Tushars 93K

Starting at the Eagle Point Ski Resort, at 10,000’, I had expected to wake up to some pretty chilly temps, but was pleasantly surprised.  It had not dropped nearly as low as I had expected, though it did give me a bit of concern for heat of the afternoon.

The 5:00 AM start meant almost an hour of darkness, as well as the prospect of a rewarding sunrise.  We started off down a short section of dirt road and soon turned off onto gently climbing single track.  The string of headlamps ahead and behind were cool, but I knew a picture just wouldn’t come out.

 

After topping out at the first saddle, switchbacks wound our way down for a bit through the trees.  As we crossed a meadow, I smelled smoke, and sure enough, we were greeted with some cheers and encouraging words from a couple of campers - I wonder how surprised they were to be woken up at this hour by a long stream of runners.
 

Another little climb and the sky started to brighten, illuminating the awesome mountain views around us.  This north side of the mountains was even more rugged and Colorado-like than the south side that I had seen the previous day.  The sunrise was so pretty, I had to stop and shoot a few pictures, and take a stupid fall onto my elbow while not paying attention to the trail.
 

Pretty soon, we could see Alunite Ridge aid down and across a valley.  Turd’l was there taking down numbers and told me I was already more than 15 minutes behind “the boy with the neck tattoo”.  After refilling my supplies and grabbing an entire stack of pancakes, I headed on up the road, towards another pass.

I was running in and amongst people this whole time so it was nice and sociable.  Making a quick descent down into another beautiful, lush valley, I managed to pass a handful of runners, but we were just jostling positions back and forth depending on the terrain.  Most everyone had settled into a good position/pace by this time.

As we started to climb, there was a section where the trail was overgrown and we all stopped to look for the next marker.  With only about a minute lost, the climbing continued, and I found myself alongside Jamil Coury, from Aravaipa.  Him and I would run together pretty much all the way up to Copper Belt Peak.

As the big climb up to Mt. Delano (+12,000’) started, I was able to pass a few more runners.  Though the climbing was slow and tough, my time at altitude definitely gave me an advantage over many others.  Matt had told us that the area was home to a herd of mountain goats, and sure enough, we could see white dots moving many miles away on a distant ridge.

As we got higher up on the ridge, the open, lush, green tundra was so reminiscent of the Sound of Music (which I had just watched with my daughters the previous weekend) that I couldn’t help spinning around and singing in a horribly off-key voice.  Julie Andrews would be turning over in her grave if she were dead.  Who knows, my singing might have finally done her in.

The drone had been up and filming, but had been brought back down due to gusty winds.  Too bad.  With some professional sound dubbing, and a digitally imposed dress to cover up my hairy chest and back, and some flowing locks on my head, I could have been a dead ringer for Maria.

The actual peak seemed to sneak up on us as it had appeared to be much further off from below.  After a couple of quick pics, Jamil and I headed off down the other side.  The trail was quite defined in some areas, and in others, we were following flags over open fields.  It seemed like we were moving reasonably well, but the runners that we had spotted up ahead of us on the ascent were nowhere to be seen down below.  Soon enough, we came across the half marathoners as they were making their way up to the peak, which was their turn-a-round point.  That would be one heck of a half marathon!

After a long, fast descent, we hit a dirt road and started a moderate climb towards the Mud Lake aid station, which was managed by Britta.  She hadn’t taken note of Travis coming through, so she couldn’t give me any kind of an update ast to our relative positions.

Shortly after leaving Mud Lake, we started a long single-track descent through more forested, Colorado-like terrain, bottoming out near a deep blue alpine lake.  From there, we were back onto a 4-wheeler road that climbed towards Bullion Pasture aid.  Jamil would periodically pull ahead as he pushed more on the climb, but I would re-catch him on any runnable sections.

