Just a quick write-up so I can put this one behind me.
----------
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…
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query leadville dnf put behind me. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query leadville dnf put behind me. Sort by date Show all posts
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Leadville 2009, part I
Leadville to Winfield
It was early, 2:45AM, which on a Saturday means I should've been going to bed but instead I was waking up. I had the same feeling of dread as I did one year before. I had just wolfed down a clif bar and it wasn’t sitting right. My stomach, normally a trash compactor for anything I put into it, didn’t seem to be working right. Not the kind of thing that bodes well for a 100 mile run. As Tony would say later, "on a good day, running 100 miles is fucking hard. Period. On a bad day, it's borderline impossible." I was hoping my stomach wouldn't be the cause of a bad day.
But, truth be told, I knew I was going to finish this run. There was just no other option. I had trained my ass off over the last year. And every second loop up the Incline, every extra mile on the Intemann trail, every time I got up to run at 4:45AM instead of 5AM, it was all with the vision of my collapse and DNF at Halfmoon in 2008. I had lived in shame for an entire year, and I was ready to put it behind me. Back-to-back DNF’s would have been a crushing blow, and probably the end, of my running career, and I wasn’t going to let that happen, especially due to stomach issues.
The gun went off and I began my run down
I was feeling really good down the boulevard. I saw Keith in front of me, which had me worry for a minute that I was already behind the 30 hour cutoff pace, but there were other big buckle runners all around, so I didn't panic. Soon we were on the singletrack path around
I hit Mayqueen in 2:05. Perfect. I grabbed my iPod and downed an ensure. My stomach was still feeling a bit queasy and I didn’t think any solid food would stay down, so I stuck with liquids.
I had the Widespread Panic shows from Mile High to take my mind off running for a bit. The music drove me on, and I ran the singletrack uphill to the dirt road and then over to the first big climb of the day,
I caught up to Brooks and we left Fish Hatchery together and ran down my least favorite part of the course, the paved road. The views were fantastic though, with
I passed the purple horse stall and in a bit I was routed off the normal course on to
From
Forty miles in, and up until this point everything had been ass backward for me. Usually I charge up hills, play it safe on the way down, and eat everything and anything I can get my hands on at the aid stations. Here I had been holding steady on the ups, hammering by people on the downs, and had only taken in liquids over the past six hours. I swear I could still feel the clif bar in my stomach that I had eaten over eight hours earlier. I can’t say my stomach issues were hurting me, but it left me at a loss as how hard to push the next part of the course.
I decided to play it safe. Though I blame the Halfmoon aid station for my misery the year before, I think the damage was actually done while trying to hammer Hope Pass. I run from
The pace up
I didn't waste too much time at the top and begun the very steep and rugged descent. Ran well here, even though I finished all my water just before hitting the dirt road to Winfield. The dirt road run sucked as usual, breathing in all the dust the cars were kicking up. After what seemed like an eternity I finally ran into Winfield at 2:17PM. Despite a lackluster
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
San Juan Solstice
San Juan Solstice 2007 - Lake City, CO
The first two or so miles went pretty well. That's about the only good thing I have to say about my race.
Approaching the first stream crossing just after turning off the dirt road onto the Alpine Gulch trail, I suddenly puke. Not a good thing less than three miles into my day. I'm kind of shocked, I've never thrown up during a race before. I continue on, and the first creek crossing really wakes me up. Damn, that water was COLD. Plus, it's flowing real quick. I have to grab wet logs to make sure I don't get swept away, which means not only are my feet freezing, but now my hands are too.
From one miserable experience to another, the stream crossings soon give way to a quad busting climb. From the 4-ish mile mark until about ten miles, the course takes runners from 9,000 feet to above 13,000 feet, with no relief along the way. My stomach is in knots here, I get nauseous if I try to sip water out of my camelbak, I can't feel my feet or hands because they're too cold, and I'm breathing way harder than I should be. I realize it's going to be a long day.
Get a bit of a break heading into the first aid station. My CRUD buddy Jonathan V catches up to me and our conversation, including possible plans of an Austin roadtrip to see Widespread Panic at the Backyard, takes my mind off of how crappy I'm feeling. We stop by the fire at the aid station to try to warm up. I try to down some cytomax, but just the smell of that makes my gut wrench. I settle for a cup of flat Coke as it's the only thing I'm able to keep down.
Continuing to climb out of the aid station, I keep up with Jonathan for a while but he soon leaves me behind. About the ten mile mark we're above 13,000 feet and it's finally time to descend. It was a rough climb, but I realize it took a lot more out of me than it should have. I also realize that during the first ten miles of the race all I've taken in was a glass of pop. I force down some clif blocks but those make me feel sick too. Nothing seems to be going right today.
On a different note, on a short flat section here I noticed a runner coming towards me. Kind of weird, other than this race this ain't the most travelled part of Colorado. As the other runner and I get closer, he jumps off the trail and starts cheering for me. As I pass him, I do a double take and say, "holy shit, you're Scott Jurek!" He seemed kind of embarrassed, but it was him. Seems he was out getting in some altitude training for the upcoming Hardrock 100 miler. Not that there hasn't been enough nice things said about the guy, but the way one of the world's top ultrarunners was out there cheering for us slow folks was pretty cool.
