Jolee the snow storm is fueling up for trick-or-treating with what else—candy…
Adrienne is the master of the precipitation-themed costume. Here is rain cloud June at age 1 in 2007…
a bunny picking berries off the bushes. Junie insisted on her same costume from last year. Still cute as can be…
Just like we did for Junie in 2008, we managed to capture Jolee’s very first trick-or-treat transaction. ever…
Adrienne the bratwurst maker. Brilliant…
Remember the Let's Go Fishin' game from when you were younger? Adrienne and I both loved it as kids. June got it for her birthday and it's been a big hit for her and Jolee. Jolee, however, doesn't care for fishing rods; I think we have a noodler on our hands...
Adrienne and June have been in Florida for the past four days visiting their 98-year-old grandmother/great-grandmother. Tonight they return from their trip. Even though I know handling one kid is easier than two, before Adrienne left for Florida I wasn't too enthusiastic about the prospect of being on round-the-clock solo parenting duty for four days.
Instead of being a hassle, it has turned out to be such a treat to have Jolee all to myself. I didn't realize it until Adrienne and June were gone, but it's the first time I've been able to spend such an extended period of time with just Jolee. Jolee occasionally gets a few hours of undivided attention on Junie's school days, but she never gets to be our sole focus from morning 'til night. And I've had the most fun with her just before bedtime. Like most kids, as they get tired and it gets towards bedtime, June and Jolee frequently get really wired and silly. It's certainly fun with both of them, but it's been nice the past few nights to give Jolee all my attention. She is one sweet baby.
Today we met Mike, Jenny, and their sons, Owen and Emmett, at the 4-H fundraiser at the stables just down street from our house (the stables are about a two-minute bike ride from our house, so we visit the horses there frequently). For the most part, we just talked and meandered around the event, but before we left we took a carriage ride. I'm really sorry June wasn't here because we see the carriage and its horses, Spike and Maynard, almost everyday around town. Why haven't we taken a carriage ride before? This is Breckenridge and a 20-minute ride is usually $50. Our five-minute ride today cost us only $2—a much more reasonable fee. Jolee loved it, although she let it be known that she wasn't pleased to get off the carriage at the end of the ride.
Jenny and a sleeping Owen…
Mike, Emmett, Jolee, and me…
enjoying the ride…
relaxing at the end of the ride. moments later she was screaming as I pried her off the carriage…
Jolee is now off to bed so our weekend is at an end, but it's one I won't soon forget.
Here's the toy that received the "it's the scrumptious" billing from June. It’s a bucket (500 pieces worth!) of snap-together beads. Adrienne had her eye on it at the store for several weeks, if not months, and thought it would be right up June’s alley. She was right.
In a rare moment with June away from her bucket-o-beads, Jolee pounced…
Last night after she went to bed I went back into her room to give June an extra kiss. I found her standing up on her bed sorting through her bin of beads by the dim light of her nightlight that sits on her windowsill. June has always had an ability to stay focused and entertain herself for long stretches of time, but today is extreme as she has already spent no less than four hours creating necklaces, bracelets, and a lovely assortment of collars for a few of her stuffed animals…
And for those interested in wintery precipitation, we received our first dusting of the season at our house this afternoon…
This morning June jumped into our bed and exclaimed, “I love my new toy! It’s the scrumptious!”
The scrumptious… I like that.
And a day or two before her birthday arrived, Junie asked, “When is the Four Fairy going to come to our house?” She then explained that “the Four Fairy is just like the Tooth Fairy, except that it brings you your fourth birthday.” Brilliant. She’s undoubtedly in the 99th percentile for her theories on aging.
Grandma and Grandpa sent June a great new set of ski clothing for the upcoming season. The way things looked this morning, she might get to use her new gear pretty soon…
Today we celebrated. Four years ago today we welcomed Junie into the world. I think she left the ranks of toddlerhood awhile ago, but now it’s official. Hard to believe.
only 4, but she doesn’t seem so little anymore…
Junie getting ready for liftoff…
miraculously no balloons sailed off into the sky…
Jolee’s a balloon enthusiast too…
lighting the candles on Adrienne’s masterful chocolate cupcakes with coconut frosting, per Junie’s request, of course…
the birthday girl…
…but it wasn’t easy! I have to say this: every girl should have a coach/pacer/photographer/videographer/husband who hangs back with her and documents the whole thing (and hands over all the glory). Thanks, honey!
And huge thanks to Molly, who made our run together possible by coming up to spend the night and watch the kids. She took them on a wagon ride to a horse stable very near our house, and they all had a lovely time. Perfect, no?
We had a beautifully clear sunny morning and, except for some seriously gusty winds on the ridge at the top of the course, the weather couldn’t have been improved upon.
