends with Rick Trujillo, the OG of Colorado mountain running and one of the early planners of the Hardrock 100. Growing up, my dad would tell us stories of this mythical man who ran up mountains. Also, as a family we had lived in Durango and some of my fondest childhood memories involve playing in those mountains. I made every attempt to get back to those mountains for climbing, backpacking and skiing adventures. Finally, my wife and I spent our honeymoon in Ouray. The point is: There is no place I love more than the San Juans of Colorado.

Following the Lookout Mountain race I signed up for a local trail 50k. Going into the race I injured my hamstring but chose to ignore it and lined up hoping to compete for the win. The win was not to be. By 8 miles my hamstring became very painful and quit working. I limped in and finished the 25k instead of the 50k. I later found out that I had torn my hamstring in 3 places. It took 13 frustrating months of treatments and physical therapy before I could run again. I started with ½ mile jogs and worked my way up until I was able to complete 3 to 5 mile runs a few times a week and completed a couple 7 mile training runs. About that time my wife and I loaded up the family for our annual summer trip to Colorado where we, among other things, spent 4 days at the Hardrock 100 spectating and watched Kilian Jornet set a new course record.

I also ran the course from Telluride to Ouray with my good friend Paul Formisano. The run started at 8,750 feet in Telluride, summited Virginias Pass at over 13,000 feet and then descended into Ouray at 7,792 feet, for a total distance of 16 miles. I undertook the run knowing that I lacked the necessary fitness but ended up having a great time nevertheless. A few days after Hardrock wrapped up I was still buzzing from what I saw and experienced and ended up searching the internet to see if there were any qualifying 100 miles races left that I could run to be eligible for the Hardrock lottery this year. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Bear 100 was still accepting registrations and on a whim I registered. I ended up third on the waitlist which meant I was basically assured a spot among the starters. The Bear is a killer mountain 100 miler which runs from Logan, Utah up into Idaho through some of the most beautiful mountains around. It is also the area where my mom was born and raised and where we spent many summers. I loved hiking in those mountains, especially with my Grandpa who I idolized. He knew every inch of those hills and my Grandma claimed that he planted every pine tree in those forests when he worked for the forest service after college.

I had two and half months to get ready for The Bear. I had almost zero running base built up and would have to train through August in Tallahassee. Looking back I realize just how stupid this all sounds. But the fact is, I never really thought it through. It was as if because my name was on the list I had to follow through and run the race. My training did not start until I was back from Colorado and at that point I had only a little over 2 months to get ready. Assessing the situation I developed a plan which would emphasize endurance and up-hill climbing while minimizing the potential for injury. This meant that most days I was hiking on an inclined treadmill or a stair-climber. I generally did this 3-4 days a week for about 2 hours at a time. Then, following the advice Chris Twiggs (fellow Florida resident and 10 time Hardrock finisher – yeah he is pretty hardcore), I did back-to-back long runs on Friday and Saturday or on Thursday, Friday and Saturday and took Sunday off. My long runs were very slow and simply emphasized time on my feet.

My first long run back from Colorado happened in Torreya State Park and resulted in me getting heat exhaustion. Not a good start to say the least. It also set a pattern for most of my long runs, which generally ended with me being frustrated beyond words with the heat and humidity of northwest Florida. So, while Florida  clearly did not provide the ideal training environment, I hoped that the heat, humidity, spider-webs, chiggers, mosquitos, biting flies, mud, and general difficult conditions would toughen me up to the point that the elevation and mountains of the Bear 100 wouldn’t pose the problem they appeared to pose to someone coming from Florida.

My training was going about as good as could be expected (I nearly wore out my Netflix account while on the treadmill and stair-climber), until the last two weeks when I developed consistent knee pain and also injured my Achilles tendon (most likely from overuse). At that point there wasn’t much I could do but back-off my training, do what exercises and stretching I could find on the internet and hope for the best come race day.

I went into the race with very little confidence in my training or in my knees and Achilles. I also went into the race concerned about the amount of time, energy and money I had poured into it. My participation had come at a significant cost to my family and I vowed that I would attempt it this time and if I finished I would put my name into the Hardrock lottery for the next two years, knowing the chances of my name being selected were next to zero, and that would be it; there would be no more 100 milers. Likewise, if I didn’t finish I would not try again. This would be it.

The Race

Van Aston again agreed to crew and pace me. He had since moved from Tallahassee to a town nearby Logan and was eager to help out. This was a big comfort as he was my running partner for three years and had shared the Lookout Mountain experience with me. He is also a physician’s assistant and his medical training had benefited me many times before. My wife (Darin) also made the trip out there with me to help me out during the trip and to crew and pace me. This was a huge benefit and a ton of fun. My crew and pacers were rounded out with two friends from years growing up in Colorado, Peter and Christian Sabey. We had shared many adventures together growing up and their senses of humor cannot be beat. I could not wait to see them again. Finally, my parents made the trip out from Colorado and I stayed with my aunts’ and uncles’ in Salt lake and Logan during the trip. I ended up with the very best, and clearly the most excited crew, in any of the aid stations. It was awesome.