This meeting must inspire me, as I'm able to haul ass on the first big downhill, passing a ton of people. Unfortunately, I lose most of that time when I have to jump into the woodline to see a man about a horse. Now I'm feeling that if I could throw up again, I'd feel better. Soon I'm heading into the Williams Creek aid station, and it's straight off to the port-o-shitter for the old high school cheerleader impression. Finger way down the throat, and out comes what seems like 100 gallons of the nastiest stuff to ever leave my body (and believe me, there's been some nasty stuff over the years...). I come out of the shitter and there are two runners waiting in line, looking at me like they think I should be dead after what I just went through.
A very sad moment here at Williams Creek. I had been wearing my Montrail Hardrocks for the first 15 miles of the race. I've owned them for over 2.5 years. Been through a lot of good times with 'em. But as I'm changing into dry shoes and socks, I notice that I've completely broke the sole of one shoe in half. The other shoe ain't in much better shape. I realize it's time to say goodbye to an old friend, but I can't bring myself to throw the shoes in the trash, so I leave them sitting on a rock at the aid station.
After my tearful farewell, I refill my camelbak with water and chug down a cup of cytomax. I immediately want to hurl again, my body just ain't diggin' the cytomax today. So I take another cup of coke in hopes of calming things down and head out for the next climb.
Coming out of Williams Creek there's a relatively flat stretch of about 2.5 miles along a dirt road. Last year I was able to make up some ground on this stretch, and I expected to do the same this year. But it just wasn't happening. Less than 1/3 into the race, and I was already physically wasted. I knew another killer climb lay just ahead, and I began to wonder if I were headed for another DNF.
Around the 18 mile mark the course takes you up the second major climb. Over the next five miles you go from about 9,200 feet to the high point of the course at 13,334 feet on top of Coney Peak. The climb is on a rugged jeep road, the sun was beating down on me, and I felt finished. As much as I had cursed the earlier creek crossings for making me so cold, I stop by another fast flowing mountain stream and submerge my head to cool off. It provides a brief break from my general feeling of shittiness, but the relentless climb soon reminds me of my misery.
At 22 miles there's an aid station near the ghost town of Carson. My stomach is still awful so I take a mouthful of salt and some pringles and wash it down with water. A volunteer asks me if she can refill my camelbak and I realize that I hadn't drank anything since the last aid station. I'm not a veteran ultrarunner by any means, but that's a big time rookie mistake I had made.
While I'm at the aid station another CRUD buddy, Gordon, comes in. One of my heros for finishing last year's race and, without stopping at the finish line, heading directly to the ambulance, it's good to see him. We'd spend the next few hours pushing each other. Actually, it was more him pulling me.
Leaving Carson, the climb continues for another two miles or so. As we bag the summit of Coney Peak, I can see dark clouds forming. I tell Gordon, "damn, those don't look good" to which he replies, "I'm trying not to think about it."
After Coney Peak the course flattens out, but you're along the Continental Divide, well above 12,000 feet, for the next seven miles or so. Breathtaking is the right word for it. Despite the brewing storm, the only thing I can see up here are the high peaks of the San Juan Mountains. There are five 14ers nearby. Red Mountain is just a few miles away. One of the most scenic places in all of Colorado, and despite the bad day I'm having I feel very thankful that I'm able to take in this view, it's one not a whole bunch of people will ever get to see.
So I continue on, mindful of the incoming storm. I try to outrun it, but I realize it's soon gonna catch up to me. Lots of postholing through snow here, so my warm and dry shoes and socks are now cold and wet. One treacherous 200 foot drop required the use of a climbing rope to rappel down. It was at this point where I told Gordon, "Hey Gordo, next year I think I'm gonna do the Sailin' Shoes 5K instead...."
After the rappel and some more postholing, Gordon sped away and the storm caught up with me. Large hail began to pelt me, which would have really been painful had the nearby lightening not been my bigger problem. There was a runner not far behind me who had been using aluminum trekking poles, and later he would tell me that he had to leave them on the mountain because he felt them starting to build up static and they started making a buzzing sound.
So I ran as fast as my severely dehydrated body could take me, and soon got back to the relative safety of treeline. Lots of mud here, the day just kept getting more and more agonazing. Through a steady rain I kept plodding along and finally came to the next aid station, Divide.
Again, I noticed here that I had hardly taken in any liquids or calories since the last aid station. In fact, I had not significantly taken in anything all day, despite crapping and barfing all over the forest. And just looking at cytomax at the aid station made me nauseous. So I took a cup of water and a bowl of ramen into the yurt to warm up. I contemplated dropping out here due to my exhaustion, and I was afraid if I went on I was gonna do some severe damage due to my dehydration. But just then the rain stopped and the sun came out. I took it as a sign and decided that if I didn't finish the race, it wasn't gonna be my call. I would continue on, and if the medical experts pulled me or I missed a cutoff than so be it, but I wouldn't quit.
It's mostly downhill from the Divide aid station, but I'm so shot it's taking everything I have just to keep moving forward. I slip and fall in the mud a few times, which adds to my misery. I know I'm very close to the cutoff time, but I don't care. In fact, part of me starts hoping I won't make it, I know the final climb is a doozy and I'm not sure if I can do it.