I can sum up our run like this: we ran up the mountain for a long, long time, we hiked up the parts too steep to run, we were blown about by crazy winds at the top, and we ran down again, all the while surrounded by the majesty of the Rocky Mountains.
Oh, and also, once I tripped over a rock and bit it pretty hard. Lloyd said it looked just like I was sliding head-first into home plate. Fortunately, nothing was bleeding or injured. Also fortunate: I landed on a sand/dirt patch and not on one of the many jagged rocks. A bit unfortunate: I got my wind knocked out of me by landing oof! right on my belly. That was weird and not fun—it hasn’t happened to me since I was a kid. It took a few minutes of slow walking to get my breath back to normal. But then we took off again and cruised it from there.
I had heard this race described as a suffer-fest, and at times I would have agreed. But, before it was even over I was already thinking that if we’re around I’ll do it again next year, and hopefully go for the longer 23 mile run. Incidentally, we finished in 3:08, which I feel great about given the terrain. And I’m able to walk normally! Which is especially helpful, because it’s back to work tomorrow bright and early…
I’ve clearly exhausted my word quota, so I’ll keep my ramblings to a minimum. Twenty five minutes from our house is the amazing Rainbow Park, which just opened in July. I wish it was closer but it’s well worth the drive. Here are some photos from three recent trips (I spend most of my time helicopter-parenting over Jolee the daredevil, so she’s typically my photo subject)…
that’s what I call a park…
today’s picnic. Jolee likes to enjoy her milk no-handed…
the sports field next door. There’s also a skate park; maybe we’ll try that next week…
Strap on a hydration pack. You might need a headlamp too. This is long. Very long. With lots and lots of pictures. I hope you enjoy it. Special thanks to fellow runner Matt Mahoney for allowing me to use his photos from out on the course. The pictures should give you a good sense of what it was like out there. The other photos at the crew access points were taken by Adrienne and Molly.
Late last December I committed to running the 2010 Leadville 100 Trail Run. In 2008, I signed up to run the Umstead 100 in April of 2009, but with our move to Colorado and the arrival of Jolee that February, my training fell apart and I had to withdraw my entry. This past fall I felt if I could run consistently and establish a solid base in October and November, I would sign up for Leadville. Here, in great detail, is how it turned out:
I spent Thursday scrambling around trying to tie up loose ends before Friday’s prerace meetings. Adrienne was at work so I had to do as much as I could while watching the kids. I’m sure I wouldn’t win any father of the year awards for my performance. During the day I was able to finalize what I wanted in my drop bags. When Adrienne arrived home, I ran off to Kinko’s to laminate cards for myself and crew, and I also went to Walmart to pick up some last minute items, including my actual drop bags (I used nylon camping stuff sacks, which worked great). I’m not especially talented at shopping, so when I’m in a store like Walmart I get overwhelmed, wander around aimlessly, and consequently waste a lot of time. Two hours later I finally arrived home and put together my drop bags for Friday.
I then settled in for what I considered my most important night of sleep before the race; I knew I wouldn’t sleep much on Friday night, so I wanted to get as much as possible on Thursday. Around 4 a.m., our house phone rang with perhaps the worst butt-dial of all times. Our home phone rarely ever rings. During the day we might get two or three calls a week but certainly never at night. Some ding-dong at a trading firm in Chicago evidently had my name programmed into his phone, sat on it while riding the El into work, and inadvertently dialed our number. I didn’t recognize the number and when I later listened to the message, I could faintly hear a conversation about lawnmowers and the train conductor in the background announcing an upcoming stop. Needless to say, my big night of sleep came to an end several hours before I had hoped.
This was one of the laminated cards I made for my crew. Some generous soul had crunched all the data for years 2000 to 2008, so I just formatted it into a useable form. It gives the average and maximum split times at the aid stations for runners finishing the entire race in various time ranges, indicated in the leftmost column. It wasn’t perfect because the course this year and last was slightly different than in 2000 to 2008, namely at Pipeline (called Treeline on the chart) and at Half Moon, but all the other aid stations were the same…
I carried this card with me during the race as did my crew. Very useful. You might notice that I was following splits for a projected finishing time of 24 hours. This was really my most optimistic scenario should everything go perfectly. I told my crew I might be quite a bit slower than my projected splits, but certainly not much faster…
Friday morning I arrived in Leadville around 9:30 to check-in, get weighed, and attend the prerace meeting. There was a line out the door at the gymnasium, but they kept the runners moving through quickly in a single file line. I picked up my number, the number for my pacer, crew tags for their cars, a technical t-shirt, a bag full goodies, and I tipped the scale at 169.