Mud Lake had been pretty quiet, but Bullion was a hub of activity, as it was situated at a trailhead and there were crews, spectators, and other users around.  Turd’l was there and without my even asking, he told me that Travis was no more than 10 minutes ahead.  Haha!  I knew he was starting to fade and I would be able to reel him in soon enough.

I didn’t realize just how soon.  Less than a mile out from Bullion, Jamil and I were pushing the pace on the downhill road when I heard “son of a…!” from the bushes.  Sure enough, Mr. Speedy was taking a potty break off the side of the road - must be all the gross Hammer gels he keeps shoving down his tattooed throat.  Within seconds, he came whizzing by us.  Jamil and I looked at each other and shook our heads - young punk just doesn’t know when he’s been whooped.

We flew along these 3 miles of downhill road with sub 8 minute miles - partly because the terrain was so well suited for speed, but also because we wanted to to get the hell off the damn road.  Matt had warned us that this area was one of the most popular with 4-wheelers, but man did he undersell that.  It was a nonstop stream of those obnoxious things, kicking up a continuous cloud of fine dust as they flew by.  It’s no fun chewing on gritty dust as you’re struggling to filter through some oxygen to fuel the legs.  Luckily, we made it down to the Copper Belt aid station pretty quickly and left the motorized frenzy behind.

I should have taken a minute to down my full can of club soda, as I would be dreaming about it later, but I wanted to hang with the group.  Jamil, Travis, another runner and I, all headed out of the aid together and started the long climb up to Copper Belt.  Much of the climb consisted of switchbacks along the face of the mountain that was treeless, but lush with undergrowth.  Not far up these switchbacks, we started coming across the leaders as they flew back down.

As we got higher up, I started to slowly pull away from our small group.  Soon, the trail came out onto the side of a rather steep slope composed of small pieces of light colored slate.  The “trail” consisted of a barely perceptible notch in the otherwise continuous slope.  This would have been a horrible place to pass oncoming traffic.

As I got higher, I was able to catch and pass a couple of runners.  Among the returning runners was the lead woman - one that I hadn’t recognized previously.  I was a little surprised not to see Jenessa in the lead.  I soon realized she was just a short distance ahead of me.

The trail leveled off a bit, actually dipped for a short distance, and then the flags took us on a sharp right turn (almost doubling back) and up along the ridge line to the peak.  I punched by bib, snapped a few quick pics, enjoyed another awesome view of all the peaks, and turned around for the descent.  I soon passed Janessa, who had come in 1st place at Antelope Canyon.  This boosted my confidence a bit, but I later found out that she was having some digestive issues that day and would later drop out.

Back onto the trail, I came across the ink-necked punk and was tempted to “accidentally” elbow him off the side of the mountain, but the terrain wasn’t steep enough to make it worthwhile.  The return trip off of Copper Belt was doubly nice - running downhill is always a treat after a hard climb, and it was energizing to see all the runners coming up and exchanging encouragement.

By the time I got back down to the aid station, I had emptied my bottle and totally relished the cool, refreshing can of club soda I had waiting for me.  Unfortunately, the next 3 miles would be back on the busy, dusty road.  This time, moving slowly uphill.  I was quite pleased to encounter only a few vehicles, but man it was way slower going back up.  I was starting to feel the effects of all the climbing.

Finally back up to Bullion, Turd’l was pleased to hear that I had literally caught Travis with his pants down.  The next 7 miles would be almost all downhill, and on nice single-track.  I was quite happy, but even with gravity in my corner, I still wasn’t moving quite as fast as I would have liked.  The terrain, vegetation, and temperature changed noticeably as I dropped about 3,000’.  At the bottom of the valley, there were many families camping around the creek and eyeing me with curiosity.  At one point, I passed a small group of people looking wearily into the base of a bush.  Apparently, they had just spooked a rattlesnake!  That’s the last thing I needed to worry about.