Finally trudge into the last main aid station, Slumgullion. I ask about the cutoff time, and I'm told I made it by 25 minutes. Last year at this time I was finishing the race, this year I still had ten miles to go. I force down some fig newtons and a cup of water, my stomach still giving me problems. Without wasting much time I head out for the final battle of the day.
Shortly after Slumgullion I feel like I'm on a hash as I have to cross another stream and then crawl over some downed trees. Then the climbing starts. The final uphill of the day makes you climb 1,700 feet, back over 11,000 feet, in less than four miles. I felt like I was doing the incline with a 100 pound pack on. I didn't worry about pace or cutoff times, just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. After what seemed like an eternity the effort finally paid off, as I crested the hill, mucked my way through some swampy fields, and soon came into the small aid station run by the Vickers family.
Blew right through the aid station. My time had just passed 15 hours, and I had four miles, mostly steep downhill on a cool path through Aspen trees, to go. Normally this would be gravy for me, but today I was taking nothing for granted. I soldiered on, the adrenaline and excitement of a finish allowing me to find the strength to run most of the final few miles.
Finally leaving nature behind for the thriving metropolis of Lake City, I ran through a few intersections and suddenly found myself on the homestretch. I was so drained I couldn't even show any sign of emotion, but it was great seeing all of CRUD still out there, even though some had finished six hours earlier. I crossed the finish line and just before I collapsed someone shoved a cold beer into my hand. I took a lusty pull, the most liquid I had taken in all day.
While I'm very happy with my finish, it was a very humbling experience for me. I finished in 15:47:31, 118th out of 121 finishers. For a long time I thought I was in last place. My very first race ever, as a 13 year old freshman high school harrier, I took last place, but ever since then I had generally been, while nowhere near world class, at least in the upper quarter of the field. So during the bad parts of this jaunt, like, oh, the last 48 miles or so, I really started to wonder if I shouldn't stick to the shorter stuff, the 10Ks and half-marathons, an occassional marathon, maybe just concentrate the Pikes Peak races. While I'm still wildly comitted to Leadville (a non-refundable $225 entry fee has that effect on me), I'm gonna take some time after that race and decide which direction I feel I should go.
I'd like to thank Dani for being such a good sport all weekend. I know after the race I wasn't the most fun person to be around. And again, seeing all the CRUD guys still cheering after all that time was awesome, glad all those guys had a good race. Also, I can't say enough kind words about the volunteers who put on the race. Ultrarunning is a sport filled with wonderful people who help out at races, but the folks of Lake City are among the best I've come across. 
The first two or so miles went pretty well. That's about the only good thing I have to say about my race.
Approaching the first stream crossing just after turning off the dirt road onto the Alpine Gulch trail, I suddenly puke. Not a good thing less than three miles into my day. I'm kind of shocked, I've never thrown up during a race before. I continue on, and the first creek crossing really wakes me up. Damn, that water was COLD. Plus, it's flowing real quick. I have to grab wet logs to make sure I don't get swept away, which means not only are my feet freezing, but now my hands are too.
From one miserable experience to another, the stream crossings soon give way to a quad busting climb. From the 4-ish mile mark until about ten miles, the course takes runners from 9,000 feet to above 13,000 feet, with no relief along the way. My stomach is in knots here, I get nauseous if I try to sip water out of my camelbak, I can't feel my feet or hands because they're too cold, and I'm breathing way harder than I should be. I realize it's going to be a long day.
Get a bit of a break heading into the first aid station. My CRUD buddy Jonathan V catches up to me and our conversation, including possible plans of an Austin roadtrip to see Widespread Panic at the Backyard, takes my mind off of how crappy I'm feeling. We stop by the fire at the aid station to try to warm up. I try to down some cytomax, but just the smell of that makes my gut wrench. I settle for a cup of flat Coke as it's the only thing I'm able to keep down.
Continuing to climb out of the aid station, I keep up with Jonathan for a while but he soon leaves me behind. About the ten mile mark we're above 13,000 feet and it's finally time to descend. It was a rough climb, but I realize it took a lot more out of me than it should have. I also realize that during the first ten miles of the race all I've taken in was a glass of pop. I force down some clif blocks but those make me feel sick too. Nothing seems to be going right today.
On a different note, on a short flat section here I noticed a runner coming towards me. Kind of weird, other than this race this ain't the most travelled part of Colorado. As the other runner and I get closer, he jumps off the trail and starts cheering for me. As I pass him, I do a double take and say, "holy shit, you're Scott Jurek!" He seemed kind of embarrassed, but it was him. Seems he was out getting in some altitude training for the upcoming Hardrock 100 miler. Not that there hasn't been enough nice things said about the guy, but the way one of the world's top ultrarunners was out there cheering for us slow folks was pretty cool.
This meeting must inspire me, as I'm able to haul ass on the first big downhill, passing a ton of people. Unfortunately, I lose most of that time when I have to jump into the woodline to see a man about a horse. Now I'm feeling that if I could throw up again, I'd feel better. Soon I'm heading into the Williams Creek aid station, and it's straight off to the port-o-shitter for the old high school cheerleader impression. Finger way down the throat, and out comes what seems like 100 gallons of the nastiest stuff to ever leave my body (and believe me, there's been some nasty stuff over the years...). I come out of the shitter and there are two runners waiting in line, looking at me like they think I should be dead after what I just went through.
