Brazos Bend 100 Race Report

There be GATORS!

REST. Kick back. Maybe throw in an easy race or two, work in some easy training miles, and look ahead to 2018. 

That was my plan for the remainder of 2017. I was looking forward to spending some time with friends out on the roads and trails and kicking around some ideas for next year's schedule. Running another long race this year wasn't in the plan, much less running another 100 miler. I had all but shut it down for the year - yet for some reason, the idea of one last hurrah for 2017 sounded strangely appealing.

And so there I was, bottle in hand, on a crisp, clear morning at Brazos Bend State Park just outside Houston as Rob Goyen, the Race Director, gave the countdown to "Go". I'd spend the next 18-plus hours winding my way around ponds and over prairies, all the while keeping a wary eye out for the park's famous alligator populations.

Needless to say, my anxiety level for this race was at an all-time low. A busy schedule at work had consumed most of my mental energy in the days and weeks leading up to the race, and with the exception of a few long runs around town, my training was far from perfect. I signed up very late for this race and hadn't had a chance to so much as read a race report for it. I knew it would be flat but didn't really know much else about the course. I had no drop bags, minimal supplies, and would run only with a handheld water bottle. Fellowship would come via my friend Reece, at whose insistence I signed up for this race in the first place. We hoped to run the race together and see of we could push each other to a decent finish - or have a good time trying.

The Course
This course is pancake flat, run primarily over crushed gravel trails and jeep roads with a smattering of single track. It's anything but technical and involves repeating a 16.8 mile loop 6 times (for the 100). There's one "hill" in each loop that falls right before the first aid station, and I found myself wondering if the organizers threw it in just for some comic relief.

The HILL.....

By the way, I use the term "loop" here very loosely. The course actually looks like this:

We did this "loop" 6 times. As you can see, there are a number of small lollipop loops and out-and-backs that make up each segment. It was fairly well marked with the exception of one turnaround that many of us missed in the dark on loop 1 (about 1 1/2 miles out from the start). We caught our mistake on future loops and didn't have any more problems. Fortunately this early oversight only added a mile to our total distance so it wasn't a big deal. After that, each race distance (Half Marathon, Marathon, 50 mile, and 100 mile) was color-coded and easy to recognize on the posted signs.

So to summarize: not technical. Pancake flat. Several loops (kind of). Footing is not a problem. The trail was in excellent condition, and given that much of it is crushed gravel, I would think that even in rainy conditions it should hold up pretty well. The aid stations are frequent and well-stocked with standard aid station fare, falling roughly every 4 miles or so along the course. They serve as easy mental markers along the way. As an aside, one thing I would suggest for those who listen to music on the trail (as I will on occasion): cell service was very spotty. I suggest downloading your music and not relying on streaming services. There were a number of dead spots out there, and service even at the start/finish line was sketchy at best.

My Day
My first couple of loops were at a very easy, conversational pace. This was by design: I ran with my friend Reece, and our intention was to reduce the wear on our legs by running conservatively early on, thereby saving our strength for a strong finish. The upside to this strategy was that it allowed plenty of time for conversation and kept our stress levels at a minimum. Most of our first loop was run in the cold darkness of the early morning, but as the sun rose, the temperature gradually began to warm up. We were able to shed a few layers while continuing to move along comfortably. The day was off to a very good start: we both felt good, the weather was ideal, and the trail conditions were perfect.

Reece took this pic, it is one of my favorites....

Our second loop was likewise smooth and easy. We minimized our time in aid stations and kept our pace steady. My only disappointment was that, for a park themed around alligators, I saw surprisingly few alligators. (I chalked it up to the cooler weather.) I saw a grand total of one all day. Feeling relatively assured that we were not in imminent danger of a gator encounter, Reece and I pressed on, finishing our first 2 loops in around 6 hours - right on schedule.

For much of the middle of the day, we had joined up with a couple of other runners, Matt and Christene, to share a lot of miles and a lot of laughs. It's amazing how quickly the time passes when one isn't thinking about passing the time. The four of us were on cruise control. We continued to run well together as the rising sun burned away some of the morning mist and moved higher in the sky. We traded war stories, jokes, barbs, and generally had about as good a time out there as it's possible to have while running mind-numbing loops on a flat trail. It was a blast, and (aside from finishing) was my favorite part of the race. Seriously.

Reece, Matt, Christene, and me

While on loop 3, I felt a little surge of energy and thought I might stretch it out a little bit just to see how much I still had in the tank. I was not happy about breaking up the band, considering how well things were going up to that point, but I fully expected to crash later, and I felt that if I didn't try to put a few miles in the bank, I might find myself in a hole when that inevitable crash came. I slowly began to pick up the pace and was surprised at how well my legs responded. My pace increased, and pretty soon I was running around 9 min/mile very comfortably. The weather was still very cool and so far my stomach was holding up - which I considered a miracle in and of itself. I had the chance to see and check in with Reece, Matt, and Christene at several other points throughout the day, which further helped to keep my spirits up.*

The remainder of my race continued to go very well. I simply focused on moving as quickly as I could from aid station to aid station. I was now rolling with some music to keep my mind occupied. I kept my diet simple - coke, ginger ale, potato chips, a little ramen, and water. Other than occasionally feeling some fatigue, I didn't have any "dark places" in this race. I picked up energy from the many friends I saw on the trail and from the enthusiastic support of the volunteers.

Gordy Ainsleigh sighting!

The energy crash that I nervously awaited never came. My stomach remained solid, and my legs (despite the obvious fatigue) kept me moving forward quickly enough that even when the darkness descended again and the cold chill of night returned, I didn't need more than a light jacket to stay warm. The miles ticked off quickly and before long I was counting down the last few aid stations before my day would be done. I had my music going, my heart pumping, and I could smell the finish line.

