Having so many people bend over backwards just so I can run a really long way feels a bit strange. I do my best to keep my running from inconveniencing others, most especially Adrienne and the kids. The vast majority of my training is done alone. Most of my really long training runs start around 4 am so I can get back by 9 or 10. I don’t want running to rule my life or my family's—after all, it's just a hobby. With that in mind, the extraordinary sacrifices of so many others so I could compete in the Wasatch Front 100 is humbling and in some ways, a tiny bit discomforting. But instead of letting feelings of guilt take hold and wasting time trying to think of ways to pay everyone back for their priceless efforts, I simply have a grateful heart. Before, during, and since this event, I was filled with gratitude, and I thought about that more than anything else during those 100 miles.
At great time and financial costs to them and their families, my friends Mike and Brooke, along with her youngest daughter, Emmy, flew to Utah to pace me along the course. Brooke's parents gave us full use of their house that was just 40 minutes from the starting line. Brooke’s cousins Max and Corey babysat Emmy while Brooke ran with me. The aid station volunteers sat outside in the far reaches of the wilderness baking in the sun or freezing in the darkness just to provide support to runners like me. Adrienne, now 7+ months pregnant, drove several hundred miles during the race with June and Jolee just to see me for a couple of minutes at aid stations before I'd unceremoniously depart and continue on my way. And for their parts, June and Jolee sat in the car for 9 hours on Wednesday en route to Utah, endured countless hours in the car and long waits for me at the aid stations on Friday and Saturday, and then to top it off, enjoyed 9 more hours in the car on Sunday as we made our way back to Breckenridge. Yes, my friends and family are good to me.
I overheard a woman at the pre-race meeting say that all of us runners should be qualified as professional event planners after such an event. I tend to agree. Although the simplicity of running is one of its most attractive qualities to me, running 100 miles, especially in a destination race, is anything but simple. Perhaps if I continue to run 100 mile races, the planning will become easier, but for now it takes a lot of effort just to make it to the starting line with even the slightest feeling of preparedness. The same was true of my first marathon, 50 miler, and 100k: I spent tremendous amounts of time planning and stressing for those events. With experience came confidence. I now barely give more than a couple of minutes consideration to the logistics necessary to cover those distances. A hundred miles, however, is a different beast, particularly one run at altitude. The range of possible weather conditions for a given day can be enormous, so it's tempting to want to pack anything and everything into the drop-bags. In previous years, certain exposed daytime sections of Wasatch have reached 100+ degrees while some of the nighttime peaks have dipped down to 25. There are simply a lot of variables to consider.
All that being said, I had everything set and ready to go when we departed for Utah on Wednesday morning. We eventually arrived around 10 pm at Brooke's parent's house. The kids quickly got settled for bed while Adrienne and I stayed up and chatted with Brooke for awhile. I headed off to bed around midnight. As I mentioned in last year's Leadville report, sleeping well two nights before the race is much more important than race-eve. Fortunately, there were no inadvertent 3 am phone calls to wake me up like last year. I slept straight through like a baby until 7:30. I felt like a million bucks.
We took the kids Thursday morning to a great children's museum in Ogden. It reminded me how much I miss the Museum of Life and Science back in Durham (Adrienne or I will put up another post soon with pictures and descriptions of some of the non-race related adventures from the trip). After the museum trip, we brought a pizza back to the house for lunch. Mike had arrived that morning on his flight from Colorado, and after lunch he drove with me to Salt Lake City for the pre-race meeting.
While Leadville is a great race and I would do it again, Wasatch is a quintessential ultra event. The pre-race meeting at Leadville was standing room only and was held in a large gymnasium with a 10-step check-in protocol. The meeting for Wasatch was held in a small covered picnic area at a park. The check-in process consisted of me stepping onto a scale and then grabbing my race bag with my race number from a pile of bags laid out on the grass. The meeting at Leadville took at least an hour and was followed by an additional 30 minute meeting for crews. The meeting at Wasatch didn't even last 15 minutes. It essentially boiled down to "don't die out there, and if you do die, please let someone know." Out on the course, the aid stations were also markedly different between the two races. At Leadville, the stations were massive. Some of the Wasatch stations were nothing more than a folded table or two, which was just fine by me.