A very sad moment here at Williams Creek. I had been wearing my Montrail Hardrocks for the first 15 miles of the race. I've owned them for over 2.5 years. Been through a lot of good times with 'em. But as I'm changing into dry shoes and socks, I notice that I've completely broke the sole of one shoe in half. The other shoe ain't in much better shape. I realize it's time to say goodbye to an old friend, but I can't bring myself to throw the shoes in the trash, so I leave them sitting on a rock at the aid station.
After my tearful farewell, I refill my camelbak with water and chug down a cup of cytomax. I immediately want to hurl again, my body just ain't diggin' the cytomax today. So I take another cup of coke in hopes of calming things down and head out for the next climb.
Coming out of Williams Creek there's a relatively flat stretch of about 2.5 miles along a dirt road. Last year I was able to make up some ground on this stretch, and I expected to do the same this year. But it just wasn't happening. Less than 1/3 into the race, and I was already physically wasted. I knew another killer climb lay just ahead, and I began to wonder if I were headed for another DNF.
Around the 18 mile mark the course takes you up the second major climb. Over the next five miles you go from about 9,200 feet to the high point of the course at 13,334 feet on top of Coney Peak. The climb is on a rugged jeep road, the sun was beating down on me, and I felt finished. As much as I had cursed the earlier creek crossings for making me so cold, I stop by another fast flowing mountain stream and submerge my head to cool off. It provides a brief break from my general feeling of shittiness, but the relentless climb soon reminds me of my misery.
At 22 miles there's an aid station near the ghost town of Carson. My stomach is still awful so I take a mouthful of salt and some pringles and wash it down with water. A volunteer asks me if she can refill my camelbak and I realize that I hadn't drank anything since the last aid station. I'm not a veteran ultrarunner by any means, but that's a big time rookie mistake I had made.
While I'm at the aid station another CRUD buddy, Gordon, comes in. One of my heros for finishing last year's race and, without stopping at the finish line, heading directly to the ambulance, it's good to see him. We'd spend the next few hours pushing each other. Actually, it was more him pulling me.
Leaving Carson, the climb continues for another two miles or so. As we bag the summit of Coney Peak, I can see dark clouds forming. I tell Gordon, "damn, those don't look good" to which he replies, "I'm trying not to think about it."
After Coney Peak the course flattens out, but you're along the Continental Divide, well above 12,000 feet, for the next seven miles or so. Breathtaking is the right word for it. Despite the brewing storm, the only thing I can see up here are the high peaks of the San Juan Mountains. There are five 14ers nearby. Red Mountain is just a few miles away. One of the most scenic places in all of Colorado, and despite the bad day I'm having I feel very thankful that I'm able to take in this view, it's one not a whole bunch of people will ever get to see.
So I continue on, mindful of the incoming storm. I try to outrun it, but I realize it's soon gonna catch up to me. Lots of postholing through snow here, so my warm and dry shoes and socks are now cold and wet. One treacherous 200 foot drop required the use of a climbing rope to rappel down. It was at this point where I told Gordon, "Hey Gordo, next year I think I'm gonna do the Sailin' Shoes 5K instead...."
After the rappel and some more postholing, Gordon sped away and the storm caught up with me. Large hail began to pelt me, which would have really been painful had the nearby lightening not been my bigger problem. There was a runner not far behind me who had been using aluminum trekking poles, and later he would tell me that he had to leave them on the mountain because he felt them starting to build up static and they started making a buzzing sound.
So I ran as fast as my severely dehydrated body could take me, and soon got back to the relative safety of treeline. Lots of mud here, the day just kept getting more and more agonazing. Through a steady rain I kept plodding along and finally came to the next aid station, Divide.
Again, I noticed here that I had hardly taken in any liquids or calories since the last aid station. In fact, I had not significantly taken in anything all day, despite crapping and barfing all over the forest. And just looking at cytomax at the aid station made me nauseous. So I took a cup of water and a bowl of ramen into the yurt to warm up. I contemplated dropping out here due to my exhaustion, and I was afraid if I went on I was gonna do some severe damage due to my dehydration. But just then the rain stopped and the sun came out. I took it as a sign and decided that if I didn't finish the race, it wasn't gonna be my call. I would continue on, and if the medical experts pulled me or I missed a cutoff than so be it, but I wouldn't quit.
It's mostly downhill from the Divide aid station, but I'm so shot it's taking everything I have just to keep moving forward. I slip and fall in the mud a few times, which adds to my misery. I know I'm very close to the cutoff time, but I don't care. In fact, part of me starts hoping I won't make it, I know the final climb is a doozy and I'm not sure if I can do it.
Finally trudge into the last main aid station, Slumgullion. I ask about the cutoff time, and I'm told I made it by 25 minutes. Last year at this time I was finishing the race, this year I still had ten miles to go. I force down some fig newtons and a cup of water, my stomach still giving me problems. Without wasting much time I head out for the final battle of the day.