But my race wasn't finished yet. As I ran past the final aid station, I passed a young man who also seemed to be moving very well. He shouted encouragement as I raced by and I offered the same to him. I turned onto the road which marked the home stretch. One mile to go. I was running full out, eager to get this done. Suddenly, I noticed a headlamp bouncing along behind me! "You have got to be kidding me," I thought to myself. Runners are always told to never look back in a race, but I could not resist wondering what the hell was going on back there. Sure enough, the runner I had passed back on the trail was fast approaching! "Oh no, THAT ain't happening," I said out loud, and I kicked it into a gear I didn't know I had. We were running at an all-out sprint now, and he was matching me stride for stride. The red lights of the finish line fast approached, and with about 20 yards to go, HE PASSED ME. (Well done, Matt Collins from Philadelphia. Well done.)

I crossed the finish line in a new personal best time of 18 hours, 52 minutes. Between the photo finish and my new PR, I was absolutely euphoric. I walked over and congratulated my fellow sprinter for an outstanding charge and thanked him for pushing me so hard at the very end. I joyfully received congratulations, a bear hug and a finisher buckle from the race director Rob Goyen. I was also delighted to get a hug from trail mom Becky Spaulding, who proceeded to help me find someplace warm to savor the moment. Before long I was in a tent wrapped in blankets in front of a heater holding a shiny new buckle.

It was a great day.

*Matt and Reece also had great days, finishing in 19:35 and 21:28 respectively. Christene was dealing with some injuries but was still tough as nails, running strong for 51 miles before calling it a day.

**I took exactly ZERO pictures on race day. Many thanks to my friend Mike Davis, who allowed me to borrow generously from his extensive collection of pictures from the race. 

***Also thanks and congratulations to RD Rob Goyen and the TROT team for putting on an incredible event. The volunteers were all fantastic and helpful, and made the experience that much better for the runners.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Western States 2017

Unsurprisingly, the 2018 Western States lottery did not come out in my favor, leaving me back in the pack again hoping for a future date in Squaw Valley to right the wrongs from my excursion this year. The odds of actually getting through were so minuscule that I never held out much hope that I would get another shot this soon - which is fine by me, given that 2018 will be filled with a few "life events" that will prevent me from giving States the adequate time and training I think I will need to persevere on that course.

Despite being anything but a thing of beauty, my finish at Wasatch garnered me a shot at the Hard Rock 100 lottery - a lottery whose chances for a first-timer like myself are even more remote than Western States (around 0.4%). Getting into Hard Rock was a pipe dream, but it was fun just to be a part of the process. I look forward to returning to Telluride next summer to volunteer again at one of my favorite races. Whether I ever get the chance to toe the line at Hard Rock, it's a joy for me to simply be around that race.

And so my slate for 2018 remains clean. My next lottery adventure will be that of the great Cascade Crest 100, which (if successful) would send me to the lovely pine forests and mountains of Washington State next August. Fingers crossed.

Other Stuff (Not Running Related)

I had an opportunity recently to spend a few days at the magnificent Clear Creek Benedictine Monastery in Oklahoma. It was a weekend retreat that I wished could have stretched a few days more, but it was nonetheless fruitful for me in a number of ways. I had the good fortune to hear a talk by a Benedictine priest once who spoke about the lives of these men who have devoted their lives to prayer and work (Ora et Labora). Seeing this in action was very moving.

I always find myself looking for God in other places. My default mindset seems to be that God is "out there" somewhere, and that through some laborious effort on my part, I can find Him, hear Him, and know Him. When I don't immediately hear or find Him, I look somewhere else (or worse, give up the search entirely, which I have done many times). It's a transitory mentality spurred on by my acquiescence to our modern culture. But their view is decidedly different. For the monk, the guiding principle is that of community first. They stop, lay down roots, and begin to listen. The mindset is "if I cannot find God here, I will not find Him anywhere."

The monastery itself is still under construction and likely will not be completed for many years. I appreciated what they were doing there, and saw a metaphor that I could apply to my own timid faith life. It is a faith that is also very much under construction, but one which (I hope) has the shell and foundations of something that could actually last. I hope that in God's time, it can become a faith that shines like the witness of these simple and holy men. It's not there yet. But maybe someday.

Cactus Rose 100'S New Sub-24 Hour Buckle

Tejas Trails has added a sweet new sub-24 hour buckle for Cactus Rose 100. Not that I ever have a chance of actually picking one of these up.....

Changing Seasons

I recall reading once that a runner will go through different "seasons" in the course of their running career. Given that I am looking forward to the change from warm summer days to the cooler winds of autumn, I feel led to reflect upon on this observation, considering it in light of the busy year that 2017 has been so far.

In the 20+ years that my running career has spanned (not including the "dark ages" from 2008-2011) I have had my fair share of ups and downs. There have been great races and colossal disappointments, people have come and gone, and I have changed everything from training patterns to stride rates to nutrition. I've raced in spectacular natural landscapes and bustling urban environments. Through it all, I've been chasing that elusive goal of "getting better".

Over time, one's motivation and sense of purpose will inevitably wax and wane depending on race goals, the calendar, personal goals, and the like. Whether because Wasatch was so emotionally and physically draining - or perhaps because the year has been taxing as a whole - I have found that the joy and anticipation I had taken in my preparation for this year's races has not carried over to its last few months. Training can be a grind, but when clearly defined goals are at the forefront of that training, it's much easier to remain committed to the "big picture".

Case in point - I had intended to cap off my racing year at the New York Marathon in a few weeks. My overall lethargy has led me to shelve that plan, instead approaching the fall as an opportunity to recover some of my previous enthusiasm and allow myself to rest and heal. (Based on the few runs I have been doing recently the chances that I could put together any kind of a decent marathon right now are remote anyway.) After a summer grinding out mile after mile on lonely, rugged trails in remote places the idea of one of the world's biggest road races in the nation's largest city surrounded by thousands became quite unappealing. Instead, I have considered that perhaps volunteering, reconnecting with other local runners, and simply enjoying some easy running in the cooler October air might just be the change that could reinvigorate my routine.

