Pb-ville race report, miles 50 to 100

When we last left, our hero was at the Winfield aid station, having just completed the first half of the Leadville Trail 1oo.

Winfield to Twin Lakes (10.5 miles)

So I'm about to head out for the second half of Leadville. I've been downing ensure all day (350 calories per bottle - I would down a dozen of them during the run), staying hydrated, and miraculously I felt real strong for having just run 50 miles, most of it well over 10,000 feet. Which came as a pretty big surprise to me, considering how much trouble I had been through in a couple of 50 mile training runs. But, no time to contemplate my good fortune, it was time to start the second half.

Melissa and I leave Winfield and slowly make our way to the opposite side of Hope Pass. This part is a little steeper and a little shorter than the first trip. We hike up, keeping a good pace and passing lots of people. Having Melissa along makes the miles go a bit quicker, and before I know it I'm at the top of the pass. We pause for a photo and head down to the aid station, where I'd have my picture taken with one of the 28 llamas. Eat your food, Tina! Still feeling good after 55 miles. M and I then proceed to blast down the rest of Hope Pass, probably dipping under six minutes per mile at some points. I was never known as a downhill runner in Texas, but living in Colorado has forced me to get better at the skill, and it showed on that decent. Even though most were able to run down the Pass, I was still passing lots of folks. Towards the bottom the mud would slow me down a bit, but overall I ran well and had a ton of fun coming down. Once at the bottom, it was back across the river to the Twin Lakes aid station. I had just met the most formidable challenge of my ultra career, the infamous double crossing of Hope Pass at Leadville, and passed the test with flying colors. I come into Twin Lakes at 7:59PM (the cutoff is 9:45PM), which is just under 16 hours into the race. The Hope Pass section, 21 miles, took me seven and a half hours. FYI, my road marathon PR is 2:55.

Twin Lakes to Halfmoon (9.5 miles)

Going into the race, I knew I needed to get to Halfmoon before it got dark to have any chance of finishing. Getting stuck on Hope Pass in the dark would not have been fun. I make it with about half an hour to spare, so I'm still doing well. Definitely starting to feel the effects of the race, but that's to be expected after running almost 100K. After my usual ensure-powerbar-coke binge at the aid station, I take off, leaving Melissa so she could drive ahead and join me for the night run. Leaving Twin Lakes, there's a big climb, which I don't remember being so steep on the way in. I hike this section, and before I'm at the top it's time to break out the flashlight. So here comes the night, the hills seem a lot bigger on the way back than on the way out, and I've been running for well over 17 hours. I'm definitely starting to feel it. But I trudge on, squinting in the night to find the next chem light marking the course. After what seems like FOREVER I finally hear the voices of the Halfmoon aid station, 69.5 miles into the race. Somewhere during that last section I set a PR for miles run, passing the 62 miles I ran at the Bandera 100K a few years ago. I'm starting to feel pretty crappy here, but at the same time, in a weird way, I expected a lot more pain in the first 70 miles so I'm still in decent spirits. I see Paul Dewitt at this aid station, and he says that a runner could walk it in to the end and still beat the cutoff times from this point. So I got that goin' for me, which is nice. Short break, and it's back out to the trails to hit treeline, where Dani and Melissa are waiting, and then to Fish Hatchery. My time at Halfmoon is 11:45PM (cutoff is 12:45AM), 19:45 into the race. The last 9.5 miles took me 3:46, my worst section yet.

Halfmoon to Fish Hatchery (7.0 miles)

Leaving Halfmoon, I think of my buddy Moogy, who always seems to have issues at 70 miles. It's about three miles to treeline, where my crew is waiting. Somewhere during those three miles, I completely fall apart. I've had to deal with sleep deprivation before, and have always hated doing it. But tonight, it's kicking my ass. Got up at 6AM on Friday to drive out to Leadville, then got a restless four hours of sleep Friday night, got up at 2AM on Saturday, then been put through the rigors of 70+ miles of rough terrain at high altitude, and things were going to shit. I'm starting to see things that aren't there, and my legs are becoming wobbly, at times to the point where I almost fall over. I get to treeline and find Dani, and before she can figure out what's going on I'm climbing into the back of her truck for a nap. I tell her to wake me in half an hour. After what seems like a blink of an eye, she's yelling at me to get going. I look at my watch and sure enough, it's been thirty minutes. I feel a bit refreshed after my cat nap and Melissa and I leave for Fish Hatchery. I run/hike and make somewhat decent time since a lot of this part is on the road. The good vibes from the nap don't last very long, though, and as we hit FH I'm feeling worse than before my slumber. The time at Fish Hatchery is 2:08AM (cutoff is 3AM - slowly creeping up on me) and I'm 22:08 into my race. Usually I'm getting kicked out of a bar at this time on a Saturday night. The seven miles along the easiest part of the course take me 2:23, a whopping 20:25 per mile!