I dropped off the goodies in my car and went back to the gymnasium for the 11 a.m. meeting. It was totally packed. This year’s race had nearly 800 people signed up for it. From what I understand, that number of registrants almost doubled the previous record for a 100 mile trail race in North America. The increased participation was largely due to the best-selling book, Born To Run. I haven’t read it, but I’ve heard nothing but lofty praise about it. I do know that much of the book, if not the whole thing, is about the Leadville 100 and the Tarahumara Indians in Mexico. Back in 2001, before I had started running, I went on a Catholic mission trip to Mexico. Most of the trip was spent with the Tarahumara Indians in the very remote “Copper Canyon.” Maybe I unknowingly got bitten with the running bug while I was there. Anyway, the author of the book, Chris McDougall, was there at the meeting and received an enthusiastic applause.
One thing that really stood out for me during the meeting was when they announced that there would be ten athletes ages 70 and above competing on Saturday. Talk about inspiration.
After the meeting I had some time to kill before I could drop my drop bags, so I drove out to see the “Pipeline” crew access point. In past years, this access point was in a slightly different location called “Treeline.” Since it wasn’t marked, I wasn’t really sure if I found it or not, but I got a general sense of where it would be come Saturday. I then headed back into town where fortunately, they had started the drop bag drop-off. It wasn’t supposed to start until three, but by two I had dropped my bags and I was on my way back to Breckenridge.
Back at home, I continued the seemingly endless preparation for Saturday. I loaded the last of the supplies for the crew in our car, took a shower, taped my toes, pinned my race number onto my shorts, and had a nice chicken breast and baked potato dinner. Our friend Chrissy arrived at our house around 8:30. She stayed with us for the weekend and her help was indispensible. I headed off to bed around 10 but, as predicted, I couldn’t sleep. I think I managed a whopping 45 minutes of shut-eye before the alarm sounded.
Finally, race day was here. It was now one in the morning and I was ready to go. I quickly went downstairs and enjoyed my two-banana and yogurt smoothie for breakfast. Then it was back upstairs to get on my running gear, back downstairs to fill up my Camelbak, and then out the door and on my way to Leadville at just after two.
I pulled into Leadville just before three. I easily found a parking spot, walked the block and a half over to the start to check-in, and then went back to my car to sit nervously for the next 30 minutes. I was apprehensive to lean the seat back for fear of falling asleep and missing the start. At 3:45 I finally laced up my shoes and walked back over to the starting line. It was 43 degrees, the waiting was finally over, and I was ready to go.
With so many runners. I positioned myself within the first 100 or 200 so I wouldn't get completely stuck in the back once we reached the singletrack that went around Turquoise Lake. The gun went off and the pace seemed crazy to me. The first 200 or 300 people were going at a pace far faster than I would for a standalone 50 miler. I happily let people fly on by me for the first three miles. At about mile two I saw a guy peeing while running; maybe it’s my trading background, but I don’t like the risk-to-reward of such a maneuver—the upside is saving twenty seconds two miles into a hundred mile race, the downside risk is obvious.
By the time we got to the singletrack, there were more people ahead of me than I expected, but I was moving at the pace I had hoped for. Near the western end of the Turquoise Lake the sun finally came up and I turned off my headlamp. We soon arrived at the May Queen Aid Station at mile 13.5. I had plenty of water and since the majority of runners were together at this point, I ran right through the aid station to avoid getting stuck in a crowd. So far I was about 5 minutes slower than my predicted pace (that sort of difference was totally unimportant to me).
singletrack trail shortly before May Queen…
Shortly after running out of the May Queen Campground I was back onto pretty singletrack. So far, I hadn't really felt great. My legs weren't hurting and my stomach was fine, but I just lacked energy. And it continued throughout this section. Running 100 miles is a big mental game, and this was one of the first challenges. I was 15 miles in with 85 to go. I wasn’t feeling terrible by any stretch, but I was supposed to be feeling like I was floating on air, right? A little bit worrisome. I kept moving along and around mile 16 we finally came out to the wide, finely crushed dirt of Hagerman Pass Road. I finally started to feel considerably better.
the last bit of climbing on the Colorado Trail before Hagerman Pass Rd…
We turned right and followed the road for a mile and a half before hanging a very sharp left turn to begin the ascent up to Sugarloaf Pass.
the u-turn to start the climb up Sugarloaf from 10,000 to 11,200 feet…
I was still feeling good here and the gradient of the climb was in my sweet spot. Most people were walking but I was able to comfortably ascend without raising my heart rate.