My time at Wasatch last month has also compelled me to consider more in-depth the part that running will play in my life going forward. It can't just be about accolades, trophies, or collecting races, can it? Could I be entering the autumn of my running career? Are fast times and big events still important to me? I don't think I have lost that competitive fire completely, but right now, it is certainly more of an ember than a flame.

"There is an appointed time for everything, 

and a time for every purpose under heaven." - Ecc 3:1

But however dimly it burns, I feel that the flame is still there. I wonder if any other runners wrestle with the thought: "If I take too much time off, what if I can't/don't want to/won't be able to come back"? That fear (if you want to call it that) is what keeps me at least moving through my current state of lethargy. 

With no major major goals on the horizon, I will continue to run simply for the joy of running and look for other avenues to remain connected to the sport. Perhaps it speaks volumes about my state of mind that this plan has me as excited as preparing for a race! In this case, perhaps it is best to look at some downtime as a blessing.

Wasatch Front 100 Race Report

"Let's go, boys. Time to put the screws to it and get this done."

The volunteer's words stuck in my mind as I quickly headed out of the Pot Hollow Aid Station at mile 84.7 of the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run. My pacer Josh and I had bombed the last 2 miles of trail heading into Pot Hollow in a desperate attempt to stay ahead of cutoffs. Our next checkpoint, Staton Aid Station, was approximately 5 miles ahead. We had about an hour and a half to get there, and based on the terrain we had seen up to that point, I was doubtful that we could make it.

5 miles. An hour and a half. Over the course of the summer I had run hundreds of miles in training and competing in other races. I ran out of gas on Devil's Thumb at Western States. Set a PR in Vermont. Folded like a tent climbing Hope Pass at Leadville. And now, here I was. My dreams of finishing the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning had long since faded away, but I held on to the hope that I could at least come home with a finish on the historic Wasatch trail. I had been out there for well over 30 hours. The trail had taken its toll on me - I was tired, dehydrated, painfully sore, and hungry, but now wasn't the time to feel sorry for myself. After everything I had gone through over the previous day and a half - hell, everything I had gone through for the summer - it all came down to these 5 miles in 90 minutes.

I looked over at Josh. "You know, I think a lot of people are pulling for us right now."

"Yep. So let's get after it," he replied.

I tightened my vest. We walked out of the aid station together onto the dirt road that would lead to yet another climb, one of many that we faced that day. I was tired of climbing, tired of mountains, and just plain tired. But there was nothing to do now but push ahead and see where this road would lead.

Time to put the screws to it, indeed.

++++++

Start to Francis Peak

This is my "I am so excited to run in the mountains" face!

The race began on Friday with an early morning drive to the East Mountain Wilderness Park outside Salt Lake City, where the Wasatch Front 100 would begin at 5am. I was not particularly nervous, but I was definitely suffering from some confidence issues heading into this race. My recent humbling on the slopes of Hope Pass in Leadville was still fresh on my mind - and now here I was, about to tackle a course with almost twice as much climbing as I faced in Leadville.

The morning air was warm and humid - definitely not what I was hoping for - but it was bearable. I collected my gear and walked to the start line with my soon-to-be pacer and weekend companion Steve hoping that things might cool off in the higher elevations. I tried to keep my mind clear as the race director began the countdown to the start of the race. I tried to stay in the moment and not worry about elevation profiles, split times, or my race plan. At this point, the less I thought about what lay before me, the better. I would just take the day as it came and adapt as best I could. And then, with an understated "Go!", we were off in a cloud of dust.

The first stretch of the race began on a relatively flat dirt road that gently climbed up and out of the wilderness park. After around 3 miles, I reached the base of the Bair Canyon Trail - a 4+ mile hike straight uphill that would cover around 4,000 vertical feet. With my hands on my knees and my heels off the ground, I trudged up the seemingly endless climb to the top of Francis Peak. After almost 3 hours of climbing, I reached a wide dirt road that marked the upper part of the trail. My climb culminated at the famous observation domes on Francis Peak. From here, the trail leveled out and began to descend - gradually at first, then more dramatically. I picked up speed running downhill and reached the first aid station (mile 12) - which was not much more than a small table with a few volunteers refilling our water bottles. I took advantage of this early chance to catch my breath, and feeling pretty good, I promptly soldiered on.

 

++++++

As Josh and I left Pot Hollow, we were pleased to see the narrow, technical trail that we had faced heading into this aid station transition into a wide dirt road; however, our enthusiasm was tempered by the fact that we were once again heading back uphill. We charged ahead as best we could and made decent time, but we were still up against the clock and we weren't moving as quickly as we needed to be. My frustration began to mount, as I wanted to run again - I NEEDED to run again - but this hill wasn't the time or place for it. Josh pulled me along, hiking hard up the hill. "I hope this ends soon," I thought. The clock was ticking.

++++++  

Limping Into Bountiful B

When the sun came out, the heat kicked in, and I began to find my strength wavering heading into the mile 17 aid station, "Bountiful B". The upper ridge lines of the trail were completely exposed to the sun, and coupled with the oncoming heat of the morning, I began to struggle at the almost 8,000' elevation. I slowed to a crawl on a long, sustained climb that began at around mile 14 and culminated at Bountiful. When I finally arrived, I found a lively and bustling aid station - a welcome sight, compared to the simple water table I had seen earlier. The energy of the volunteers lifted my spirits but I was still not feeling well. My plan of periodically consuming Huma and Gu gels and mixing in Tailwind was causing my stomach to revolt again, and I was forced to park at the aid station for several minutes while I tried to settle down.

