Leadville DNF

Just a quick write-up so I can put this one behind me.

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What’s worse? Standing in the rain at 3:50AM and knowing I wasn’t ready for this, or shitting in the bushes ten minutes into the run knowing I wasn’t ready for this?

That was the first few minutes of my recent failed attempt at Leadville. I knew in the days leading up to the race that I was still not recovered from my last adventure. But I kept telling myself I could fake my way to the finish line. After all, I had just finished big, bad Hardrock, right?

Therein lies the tough thing about Leadville. I have never heard so many horror stories about blowing up during a race as I hear about Pb. Neil, the caretaker at Barr Camp and a ten time finisher (and multiple DNFer) at Pb, thinks this is because somehow Leadville is considered an “easy” hundred miler. As such, runners are often overconfident heading into the race. This was the case for me, and I found out the hard way that when Leadville bites, it bites hard.

Anyhow, knowing I wasn’t ready, I was not about to throw in the towel. I decided to go for the big buckle and hope for a miracle.

Things started out alright. Yeah, I did have to jump into the bushes at the ten minute mark. The breakfast at the Hostel wasn’t the best, but at least I got rid of it early. The rest of the run to Mayqueen was pretty uneventful. Ran a good chunk of it with 1SGT Sowers, who is stationed at Fort Carson and who I often see at these ultra races. The opening section around Turquoise lake is really cool, you can see runners’ flashlights all around the lake. I felt good on this section but I could tell my body was not up for another hundred miles so soon. Hit the Mayqueen aid station in 2:22. Six minutes faster than last year despite the pit stop.

Left Mayqueen with my iPod and ran the rest of the way to Sugarloaf Pass. During the Leadville training weekend I had run this entire pass, but I decided to play it safe today and walk the hill. Eventually I got over the pass and hammered the long downhill to Fish Hatchery. Hit Fish in 4:24, almost 20 minutes faster than the previous year.

Fish Hatchery to Halfmoon is the most boring part of the course. It’s mostly on a paved road. Normally, this pain is dulled by the great view of Colorado’s two highest mountains, Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive. Couldn’t see either on this day, as clouds covered both peaks. So I just turned up the tunes and plugged away.

Coming into Halfmoon, it was nice to see Jim and Beverly, two running friends from the Springs. I finally changed my socks here, and I saw my feet looked horrible – trench foot that looked like I had been standing in a pool of water for days. I also noticed a blister forming on the base of my big toe on my left foot. As I was throwing some duct tape over it, a medical guy came up and asked me if I was alright. Guess I wasn’t looking so hot. But I told him I was fine and immediately left the area, didn’t want to take any chances.

I was looking forward to the next part of the race. Halfmoon to Twin Lakes is mostly along the singletrack of the Colorado Trail, and is mostly runnable. Just me and some great tunes and the trail, it felt good to be alive. Lots of Aspen trees along this section too, I always love running through those. I was still running well here, getting to Twin Lakes in 7:52. The year before I had arrived here at 8:42, and it had taken me half an hour longer to run this same section.

So I’m sitting at Twin Lakes. I duck into the port-o-shitter and then find my drop bag. While changing shoes I have a sudden realization that I’m due to blow up. Not a great feeling as I’m staring the Hope Pass double crossing. Not sure why I got this feeling here, as I was actually feeling somewhat decent and was almost a full hour ahead of last year’s pace. Usually I can deal with these negative mental thoughts, but they seemed to be getting the better of me today.

I run the entire way from Twin Lakes to the beginning of Hope Pass. The river crossing isn’t bad and actually feels good on my tired legs.

I start the climb and it hits me hard. I swear it was steeper this year. And as if I didn’t have enough problems already, mother nature decided to join the party. From the bottom of Hope Pass up to the Hopeless aid station, I saw rain, snow, sleet, marble sized hail, and the first sunshine of the day. Gotta love that Colorado weather.