After a short climb up a road, I came upon the Miner’s Park aid station.  There was another runner there who was just heading out, so I didn’t want to stay too long.  I took time to down 2 full cans of club soda, refilled my supplies, grabbed a second bottle, and headed off.  Unfortunately, when the volunteers filled up my bottles, they put about 18 oz. into each 20 oz. bottle.  The extra 4 oz. would have been so incredibly welcomed a few miles later.

The climb consisted mainly of an old abandoned road that climbed relentlessly up the slope with an unfathomable number of switchbacks.  There were periodic boulders and trees that had fallen across the road and it was covered by waist-deep grass that was luckily dry due to the lack of rain over the previous days.  In the lower sections, I had that rattlesnake in the front of my mind as my feet moved through the thick, green vegetation.

I was hoping that I had reserved enough in the tanks for a strong surge to power up this final major climb and callously step over the writhing bodies of lesser runners as they lay helpless along the trail.  Unfortunately, I was moving OK, but I was not immune to the effects of the previous 40+ miles and 12,000’ of elevation gain.  And the runners ahead of me were nearly as green and reckless as I had hoped.

I did wind up catching one runner - the guy who had left the aid station just ahead of me.  And I certainly did not zip on past him.  It was more like a couple of tortoises, slowly making forward progress, with one being ever so slightly less slow than the other.

Despite the cloud cover and having just filled my stomach up with the two cans of club soda, the heat (somewhere in the 70’s), exertion of the previous miles, and the climb, left me parched.  Before I knew it, I had already gone through half of a bottle and I had gone less than a mile.  I quickly realized the potential gravity of the situation and cut back to small, rationed sips.  All day, we had run along or across babbling brooks of clear cold, delicious water, and here where I would have sold my soul to the devil (again), there was nothing!

The minutes felt like hours.  Every mile took an eternity.  Finally, I broke through the suffocating vegetation and out above treeline.  The cool air felt and tasted so refreshing.  But the the celebration did not last long.  The course broke off of the old road and climbed very steeply up the tundra.  Following a ridge, there was still no flowing water and no people around.  The flags led ever up and up.  Some sections were quite steep and the wind was blowing, but on I climbed.

Not too far back, I could see the guy that I had passed.  Up ahead, there was nobody.  On and on, until I finally topped out!  I celebrated by draining the last few drops out of my bottle.  I could see the Alunite Ridge aid station below.  Sure it was a ways down, but it was downhill and I was sure I would be there within 10 thirsty minutes.

The flags went steeply down to a little saddle, then turned off and to the left.  WTF!  The aid station is down and to the right.  But sure enough, I could see multiple flags lined up towards the left, so that’s the way I went.  The course went back onto a rough, rocky road, so I figured that this was probably a more measured descent and would soon turn the corner and head straight for the life nourishing liquids contained within that chaky brown tent.  But noooo!  The road led further and further away from my goal.  Down and down it went, but in the wrong direction.

It finally bottomed out, and then started to climb… What kind of cruel joke was this?  There was running water now!  I was so tempted, but I was so close.  Would it be worth the risk now?  Surely the tent was hidden from view just a few steps away.

Up?  Why up?  Why didn’t we just come straight DOWN upon the aid station?

Up a little more, then down, then up again, and there it was…  I wept.  Or at least I would have, if my tear ducts weren’t as dry as my raspy throat.

I stumbled in through the tent flap and drove straight for club soda in my drop bag.

After draining the first can, I looked around and noticed 2 other runners getting ready to depart.  This added to my urgency, but I drank another can and decided that I needed a shirt as the lowering temperatures were now starting to have an effect on my weary, dehydrated body.

7.5 miles to go!  I headed out just behind the other runners and soon passed them, though only because they stopped to rearrange gear.  I certainly wasn’t moving very fast.  I was still running reasonably on the downhills, but just had nothing to power me uphill.