Shortly after Slumgullion I feel like I'm on a hash as I have to cross another stream and then crawl over some downed trees. Then the climbing starts. The final uphill of the day makes you climb 1,700 feet, back over 11,000 feet, in less than four miles. I felt like I was doing the incline with a 100 pound pack on. I didn't worry about pace or cutoff times, just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. After what seemed like an eternity the effort finally paid off, as I crested the hill, mucked my way through some swampy fields, and soon came into the small aid station run by the Vickers family.
Blew right through the aid station. My time had just passed 15 hours, and I had four miles, mostly steep downhill on a cool path through Aspen trees, to go. Normally this would be gravy for me, but today I was taking nothing for granted. I soldiered on, the adrenaline and excitement of a finish allowing me to find the strength to run most of the final few miles.
Finally leaving nature behind for the thriving metropolis of Lake City, I ran through a few intersections and suddenly found myself on the homestretch. I was so drained I couldn't even show any sign of emotion, but it was great seeing all of CRUD still out there, even though some had finished six hours earlier. I crossed the finish line and just before I collapsed someone shoved a cold beer into my hand. I took a lusty pull, the most liquid I had taken in all day.
While I'm very happy with my finish, it was a very humbling experience for me. I finished in 15:47:31, 118th out of 121 finishers. For a long time I thought I was in last place. My very first race ever, as a 13 year old freshman high school harrier, I took last place, but ever since then I had generally been, while nowhere near world class, at least in the upper quarter of the field. So during the bad parts of this jaunt, like, oh, the last 48 miles or so, I really started to wonder if I shouldn't stick to the shorter stuff, the 10Ks and half-marathons, an occassional marathon, maybe just concentrate the Pikes Peak races. While I'm still wildly comitted to Leadville (a non-refundable $225 entry fee has that effect on me), I'm gonna take some time after that race and decide which direction I feel I should go.
I'd like to thank Dani for being such a good sport all weekend. I know after the race I wasn't the most fun person to be around. And again, seeing all the CRUD guys still cheering after all that time was awesome, glad all those guys had a good race. Also, I can't say enough kind words about the volunteers who put on the race. Ultrarunning is a sport filled with wonderful people who help out at races, but the folks of Lake City are among the best I've come across.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Hardrock 2010
The past two years I've done Hardrock I posted VERY long race reports detailing the course, so I'll keep this one a bit shorter, maybe one beer long...
In a nutshell, I ran strong until Grouse Gulch, bombed up and over Handies, and recovered well until the finish. I had run smart into Telluride (mile 27.8), then pushed the pace a bit over to Governor (mile 36), then crushed the downhill into Ouray (mile 43.9). The competitive juices were really flowing here, as I was running to beat my good friend Brooks, who had been struggling over some of the early climbs.
I picked up my pacer, Shad, at Ouray just after chowing down my first King's Chef bacon cheeseburger and downing a PBR. Shad worked me like a rented mule up and over Engineer Pass and down to Grouse (mile 58.4). It was shortly before midnight at Grouse when I arrived, and though I was very tired I still had visions of running my dream time at Hardrock, somewhere in the 33 hour range.
Katie was waiting at Grouse and gave me the update on my friends in the race. Unfortunately, this was the end of my "race" and the beginning of my hike/run. When she told me Brooks had dropped at Ouray, it sorta took the wind out of my sail. Instead of fueling up and heading up and over Handies, I decided I needed to rest for a while in the back of my truck. Ended up spending an hour at the Grouse aid station.
Time-wise I was still good after leaving Grouse, but a horrendous stretch between Grouse and Sherman ended any hopes of an impressive time for me. The Z monster had jumped on my back, and I just couldn't shake him off. Shad was trying his best to keep me moving, but I just couldn't summon any energy. Took several breaks along this stretch, one of them a full hour, and was passed by dozens of runners.
Finally rolled into Sherman (mile 71.8) at 7:40AM, after a period of nine hours had passed. Ouch. Now in "just finish" mode, I once again bedded down, spending half an hour in a tent before hitting the aid station. Spent a total of 50 minutes at the Sherman aid station. But right before I left, a volunteer gave me a handful of bacon, which definitely improved things.
Gotta give a huge thanks to Shad here. I believe Shad thought he was going to be finished at Sherman. He was kind of surprised when he found out my crew wasn't going to be there to pick him up. He ended up dragging my ass all the way to Cunningham Gulch (mile 91.3), a stretch of almost 24 hours for him. He wanted to kick my ass over this SNAFU, but I kept telling him it was good Leadville training, which shamed him into biting his tongue and continuing on.
Shortly after leaving Sherman I started to get my second wind. The stretch from Sherman to Pole Creek (mile 80.9), to Maggie Gulch (mile 85.2), to Cunningham went very well and I was able to keep a decent pace, passing lots of runners who had crushed me up and over Handies.
I finally dropped Shad off at Cunningham. Had another Pabst here to the amazement of some of the aid station workers. Had a great climb up and over the final section, running the last nine miles to the finish line in 3:06, which included passing a bunch of runners up the final hill and passing another two or three over the last two miles of the course.
Ended up kissing the rock at 7:31PM, for a time of 37:31. For as lousy a stretch between Grouse and Sherman I had, I was somewhat happy with the time and really glad to keep the Rocky Mountain Slam attempt alive. I smoked my victory cigar and immediately headed over to the Silverton Brewery to celebrate.