After the meeting, we headed back up north to the house where Adrienne prepared my favorite pasta dish of hers for everyone. She had put the sauce together on Tuesday and then frozen it for the trip to Utah. I ate well and felt relatively calm after dinner. After a quick shower I taped my toes. It took forever and at one point I considered scrapping the whole project. It's a tedious task but I persevered and eventually went to bed around 10. I didn't sleep a wink. It wasn't the most fitful sleeping effort imaginable, but I just couldn't fall asleep. Finally, around 2:45 am I finally turned on the light, read a daily Bible devotional, and went upstairs for breakfast: a banana and oatmeal with peanut butter. Soon, I was back downstairs putting a delightful combination of Bodyglide, SportShield, and Aquaphor on my feet. I threw on the rest of my clothes, put new batteries into my headlamp, and then left for the starting line with Adrienne a little before 4.
nothing unusual here. just about to go for a long run…
We made it to the start with about 10 minutes to spare. Adrienne walked with me into the small mass of nervous runners. With two minutes to go I realized I hadn't checked in so I quickly pushed my way through the crowd and yelled to someone at the table that number 258 was there. I then managed to find Adrienne again in time to give her a kiss before the countdown. Five, four, three, two, one. It was 5 am and I was off.
The first 15 miles had over 6300 feet of ascent, with nearly 4000 of it coming between miles 5 and 10. This initial climb captured much of my attention during my preparation for the race. In terms of its appearance on an elevation profile, it was the most menacing climb in a race I had ever seen. Fortunately, and quite unbelievably to me, it wasn’t that bad. The grade of the climb was just right and I was able to comfortably hike my way to the top. Just before mile 10 was Chinscraper. It was a very steep pitch that had me climbing on all fours, but it was really short and passed without incident.
I reached the ridge and was blasted by really intense winds. It’s supposedly always windy up there, but a local told me it was one of the windiest days he had witnessed. At mile 13.35 there was a table with water, so I refilled my Camelbak and added a few Nuun tablets. Nuun tablets quickly dissolve and turn water into an electrolyte drink. It was the first time I used them in a race, and they could not have worked better. I used lemon-lime initially and then later in the race switched to orange. I sound like a Nuun salesman, but the flavors were so refreshing that I had no problems staying hydrated. I highly recommend it.
I continued to cruise along the ridge and eventually arrived at the first full aid-station at Francis Peak, mile 18.6. Typically, crews are able to meet their runners at this station, but because of various road closures, the first crew access wouldn’t come until just before mile 40. I did have a drop-bag waiting for me, so I dropped off my headlamp and long sleeved shirt, sprayed myself with sunscreen, and refilled my handheld bottle with Ensure.
At Leadville, I used Hammer Nutrition’s Perpetuem, but I felt lethargic for the first 65 miles. I’m not sure if it’s warranted, but I put some of the blame on Perpetuem. Furthermore, when I paced this year at Leadville, I gave it another shot and it sat like a brick in my stomach. It was an easy choice to use something different for Wasatch. Back in business school when I was training for an Ironman, my 10-time Ironman finisher classmate, Tricia, recommended that I use Ensure for calories on the bike. I used it successfully back then, but for some reason I stopped using it in recent years. Anyways, it worked like a charm. Ensure Plus has a whopping 350 calories in 8 ounces, so I had my handheld marked in 4.5 ounce increments to indicate how much I needed to drink each hour (200 calories). Along the run, I’d sip the Ensure and wash it down with Nuun. I saw some people downing whole bottles at the aid-stations, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that—so many calories all at once while exercising intensely is not the recipe for a happy stomach.
From Francis Peak I headed onto a not-so-great section of the course. Overgrown brush usually covers parts of miles 18.6 to 23.95, but this year was particularly bad. I had read several warnings online about the trail vanishing beneath a cover of shin-thrashing shrubs, and the reality was even worse than I expected. Fortunately, the good folks from Moeben gave out free arm sleeves to the racers at the pre-race meeting, so I repurposed mine and wore them on my legs to protect my legs. It sometimes pays to have skinny calves. The trail was sufficiently well marked and trampled over by the time I arrived that I didn’t get lost. I was happy when I reached the end of that section. It ended with a steep climb up to the aid station where a young girl about ten-years-old stood and asked me if I needed a high-five. I laughed and took her up on the offer.
At the aid station, they handed out wet washcloths. It was wonderfully refreshing. Coincidentally, just a week before the race I came across a great drop-bag tip: put a wet wash cloth in a ziploc bag into every drop bag. I did and it was especially nice to remove the layer of dust off my face at each aid station.
The next several miles passed by easily. My energy, stomach, and legs all felt great. Occasionally, I’d suck on a Gin-Gin candy (ginger) as a preventative measure to keep my tummy feeling good. Before a race, I sometimes think I’ll get emotional when I reach the finish, but it never happens. I do, however, sometimes get emotional during the middle miles when I actually have the wherewithal to think. Again, I was filled with thoughts of gratitude. Reflecting on my great fortune that Adrienne agreed to marry me, that I have two loving daughters, and that I have friends willing to help me do events like this had me teary eyed. I just barely managed to avoid falling off the trail. These miles also served as a meditative respite from the grueling demands of the race. Deep breathing while reciting a mantra, in this case, the 23rd Psalm—”The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want”—had me in a relaxed state.