I slept surprising well the two nights before the 6 AM start of the race and showed up ready to get started. I also lined up with some pretty strong emotions. My thoughts were on my Grandpa who I missed and even more so on my younger brother Paul, who I lost a little over a year ago. He was one of the toughest guys I know and he loved the mountains. I missed him badly and wished I could have had him with me during the race. He would have loved it.

The race started and I slowly jogged into the dark morning with little comprehension of what was ahead. We slowly wound our way through the streets of Logan for about a half mile toward the mouth of Dry Canyon trail. I settled in with a group of local ultra runners and focused on keeping my pace under check. Once we got on the trail we started our ascent of Logan Peak. On the course profile the climb looks insanely steep but I found the ascent to be fairly moderate and was able to easily stay within myself. This established a pattern for the rest of the race, where I seemed to be at my best on the climbs. This also somewhat validated my training approach which emphasized uphill hiking.

As the sun rose in the sky and we ascended higher up Mount Logan I became increasingly happy. I was loving it! The air was cool and crisp (the locals thought it was too hot – silly westerners, let me show you what heat is all about!), the sky was blue and the views were out of this world. I was in heaven. One of my favorite parts was smelling the recently fallen aspen leaves. Oh how I have missed Fall in the west!

Near the top of Logan Peak, at about ten and half miles, we hit our first aid station. I was feeling good and so after a hit of Mountain Dew and some solid food I was off. The descent was lots of fun. We ran a gorgeous ribbon of single track trail which descended close to ten miles to the first crewed aid station at Leatham Hollow. I felt strong and confident most of the way down but began to notice pain in my right knee. It did not inhibit me too much but it was noticeable. The good news was that my Achilles was a non-issue. This was rather remarkable because the day before I was noticing it while walking.

I came into Leatham Hollow over two hours ahead of my expected arrival and had left the aid station before my crew had a chance to get there. For the next 20 miles or so I enjoyed the race a great deal. My crew caught up to me and welcomed me into each aid station with cheers and on-the-spot assistance. Food, water, blister care and anything else I needed seemed to magically appear. It was pretty cool. This allowed me to focus on my run and also gave me something to look forward to. During the run I never allowed myself to think about the duration of the race. Instead I tried to stay in, and enjoy, each moment. And I did. It was easy to enjoy myself. I felt strong and I loved spending so much time in the mountains. The furthest I looked ahead was to the next aid station and to seeing my awesome crew.

On the trails I often thought of my brother Paul. The previous two months I had been crazy busy between work and family responsibilities and training for the race, I felt like I had not given enough time to thinking about my brother. Out on the trails of The Bear, where I had no waiting obligations and where I was removed from my home environment, I finally had time to reflect on his memory and what his loss has meant to me. He seemed so close. It was as if I could feel him next to me and hear and see him encouraging me on and enjoying himself on the same beautiful trails I was enjoying. I found myself asking him to pull me along and to stay with me. It was incredibly real and personal. If I gained nothing else from my experience this alone made it worth it.

On the up hills I continued to pass many runners and my legs continued to feel strong. The down hills however continued to pose problems for my knees, especially my right knee. I was having to power hike most of them and could only run for short durations. I switched shoes, adjusted my stride and tried to ignore the problem. Power hiking the down hills however meant I had extra energy on the up hills and I began to look forward to them even more.

At mile 37 my wife joined me for seven miles. This was great. We had been so busy in the time leading up to the race that we had had little time to ourselves. The course was pretty moderate during this section which meant that we could talk and enjoy ourselves with relative ease. I was also glad that she could get an even more intimate understanding of what I was experiencing and that we could share a portion of it with each other.

At the next aid station (Temple Fork) I picked up my headlamp and about halfway through the 8 mile section I was using it. The problem was at some point it had switched itself on in my vest and the batteries were now nearly burnt out. This ended up not being much of a problem as I hopped on a train of local trail runners and we wound our way through the dark to the top of Smithfield Cyn. Near the top of the section the group decided to stop and take a breather. I continued on by myself and took note of the fact that I had never felt the need to rest anywhere but at the aid stations. I had been taking care to eat and drink steadily and had been able to maintain my energy and strength. I was also eager to get to the 52 mile aid station (Tony Grove) because that is where I would meet Christian and Peter for the first time.

The short descent into Tony Grove from the top of Smithfield Cyn proved difficult as my right knee continued to get worse and I continued to hike more and more of the descents. Also, the pain in my knee forced me to adjust my stride in such a way that my right ankle began to ache and swell. Nevertheless the reunion with Christian and Peter at Tony Grove was just as I expected. We immediately fell into our former goof ball ways and I felt like I was back on some high school adventure. Christian joined me for next 10 mile section to Franklin Basin.

We had a great time catching up. However my pace had  slowed as my knee and ankle continued to pose problems and I was now noticeably limping on the descents. I attempted a few half-hearted attempts at jogging on the long descent to Franklin Trailhead but everyone we had passed on the short ascent out of Tony Grove caught and passed us and also several we had not passed. On this section I lost a significant portion of the two hour cushion I had built over my projected arrival times. Nevertheless, Christian was patient and encouraging throughout the section and it was a lot of fun.