looking back down at the Sugarloaf climb…
A ways up the ascent I struck up my first conversation of the day. The guy happened to be a first year business school student at Kenan-Flagler. Small world. I stayed with him for awhile and then I eventually made it to the top and began the long descent.
from the top of Sugarloaf…
looking down the last part of the descent down Powerline Rd…
almost at the bottom, looking back up Powerline…
Several miles later I reached the paved road that led to Fish Hatchery. Along this road I saw a guy with an Umstead 100 shirt, so I talked and ran with him for the last mile before the aid station. My buddy Mike was there waiting for me, and it was good to see a familiar face. We walked a short distance together to get my drop bag. I filled up my water, refilled my handheld with Perpetuem, gave Mike my headlamp, and headed on my way (I let my crew know beforehand that I was going to move quickly through aid stations and asked them to please not be offended by my lack of congeniality... Mike has no expectations for congeniality from me in any scenario, so it wasn’t a problem.)
I was feeling good as I left Fish Hatchery and started down a several mile stretch of pavement. From this point on, the course was all new to me. Fortunately it was still early in the morning because this stretch was wide open and would have been roasting later in the day. Despite the cool temperature, my good feelings didn't last long. There was a really gradual, almost imperceptible downhill for about a mile but once it flattened out my lethargy returned. I was still moving fine, but I simply didn't feel great. The flat road then became a very gradual uphill. I kept on trucking until reaching the next crew access point at Pipeline, just 3.5 miles away from Fish Hatchery. Mike rode his mountain bike from Fish Hatchery over there, so it was really nice to see him, especially after such a short but not so sweet section. I think we walked together for a little ways, and then I moved on up the trail.
For the next mile I was on a relatively narrow dirt service road in the middle of a wide open cut of trees, similar to a power line cut.
Pipeline Rd…
We eventually turned into the trees and onto another dirt road. It felt much better to be surrounded by trees. I still wasn't feeling great, but I was moving close to the pace I had hoped for. The gradual climb that started about two miles after Fish Hatchery was still climbing, and it wasn't about to stop anytime soon. I thought the next aid station was supposed to be located just about three miles away, but it seemed like it was never going to arrive. I glanced at my expected arrival time and realized that had long since passed. I finally got to the Half Moon Aid Station at least 20 minutes slower than I expected. I don't even remember if I stopped there but in any case I was soon back on my way.
I was at mile 30.5 and my next stop was Twin Lakes at mile 39.5. I had just ascended for five miles, I knew I would descend into Twin Lakes, the low point of the course, but what I didn't know was how much climbing I had before I would start heading downhill. It turned out to be a lot more than I expected. It was still a fairly gradual climb, but it continued for another five miles. For some reason I thought, or simply hoped, it would arrive much sooner. It was in this stretch that my attitude took a bit of a dip. I’ve run enough to know that bad days simply happen and unfortunately this was feeling like one of them. I began wondering how I would explain to friends and family my failure to finish. Luckily, those thoughts didn’t last long. My lethargy continued but I eventually hooked up with a group of four or five runners that was moving at a decent clip.
Colorado Trail near mile 35…
Colorado Trail near mile 36…
We finally began to descend and one guy in particular seemed to be feeling good so I followed him. Soon it was just the two of us. It's strange that sometimes forcing yourself to move faster than you want to can somehow make you feel better—of course, we were also going downhill. The view from the mountainside down onto Twin Lakes was beautiful. It was one of the few moments in the race that I really paused to take in the scenery. I eventually passed my running partner as the trail contoured the mountainside.
descent 10,600 to 9,200 feet into Twin Lakes from miles 37 to 39.5…
runner’s view coming into Twin Lakes…
crew’s view of me coming into Twin Lakes…
Eventually, I arrived at Twin Lakes where Adrienne, June, Jolee, Chrissy, and Mike were all waiting for me. I arrived exactly at my expected time too. Trust me, I didn't pick up anytime between the Half Moon Aid Station and Twin Lakes; it simply meant that the location of Half Moon was significantly different than in the years for which I had data.
Chrissy and Mike discussing whether lack of a brain is the sole prerequisite for entering this event…
Jolee with her lovey and bottle of S!Caps…
Here I refilled my Perpetuem and put a light jacket in my pack for the upcoming ascent of Hope Pass. I made one significant error in my haste to depart the aid station: I forgot to refill my Camelbak. Not good. But not terrible either, I had a decent amount of water to get me up to “Hopeless,” the small aid station near the summit of the pass.