Feeling pretty good as I write this. I got a cut on my right foot from a rock that hurts, and a nice scrape on my forehead from a Pete Rose impression I did coming down a steep hill, but other than that I think recovery will be quick. I feel not only like I'll be able to recover for Leadville, but should be able to get in some quality workouts before then. I'm amazed at just how bad I felt during my Boston/Jemez meltdowns versus how good I've felt during Bighorn/Hardrock.
Two down, two to go...
Some other observations:
-What a weird start. Karl, who I think of as the King of Hardrock, made a wrong turn about 50 meters into the race. The beginning pace was very slow, allowing Brooks to take the lead up the first climb (about 200 meters into the race). I was in 10th place at the top of the first hill, the Shrine of the Miners, right behind Karl. I knew this was no good for me, so I walked the following downhill until another 20 or so people had passed me. I could tell that Karl wasn't having a good day, and would later tell Brooks that I thought he would DNF.
-There was lots of excitement back in the middle of the pack over Diana Finkel's run and the possibility of her winning outright. We were told at Pole Creek that she had indeed taken the overall title, to which I responded, "this is a bad day for us male chauvinist pigs." Luckily, this was bad info and Jared Campbell was saving the day for us guys. Wonder if it was tough on Jared's pacer over the final section (I believe it was his wife) to lead him back to the win over another woman? Big kudos to both, however, and I loved both their speeches at the awards ceremony. Well deserving champions, both of 'em.
-Kudos to my buddy Greg Hartman for a strong finish. Shad and I passed him on the way up to Engineer Pass and he was among the walking dead. He told me he hadn't been able to keep any food down and was basically trying to make it to the next aid station to drop. I gave him a snickers bar and moved past him, thinking I wouldn't see him again. He would suffer for a bit more, but would recover to finish in a strong 33:22.
-Strong finish by my pacer last year, Paul Smith. He was one of the many who passed me on the way up Handies. I would close on him over the final third of the race, but he was able to hold me off and finish in 36:50. This puts the pressure on Shad to run strong when he strikes it rich in the Hardrock lottery.
-Big kudos to the rest of my crew, Nacheaux and Katie. I'm always astounded at how they will put up with me, especially during some of the rough moments a hundred miler can bring out in me. I'm also jealous of how much more they get to drink than I do during the race.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Bighorn
I feel bad for posting this now. Lots of great stories of suffering and pushing limits from Western States, whereas my Bighorn mantra for almost 30 hours was "if it feels like a physical effort of any kind, slow down." Of course, most of the Western crew aren't staring at Hardrock in a few days...
Great trip to northern Wyoming. Katie and I rolled out Wednesday after work and crashed at a rest stop in Chugwater, WY. Left early the next morning and we were at Sheridan in no time. Checked out the Mint Bar, picked up the race packet, placed drop bags, then met up with John C and Pete back at the Mint Bar. Made my biggest mistake of race weekend at the Mint: listened and believed John's description of the race. He made the course and conditions out to be a little harder than they really were. Hit up the pasta dinner with those guys before heading out to our campsite in Dayton. A few more beers at the Crazy Woman Saloon and soon it was off to bed.
Race morning was uneventful. Grabbed a huge breakfast at a delicious diner in Dayton. Then just chilled out until the 11AM start.
Finally the gun went off and the race was on. I settled into a slow jog, blending in with the back of the pack. The first few miles were on a dirt road along the Tongue River. I was feeling good, but didn't want to start too fast. We soon hit the Tongue River trailhead and started the first climb of the day. I was behind a lot of people and did a lot of slow walking up this hill.
At the top of the first climb we hit a dirt road and begin a steep descent, aka The Haul. I somehow managed to miss a very well marked turn onto a singletrack trail and got lost for the first time of the day. Only went about a quarter of a mile, and was very lucky to catch a runner on the other side of a creek out of the corner of my eye, or who knew how much extra credit distance I would have run.
Through the Sheep Creek aid station feeling good, I started picking up the pace just a bit. Nice run through the Wyoming wilderness, wildflowers all over the place, to Dry Fork (mile 13-ish). Reached the DF aid station in 3:08:11, in 50th place.
Had my best section of the race between Dry Fork and Footbridge (mile 30). It's slightly downhill, until you reach The Wall where it gets pretty steep. I ran this entire section, stopping only at the Cow Camp aid station to eat some bacon. Never approached a race effort here but I was definitely moving a bit faster than I was the first three hours of the race.
The 18 mile section from Footbridge to Porcupine Ranger Station went well. I hiked all of the uphill but I was moving forward with a purpose and I was well under the cutoffs. There's a minor climb out of Footbridge which was dry, but things soon began to get wet and muddy. I trudged on, getting lost for half a mile or so near Duncan Creek Crossing, but soon enough I was headed down the big hill to Porcupine (mile 48 and the psychological half way point). Passed Pete shortly before this aid station, he was having some GI issues and wasn't looking too well at this point.
