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.