Before long I set out again, walking slowly as I tried to pull myself together. I had 4 miles to the next aid station, Sessions Liftoff (mile 21). This stretch was the first of what would be several low points for me in the race. I walked the entire 4 miles into Sessions, and upon arrival, I collapsed into a chair and considered my situation. I was not well, not eating, barely drinking, and in a lousy mood. Volunteers came over to check on me and offered to help. I settled my stomach with some papaya tablets, potato chips, and a few cups of Sprite. After a lengthy stay I staggered to my feet. As I prepared to leave, a volunteer gave me some sage advice:

"Listen to me. I don't want you to touch your gels or your Tailwind. Eat REAL FOOD. Bland if possible. Nibble, and hike. Keep moving. Drink your water, and have some Sprite. Take some chips or crackers in a baggie with you on the trail, and keep your chin up. You can still do this!" 

They gave me a baggie filled with potato chips. Everyone at the aid station came up to me to encourage me (that was REALLY cool of them) as I walked back out onto the trail. Feeling much better, I began to power hike - and found that I was able to cover a good deal of ground this way. Hiking, I passed a number of runners, which further boosted my confidence. There was a strong, cool wind up along the upper ridges that I found refreshing. I stayed with my potato chips and bland food, I drank my water, and kept on moving. I listened to some music while enjoying a long stretch of high energy, making good time while plowing ahead along the mountaintops. I hiked the flats and uphills, ran the downhills, and before long, I arrived at the next major stop in my journey, the Big Mountain Aid Station, at mile 32.

Arrival at Big Mountain feeling ok, all things considered...

Discussing the situation with pacers Steve and Josh.

Josh, Steve and me at Big Mountain Aid Station.

Coming from the remoteness of the trail, running down the hill to Big Mountain was like descending into a street festival. It was crazy - there were people everywhere, tents and canopies all over the place, tables of food, medical tents, crews....it took me a few moments to adjust to my new surroundings and find my crew. In short order they actually found me, sat me down, and as I snacked on chips and pickles, we talked about my day. At this point I would pick up my first pacer of the day, Steve, whose company I was greatly looking forward to on the lonely trail. As glad as I was to be there with them, we needed to get going, and I could tell Steve was itching to get after it. We had a long way to go to get to the next aid station - over 8 miles - and we needed to get moving.

++++++

"Almost there," Josh called back to me. The dirt road we had been hiking for the last several minutes had begun to level off. We made a slight right turn, and as I looked at what lay ahead, my spirits soared. I could not believe what I saw - a wide jeep road, not technical at all, at a gentle downhill grade.

"Dude! Can you believe this?" I asked. My eyes were like saucers. It was go-time. I asked Josh if he was OK with me listening to some music and going as hard as possible. "Man, do what you need to do!" he replied.

Fist bump from Josh. Earbuds in. Music on. "Get It", by Run The Jewels. And off we went. We now had 4 miles to go to make our checkpoint and I wasn't stopping until we got there. Josh was right beside me as we clicked off a < 8:00/mile pace. "This might just happen after all," I cautiously thought to myself...

++++++

Big Mountain to Lamb's Canyon

I continued to make good time for the first few miles out of Big Mountain with Steve, as we were able to knock out long stretches together while power hiking the ridges. Things seemed to be moving along well until I started to waver in my energy levels again in the heat of the day. Our pace began to slow as I tried to recover, but I couldn't shake an oncoming wave of nausea that forced me to stop beside the trail. And it was at that point that I lost everything that was in my stomach - another of the several bouts of nausea that I would face throughout the race. I began to question whether I could get to the next aid station, much less the finish line. "I don't know if I can do this," I said aloud. After a few moments, Steve pulled me to my feet, and we trudged on.

It was up and down over the next several miles (literally and figuratively) until we reached the Alexander Ridge aid station, mile 40. I was forced to stop again and sit for a while to recover some of my strength. Steve brought me some chicken broth, Sprite, and crackers. I chewed more papaya tablets and waited for my stomach to catch up. Eventually I felt good enough to get moving again, and on we went. We resorted to our power hiking strategy as we navigated a long, gently rolling jeep road. We hiked, tackled another long climb, jogged down into a canyon, and bushwhacked through some dense underbrush. Darkness had descended upon us and our headlamps were on as we entered the Lamb's Canyon Aid Station (mile 46).

++++++

Josh and I rounded a corner at full speed and ran into another hill. We were looking at a climb of only a couple hundred feet - somewhat steep, but not that bad. Neither one of us was in any mood to "take it easy" at this point. We pushed up the hill, passing several other runners along the way, and were soon looking back down a long stretch of dirt roads before us. We were cruising, and making great time.

++++++

   
The Long Night - Lamb's to Brighton

Faking a smile upon leaving Lamb's Canyon aid station.

As we departed the aid station, tucked beneath a highway overpass, I was eager to try to make up some time in the cooler temperatures that the night would bring. I hoped that the night would be kinder on my stomach and would allow Steve and I to keep up our pace and stay on track. Above all, I hoped the night would pass without much incident.

Our night was anything but uneventful. Another long climb awaited Steve and me as we made our way out of Lamb's Canyon. A symphony of night sounds surrounded us as we plodded up the endless mountainside trail. Upon reaching the pass, and following a quick descent, we hiked another 3 miles up a paved road into the Upper Big Water aid station (mile 54). Once again, I had to stop to recover. I forced down some warm broth (this aid station was freezing cold) while wrapped in a heavy blanket. Steve insisted we keep moving, so that's what we did - and immediately upon setting out, we were climbing again. The next 5 miles were very difficult for me, as I had hit another low point and was struggling to stay awake. All I could think about was getting from one aid station to the next. Steve was very helpful in keeping me moving despite my several attempts to sit down beside the trail. Finally I stumbled into the Desolation Lake aid station at mile 59. I thought I was finished, but Steve had other ideas. He hit me with a few cups of Mountain Dew and more broth. Just as I was starting to settle in, he pulled me out of the chair.

"Let's go," he said.

It was clear to me that it wasn't a request.