I kept looking back, as one of the guys stayed pretty close on my tail, but he eventually dropped back.  My memory of this section was pretty hazy, but I soldiered on, watching the mileage on my Garmin rise agonizingly slow.  Eventually, I recognized the area where we had come upon the campers that morning.  I knew there was only one final climb through the forested switchbacks.  I pushed on and finally topped out at the saddle.  Almost all downhill from here!  I surged forward with a blistering 11 minute mile.  I hit the junction where the half marathoners turned off.  Down through the meadows.  Down through the ski area.  Down to the ski lift.  And then up.  A final ¼ mile uphill push to the finish.  I trudged up and the finish line came into view.  Spectators started cheering and I broke into an actual run for the final hundred feet, even though it was still uphill.

I did it!  A bit under 15 hours, and still in daylight.  This was one tough 55 miler with almost 17,000’ of elevation gain, and 4,000’ of that was from mile 40 to 44!  The scenery was absolutely spectacular and not what most people would expect in Utah.  I think this race deserves a bit of a warning - it is tough! Middle of the pack runners will need to keep an eye on the cut-offs.  Back of the pack runners may want to think about a shorter distance.

There are only two things that I would change about this race.  If at all possible, avoiding the 3 miles of 4-wheelers between Bullion and Copper Belt would really be nice.  Secondly, there needs to be at least a water station somewhere on the climb from Miner’s Park.  I could have easily used 60 oz. on that section and if it had been sunny and hot, 80+ oz. would have been needed.

I am sad that this was the last of Ultra Adventures Grand Circle series.  Each race has been so incredible and I have been honored and humbled to be a part of it.  Matt and his crew just keep outdoing themselves with each race.  Stay posted for a wrap up review of the whole series.

Garmin File

Capitol Reef 100

After a night of intermittently heavy rains, the race started under mostly cloudy skies.  I had some trepidations, as my first rain jacket was safely packed away in the drop bag at mile 19.

The small group of 29 started up the driveway, across the road, and onto a dirt road towards the foot of the mesa.  Right off the bat, Travis jumped to the front.  I assume he was trying to bank some distance in his futile attempt to beat me - so immature.

All the recent moisture made for some thick, gooey, clay mud in spots - great for kids to play in, not so great for starting a 100 mile race in.  The scenery was magnificent right from the beginning. The low clouds/fog slowly broke up, providing spectacular views of the sandstone cliffs, illuminated by the rising sun.  Hopefully you can imagine the beauty from my descriptive words since the #$%^&*ing camera @#$%^&ing died as soon as I turned it on.  I actually wound up tossing it into the bin of snacks at the self-serve aid at mile 2 and retrieving it on the way down the next morning.

We were starting to spread out a bit, but most runners (except for that punk, Travis) took a measured approach to the long climb.  The higher we ascended, the more the views opened up to the green valley below, framed by red sandstone walls.  The whole section up to Government Creek was a pretty mellow climb on a gravel/sandy jeep road and I made a mental note of how awesome it was going to be running back down at the end.

Government Creek Aid was a quick stop to refill water and grab a snack, and also the start of the mosquito zone.  Not a single one before the aid station, and then swarms thereafter.  Unfortunately, the terrain got a bit steeper also, meaning slower progress, which translated to better feeding for the flying parasites.  Shortly after the aid station, I found myself running alone, pretty much all the way to Donkey Reservoir.  This was a relatively low point for me.  The mosquitos were having a field day with my shirtless upper body, the terrain was rolling, with some steep little dips and climbs, the trail was overgrown with baby aspens so that you couldn’t even see your feet as they got mired in more gooey mud.  And on top of all of that, my Fenix 2 decided that there were no satellites to be found, at 9,000’, near the top of a mesa (I’ll write a separate review of this piece of Garmin crap later).