Around mile 30, I started picking up speed and passing a few folks here and there. It took awhile to get to the aid station at mile 34.91, but once there I was rewarded with popsicles. I quickly had four of them and moved on my way. I knew family and friends were waiting at my next stop.
June and Jolee patiently waiting for me at Big Mountain, mile 39.4…
finally made it around 2:40 pm and I was feeling pretty good…
my crew helping me get situated…
at Lamb’s Canyon, June took control of the camera. I think she has a gift…
self portrait…
Brooke and Emmy…
a kiss was waiting for me upon my arrival…
wardrobe change. And obviously feeling okay…
Mike ready to drag me along for the next 22 miles. Me looking goofy…
Junie sending me off with a silly face…
So off Mike and I went together for the next 22 miles. It was such a boost to have him there by my side as the temperature started to drop and day turned to night. Mike had never run more than 13.1 miles, so I know he was a bit nervous about his ability to cover 22 miles of mountainous terrain. He’s a tremendous athlete (former pro hockey player) and incredibly experienced in high-mountain backcountry skiing pursuits: I had complete confidence he would easily deliver me to mile 75.61. I assured him before the race that, if anything, he might struggle with how slowly I would be moving.
We strolled down the paved road for a bit before turning onto a trail and beginning our first of three huge climbs. The trails in all of this 22 mile section were the best of the entire course. I wasn’t moving particularly fast, but we steadily made progress up to the top of climb one. Once on top, we flew down the other side. It was way faster than I thought I could have run at that point, and it felt great to stretch out my legs.
At the bottom, we ended up on a long stretch of paved road. It was three miles to the next aid station, and I had been warned that this stretch could seem interminable. This was the start of our second climb together. Mike encouraged me to alternate between running and walking, so I followed his direction. My legs were feeling really good so for short stretches I was running at a very good clip. We passed a lot of people and made great time. Still, it was a long three miles.
It was now 9 pm, completely dark, and the Upper Big Water aid station (mile 61.68) is notoriously freezing. It’s amazing how quickly a person can become cold when they stop moving. I was really chilled but fortunately had an extra jacket in my drop bag. I didn’t feel like having anymore Ensure, so I had a plate of Spaghetti and sauce from the aid station. My body wasn’t rejecting the Ensure, but I was just a bit tired of it after so many hours. In hindsight, I should have kept with it.
I didn’t want to leave but we eventually got moving again and back on the trails. I suddenly felt pretty bad. I’m not sure if it was the spaghetti or something else, but my stomach was upset and I was struggling. Although we had a big climb coming out of the aid station, I was incredibly fortunate that this stretch of trails was wide, smooth, and gently graded. Mike kept me moving and after 15 or 30 minutes (it felt like an eternity to me), I finally started feeling better. We started hiking faster and eventually made good time to the next aid station at mile 66.93.
From there we began our third and last big climb. My memory’s a bit hazy, but I think we just steadily progressed to the top. Eventually we ended up at the Scott’s Peak aid station, mile 70.79. From Scott’s Peak we could actually see our next aid station below us, the Brighton Ski Lodge, mile 75.61. A woman at Scott’s Peak informed us that by zipline the ski lodge was only two miles away. But alas, there was no zipline so we zigzagged back and forth on roads for five miles and eventually got there. I was feeling good and so was Mike. He had covered his 22 miles with apparent ease. It had been a fun couple of hours.
Brooke was waiting for us inside the lodge at Brighton. I scarfed down some grilled cheese sandwiches and hashbrowns, put on a warmer shirt from my drop-bag, and forced myself back out into the cold. It was 1:52 am at this point.
Brooke is one of my oldest and dearest friends. She too is a tremendous athlete (excellent swimmer, former professional kayaker, and now an avid runner). She didn’t have a lot of experience on rugged high-mountain trails, but I knew she’d have no problems navigating the final 25 miles. Plus, she can be wonderfully stubborn so I knew she wouldn’t stop running until we reached the finish. Unfortunately for Brooke, she got both me and the course at their worst points. I had 75 miles on my legs, and the last 25 mile section was nasty.
We left the lodge and I was moving really slowly. It was a long, arduous climb up to Catherine Pass and Point Supreme, the high point of the course at 10,450 feet. I had warmed up but I was still moving slowly. Up until this point, I had been able to run the downhill sections quite comfortably, but the descent from Point Supreme was very rocky and steep. It took awhile to get down. We eventually arrived at the Ant Knolls aid station, mile 80.27.
