IMTUF, or am I?

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to get the chance to join a relatively small group of individuals who have attempted a 100 mile endurance race, and an even smaller group of people that have completed their first attempt at 100 miles. Just to get to the start line was a feat in itself, having spent the past 9 months running countless hours and miles, it all led me to the real test which began at Burgdorf Hot Springs early on Saturday morning.

The air was crisp as we all gathered near the start line, we would be running in the dark for about an hour before the sun came up. As the beam from my headlamp passed through the group, I saw many familiar faces that I had been fortunate enough to run with in several other events this year. I settled in around the middle of the pack and did one final gear check to make sure that I wasn’t forgetting anything, and I was ready to go. As ready as one can be anyway, we’re about to run 100 freaking miles through some incredibly tough terrain!

Jeremy, the race director said a few final words of encouragement and then we were off, just after 6:00 AM. This race is notorious for encouraging runners to start out too fast and burn themselves up before the real race begins (at around mile 50), so I was determined to take a nice, slow pace to begin with and enjoy the day. The first 20 miles are mostly single-track, rolling hills and once the sun came up, incredible views. We were running in and out of an old burn area decorated with impressive fall colors. The vegetation was an intense mix of red, yellow, and orange combined with the stark white granite rocks and scarred with charcoal black of limbless trees leftover from the fire years ago. I spent several of the first 25 miles trading places and sharing stories with Ryan until we got to the first major climb, which I may have taken a bit too fast. Until this point, I thought I had been running extremely conservatively, but began to feel a slight fatigue in my legs, which would later come back to haunt me, but I was moving well and continued to cruise to the top of the climb and down the other side. Before I knew it, I was rolling into the Upper Payette Lake Aid Station around mile 33. I treated this Aid Station as I had the others, in and out as quick as possible, I didn’t want to lose time standing still, so I refilled my water bottles with Tailwind (calorie and electrolyte supplement) and headed out.

 

It was a full 10 miles to the next aid station that consisted of nearly 8 miles up climbing and a reasonably sharp 2 mile descent into Duck Lake. I had heard from several runners that had ran the race in prior years, that this portion of the course was very tricky and it could coax you into moving faster than you should this early in the race. I was feeling fresh still, but I was able to convince myself to take this opportunity to move a bit slower and try to save my legs for the night when I knew I would need them the most. I came down into Duck Lake trailhead at mile 43 ten minutes ahead of where I thought I would be overall. I was still feeling good, but had ran low on liquid in the past 10 miles so I chugged down two full bottles of water before topping both of my handhelds back up with Tailwind to head down the road to Snowslide. As I was leaving, Jeremy, the RD, reminded me to look up, as these next 5 miles were one of the only opportunities I would have to not have to watch my footing and be able to enjoy the scenery. I listened, and it was well worth it.

The Snowslide Aid Station was just before the midway point in the race, I jogged down the final mile of dirt road, and arrived at 5:30 PM, a full 30 minutes ahead of the schedule that I had laid out for myself. Much to my delight, the first person I saw when I pulled in was Paul Lind, I couldn’t help but smile. Paul was the RD of my first 100k race back in June, and had provided much needed encouragement at several other races when I was feeling less than stellar, not today though, I was a well-oiled machine, everything was going better than planned. I gave Paul a hug and he told me that I was running a very smart race and that I had a hell of a climb ahead of me so I better fuel up. This was no joke, the climb up to Snowslide Lake consisted of nearly 2,000 feet of ascent in about a mile and a half. Brutal. I swapped out my handheld water bottles for my hydration pack that was already loaded with Tailwind and a couple Clif Bars and headed out, still determined to be as efficient as possible at aid stations. I hadn’t passed anyone on the trail since around mile 20, but at every aid station I came across, I passed at least a couple people. As expected, the climb up Snowslide was a grind, but I made it to the top a few minutes after 6:00, which made 50 miles in just over 12 hours. I had no idea how tough the second 50 miles would be.

From the top of the pass, it started with a nasty, technical descent for about 5 miles, until it turned back into relatively smooth single-track as we continued down, down, down into Lake Fork. It was beginning to get dark, and I started to move slower, and before I knew it I had a headlamp beam right on my tail. The owner of the light was a guy from Colorado, and I latched on to his pace and we ran the final two miles into the Lake Fork aid station at mile 60 together.

What I saw at Lake Fork looked like a combination of a war zone and a party. There was music and delicious smelling food, a huge campfire and even an elk hanging from meat poles. What really got to me though was the looks on the other runners faces. I could tell that the last 10 miles had been much harsher on many of them than they had on me. I saw several runners that have much more experience in ultras and are generally faster than I am and some of them looked all but defeated. I couldn't be bothered with the entertainment and distractions, I knew if I stuck around for very long, I would end up looking just like everyone else, this race had gotten TUF over the last 10 miles, and I knew it was only going to get worse as the night went on. Paul was at Lake Fork as well, and he make sure I took some solid food with me when I left, warning me that it was going to be a long cold night, boy was it ever.

I was heading into some of the toughest miles of my life, the Crestline Trail. A series of climbs and descents over what is listed at 16 miles, but some (myself included) might argue is much longer. I knew I had 4 major climbs, and two light aid stations between Lake Fork and Crestline Aid Station. I was still right on pace to finish in 28.5 hours, and felt confident that I could still move fast enough to surely be under 30 hours. I ambled out of Lake Fork at around 9:15 PM, and had what I considered a very conservative expectation to be in to Crestline at 2:30 AM.