This section transitioned from rough ATV trail to single track and we ran through a good sized burn area where the ground cover (small aspens, and other shrubbery) were just so incredibly thick.  With the recent moisture clinging to the leaves and softening/slicking the trail, it really felt like a rain forest.  Despite all of the climbing up to this point, there were intermittent views of the real top of the mesa - a reminder of us just how much higher we were going.  As with the whole course, the terrain was incredibly diverse.  There were sections of trail that reminded me of the northeast, with slick granite boulders interspersed among the pine forest.  There were also some open meadows, with hidden boggy areas to moisten the feet in preparation for the tenderizing pounding that was to turn them into hamburger meat.  Some parts of the trail were literally covered with strawberry plants.  I didn’t see any actual berries, but the density of the red stems gave the trail a pinkish hue.

Donkey Reservoir was the first drop bag aid station, so I reloaded on snacks and drink mix, downed my usual can of club soda, stuffed a bag of Doritos into my shorts and headed on down a 4-wheel drive road.  The nice downhill was so pleasant to roll down, that I soon found myself at an unmarked intersection.  After looking around for a bit, I kicked myself for the stupidity and headed back up the hill for more than a quarter mile where I had missed a reasonably marked turn - 15 minutes down the drain.

Shortly after getting back on course, I heard voices up ahead.  Runners that I had passed a while back were now up in front.  I caught up to them shortly and three of us (me, Anthony Fetter, and Jeremy McDonough) settled into a nice pace and friendly conversation, which soon turned into vile cursing as we realized that we hadn’t seen a marker in a while.  Of course, it was on a nice downhill section, so we turned around and headed back up the trail to the pretty well marked turn that we had missed.  Anthony actually ran up ahead of me and Jeremy and wound up going the wrong way for a bit - poor guy, he did that so many times throughout the race, yet still came in 5th.

A few of us wound up heading out of Chokecherry Aid together, including a guy running in minimalist sandals.  After a bit, the real climbing started up to the top of the mesa.  I was amazed at how Colorado-like it was in this section.  We went up a steep, narrow valley, with sheer granite walls and a stream cascading down the middle.  It really felt like I was nearing treeline in the Rockies, including countless white Columbine scattered everywhere amongst the granite boulders.  By the time I topped out, I caught back up to Anthony and we wound up running together for quite a bit.  He took off out of Chokecherry before me, but with some gentle downhills through the meadows, I was able catch back up.

The two of us went into Pleasant Lake Aid together and I was a bit surprised to see Travis’s dad’s motorcycle there.  Sure enough, Travis had just left a minute before we got in and I could still see him in the distance.  He was in 4th, and I could tell he was tiring from the fast start.  Smelling blood, I was in and out of the aid station pretty quickly, figuring it wouldn’t be long before I caught up.

Travis must have gotten a shot of adrenaline from my pursuit, cause he wasn’t as easy to catch as I had thought.  I tried not to get into a real chase, as we were only 35 miles in, after all, I’m supposed to be the mature one.  I probably did push just a tad too hard, but I was having fun.  The terrain was spectacular.  We were running right along the edge of the mesa with panoramic views towards Capitol Reef, the race’s namesake.  Most of this section was in the pine trees, or right along the edge, but there were also a few alpine meadows.  As the course skirted around the edge of one of these, I noticed the back half of a fawn just a few feet away.  There was no blood and gore, not entrails.  It was just bitten cleanly in half, as one would bite a hotdog.  That is the creepiest thing I have ever seen on a race.  Luckily, it was early afternoon with the sun shining brightly, but I couldn’t help think that on the return, I would be passing through this area right around dusk.  I sure hoped the creature wouldn’t come back for the second mouthful when I was around.  By that time, I would be even more odiferous, encrusted in sweaty salt and sugary driblings, and I would be fatigued, stumbling along at an easily catchable pace.  Yikes!

All good things must come to an end.  What goes up, must come down.  It was now time to drop off the south end of the mesa towards the turn-around.  I vaguely remember Matt mentioning something about a steep, rocky section, but man did he undersell this.  Imagine a mile-long “road” at about a 50% grade, covered in jagged rocks ranging from fist to head size.  It was full-on quad-burning braking all the way down, trying to pick the cleanest line and stay upright.  Falling would have been most unpleasant.