Fish Hatchery to Mayqueen (10 miles)

Sitting in the Fish Hatchery aid station, I'm finished. There are cots all around, and I want to lie down on one for about thirty hours of sleep. Somehow, Melissa and Dani convince me to get my lame ass moving. Melissa and I head out of Fish Hatchery, where somehow I'm able to run a good chunk of the road leading to Sugarloaf pass. Then the climb begins. And I have nothing to respond with. The events of the past day and a half have left me physically worthless. I feel like I'm trying to summit Everest without oxygen, not make it up and over Sugarloaf pass, which earlier today I crossed with no problem. My legs are buckling, I fall over several times, and each decent sized rock I see is registered in my brain as a mountain lion ready to bite me. And I'm so afraid I'm actually jumping out of the way. Not the strongest moment of my life. I keep telling Melissa to let me take a 15 minute break, but she'll have nothing of it and somehow keeps me moving forward. Every twenty or thirty seconds I ask her again if I can take a nap, and she continues to tell me no. I actually get to the point where I want to choke her out because she's pissed me off so much. And not in a kidding way, I actually want to knock her out so I can rest for a bit. Anyone who knows Melissa knows how psychologically wacked out one would have to be want to bring her physical harm, she's about the nicest person in the world. But after what seemed like an ETERNITY of climbing, we finally reach the top of the pass. I'm too out of it to even care, and the downhill seems just as hard as the uphill. And it only gets worse when we can actually see the Mayqueen aid station, it felt like I was on a treadmill - it never seemed to get any closer. I'm certain I'm gonna get to the final aid station over the cutoff, and I'm glad. And I decide out there that even if I squeeze in, I'm dropping. No friggin' way I can cover another half marathon. I hit Mayqueen at 5:47AM (cutoff is 6:30AM), race time is 25:47. The last ten miles have taken me 3:39.

Mayqueen to Leadville (13.5 miles)

I seriously thought about dropping at Mayqueen. I even had an Incline Club shirt in my bag, which I would have changed into in case of a DNF, so as not to embarass Team CRUD. I know a lot of folks would ask here, "how could you have run 87 miles and not have been able to tough it up for 13 more?" but until you've been in this position you just can't understand. I've done training runs where I've been lost for over 13 miles, but at that point it might as well have been running to the end of the universe for me. 13 miles seemed like forever. But there are actually a few CRUD crew members who have waited around for me, and I can't bring myself to quit in front of them. I keep a bright face on in the tent, but I figure I can just drop at the Tabor boat ramp a short distance down the trail. Melissa and I leave the tent and I see the most beautiful sight of all time - sunrise. And suddenly, somehow, I feel fresher than I did when I started the race. Pain? None. Sleepiness? Not me. The overwhelming urge to kill Melissa? Gone. I have four hours to cover the final 13 miles around Turquoise Lake and into the finish line in Leadville, and instead of not wanting to continue I panic and think I won't make the cutoff. I inform Melissa of a plan to run for ten minutes and walk for two minutes, and tell her to keep track of time. We leave on the first ten minute interval and I hammer. Uphill, downhill, doesn't matter to me, I'm running like it's the last quarter mile of the race. Melissa, who has been pacing ahead of me for the last thirteen miles, is now struggling to keep up. No way to tell, but I'm fairly certain I covered more than 1.25 miles during that ten minute burst. The two minute hike comes and goes, and I hammer again. Still running like a madman, Melissa can't keep up and tells me to press on. Yes folks, I've just dropped my pacer! I feel like Carl Lewis, but I'm actually probably running about eight minutes a mile. Which is pretty amazing for having run almost 90 miles and hitting such a low point just a few miles earlier. Melissa is able to catch up to me during the two minute hike intervals, but I continue to drop her during the running. All the time, I'm passing tons of runners, many of whom are walking in the final miles, too smoked for anything else. I continue running incredibly strong, ten minutes on/two minutes off, and finally I turn off Turquoise Lake and start heading into town. Shortly after turning onto the Boulevard, the final long stretch of dirt road that takes you to the Leadville city limits, I catch up to Paul Dewitt, who is finishing with his dad. I realize at this point that I'm well under the cutoff, and I stop to walk for a bit. It's a pretty amazing feeling, going through hell to get to the point where you realize you're gonna finish. Still, when we pass a tree and Paul says, "this marks 5K to the finish line" I shake my head and pause for a bit and say, "FUCK that's a long way to go." But I drive on, and get some distance between Paul and I, as I realize this is probably my last chance to ever beat a former Leadville winner. I pass runners who are limping horribly, runners who are crying out in pain with each step, but yet they're pushing on to the finish. I feel bad for some of the runners in the same shape who I passed shortly out of Mayqueen, they'll cover the distance but won't make the cutoff. Soon, the end of the dirt road comes, the 99 mile mark. The last mile is run through the streets of Leadville, very quiet when I passed by over 28 hours before but alive with cheering spectators now. From about half a mile out you can see the finish line, and I'm really glad this is about to be over. I run the last mile, not wanting to look like a wus in front of all the folks watching. The last 15 feet of the race are on a red carpet, and you get to break a ribbon like you won the race. I'm happy to finish, but so tired and whiped out from the last 28+ hours that I just don't feel any emotion. Dani is waiting there at the finish with a chair and a cold PBR, and I collapse. It's 8:37AM on Sunday. Official time is 28:37:32.

Post race

So that's it, the story of my first hundred miler. Very happy with my race, I was running to finish and didn't care about my time. Gained a ton of valuable experience, and someday I'll return to this race for a sub-24 hour finish. Little bit of post-race depression, as Leadville has dominated everything I've done for the past ten months and now it's over. Physically, I feel fine. Had a rough time driving home, had to stop for an hour to sleep. Of course, the next day I was super sore, but just a few days later I felt fine. Forcing myself to take at least ten days off from running, but soon I'll start training to finish Cactus Rose in November and to run my first ultra for a time goal at Sunmart with the Rogues.

Can't say enough about my crew, Dani and Melissa. They were awesome. I hate to admit that I might not have been able to do it without them, but during the rough times when that cutoff was creeping up on me it was those two who made me keep going. And yes, I have apologized to Melissa for wanting to kill her.