So I started on my way out of Twin Lakes and I felt great. Seeing everyone was such a lift and knowing I had 40 miles completed was energizing. The first mile and a half was flat and almost seemed like a marsh with tall grasses, damp footing, and several water crossings.
the marshlands…
I didn't waste time avoiding the water because I knew there was a river crossing coming up. The river was refreshingly cold. In the 30 seconds it took me to cross, my feet and lower legs were completely numbed.
the river crossing…
Soon after the river, the fun began. The ascent up Hope Pass rose from 9,200 to 12,600 feet in less than four miles. I felt great at the bottom and was steadily passing runners as I hiked my way up. There were a few runners behind me just trying to hang onto my pace.
the very start of the climb…
a little further up…
Well, about half way up, the wheels came off. It didn’t happen gradually; it was sudden. I completely blew up. I was still moving but at a small fraction of my previous speed. Saying I felt like hell is putting it mildly.
For those that follow cycling, commentator Paul Sherwen would have said, “Lloyd is calling down to the engine room, ‘More power!” And then Phil Liggett would have responded with, “He’s wearing the mask of pain now. Oh no, the elastic has snapped. He’s praying for the summit to come as soon as possible.” And then back to Sherwen with, “He’s really having to dig deeply into the suitcase of courage.”
probably in the vicinity of where I “cracked”…
If you happened to look at the laminated card I was carrying, my notes for this climb said, “Continue running until you hit trees (the bottom of the climb). Push pace but having to stop is too fast.” I found this advice somewhere online and let me tell you, it was idiotic advice. Needless to say, I should have been moving at a much slower pace. And I also should have come over to Leadville to hike this section before race day. I had spent so much time on Mt. Quandary that I figured Hope Pass couldn’t possibly be any worse. But it was. Not because of the terrain or amount of ascent, but simply because I didn’t know where the summit was. On Quandary, once you get on the ridge you can see the summit long before you reach it. It’s a grueling hike, but knowing where I have to go is much easier for me to handle.
The climb continued for what seemed like an eternity. The trail passed through a few small meadows and then finally, finally, I came to a clearing and set my eyes on a most beautiful sight, the “Hopeless” Aid Station—aptly named for the condition I was in.
coming into “Hopeless.” The tents on the left are part of the aid station…
the hard-working llamas that brought up the gear to the aid station. I could have used a ride…
Beyond the aid station, there was still 800 feet of climbing left over three quarters of a mile to the summit of the pass. The idea of running 56 more miles didn’t seem particularly appealing to me at this point, especially knowing that I would have to come back up the “hard side” of Hope Pass on my way back. I sat down on a cooler and tried to regroup. They were serving some sort of warm potato puree that sounded alright; I had two or three cups.
About now my dad whispered in my ear, “Lloyd, you just have to think to yourself, this too shall pass.” This is the bit of advice I heard most frequently from him throughout my life. So I looked at my watch, made a decision to get up and leave in exactly three minutes, and I did just that. I had been there for probably a total of ten minutes, I still felt less than stellar, but I got up and moved myself toward the summit.
The last 800 feet to the summit were grueling, but I made it.
near the summit of Hope Pass, looking back down toward Twin Lakes…
Hope Pass, 12,600 feet…
You get to the top and then you’re “rewarded” with a 2,600 foot descent in just two miles.
and so begins the downhill…
and down some more on the switchbacks…
the last of the switchbacks but still a long way to the bottom. This is where it really got steep…
just a straight, steep shot towards the bottom. I tried not to think about having to come back up this way…
Finally at the bottom, there are three miles of dusty, dirty gradual uphill into the Winfield Aid Station. If you recall, I forgot to fill up my Camelbak at Twin Lakes. And if you’ll also recall, at Hopeless I was out of my mind. You guessed it, I forgot to fill it up there too. So with three awful miles to go on an unshaded dirt road in the heat of the day, I didn’t have a drop of water. It made for a long three miles. I hiked it the whole way.
the miserable road into Winfield…
Despite my difficulties, I got to Winfield only 25 minutes off my most optimistic pace. The first 50 miles took me about 10 hour 50 minutes, but I paid the price. I felt worse than I ever had after a 50 miler.
Here they put me on the scale and I weighed 164. So I was a bit dehydrated and had lost five pounds, but it wasn’t any sort of serious medical concern. They just told me to take in some fluids, and I did. Adrienne came in with me to the aid tent and pampered me. I guzzled down several cups of Powerade and had a cup or two of chicken noodle soup.
The tape on one of my toes was bothering me so Adrienne helped me rectify the situation. When I took off my sock, I expected to find a blister, but fortunately the tape had become undone without doing serious damage. Adrienne quickly helped me replace the Elastikon Tape (by the way, I’ll use Kinesio Tape in the future) on two of my toes, and then I covered my foot in a thick layer of Vanicrème and Sport Shield. My sock went back on, I laced up my shoe, and I prepared for departure.
