Team IRC and the Leadville Trail 100

“It is sometimes a mistake to climb; it is always a mistake never even to make the attempt. If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?” 
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 6: Fables and Reflections


As I made my way along the 2-lane country roads that bypassed buffalo breeding grounds, farming pastures and seemingly dozens of burned-out, abandoned barns, I reflected on how this seemed to be the land that time forgot. Gray clouds hovered above the mountain peaks surrounding the hardscrabble town of Leadville, Colorado. The low ceiling gave an almost ominous appearance to this former mining colony on the outskirts of Colorado's exclusive ski towns - and yet, the mountain peaks that surround Leadville are not populated by the winter retreats of the rich and famous. This is a town whose residents work the land, endure long, cold winters, and have known both great fortune and great hardship. The history of this remote mountain town is as colorful as the men and women who shaped it. It arose from the valley floor in the mid-1800's in the midst of the gold and silver rushes that brought prospectors across the plains in search of fortunes buried deep in the mountains. At one time, Leadville was the second most populous city in Colorado and one of the wealthiest mining towns in the world.

Alas, this was not to last. As the mines dried up and the prospectors moved on, Leadville withered, and for decades the town fell into decline. Polluted water and soils from the years of mining activity kept the higher-end developers away. Despite the spectacular views, the town remained decidedly blue collar. 

It was against this backdrop that the Leadville Trail 100 was born. The LT100 is an iconic mountain ultramarathon that celebrates the town's gritty, hard-nosed past. The race was founded in 1983 as a means of helping the local economy and hopefully bring some notoriety to this quiet community. The locals thought that the idea of running 100 miles through the mountains at that altitude was suicidal; and yet the race flourished, bringing hearty, adventure-seeking souls from around the world to have a go at the "Race Across the Sky."

Courtesy Rob Timko Photography

The 31st running of the LT100 pitted 690 brave souls against these mountains on trails that would weave in and out, and up and down the Rocky Mountain range that encircles Leadville. I would attend this year's running as a crew member for several friends who were taking their shot. I had also planned on pacing someone but was prepared to see how the race unfolded to determine in what capacity I would be called upon to offer my help. My view from the sidelines was a little different from past volunteering efforts in that I was actually invested in particular runners (as opposed to being available to offer help and moral support to whomever needed it). The plan was for me to be ready to run up to 50 miles with one of our team of runners from the Winfield aid station back toward the start/finish line in Leadville. (A map of the course can be found here.) Whether or not I was called upon to run, my goals were very clear: support, encourage, and above all, get our guys across the finish line.

My vantage point for the race was the Twin Lakes aid station (mile 39.5 outbound and 60.5 inbound). From there, I witnessed the struggles and successes of many runners at a critical stage in the race. Yet while I was able to take in much of the comings and goings of the crowd, trying to get the full flavor of the race from this spot was akin watching a baseball game through a tiny hole in a fence. I could see small bits and pieces of the event but it was difficult to see things unfold in the bigger picture. 

What I did observe was the toll this event was taking on the runners, ours in particular. I had heard that at previous aid stations we had a couple guys who looked great, a couple who looked OK, and a couple who were struggling. Over the course of the afternoon we watched dozens of runners pour through Twin Lakes in various states of fatigue. Some looked relaxed and strong, others shaky and uncertain. There were some runners who were exhausted and called it a day while others were determined to continue. Some even looked like they had hardly run a step, even though they had been at it for 7 hours or more. 

Activity at Twin Lakes. Photos by Kerri Kerr.

Most of our day was spent waiting. As our runners crossed through the aid station one at a time, we jumped into action, filling water bottles, rounding up food, and checking gear. Upon their departure, we would patiently await the next one. It was difficult to be so out of touch with what was going on out on the trail. Even in this modern era of technology, tracking devices, and instant updates, there are times when one can still be truly alone. In the hours that pass between aid stations, all we could do was speculate at what might be going on in the wilderness. A couple of the guys on our team seemed to be behind schedule, and it was all we could do to hope they were not injured or lost.

The summer sun beat down on us as we wondered what might have delayed our runners. (We hoped the answer did not involve a bear or mountain lion!) When the last members of our group finally made it back in, the feelings we all shared were bittersweet. One of our team decided his day was done. A tough training cycle mixed with dehydration at high elevation had sabotaged his efforts. (He'll be back.) Another was just ahead of the cutoff, and moving him through the aid station and getting him back on the trail as quickly as possible was of utmost importance. The difficulty of this race came into full focus at that moment for him as exhaustion met determination, and even though he literally had a mountain to climb and not much time to do it, he gathered what strength he had and set out. The rest of us were left to wait, and to hope.

You've got to move it, move it!!

As the sun dipped below the mountain peaks the heat quickly dissipated and a chill in the air quickly settled over our camp. It was not long before we were reaching for coats, sweatshirts, or whatever else we could find to stay warm. Slowly, runners made their way back through our aid station making the return trip to Leadville - although it was apparent that the infamous Hope Pass climb had thinned out the herd significantly. Our runner who had just made the Twin Lakes cutoff time had unfortunately just as narrowly missed the cutoff at the next aid station and was forced to come back to our camp. We witnessed other runners who came up just short on this day return as well - some satisfied that they had given everything they had, and others who were clearly disappointed that the mountains got the better of them that day. Yet our admiration for each of them was undiminished, regardless of outcome. Simply to be there, to witness what they were going through, was something to behold.

Team photos courtesy Kathy Fowler.

In the end, we had one runner (and his very tenacious pacer) from our team who made it back to the finish line in Leadville. I look forward to reading his story of the race. To say that the rest of us were proud to be a part of his day would be a tremendous understatement. We hoped that what little help we could offer helped keep him going out there. But there's not a doubt in my mind that someone who can spend almost 30 hours at over 9,000' altitude, climbing endless mountains, crossing stream after stream, while enduring extreme heat, frigid cold, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion from lack of sleep is cut from a different kind of cloth. My hat was certainly off to him. Well done, Jeff  and Derek.

The man!

It was interesting to observe some of the other folks who also made it to the finish line. There's a widely held misconception that ultrarunners are somehow superhuman. While I do not mean to sell anyone short, the vast majority of the runners are not professionally trained elites; in fact, most are, to quote Dakota Jones, "legions of fit, prepared runners who are eating enough, staying hydrated, wearing the correct mountain gear, and basically ensuring themselves anonymity." Perhaps it is a stretch to say that anyone could run 100 miles, but from what I have observed, more people can finish an event like this through sheer force of will than superior physical conditioning. It's very inspiring to witness.

Success can also be measured in different ways, and it is not always as cut-and-dried as achieving goal #1. Certainly anyone who finishes in the allowed time frame would consider the race a success. Yet for others, this day may present itself as one step in the journey to a successful finish - an incremental approach, if you will. Only roughly half of those that would start this race would actually finish. Yet a DNF may not necessarily constitute failure. Metaphorically speaking, many mountain climbers will make several attempts at summiting the world's tallest peaks in an effort to prepare themselves physically and mentally for the challenge of pushing themselves beyond their limits. In a race like this, it may take more than one or two attempts in order to fully prepare one for the demands of such a punishing course. 

Just like the town that lends its name to this event, the LT100 has had its good days and bad days. While I do not have the hindsight and personal experience to speak to the well-documented issues that plagued this race over the past couple of years, I am very pleased to say that what I witnessed this year only heightened my appreciation of the race organizers and volunteers who put it all together. I truly hope that LT100's best days are still ahead of it. And I hope that there's a buckle in my future. But for now I will appreciate the time I was able to spend with some great people in a tough little town in Colorado.