Somehow, I managed to get down without a fall and the only damage was to my already raw feet.  A little way on a pleasant double track, and I could see the Long Lake Aid Station ahead.  And lo and behold, Travis was just heading out.  I yelled out to him, and though he was still off in the distance, I could tell by his slumping shoulders that he was less than pleased to look back and see me.

I made a quick stop through the aid station.  The ladies running it were awesome, as were all of the volunteers.  Travis had warned them of the “naked guy” chasing after him.  As I retrieved my drop bag, I noticed that everything inside was soaked.  No big deal, except for the shirt that I might need on the return trip.  Apparently, one of my cans of club soda leaked out.  Luckily, they’re just carbonated water, with no sugar, so there was no mess, just wet.  I pulled the shirt out and one of the gals graciously took it and hung it on a chair in the sun to dry.

I headed out as fast as I could and was a little surprised by the bit of climbing, as I had assumed it would be all downhill.  At the top of a good long climb, I saw Travis up ahead and in my best Stanley Kowalski bellow, I called out “STELLA!!!”  I’m not sure why, but I was tired of just calling out Travis’s name.  For the next few miles, as the terrain rolled through groves of giant aspens and open meadows, I would periodically catch glimpses of Travis and call out to him - “STELLA!!”

By mile 46, I finally caught up to the young punk.  I would have liked to hang with him for a while, to chat and gloat, but I had recently realized that my first flashlight was back at the previous aid station (mile 58.5) and at the current pace, I might not necessarily make it before dark.  I was feeling good and the terrain was rolling downhill, so I pushed on.  After a couple of miles, I finally came up on the leaders as they were heading back.  My GPS was still dead, but in asking them the distance to the turn-around, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that their lead was less than 2 miles.  This gave me a nice boost and I coasted into the Chriss Lake Aid Station just shy of 12 hours into the race.  Not too bad given the difficulty of the course and my extra ½ hour of wondering.

To add to my happy mood, I was surprisingly greeted by my favorite cheerleaders - Amy, Kirstyn, & Brenda.  I really wasn’t expecting to see them as it was a good bit of a drive and my arrival time was anything but certain.

Luckily I had packed 2 cans of club soda in this drop bag, because another one of them leaked out.  I went through pretty quickly and even Travis’s step-mom helped me out, though she made me promise not to let Travis know.  So I grabbed a couple of snacks, took a quick picture with the girls, bade them farewell, and told them to expect me around 6:00 AM.

I also learned that the sun was setting a bit later than I had feared, and with the rolling terrain back to Long Lake, I would have plenty of time.  With that concern out of my mind, I still pushed on knowing that I should make the most of the daylight and buoyed by the knowledge that the leaders were so close ahead.  If I could just hold on, I’d at least be 3rd place male - one more tomahawk to add to the collection.

I love out-and-back courses: you know what’s in store for you on the second half, there’s a real sense of accomplishment and relief after the turn-around, and you get to see all of the other runners (slower and faster).  It was really nice to see all the oncoming runners, especially on a remote course with such a small field.  Everyone encouraged each other on and I tried to let them all know what the distance and upcoming terrain was like.

I made it back to Long Lake in plenty of time.  I ate some snacks, restocked my supplies, donned my now dry shirt, and packed my flashlight.  After a short distance, I was back to the “river of rock”, this time staring up with a craned neck.  I tried to hold to a sustainable effort, but even that was tough.  I crested the top of the mesa just as the sun was shining its final rays on the valley floor to the east - what an awesome picture that would have made.

I allowed my legs to recover a bit, but soon broke into a run again.  I really wanted to take full advantage of the diminishing daylight.  On this kind of terrain, running at night is always slower.  I was quite surprised to see a couple of runners still heading out.  I doubted they would make the cut-offs, but they seemed to be in good spirits.  I finally succumbed to the darkness and turned the flashlight on.  I was a bit nervous as I still had some distance to go and only the one light.  If it flaked out on me for any reason, I would be stuck, probably doing jumping jacks to stave off hypothermia until another runner came along.