I was feeling a little bit better, but I had thrown the idea of finishing in under 25 hours out the window. I looked at my watch and saw I had been at it for 11 hours, and then I said to Adrienne, “Well, I have 19 hours to finish.”
On my way out of Winfield, Junie came running over to me which gave me a boost.
Junie wishing me Godspeed…
This time I felt much better on the dusty road out of Winfield. Now I was fueled and it was a gradual downhill. I was able to run comfortably down to the trailhead for the climb back up Hope Pass. So now the climb would be steeper than where I exploded on the front side, but it was shorter and most importantly, I knew what to expect. Furthermore, once you get on the switchbacks you can see the summit. It’s still a long way to go, but knowing where I needed to get to was especially helpful psychologically.
During several portions of the first 50 miles I leapfrogged with a woman who was clearly an experienced ultrarunner and a really solid climber. As I reached the trailhead, she and her husband, who was now pacing her (runners could use pacers starting at mile 50), were just in front of me. I adopted them as my pacers, and I followed them back over Hope Pass. I’m sure it wasn’t ideal for them to have me hounding them all the way up, but it’s what I had to do. She kept a super comfortable and steady pace. I don’t know her name, but I’m forever thankful.
And all along the way up, I thought about the mother of one of my closest friends. She is fighting pancreatic cancer and just started chemotherapy. I had thought about her throughout the day, but I had made a note before the race that I would pray for her specifically on my way up the backside of Hope Pass. Her fight certainly put my self-imposed, suffering-for-sport into perspective.
Once I was over the pass, I took off on my own down to Hopeless. There I had some more of the potato puree I had during my first stop there, I sat down for two or three minutes, and then I left for Twin Lakes.
Now came a four mile descent and I was feeling like myself again. It was a long way down but I moved comfortably to the marshlands below. Once again I passed through the river and the muddy grasses that eventually lead to the aid station at mile 60.5. I was 40 minutes off pace, but I was feeling great. Waiting for me were Adrienne, June, Jolee, Chrissy, and my pacer for the last 40 miles, Caroline.
an exhausted Junie and Chrissy’s dog, Scout, waiting, waiting, waiting…
Jolee and Chrissy enjoying the sunshine…
Chrissy with her adopted children…
finally to Twin Lakes…
feeling good and smiling at the sight of familiar faces…
Caroline getting ready for departure…
Junie providing assistance (I changed shirts and shoes, by the way)…
and off we go. That’s Molly with the camera on the left…
Believe it or not, I had never met Caroline. She is Molly’s friend and when she heard I was signed up for Leadville, she volunteered to pace me. That’s what I call a generous soul. And she was more than willing to run the entire 50, but I asked her to run with me for a mere 40 miles instead. What a nice guy I am. She’s a very experienced ultraendurance athlete so I knew I was in good hands.
Coming out of Twin Lakes, it’s a 1400-foot climb over the first two and a half miles. I was feeling so-so, but since this was my first time meeting Caroline, we spent quite a bit of time talking up this initial climb and quite frankly, I was sucking wind.
We finally got to the top and Caroline encouraged me to run a little. I ran a little bit here and there, but I think we were both settling in for a long night and road to the finish. Then she offered me some dried mango and apricots. It didn’t sound especially appetizing, but I took her up on the offer anyways. They tasted okay.
A few minutes later, I felt like a new person. We were now around mile 65 and for the first time all day, I had my normal energy level. I started to run. And I kept running. It was now a steady downhill to the Half Moon Aid Station, and we were cruising. At a point in the race when nearly everyone was slowing down to shuffle or a hike, we were cranking out sub-eight minute miles (I confirmed this after the race with Caroline. I thought my perceived speed may have been a touch different than reality). “What the hell did you feed him?” a pacer for another runner asked. I heard “holy shit” a few times from other runners we passed along the way.
It was the most transcendent stretch of running of my life. I now knew sub-25 hours was a possibility, and we cruised in and out of the aid at Half Moon like we had a plane to catch.
We were now 70 miles in and I felt the best I had all day. If you paid strangely close attention to this report, you may have noticed that all my suffering throughout the day was caused by lack of energy. I had bonked going up the front side of Hope Pass, but my legs never hurt. In fact, after 70 miles I hadn’t had any pain whatsoever in my feet, calves, hamstrings, or quadriceps. I was in some sort of bizarro world; I had now run further than I ever had, and I felt fine.