Hit the Hopeless aid station at 9:40, over an hour faster than last year. I grab a cup of ramen and chill out with the llamas. Eat your food, Tina! A few minutes later I hit the top of Hope Pass and finally I get to run again. Get a boost here as I see Rick in 5th place, not very far behind the leaders, and he looks like he’s still feeling good. Hammer the downhill pretty well but once I get to the dirt road I’m toast. It’s about 1.5 miles long, but seems like 15 miles. I’m unable to run any of the hills. Eventually I reach Winfield. 11:37, still almost an hour ahead of last year.

I change socks and re-tape my hotspot. My feet look like shit and are hurting. My quads are fried. Even my calves, which I’ve never had a problem with, are shot. But the worst thing was my mental state. Honestly, I just didn’t believe I could finish this race. Halfway through it just dumped on me that I still had to run 50 miles, including pulling an all-nighter (which I hate Hate HATE doing), and I just didn’t think I had it in me.

I pushed on. It’s weird, looking back at it I really didn’t feel that bad physically. Definitely better than the year before. But mentally I was never able to find my game.

Tried to run back down the dirt road to Hope Pass, but I had trouble. My legs just didn’t want to move. Then I started the LONG trek up the backside of Hope. Holy bejesus, I don’t think I ever moved so slow. Felt like I got passed by everyone in the race during this climb. During the training weekend I did this section in about 90 minutes. On race day it would take me 2:15. Ouch.

I gave my last effort at a rally coming off Hope Pass. I blew through the Hopeless aid station, passing a lot of people who had passed me on the uphill. Did manage to run from Hopeless all the way down to the river crossing, picking up Rich along the way. Was able to waddle in with Rich to Twin Lakes. Hit TL inbound in 15:03, still an hour ahead of last year’s pace.

Finally saw Katie here. Never accused of being smart, besides trying to pull off the Hardrock/Leadville double, I thought I would attempt this one without a pacer and with little crew. I actually tried to get Katie not to come, but she insisted as it would give her an excuse to hang out in the mountains.

She shoved a ton of food down my throat and helped me change shoes. I think she could tell I wasn’t having any fun. I looked at her and said, “I’m really not sure I can do this.”

That was the beginning of the end for me, as after saying that I allowed myself to believe it, and mentally and physically things went downhill very quickly. I still pushed out of Twin Lakes and up the big climb there, and I was very much further along when night finally came than I was the year before, but I was done.

I had made it about two miles up the big hill when I gave up. The final seven miles to Halfmoon were nice downhill singletrack and I should have been able to make good time here. But I was done. The following slog to the aid station was nothing but a slow moving pity party for me. Physically, I have felt much worse in races before. Mentally, I have never allowed myself to completely fall apart like I did out there, and I’m not very proud of it.

I must have looked really bad, because when I came into Halfmoon a few of the aid station workers said, “oh, you’re the guy with the green light everyone was talking about.” I didn’t even think things over, I just went to the medical director and had him cut my wristband, ending my race.

This race is going to haunt me for a long time. A horrible failure for me, I’d grade my performance as an F-. Had I been able to pull it together for ten seconds at Halfmoon, I would have noticed that A) I was 1:15 ahead of my pace the previous year; B) I had actually done this section 15 minutes quicker than the year before; and C) I HAD WELL OVER TWO HOURS UNTIL THE CUTOFF FOR THAT AID STATION!

In hindsight, I should have had a seat for a while to see if I could recover. Katie was there, and was trying to tell me this, as was the medical director, but I was hearing none of it. Mentally, I had just quit, and I was not going to recover.

What really stings is that lack of mental toughness. That had always been the thing that kept me going, long after the effects of any natural ability or hard training had been exhausted.

Will I ever do another hundred miler? I’m not sure. I can’t imagine going out on a DNF, especially one as disappointing as this. On the other hand, I really can’t say I’ve enjoyed any of the hundreds I’ve attempted. It’s such a huge financial and time commitment, and I’m not sure it’s worth it in the end. You’d think it would be worth it when you cross the finish line, but I’m always too wasted to enjoy that. I could do well at marathons and even 50 milers with only a quarter of the time spent on training, allowing me to have much more of a life here in Colorado. We’ll see…