The rest of the night was equally challenging. I dealt with fatigue and exhaustion, even hallucinating several times. I think I even fell asleep on my feet once or twice. At one point, I came within a few feet of stepping directly on a large porcupine! I asked Steve if I was dreaming that, but he said no, that was the real thing. "Now that would have been bad, really bad," he countered. I agreed, and tried to pay closer attention to my footfalls in the darkness.

In the very early morning hours, Steve and I made it to the ski town of Brighton (mile 67). Once again, I was certain my race was over. The Brighton aid station is in a large ski lodge and has everything a cold, tired runner could want - hot food, blankets, cots, crew access....and I could not wait to take advantage of all of these amenities. I was tired, I was hungry....and in my mind, I was done.

++++++

Josh and I rounded a small ridge line, hauling ass and making up chunks of time against the cutoff. Finally, we looked ahead down the road and saw the brightly colored canopies of the Staton aid station about 3/4 mile ahead. We had to get to Staton, mile 90, by 2pm to make the cutoff. I looked at my watch.

It read 1:20 pm.

I could not contain my excitement. We picked up the pace, running even harder than before, and in short order were within the aid station's friendly confines.

"YYYYEEEAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" I shouted, as loudly as I could out of my dust-choked lungs. Josh followed suit, no doubt surprising the unsuspecting volunteers at the aid station.

"#85 in," I said as I dropped into a chair. A wave of emotion overcame me as it hit me - I was going to finish!

Josh brought me a cup of coke and told the volunteers, "An hour and a half ago, I might not have bet we'd be sitting here right now. What a day." I could not have agreed more. After a minute or 2 to collect our things and get something to eat, we set out - eager to begin the 10 mile journey to the finish line in Soldier Hollow.

++++++

Chasing Cutoffs Out of Brighton

With Chris at Brighton Aid Station.

There are a number of reasons why Brighton is the ideal spot to drop out of this race. It's warm, comfortable, well-stocked with food, has easy access to crew (and cars), beds, and perhaps most of all, another miles-long climb awaits as soon as you walk out the door. As soon as Steve and I rolled in to Brighton, my crew took over. I was surprised to find my friend (and fellow Wasatch runner) Chris cooling his heels in the aid station while he plotted his next move. But for me, there was no question what came next. Chris's wife Anne, Steve, and Josh were a flurry of activity while I sat down and sipped on some coke. I was offered some food (a few warm McDonald's hash browns did the trick) while Josh filled my water bottles. At this point, Steve would hand the pacing duties over to Josh, who would bring me in to the finish. I put on a jacket to help against the cold night air, and seemingly within minutes of arriving, Josh was ushering me out the door. It was time to go.

I was never asked how I felt, how I was doing, or what I wanted to do next. The decision to continue was (wisely) not left up to me. Steve gave Josh a baggie with more hash browns in it while I prepared to head back out into the night. Minutes later, after a few final words of encouragement from Steve and Anne, Josh and I began the climb up and out of Brighton. It was just before 5:30am.

Getting ready to go.

Whether because I had some food in my stomach, because the first rays of the dawn were starting to peek over the mountaintops, or simply because I felt energized by the fact I only had around 30 miles to go, I was able to handle the climb out of Brighton without too much trouble. It was tedious to be sure but Josh and I plugged along steadily.

I considered for a moment how blessed I was to have him there with me. There are a number of reasons why I love this crazy sport - certainly because I love the mountains, the trails, the trees, even the thrill of competition; but really, it's the people. The friendships that have been forged over many lonely miles and countless hours of shared experience have become priceless to me. I probably "could" do these races without a pacer or crew. Perhaps it might even make me appear stronger as a runner to those who care about such things. But for me, the fellowship that I shared out there with Steve and Josh is really what it's all about. That's what brings me back. At this stage of my running career, that's what means the most to me - more than any number of buckles, medals, accolades, or PR's.

Josh and I crested the highest point on the course at 10,460'. We then began a long descent through a rocky valley and into the next checkpoint, Ant Knolls, mile 72. As we prepared to stop in, a volunteer informed us we had about an hour to cover the next 3 miles and get to the next aid station, Pole Line. He further told us we had a small climb ahead, then it was downhill from there. We hastily moved through the aid station, not allowing for any time to eat or refuel. We needed to get moving. The "small climb" the volunteer referred to was actually one of the steepest, most difficult climbs I had faced all day! It was relatively short, but it was very difficult for me. I was wheezing heavily as I pushed as hard as I could to keep moving, knowing that once we did reach the top, we'd have to take off and run all the way down to Pole Line. We didn't have a lot of time. This, I thought, was going to be a problem.

At the top, Josh looked concerned and turned to me.

"Truth time. We're going to have to run everything that we can run from here on out, no exceptions, if we want to have a chance to finish. You have to keep it together and find something you can eat. You have to get in some calories and we have to keep moving. That's it, or we're done."

I nodded in agreement. We ran hard into Pole Line, barely clearing the cutoff time by 8 minutes. The hard effort had once again caused my stomach to sour, and we had to hike the next few miles to allow me to settle down. Josh discovered some Reese's Pieces candies at an aid station, which I was able to keep down - and slowly, I started to recover again. He insisted that I take a Huma gel - if I threw it up, so be it, but I needed calories for the final push. I agreed. It was terrible, but I kept it down, and slowly but surely I felt my strength returning again.

"OK man, we need to go, now," he said. Here was the situation - we had a couple miles to go to get to the Pot Hollow Aid Station (mile 85). From there, we had to get to Staton, 5 miles further down the trail. It was noon. We had to be at Staton by 2. That was it. We'd either get there, or we would miss cutoffs and the day would be done.

My mindset from that point on was that I would run and push as hard as I could, for as long as I could, until someone told me to stop - whether that be at the finish line or otherwise. What lay before us was a long stretch of technical downhills into the Pot Hollow aid station. I fixed my gaze straight ahead, and Josh and I bombed down the trail.