We arrived at Franklin Trailhead (mile 61.5) a little before 1AM. This meant it was almost 3AM in Florida and I was getting sleepy. Darin and Van tried to get me to take a nap and Darin looked concerned. I was still feeling strong and was concerned about my slowing pace and so I decided against a nap and headed out into the dark with Van. It had started to rain hard and so I pulled on my Gore-Tex alpine jacket, my thin gloves and a beanie. I was not too concerned with the rain as Van and I had much experience running in serious down pours together. Our leg together was split into an 8 mile section and a 6.3 mile section divided by a non-crewed aid station at Logan River (mile 69.54). The first section started with a sustained steep climb for about 4 miles to the top of Steam Mill Pass. While I was sleepy and not very conversant, Van kept me focused and positive and my legs still felt strong. However, the rain made the trail increasingly slick and my frequent slipping started to play havoc with my knee and for the first time, about two miles in, it started to hurt while climbing. Things got worse as the climb went on and about three miles in I lost the ability to bend my knee and I was tripping and slipping about every other step which just further exacerbated my injury.

Then began the descent. By this time the trail was thoroughly soaked and turned into a slippery mud bath. My pace had slowed to less than 1 mile an hour and I could only take one or two steps and would then have to pause. Most steps resulted in some twisting and slipping which created serious pain in my knee and ankle. Fortunately, Van found a couple sticks which I could use as canes. This helped me stabilize myself but any attempt to bend my knee sent shooting pain through my knee and any attempt at forward motion aggravated my ankle. My pace continued to slow but I held out faith that things with my knee might improve once we reached the gravel road. At this point the concern on Van’s face was noticeable but I refused to acknowledge it.

With two miles left we finally reached the gravel road. By this time my wrists were sore and swollen from forcing them to bear so much weight and my knee and ankle felt completely wasted. Unfortunately the gravel road offered no relief and things continued to get worse. I became a stumbling waste and I no longer held back on my cussing, grunts and whimpers. These vocalizations were not so much the result of the pain as they were from the frustration of seeing my race slip away from me.

For the first time I sat down on the side of the road. I buried my head in my arms and just sat there. During this time I heard Van talk to some runners passing us and say something about notifying the aid station of our arrival. Van and I continued on our slow way. About 200 yards from the aid station a car pulled up. The runners Van had talked to had notified the aid station officials that someone needed picked up. Without pausing or thinking I got into the car and thus ended my race. During this very difficult section Van was the perfect pacer: patient, encouraging, serious when he needed to be, and clear-headed throughout.

Once at the aid station (around 6AM and mile 69.54) Van and I found open seats in a large heated tent. I instantly fell asleep for about an hour. Once I woke up I had new energy and thought that I would attempt to hike back to where the car had picked me up and then continue my race. However, when I attempted to move my leg, all hope was lost and I remained in my chair. I listened while other runners decided whether to drop or not and I felt extremely jealous. The runners we shared the tent with were deciding whether to continue while wet, cold and tired and each decided to drop. I wished I could trade places with them because at that moment I knew I would continue as the cold, rain and sleepiness seemed manageable to me and my legs still felt strong. I also had an extra source of motivation and also regret as I had more than anything wanted to finish this race for my brother Paul. Not being able to tore me up inside. But I had no choice, my race was already done and after a while I again fell asleep.

I woke up when Darin, Christian, and Peter showed up to take me and Van home. I was instantly hit with a wave of guilt. Each of them had sacrificed so much for me and I had failed. It was hard to look at them in the face. They were understanding and helpful and did their best to help me feel better. We went to my Aunt’s house were we met my parents and everyone was extremely kind. I took a shower, ate some breakfast, and took a 5 hour nap. Later we went out for some excellent hamburgers and even later made the drive to Salt Lake for our red-eye (1AM) flight home.

Making my way through the airports was hell and the flights themselves were horribly uncomfortable but it was great to be home Sunday morning. Since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the race. I wish I had not gotten in the car and instead had finished that leg of the race so that I could have rested at the aid station and made a more conscious decision about continuing or not. I don’t think that would have changed the outcome, however I would have felt better about how it ended.

Reading all of the encouraging posts that were made on Facebook and the texts sent to my and Darin’s phones and hearing about all the calls that were made during my race has filled me with gratitude and with the desire to have done better and finished the face. Not sure what I could have done to have made that happen but I can’t help but feel frustrated with the way it ended. Nevertheless, I’m extremely grateful for the experience I had while running through the beautiful Utah mountains. All but the ending was wonderful.

I had indicated earlier that, barring getting into Hardrock, this was going to be my one and only hundred. While I’m not ready to make any final decisions, now I’m not so sure. The thought of spending the rest of my life with this hanging over my head seems unbearable and furthermore I truly enjoyed the race. So, who knows, maybe next year you will see me lining up at 6AM in Logan for a 100 mile adventure in the mountains of Utah and Idaho. I can think of worse things.

Feeling happy

Me and Van

Darin and me coming into the aid station

Peter and Christian about to make some sort of inappropriate joke.

It was muddy out there

P.S. Never book a red-eye flight home for immediately following an ultra. It's a stupid idea. Trust me.