From out of Ant Knolls, we started up a stiff climb called “The Grunt.” I thought it was a mile-long climb, so it was to my great relief when it ended after only a half-mile. It wasn’t so bad. Our next stop was the aid station at Pole Line Pass, mile 83.39. There they were serving a full breakfast menu. I had a few servings of pancakes and bacon. It tasted good but I sure was tired.
I can only remember two things from the next section. The first is that my shoes got filled with sand on a section aptly called “The Beach.” My other memory is that I was utterly exhausted. I think it was now around 5 am and all I could think about was sleeping. My eyes were fluttering. I wanted to lie down on the trail. Just like at Leadville, my head was filled with thoughts of crossing the finishing line and immediately curling up for a nap in the car. I envisioned wrapping myself up in a blanket at the next aid station for a quick 20-minute nap. Fortunately, despite my fatigue and slow pace, Brooke kept me moving.
Around 6 am, there was finally the hint of twilight in the sky. I was awake again. We eventually arrived at the very modest Rock Springs aid station, mile 87.39. After a short break, we resumed our march to the finish. The next six-mile section was brutal.
At mile 88.13, there’s a notoriously steep and painful descent called “The Dive.” It’s a narrow, rutted single track section that drops a quick 600 feet in elevation. Because of it’s narrowness, you pretty much have to go straight down the thing. It gave my quadriceps a pretty good workout, but it was actually much easier than expected. In fact, I was sure we hadn’t yet reached The Dive. Well, it was the Dive, but unfortunately there was a lot more descent to come. At mile 89.08 we reached another 600 foot descent called “The Plunge.” Now my legs were really getting worked over. We reached the bottom of the plunge and I thought the worst was behind us. Nope. There were more brutally long, narrowly rutted trails ahead. (At the awards ceremony, I heard some locals mention that these lower trails had recently become a main access point for dirt bikes. Consequently, they too were now deeply rutted and were more treacherous, in their estimation and in mine, than the notorious “Dive” and “Plunge.”)
My legs were trashed at this point and I started to get nervous I wouldn’t make it to the finish in under 30 hours. The cut-off is 36 hours but I wanted the under-30 hour belt buckle. I was moving at a snail’s pace. It took forever for us to arrive at the Pot Bottom aid station, mile 93.13, but we finally did at 8:42 am. I had been carrying a card that indicated average section times for various finishing times. For a 30 hour finisher, it said the last 7 mile section, on average, took an hour and a half. That seemed fast to me given that the first two miles were all uphill, and I vaguely remembered reading online that that hour and a half average was way off-the-mark. Needless to say, I knew we had to hustle to make it to the Homestead by 11 am.
We left Pot Bottom at 8:45 am—just a three minute pit stop. I started hiking at a good clip. We passed several other runners during the two-mile ascent. Brooke and I reached the top and we started running. Someone said we would be spit out at the bottom of the trail right at the finish, The Homestead. Someone else said we’d have to run a quarter mile on the road to reach the Homestead. A third source said it would be nearly a mile. Unfortunately, the third source was correct. It was a long stretch of pavement, but we had now run the entire 5 miles all the way down from the top of the final climb.
We had to run about 50 yards across a lawn to reach the banner. June was sitting on the lawn waiting for me to arrive. She quickly jumped up and ran with Brooke and me for the final stretch. Jolee also joined in the fun and ran to me before the finish. We crossed the line together in 29 hours 33 minutes and 14 seconds. Adrienne and Mike were there waiting for us. That was the longest birthday of my life. And a damn good one too.
Jolee running to meet Brooke, June, and me…
Junie sporting pajamas on the sprint to the finish…
the generous souls that got me to the finish…
we deserved to take a seat…
and a well deserved nap…
Notwithstanding the difference in altitude, Wasatch was a far more difficult course than Leadville. The 26,882 of climb and 26,131 feet of descent make it hard to match. The organization of the race itself was second-to-none. Though the aid stations were far more modest than those at Leadville, they had everything a runner could need. And the volunteers were incredible.
The race was hard, but that’s why I did it. I don’t run ultras for the fitness, despite it being an obvious byproduct of these events. There are far easier ways to get in shape. These events, whether it be 100 miles or 50, test a person’s resolve to the core. The people, myself included, that finish these races don’t have some special ultra-running gene. We’ve just figured out that if you break an enormous task into smaller parts, if you keep on moving forward, and if you’re not afraid to ask for help, you’ll get to the finish. Having learned that lesson is just one more thing for which I’m grateful.