We arrived at Pot Hollow with just a few minutes to spare. I nearly ran over several other runners in my haste to get in and get out. I slammed 2 cups of coke and headed back out. As I left, an aid station volunteer turned to Josh and me. What he said stuck in my mind:

                                  "Let's go, boys. Time to put the screws to it and get this done."

++++++

Coming Home

We took it easy on the long descent out of Staton. We had over 3 hours to cover the mainly downhill 10 mile stretch to the finish line, and after some hard running over the last couple of hours, I needed to catch my breath. But I was elated. We continued to move well, running easily down the side of the mountain and clicking off the miles. We crossed a few pastures and fields, passed through several gates and open farmland, and reached the day's last aid station at mile 94. After a brief chat with the volunteers and some snacks we moved on. As good as I felt, I was ready to be finished.

The final 6 miles were on a crushed gravel trail that paralleled a pristine lake ringed by the rugged mountains that had been my home for the previous day and a half. We weren't pushing particularly hard, choosing instead to walk most of the home stretch rather than run it. We shared our thoughts on the day, discussed the awesomeness of various fried foods and beer, and looked forward to reuniting with our crew again in Soldier Hollow.

And finally, after a short stretch down a paved highway, we made it to Soldier Hollow. More than 35 hours after beginning the Wasatch Front 100, I crossed the finish line.

 ++++++

Takeaways

It's a humbling thing to realize that you're not as strong as you think you are. Ultrarunning has always pushed me to my very limits, but in many cases I have found that it's the strength of others that can push us beyond what we ourselves believe to be possible. With that in mind, I give my deepest thanks and appreciation to my crew - Steve, Josh, Anne, and Chris, who made sure that "quit" never entered my vocabulary. I would not have done this without them. They helped me find the strength I didn't know I had. That was a gift for which I will be forever grateful.

And so, my Grand Slam summer came to a close with the successful completion of 2 of the 4 great American 100's. I certainly had higher hopes than to finish only 2 of them, but I am at peace with it. It was the journey, and those that made the journey with me, that have made me a better person today than I was when I started. When I think back over the summer, what I recall the most aren't the tough miles, it's the people - journeying with other would-be and successful 2017 Grand Slammers, seeing my family and crew push me through tough times at Western States and then support me in my defeat, my coach Ryan and my New England buddies helping me rebound with a great day at Vermont (what's up, Westie??), hanging out with Berton and Lori in the thin air of Colorado, and finally my amazing crew and pacers at Wasatch...I can't help but become emotional as I look back over these crazy 90 days.

At some point I will probably look ahead again, but for now, it's enough for me to reflect on what has been an amazing journey. I am grateful to God for allowing me the privilege of taking part in it.

Ad majorem Dei gloriam.

Eye of the Hurricane

With the first two of the four Grand Slam races in the books, I'm now looking ahead to the back half of this thing while holding out hope (no pun intended) that I can still come home with 3 of the 4 buckles. Vermont went well, Western States not so much. Now I am left to ponder how my previous experiences might translate up in the thin Colorado air later this week. Obviously the altitude is a concern, but that is something that everyone is going to have to deal with. The weather looks like it will be decent but things can be very unpredictable in the mountains. So who knows?

I am going to stick pretty close to my Vermont nutrition strategy and make sure I stay with the plan all the way to the finish line. The dry air at elevation will necessitate a little extra focus on hydration, but I have been dialed in on that since I have been running in the Texas summer heat. Otherwise I am not going to worry too much about factors beyond my control. I just need to make sure I have provisions for whatever might come up. From a timing standpoint, in a perfect world I would like to be at Winfield (mile 50) by 3 pm. That would give me an 11-hour first half and allow plenty of time for the return trip. I think a more likely scenario would be hitting Winfield between 4 and 5 pm, but again I will just have to see how I feel and how the day unfolds. I don't think it will a bad idea to push the envelope on the flat stretches and the more runnable sections a little bit so I might be able to make up some time. If I can keep my heart rate low and keep the stomach in check, that is.

Life has been insanely busy for the past few weeks so I haven't had a lot of time to really think this race through. A hectic schedule this week will probably mean that I won't get much time to think about the race between now and when I leave for Leadville on Thursday either. I feel pretty certain that it won't hit me that I am running the...(deep breath)..."Blueprint For Athletes Lifetime Fitness Leadville Trail 100 Presented By New Balance [TM]"...(exhale)...until I cross the starting line at 4am on Saturday. After that, it's just a matter of grinding it out. I know what to do - I just need to go out there and do it. I am certain there are dozens, if not hundreds, of other runners stressing out about the race right now. At the moment, I am not one of them.

My #1 goal is to finish. Whatever it takes, I need to get back to Leadville on my own power. That will be easier said than done. At least I won't have to do it alone, as I will have a great crew and pacer there to help. They are ultra veterans, and my pacer, Berton, was a grand slammer last year. Their experience will be a tremendous asset. 100-milers are always difficult regardless of the terrain, and having someone there who knows what you are going through is priceless.

If I can make decent time heading outbound and then just keep moving when coming back I feel fairly certain that, barring injury, I can bring home a buckle. But as the saying goes, "that's why they play the game."

My next post will be my Leadville race report. Stay tuned.

Vermont 100 Race Report

Great success!

"Cautiously optimistic."

That's the best way to describe my mindset leading up to the Vermont 100 in Windsor, Vermont this year. I had put together some intel about the course, the layout, the terrain, the elevation...all the essentials when preparing the mind and body to run 100 miles. I was still sore from my disappointments at Western States, but was eager to turn the page and move on. I had heard nothing but good things about Vermont since I signed up for it earlier this year and, I am pleased to report, the race did not disappoint.

I am going to hit some of the highlights of my day and talk a little about the course itself rather than spend too much time chronicling everything that took place during my 21+ hours that I spent out there. There are a few things that I found to be different from the race reports that I had read in preparing for this one (in a good way) that deserve mention.