In terms of my strategy coming into the race, I hoped to get to Winfield feeling fresh, which clearly didn’t happen, but I also didn’t want to dip into what I consider “ultra-mode” until mile 70. I’ve read marathon running strategies that tell you to socialize and enjoy miles 0 through 10, get a little more serious for miles 11 to 18, and then buckle down and turn inward until the finish. It’s that totally buckled down, inwardly focused, relentless forward motion, just get there mode that I wanted to put off until as late in the race as possible. I obviously dipped into that mode on the front side of Hope Pass, but I was able to come back out of it. So I was thrilled; here we were 70-some miles in and “ultra-mode” seemed like a long way away.
We continued to make great time and flew through the crew access point at Pipeline. After Twin Lakes, Adrienne, Molly, and Chrissy took June and Jolee back to Breckenridge. Chrissy stayed overnight with the kids while Molly and Adrienne headed back to Leadville. They went as fast as they could, and they figured they would likely be able to meet us at Pipeline. They were nowhere close (which was fine—we weren’t counting on them being there and we didn’t need anything). In that nine mile stretch, Caroline and I had made up 35 minutes of the 40 minute pace deficit I had when we left Twin Lakes (a 100 mile pace chart is not linear. You’re expected to be going considerably slower in the dark at mile 73 than you were at mile 10).
Caroline called Molly on her cell phone just after running through Pipeline, and Molly and Adrienne were shocked and thrilled to find out how far along we were.
I wasn’t looking forward to the section leading back to Fish Hatchery because much of it was hard dirt or paved roads, but it turned out to be just fine. Caroline continued to run at a great pace and I just followed her lead. The last mile into the aid station was a slight uphill, but I didn’t mind.
A significant part of my race strategy involved my dad. During all the months of training leading up to this race, I frequently thought about him out on the trails. I was too immature to realize it while he was alive, but I now know that he was, bar none, the most mentally tough individual I have ever known. He had resiliency in spades. I visualized crossing the finish line hundreds of times and dedicating the race to him. I also visualized picking him up at mile 76.5, Fish Hatchery, and running with him to the finish. And so it was, Dad was there waiting.
At Fish Hatchery they weighed me again and I had put back on a few pounds. When asked how I was feeling, I told them I couldn’t feel better.
Caroline and I sat down for a few minutes and refueled. I had two cups of chicken broth, but I should have stopped at one. It sat like a salt bomb in my stomach for the next 20 minutes, but there was no harm done.
After leaving the warmth of the aid station I felt quite a bit colder than when we arrived. I had put on an additional shirt, but I also knew I would warm up on the long climb up Powerline Road to Sugarloaf Pass. About a mile and a half from Fish Hatchery, we started our way up. It starts at 9,600 feet, has several false summits, and finally reaches 11,200 feet a few miles later. I told Caroline to keep it slow and steady, and that’s exactly what she did. She was a machine. I just stayed a foot or two behind her, focused my headlamp squarely on her heels, and let her carry me to the top. At last, the final huge climb of the day was done.
The very long descent from Sugarloaf Pass was just that, very long. I was happy when it was over. I struggled a bit once we reached Hagerman Pass Road, but once we popped back onto the Colorado Trail, things improved. We started making good time on the singletrack and by the time we reached May Queen, I was feeling great again.
It was nice to see Molly and Adrienne there waiting for us; they had missed us at Fish Hatchery because of our much faster than expected pace. With only 13.5 miles to the finish, it was time to get on our way.
you’d look crazy too at mile 86.5…
We took off and started down the singletrack around Turquoise Lake. I was following Caroline and we were making great time. If I could keep up at this pace, I calculated that I would break 23 hours. The early part of the trail was rolling and we weren’t stopping for hike breaks.
With about 10 miles to go, disaster struck. The trail was quite rocky and Caroline took a wicked fall. She went down hard and I watched as her knee slammed directly into the face of a boulder. I thought she broke her knee cap but she was complaining about a sprained ankle. She was on the ground and had a steady river of blood streaming down her leg from a nasty gash on her knee. We eventually got her up and she sat down on a large boulder next to the trail. She knew and I knew she couldn’t go on. We were about three and a half miles from the May Queen Aid Station and 3 miles away from the Tabor Boat Ramp where we would see Molly and Adrienne again. Fortunately, Caroline had her cell phone and one of her friends was close by (this trail goes along a campground, so although we were some distance from both May Queen and the Tabor Boat Ramp, access to our spot on the trail from the campground wasn’t too difficult). She insisted that I keep running, and although I felt like a jerk for leaving, we both knew there was no point in me staying there. There was nothing I could do. Caroline is obviously tough as nails, and I knew she’d be taken care of. And she was. I continued on along the trail but I know her friend soon arrived and got her to safety. She had a very sore knee and ankle, but she was otherwise fine.