I hit porcupine in12:17:58, in 30th place. The aid station went well for me. Katie was waiting there with my first King's Chef bacon cheeseburger of the day. Also downed a few bottles of ensure and finished a snickers. I threw on some old Army camo pants, a sweatshirt, and my Boston jacket. John had told me it would get colder than the North Pole in the canyons at night, and I didn't want to suffer like that. Picked up my pacer, Sean K, here. Sean had never faced a run this far or ran through the night before, but he's getting ready for Leadville and needed the work. I assured him I'd slow down to whatever pace it took for him to make it.
Left Porcupine and I was sweating my balls off before we got halfway up the climb out. Took off some clothes and continued to walk so I could digest all those calories. Made horrible time between Porcupine and Footbridge, getting passed by lots and lots of runners.
Hit Footbridge shortly after dawn. I saw my buddy Boulder Bob there, his day was over due to some foot issues. Tried to talk him into returning but he wasn't having it. Changed shoes at Footbridge for the first time of the day and got prepared for the biggest climb of the race, The Wall. John had made The Wall out to be some Everest-meets-the-Incline impossible hill. I started slow and got slower, but before I knew it the climb was done and I was kinda sad about how lame it was. Colorado has really spoiled me as far as taking on epic climbs in other states.
From the top of The Wall it was mostly hiking all the way over to Dry Fork, with an extra long break at Cow Camp for more bacon. I was very sleepy at DF, having gone through the night, but for covering 70+ miles I was in very good shape. I was well under the cutoff and I knew I could walk it in and finish, and that was my plan. Checked in at DF in 24:07:29, 51st place. For as slow as I was going, and for all the long breaks I was taking along the way, I had only lost one place since I had been at DF some 21 hours earlier. Katie was once again waiting here with a bacon cheeseburger, and I drank my first PBR in a long time.
Even more hiking between Dry Fork and Upper Sheep Creek. Lots of 50 milers and 50Kers passing me here. This section was nice, I was feeling good and just out on a hike in a beautiful part of the country I had never seen before. Sean was starting to zonk here, this was by far the farthest he had ever run, but he was faking some enthusiasm and doing a terriffic job as a pacer. As we came into Upper Sheep Creek I told him I wanted a 20 minute break, and for the first time all day he stopped trying to get me to move my ass faster.
After taking the longest break of the day I looked at my watch and some competitive gene deep down kicked in and said I should at least put forth an effort to break 30 hours. So I picked up the pace considerably as we climbed The Haul, beginning to pass lots of folks from the shorter races. We got to the top and I started bombing down the other side. After such a minimal effort all day I had a lot left, and I hammered the final downhill as hard as I could. Ended up catching Pete, who had somehow passed me, and mentioned going hard so we could hit the Crazy Woman Saloon and still break 30 hours. He tagged along as we continued down. Soon enough we hit the Tongue River trailhead where the course flattens out for the final four miles. I was done at this point and started to walk, telling Pete and Sean that I had done my part to guarantee a sub 30 hour finish and I was now going to walk the rest of the way. I think Pete and Sean were glad to be finished.
The final few miles were spent hiking and goofing off, only running when someone was about to take our picture. The grape popsicle at the final aid station was awesome, and before I knew it we were back in Dayton. Katie saw us coming and ran into the Crazy Woman, on the course at mile 99.75, and got me and Pete a can of Busch and Sean a shot of tequila. We spent about 15 minutes in the bar before Pete and I went and crossed the finish line.
I ended up finishing 44th overall, in 29:24:07. 95 finishers, with 42 DNF's.
Had a blast at the race. Beautiful course. Lots of fun, and the very little effort I was able to put forth and get a finish bodes well for my Rocky Mountain Slam goals. Some day I'd like to go back and take a shot at a sub 24 hour run. I'm not convinced this course is as hard as everyone says, and I certainly don't think it's as hard as Leadville. I feel that if I gave the same effort at Pb as I did at Bighorn, I'd get pulled around Fish Hatchery for not meeting the cutoff.
Big thanks to Katie and Sean, they were a terrific crew. And great to see so many old and new friends out there!
Lived to run another day, which was my goal for the race. Bring on Hardrock!
Great trip to northern Wyoming. Katie and I rolled out Wednesday after work and crashed at a rest stop in Chugwater, WY. Left early the next morning and we were at Sheridan in no time. Checked out the Mint Bar, picked up the race packet, placed drop bags, then met up with John C and Pete back at the Mint Bar. Made my biggest mistake of race weekend at the Mint: listened and believed John's description of the race. He made the course and conditions out to be a little harder than they really were. Hit up the pasta dinner with those guys before heading out to our campsite in Dayton. A few more beers at the Crazy Woman Saloon and soon it was off to bed.
Race morning was uneventful. Grabbed a huge breakfast at a delicious diner in Dayton. Then just chilled out until the 11AM start.
Finally the gun went off and the race was on. I settled into a slow jog, blending in with the back of the pack. The first few miles were on a dirt road along the Tongue River. I was feeling good, but didn't want to start too fast. We soon hit the Tongue River trailhead and started the first climb of the day. I was behind a lot of people and did a lot of slow walking up this hill.
At the top of the first climb we hit a dirt road and begin a steep descent, aka The Haul. I somehow managed to miss a very well marked turn onto a singletrack trail and got lost for the first time of the day. Only went about a quarter of a mile, and was very lucky to catch a runner on the other side of a creek out of the corner of my eye, or who knew how much extra credit distance I would have run.
