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).