Without Caroline I slowed down a bit and took a hiking break here and there, but I still arrived at the Tabor Boat Ramp right around 2 a.m. I took Adrienne and Molly by surprise because they expected me to emerge from the trail with another runner by my side. I explained to them what happened to Caroline, and they called her as soon as I continued on my way.
I now had just under seven miles to go to the finish. I told them I’d meet them there. I reentered the singletrack that continued around the lake. The trail here is flat, sandy, and quite difficult to follow at night even if you have all your faculties at your disposal, which I did not. I was exhausted. I continued to run some of the trail, but at one point, I literally fell asleep for two or three seconds while running. That was a new one for me. All I could think about was crossing the finish line and getting in the car and going to sleep. I pondered taking a quick catnap on the trail but I knew that wasn’t a good idea.
The singletrack briefly came to an ending at an opening in the trees and I hadn’t a clue as to where it continued. The trail was marked with an occasional glow stick but I couldn’t see any. I took a chance and walked into the trees perpendicularly to where I thought the trail might be. A glow stick caught my eye and I was back on track.
The trail around the lake was much longer than I remembered. It finally climbed up to a road where some people were waiting for runners. They pointed me across the road and back onto some more trail for a descent down a power line cut.
the power line descent around mile 95, in daylight…
Somewhere at the bottom of the descent I was spit out onto a dirt road. It wasn’t even vaguely familiar to me. I looked all around for where I was supposed to go. I was quite certain I was in the wrong place. Thankfully I spotted the dim light of a glow stick hanging on a tree several hundred yards away to my left. It didn’t feel right, but it was my best option and I ran in that direction. There were no other runners anywhere but I finally saw some cars on a road in the distance, which turned out to be Turquoise Lake Road. I now had an idea of my location.
I eventually reached that distant road, took a right and ran for a half mile, crossed some railroad tracks, and then turned right onto a jeep road. I was on this dirt road for close to a mile before it turns left and becomes a wide dirt road known as “The Boulevard.” I had three and a quarter miles to go from here, and I desperately wanted to break 24 hours. It was about 3:15 a.m., it was a steady uphill from here to the finish, and I had 45 minutes to get there.
Now I was fully in ultra-mode. A runner came by with his pacer and I assumed they too were trying to break 24 hours because of their solid pace. I kept on their heels for awhile but then they stopped. I continued on and despite my exhaustion, my legs still felt fine. I didn’t hike a single bit of this last stretch. I ran and ran and passed many runners slowly walking up this wide dirt road that lead into Leadville.
The Boulevard, daylight version…
At the top of The Boulevard I came to a paved road. There were two volunteers there directing me to the left. I asked how far to the finish and they said, “Turn right on 6th and it’s one mile to go.” Shortly thereafter 6th Street arrived. It starts with a fairly sharp climb and I motored to the top. From there I could see the finish line in the distance at 6th and Harrison. Race volunteers radioed ahead to the finish line that number 102 was coming in. Amazingly, the last mile to the finish seemed much shorter than a mile. Again, being able to see my destination helped immensely. After cresting the hill I descended once again before the last little climb up to the line.
the beginning of the last climb to the finish, daylight version…
My legs hadn’t failed me all day and they didn’t fail me now. I crossed the line at 3:53 a.m. I had run 100 miles in 23 hours, 53 minutes, and 13 seconds. Molly and Adrienne were there cheering wildly for me. Adrienne gave me a great big hug, and then Merilee Maupin, the race director, put my finisher’s medal around my neck and also gave me a great big hug.
99 miles, 5,250 feet down. Just 30 feet left to go…
After the brief celebration I was taken over to the medical tent to check my weight. All was fine. I grabbed a cup of chicken and rice soup, and then Molly, Adrienne, and I walked to the car for the drive back to Breckenridge. I felt tired but wonderful, and I knew I could now post a picture of my big belt buckle and write, “That was for my dad,” just like I had imagined doing hundreds of times since I started training for this race.
a blanket on my back and soup in hand, heading to the car…
If I’m writing or talking about running, I think, or at least hope, that I naturally describe the events in a restrained fashion. I love running but I try not to overstate it’s significance. But this race and all that lead up to it was beyond extraordinary for me. I’m very proud of my accomplishment and at the same time I’m very humbled by the experience. I don’t wish suffering upon anyone, but I wish everyone could have taken that journey with me. It’s common to feel a letdown after such a big event, and I’ve certainly felt that way before, but not this time. I’m not in an extreme runner’s euphoria either. I just feel extraordinarily blessed.
Many people wonder why anyone in their right mind would sign-up for an event like this. Well, some of us just wanted to go for a long run with our dads.
Dad, you were right. My troubles did pass. And thanks for running with me.
In 1987, baseball was our thing. Now it's running. My dad passed away in 1999…
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