Through the Sheep Creek aid station feeling good, I started picking up the pace just a bit. Nice run through the Wyoming wilderness, wildflowers all over the place, to Dry Fork (mile 13-ish). Reached the DF aid station in 3:08:11, in 50th place.
Had my best section of the race between Dry Fork and Footbridge (mile 30). It's slightly downhill, until you reach The Wall where it gets pretty steep. I ran this entire section, stopping only at the Cow Camp aid station to eat some bacon. Never approached a race effort here but I was definitely moving a bit faster than I was the first three hours of the race.
The 18 mile section from Footbridge to Porcupine Ranger Station went well. I hiked all of the uphill but I was moving forward with a purpose and I was well under the cutoffs. There's a minor climb out of Footbridge which was dry, but things soon began to get wet and muddy. I trudged on, getting lost for half a mile or so near Duncan Creek Crossing, but soon enough I was headed down the big hill to Porcupine (mile 48 and the psychological half way point). Passed Pete shortly before this aid station, he was having some GI issues and wasn't looking too well at this point.
I hit porcupine in12:17:58, in 30th place. The aid station went well for me. Katie was waiting there with my first King's Chef bacon cheeseburger of the day. Also downed a few bottles of ensure and finished a snickers. I threw on some old Army camo pants, a sweatshirt, and my Boston jacket. John had told me it would get colder than the North Pole in the canyons at night, and I didn't want to suffer like that. Picked up my pacer, Sean K, here. Sean had never faced a run this far or ran through the night before, but he's getting ready for Leadville and needed the work. I assured him I'd slow down to whatever pace it took for him to make it.
Left Porcupine and I was sweating my balls off before we got halfway up the climb out. Took off some clothes and continued to walk so I could digest all those calories. Made horrible time between Porcupine and Footbridge, getting passed by lots and lots of runners.
Hit Footbridge shortly after dawn. I saw my buddy Boulder Bob there, his day was over due to some foot issues. Tried to talk him into returning but he wasn't having it. Changed shoes at Footbridge for the first time of the day and got prepared for the biggest climb of the race, The Wall. John had made The Wall out to be some Everest-meets-the-Incline impossible hill. I started slow and got slower, but before I knew it the climb was done and I was kinda sad about how lame it was. Colorado has really spoiled me as far as taking on epic climbs in other states.
From the top of The Wall it was mostly hiking all the way over to Dry Fork, with an extra long break at Cow Camp for more bacon. I was very sleepy at DF, having gone through the night, but for covering 70+ miles I was in very good shape. I was well under the cutoff and I knew I could walk it in and finish, and that was my plan. Checked in at DF in 24:07:29, 51st place. For as slow as I was going, and for all the long breaks I was taking along the way, I had only lost one place since I had been at DF some 21 hours earlier. Katie was once again waiting here with a bacon cheeseburger, and I drank my first PBR in a long time.
Even more hiking between Dry Fork and Upper Sheep Creek. Lots of 50 milers and 50Kers passing me here. This section was nice, I was feeling good and just out on a hike in a beautiful part of the country I had never seen before. Sean was starting to zonk here, this was by far the farthest he had ever run, but he was faking some enthusiasm and doing a terriffic job as a pacer. As we came into Upper Sheep Creek I told him I wanted a 20 minute break, and for the first time all day he stopped trying to get me to move my ass faster.
After taking the longest break of the day I looked at my watch and some competitive gene deep down kicked in and said I should at least put forth an effort to break 30 hours. So I picked up the pace considerably as we climbed The Haul, beginning to pass lots of folks from the shorter races. We got to the top and I started bombing down the other side. After such a minimal effort all day I had a lot left, and I hammered the final downhill as hard as I could. Ended up catching Pete, who had somehow passed me, and mentioned going hard so we could hit the Crazy Woman Saloon and still break 30 hours. He tagged along as we continued down. Soon enough we hit the Tongue River trailhead where the course flattens out for the final four miles. I was done at this point and started to walk, telling Pete and Sean that I had done my part to guarantee a sub 30 hour finish and I was now going to walk the rest of the way. I think Pete and Sean were glad to be finished.
The final few miles were spent hiking and goofing off, only running when someone was about to take our picture. The grape popsicle at the final aid station was awesome, and before I knew it we were back in Dayton. Katie saw us coming and ran into the Crazy Woman, on the course at mile 99.75, and got me and Pete a can of Busch and Sean a shot of tequila. We spent about 15 minutes in the bar before Pete and I went and crossed the finish line.
I ended up finishing 44th overall, in 29:24:07. 95 finishers, with 42 DNF's.
Had a blast at the race. Beautiful course. Lots of fun, and the very little effort I was able to put forth and get a finish bodes well for my Rocky Mountain Slam goals. Some day I'd like to go back and take a shot at a sub 24 hour run. I'm not convinced this course is as hard as everyone says, and I certainly don't think it's as hard as Leadville. I feel that if I gave the same effort at Pb as I did at Bighorn, I'd get pulled around Fish Hatchery for not meeting the cutoff.
Big thanks to Katie and Sean, they were a terrific crew. And great to see so many old and new friends out there!
Lived to run another day, which was my goal for the race. Bring on Hardrock!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)