The first thing I would say is that Vermont was tougher than I expected it to be. The elevation is sneaky - the VT100 website touts over 17,000' of climbing and descending, a number that I initially questioned but found to be spot on after checking my Garmin after the race. The course is not particularly technical. Many of the climbs are on hard-packed jeep trails that are, for all intents and purposes, roads. There's some single track but I would say it makes up around 10% of the overall course. The climbs just keep coming at you, one after another, all day long. It adds up. Conversely, the downhills are very runnable. Most of the descents are gradual, long, gentle grades that seem to encourage you to hammer them pretty hard, especially early on.

Like I said, most of this course is very runnable. If someone were to take an aggressive approach to this race early it could definitely pay off with a great time. On the other hand, it could also backfire later on. I had heard plenty of stories of Vermont runners who did not strike the proper balance and struggled or even completely blew up as a result. This was in the back of my mind as I considered how to approach the race. My plan was to "run to comfort". I never wanted to feel like I was pushing too hard, but at the same time I wasn't going to hold back simply for the sake of holding back. I knew it would get tough at some point, so the farther along in the race I was when that happened, the better. So aside from the steeper hills that I would certainly hike, I planned to run - casually, easily, at conversational pace. But, run nonetheless.

As far as my nutrition (always a dicey thing for me), I chose to put myself on the clock. I set a timer on my watch to beep every 45 minutes. This is something I did not do at Western States; in fact, it's been a while since I have been so meticulous about taking in calories. I often choose to listen to my body and eat when hungry, but this approach can be deceptive - particularly when burning an inordinate number of calories either from running at altitude or from running hard. I do not train to the watch, and rarely race with it, but I needed a new approach. I worked out a new plan with my nutrition coach, Meredith Terranova. My calories early on would be carried with me - Huma gels, Gu Roctane, and Tailwind. I would take a gel every 45 minutes and supplement by sipping my Tailwind. If I saw anything that looked good at an aid station I would enjoy it, but that would not be my primary source of calories. My crew would top me off at the aid stations with fresh supplies as needed per Meredith's plan. This was a 180-degree change from my Western States plan, and I am pleased to say that it was successful.

My Day

The day began early, with a 2am wake-up call at the hotel. I stayed at the Fireside Suites in West Lebanon, New Hampshire, about 25 minutes from the start line (nice place - clean, comfortable, reasonably priced, quiet, right off the highway). After prepping my gear and getting dressed, I met my friend/chaperone/crew chief/coach/pacer extraordinaire Ryan Knapp for the trip to the starting line. The morning air was relatively cool but the humidity was stifling. I was glad that much of my training had been in a similar soup back in Texas!

Upon arrival at the race start, I checked in and waited. I prefer to arrive early, so we had around 40 minutes to kill until the gun went off. There wasn't much to do besides stand around and wait, so that's what we did. We shuffled off to the starting line at around 3:55, and promptly at 4am, I trotted off into the early morning darkness with a couple hundred other intrepid adventure-seeking souls.

One of the unique features of this race is that while we were running our race there was a 100 mile horse race going on simultaneously on the same course. I was somewhat concerned that this might cause problems during the day but I quickly found this not be the case. The riders were courteous, encouraging, friendly, and more than a little perplexed by why we would want to RUN 100 miles! I had a number of pleasant exchanges with the riders throughout the day, and seeing the beautiful horses trotting along side us mere humans provided a mental break from the occasional monotony of the run.

Taftsville covered bridge, mile 15.

Emerging from the morning mist, entering Pretty House aid station. Photo: Kristen DeMeo Winger.

Cruising through Pretty House aid. Photo: Shama Sattar.

I had tried to script the first 20 or so miles in my mind before the race - how quickly I would run, what splits I would shoot for, when I would eat, how I would handle the aid stations, and so forth. I planed on meeting Ryan at the first crew-access aid station (Pretty House, mile 20.4) in around 3 1/2 hours. For that first segment, everything went according to plan. I took in my calories, stayed on my projected pace, and rolled into Pretty House right on schedule. Ryan topped off my supplies, filled my bottles, and after grabbing a handful of bacon (BACON!!) I was off again.

Daylight was now covering the course and I had a chance to take in the landscape around me. Every race that I have run has had its own unique beauty and Vermont was no different. The countryside was dotted with picturesque farms, covered bridges, barns, and old houses that dated back to the 18th century. Inexplicably, it seemed that every lawn and garden we passed was perfectly manicured. The Green Mountains off in the distance provided a stunning backdrop to the lush and verdant fields and farms that surrounded us all day. It was truly a beautiful place, filled with wonderful people who turned out to cheer us on.

Here are some scenes from the course, as captured by my friend and photographer Shama Sattar:

The course wound through the farm country, over hills, into the woods, and back out onto the roads again. I was very pleased that the training I had done for my last race was paying off in this one. I had very little difficulty dispatching most of the climbs in relatively short order, and was quickly back to running the downhills again. There were a few moments when I was concerned I might be pushing too hard, but my heart rate was low, I felt comfortable, and so I decided to roll with it. I did not spend more than a few minutes in any given aid station and began to relax, enjoying the way the day was unfolding.

With Ryan at Stage Road aid station. Photo: Shama Sattar.

My goal entering the race had been, of course, finish. I had an "A" goal of a sub-24 hour finish but the day was going so well I adjusted my sights to a 20-hour finish. This would be a stretch, but was doable. I used this new goal as inspiration to keep pushing myself through low moments and to maintain my sense of urgency in the aid stations.

When I arrived at the Camp 10-Bear aid station (mile 47) I was a little weary but still felt strong. I knew there would be a challenging climb about 1 mile out from this checkpoint so I took a few extra minutes here to collect myself, restock, and catch my breath. My crew (Ryan Knapp, Jessica Knapp, and Tara Deeble) was fantastic. They seemed to anticipate everything I needed. I was fed, watered, given a pep talk, and felt polished and ready to go when I emerged to tackle the 23-mile loop that would bring me back to this aid station later in the day.