As I had guessed, between the familiarity of the course and the reflectivity of the markers, the route was much easier to find on the return trip.  I don’t know if it was simply out of the beam of my flashlight, or if it had been retrieved by the murderous beast, but I didn’t notice the fawn remnant.  I did, however, make plenty of noise, just in case.  In addition to some gibberish talk and a variety of song snippets, the recurring theme seemed to be “mamma said there’d be days like these…”  Seemed appropriate for the low points as well as the high ones throughout the night. And I’m pretty sure I was singing in tune the whole time.

Pleasant Lake seemed to take forever - one of the detriments to not having a working GPS (damn you, Garmin!).  Every little rise was topped with disappointment as the trail continued on and on into the darkness.  Finally, I saw the dim, khaki glow of the aid station tent in the distance.  As I approached, I was surprised to see two lights coming out of the tent and continuing on the trail.  When I inquired within, I was shocked and delighted to learn that it was the Virginia Beach couple and the leader was only about 15 minutes ahead of them.  Wow!  I must have been really hauling butt since the turn-around.  Travis’s dad was in the tent and helped me out as I gave him news of his son.  I moved in and out pretty quick, excited to catch the couple and possibly run with some company.  It took me all the way to Chokecherry to actually catch them, but I was still making progress.

The three of us left the aid station pretty much together and ran close for a while.  We did a little bit of chatting but soon I started to pull away.  Unfortunately, after we passed through the open meadows and got back into more forested areas, I had a bit of trouble finding the markers and they caught up to me.  We basically ran together until the top of the big descent as it was much easier to route find with three sets of eyes.

At the start of the descent, the trail became pretty distinct and I was able to jog down the slope at a better pace, increasing the distance to my pursuers. I made my way into Fish Creek Aid and was disappointed to learn that the leader had substantially increased his lead.  Between that bit of news and the effort of the past miles, I continued to slow down.  I was constantly looking back in fear of being caught, but I pretty much lost hope of a win.  You would think that the prospect of a second place finish would have been pretty energizing, but I was beat.  The course and my effort were really taking their toll.  It was also around this time that I caught sight of the rising moon.  Normally this would be pretty uplifting, but it only made me more aware of how late it was and that I would not come close to finishing by sunrise.

The remaining 19 miles dragged on interminably.  I was out there alone and the aid stations took twice as long to appear as I wanted/expected.  The climb up the road to Donkey felt like it was miles long and the sky was just starting to lighten.  Not long after I left the aid station, I was able to put the flashlight away.  The increased visibility was welcomed, but knowing how far I still had to go after sunrise was not.  The section between Donkey and Government was my lowest point on the way out and those memories were still relatively fresh.  Though the past 24 hours had dried the mud and the foliage, the mosquitos were almost as bad.  This time, I had a shirt on and was doused in repellant so I didn’t get bitten much, but they were just the annoying tip of the iceberg that I didn’t need.  Though mostly downhill, the rolling terrain went on and on, lengthened further by my slowing pace.

After cresting the final hill and descending for what seemed like hours, I was convinced they had packed up the Government Creek Aid Station and moved it.  By the time I finally reached it, I was downright cranky.  I topped off my water and grumbled a heartless thank you to the volunteer as I continued on down.  I wasn’t feeling strong enough to fully take advantage of the ideal finishing downhill that I had looked forward to since the previous day, but it did improve my mood a bit.  I also started seeing runners coming uphill for the shorter distance races and put on a more cheerful facade.  They were all so incredibly supportive and encouraging, I didn’t want to come off as an ungrateful, self-centered jerk.  Sure, I was tired and disappointed in my time, but I had run almost 100 really tough miles and was in second place.  Most of these runners saw me as an inspiration and I had an obligation to live up to.