When my Garmin hit 76 miles, and I saw a campfire up ahead at 2:40 AM, I had convinced myself that I had made it, I’d arrived at Crestline nearly on schedule where I would be able to put different shoes on and sail through another marathon distance to the finish. Not. Something wasn’t quite right. I saw goats. There weren’t supposed to be goats at Crestline. The goats were supposed to be at Box Creek… Around mile 72. I must have been more exhausted than I thought, because it took a few minutes for the very kind couple to convince me that I was in fact at Box Creek, and that they didn’t have my shoes. They were able to feed me a tasty grilled peanut butter sandwich, but that didn’t make my feet feel any better. Mentally, I was still determined and feeling good, but my physical condition was about to take a sharp turn for the worse.

I had several miles to go to Crestline and my change of shoes and I was now moving slower than ever. These were the longest miles of the whole day, and it didn’t help that I still hadn’t seen a single runner since I left Lake Fork the evening before. I spent a few miles cursing Jeremy for mismarking the distances, and turned off my Garmin because it was just going to make me put too much pressure on myself. I managed to get over it and ended up enjoying these tough miles much more than I thought possible. Several times when I had slowed to almost a standstill from fatigue and sheer exhaustion, I would turn my headlamp off and sit in the middle of the trail and just look up at the stars; it was a pretty magical experience.

Eventually I made it up to the road, and discovered that Crestline Aid Station DID in fact exist. As I sat next to the fire stuffing my face with spicy gumbo and breakfast burritos prepared expertly by Mike Blessing, I realized that it was very unlikely that I would hit my goal of a 30 hour finish. The night on the Crestline Trail had swallowed up far more hours than I thought possible. It was now after 5:00 AM and I had just under 7 hours to complete a marathon and I couldn’t see myself moving any faster than I had been for the last several hours. I bid Mike and the rest of the aid station workers farewell and forged on through the darkness. Hell, who am I kidding, I stumbled my way down the road like a drunk. I just had to make it through two more aid stations and I was determined to finish, regardless of how long it took. I was full now, and more alert than I had been, but my quality of movement had depreciated to a shuffle down the rocky dirt road. Without my Garmin telling me how slow each mile was, it seemed to take forever to get to Upper Payette for the second time, as I was struggling to move at what was likely a 30 minute per mile pace on the flat road around the lake, I hear footsteps behind me. It was the lady who would end up placing second in the women’s race. We exchanged some words, but I was moving much slower than she was, so she didn’t stick around long. A few minutes later, the 3^rd place women passed me as well, I was getting ‘chicked’ but it didn’t matter, It was finally light outside, and I still had a ways to go.

Greeting me at North Payette were a host of helpful volunteers and Paul, who happened to have made it down there as well. He made sure I took extra time to rest and eat before sending me on my way to the last aid station. I knew I would finish at this point, and even though my original aspirations of finishing under 30 hours were long gone, it didn’t matter, I came here to see what I was made of, and that is exactly what I intended to do. I had a couple “easy” miles before beginning the last climb, one that would take me from one of the lowest points in the race to the high point in a very short distance, it was time to dig deep and find whatever I had left in me.

I arrived at the last aid station at Cloochman Saddle to the smell of bacon and blueberry pancakes. Mariah Crump and the rest of her crew met me with great enthusiasm, and beer. I took the offering of an ice cold Ranger IPA in one hand and a no-bake cookie in the other and had those both slammed down in no time flat while waiting for them to top off my hydration pack. I could have stayed there all day. As I headed out of the aid station I had them whip me up a fresh pancake, douse it with syrup, and roll it up with bacon, delish.

I had 10 miles to go, but I was moving faster uphill than I had been for the last 10 hours. With less than 5 miles left, I reached the high point of the race at over 8,100 feet. The only thing worse than the climb I had just done was realizing that I now had a technical 2,000 foot descent and I was nearly physically unable to go downhill. For the first half of the downhill I was barely moving, sidestepping down the steeper sections because my knee, quads, and feet just didn’t have anything left in them. Just as I was pondering the chances of still being able to finish under the 36 hour cutoff if I was only able to move at one mile per hour, two sets of footsteps approached behind me. It was Brian Westphal and none other than Paul Lind alongside pacing him! I immediately got a surge of motivation to try to move faster, and was able to keep up with them at a very painful, but deliberate jog for a mile or so before watching them disappear around the corner. I slowed slightly, but was more focused on getting to the finish line than ever. Minutes later I hear more footsteps, and turn back to see Tony Huff and Paul Lindauer, two experienced ultra-runners that I have ran with in several races this year. They were feeling good and moving very fast this late in the race. We had one mile of trail and two miles of dirt road to go, but there was no way I could hold their pace either so I watched them disappear as well. No biggie, I can almost taste the finish (or the beer) by now.

I was able to run the last couple miles of dirt road on the way back to Burgdorf and the finish line. I managed to hold on to 17^th place overall, and finish in 31 hours and 47 minutes. This experience is something that I will cherish for some time to come, it is definitely the most difficult challenge I have faced, and I know that I earned every step of it. I was able to reassess my goals as the race went on and stay within my limits while fighting through the pain and fatigue that comes from being on your feet for that many hours, over 20,000 feet of climbing and 100+ miles. This was an enlightening and humbling experience and I’m grateful to have been able to take on such an intimidating course and have the strength and the will to come out on the other side a finisher. IMTUF, I’ll be back.