There are actually 2 tough climbs after 10-Bear - one at mile 50, and another at around 56. I wasn't expecting to do much hands-on-knees hiking in this race, but that's exactly what these climbs reduced me to. I just kept moving forward and before long I was running downhill again.

Of note here is the aid station at the 100k mark. The crew dubbed it "Margaritaville", and for good reason. As I approached I could smell the cheeseburgers from the grill and was met with the sounds of some lively music serenading us. I had remarked to the person with whom I was running at the time that if this aid station didn't actually have margaritas, then that would be false advertising. But lo and behold, they had margaritas! I was jubilant as I enjoyed a cheeseburger in paradise and a cold margarita.

Oh happy day, a margarita and a cheeseburger! Photo: Shama Sattar.

Tara and Jessica from my crew had made the trip to this aid station to check on me, and since I felt good and was in good spirits, we made our visit brief. I refilled my supplies and set out again. There was another hill to climb right out of this aid station so I was happy to have a chance to hike and let the food settle.

Not long after, I hit a long, sustained descent that was at a somewhat steeper grade than most of the downhills had been earlier in the day. I was finally starting to feel the cumulative effects of the pounding my quads had been taking all day at this point. I was not able to push as hard as I had been able to and while I was moving decently it wasn't quite at the pace that I had hoped to hit. This long descent would culminate once again at Camp 10-Bear (mile 70), where I would pick up Ryan and begin the charge to the finish.

Rapidfire

I told Ryan that I wanted to finish in 20 hours. He said, "Let's do it!" We trotted out of the aid station and I brought him up to speed on how my day had gone. We had around 6 hours to finish the last 50k and break the 20 hour barrier. It seemed very doable to me at the time, and I maintained my intention to hit that goal.

I hit a low spot at mile 76 (the "Spirit of 76" aid station) and had to hold up for a little while to allow my engine to cool off. This was also a crew aid station, so I was able to visit with everyone and catch my breath. I probably spent too much time here but I was starting to feel fatigue creep in. Tara packed some sandwiches and pickles for me in a baggie that I would eat on the trail. Soon Ryan convinced me we needed to get going, and we were off.

Hanging out at Spirit of '76 aid station with the REAL star of the show - West Knapp! Photo: Jessica Knapp.

Heading out of '76 with Ryan, trying to stay positive! Photo: Shama Sattar.

It wasn't long before we were moving at a good clip again. Late in this race, the aid stations seem to come along pretty often and I tried my best not to spend too much time loitering. Ryan was great at keeping us moving. We would restock, grab a snack, and get back out again. Along the way, we had a number of passing conversations with other runners and pacers that served to keep us in good spirits. I had the good fortune to spend some of these later miles running with my friend Shaheen Sattar from Dallas, and elite runner who had battled through an up-and-down day but was now looking very strong with her pacer, Steve. It's always great to see friendly faces late in a race and this was no different. The 4 of us shared some great miles and conversation as night began to fall. We made it to mile 88 together - Bill's, an old barn that was converted into a farmer's workshop that was converted into an aid station. This was a COOL aid station. I wanted to hang out for a while and check out all the gizmos and gadgets lining the walls and tucked into the rafters, but there was still some work to be done. I had to grab some food and keep moving.

With Shaheen Sattar at mile 88, Bill's Aid Station. Photo: Shama Sattar.

Everything continued to go relatively smoothly until around mile 91 when I made a minor miscalculation that ended up becoming a big problem. Since Margaritaville, I had largely switched from my gels and tailwind to solid food at the aid stations. It was working well. But at the mile 91 aid station ("Keating's") I thought I would try some ramen soup. In short order, I gulped down 2 full cups of ramen, then tried to get up to run out of the aid station with Ryan.

That didn't work for me.

Almost immediately I became sick. I wouldn't shake that feeling for the rest of the night. I tried to recover at the next aid station, mile 94 ("Polly's"), even hoping I would throw the stuff up. No luck. Eventually Ryan pulled me up again and we would continue on. I felt awful, but I only had a few miles to go. If I got sick, Ryan pointed out, I'd get sick out there where we are at least moving forward.

As we left Polly's, Ryan pulled out his phone and called my wife and daughter! I was hoping for some pleasant and loving encouragement, but that was not happening. My wife was awesome. Her comments were to the point. "Look, you only have 5 miles to go. Suck it up and get it done!" Spoken like a true veteran! (Not her first rodeo.)

The Finish

The last few miles were seemingly endless. Not only because I was reduced to walking, but also because 3 of the last 4 miles were uphill. We faced climb after climb, and any hope that I could make up some time down the stretch time quickly evaporated. There were long, muddy stretches of trail that had been chewed up by the horses that made the footing somewhat treacherous. So we hiked. It didn't bother me that much. For the most part, I had held it together for 91+ miles. We could walk it in and still PR comfortably. And that's what we did. Ryan and I didn't talk that much over those last few miles, choosing instead to save our energy to keep pressing onward. But having him there was very important to me. He helped me maintain some consistent forward progress and was always positive and encouraging. Like I said, a pacer extraordinaire! I crossed the finish line at 1:49 am - tired, but overall in good spirits about how the day had gone.

21:49:30, a new PR and a BIG buckle!

Closing Thoughts

It was a privilege to spend time again out on the course with some of the guys still in the mix for the Grand Slam - Ace, Chris, Stephen, Jim...truly one of the joys of my day. Those guys are terrific. I am so happy for them, and while it's tough not to be a part of the club anymore, I still gain so much strength and inspiration from them.

So, now it's on to Leadville - the race that had me the most concerned when this whole thing started back several months ago. I'll have more thoughts to offer as that day draws nearer, but for right now, it feels pretty good to at least get this one on the board.

The Verdict-

VERMONT: HIGHLY RECOMMEND!