As the elevation decreased, the sun and temperature rose.  With my long-sleeve shirt and pack on, I was getting toasty and the miles dragged ever on.  It felt like I was approaching the event horizon of a black hole, where time parabolically slows down to almost infinity.  After what felt like 50 miles since Government Creek, I finally came upon the self-serve aid station with 2.25 miles still left to go.  I dug through the bin and retrieved my stupid, dead camera.  I also found some tasty tea biscuits that just melted in my mouth.  50 feet down the trail, I paused and almost turned back for another handful, but decided against it.  I wanted to be done.

I had tripped and stumbled numerous times during the race, but never hit deck. At least, not until now.  At mile 98, on a smooth double-track, I landed face down in the sand.  This did not improve my mood!  I dusted myself off, spit out the grit, and after a few choice words for myself and the trail, carried on.  A few lifetimes later, I finally heard the road, then saw it, then crossed it.  How the hell did the damn driveway into the lodge get so long!?  I swear it was only 100 feet on the way out, now it felt like a couple of miles!

I could finally see the lodge, and the cars, and the finish!  As I slowly jogged on, I saw Brenda and the girls stooped over some rocks.  Just as I was passing them by, they finally looked up and saw me.  Kirstyn and Amy jumped up and ran across the line with me.  It was over! 26:49:29.  Holly crap.  How did it take so long?

Second place overall, and the toughest 100 I’ve run yet.  I was a bit disappointed in having slowed down so much over the last 30 miles, but that’s just my obsessive, perfectionist nature.

The course markings could have been more frequent.  Though the only two times that I got lost were strictly because of my inattention, the stop and go required to find the next flagging on some of the mesa top sections was extremely fatiguing.  This is a relatively small “issue” which I’m sure Matt will fix for next year.  For a first-time event, things went very smoothly, especially since they had apparently lost a number of experienced aid station volunteers at the last minute due to a funeral.  Matt and Turd’l had warned us at the start about the “inexperienced” volunteers but I can’t think of the slightest complaint with the aid stations.  Everyone was so incredibly helpful and supportive.  It was awesome.

As I said, this was the toughest 100 I’ve run yet.  It was also my favorite.  Monument Valley was probably a little more more picturesque, but this course was so incredibly diverse.  Going from colorful sandstone, to lush jungle-like trails, to giant aspens, alpine meadows and columbine in the thin air at 11,000’+.  I know the 50 miler covered the same route, but seeing it twice on the 100 is totally different.  I hope Matt can put on the 100 again next year.  This race, more than any other in Ultra Adventures’ Grand Circle series is destined to become a classic.

Bryce 100 - 2015

 

This was going to be a real test. I had spent the previous 10 days at sea level, lounging, eating, and drinking. Most people would think this was great rest and tapering, but my body usually prefers to be active before a race. I had the best of intentions and took my running shoes and Garmin along on the vacation, but never touched them.  I did manage to run about 1/2 mile on the beach at one point, but that little to offset all of the extra calories I consumed.

UltraSignup had me ranked at 17 out of 120 with an estimated time of almost 26 hours. Since I had run under 24 last year, and that was my first 100 miler, I was expecting to beat those by quite a bit, despite my low altitude inactivity.

 

 

The race started out well enough. I took it relatively easy on the road and then the meandering single track to the top of the hoodoos. I really enjoyed connecting with new and familiar runners. I was quite surprised and pleased at how many of them had read my blog or used my pacing spreadsheet.

 

 

Thunder Mountain aid came along and I was feeling pretty good but took the time for a potty break. The next section to Proctor was pretty non-eventful, though I made another stop at the composting toilet. My stomach was feeling well enough so I didn't think anything of it. The next stretch was the gentle climb up through the aspens, drop down, then steep climb up to Kanab. It was here that I started to feel a little sluggish. I just relaxed and enjoyed the company of nearby runners, like Lee, who wound up being the 3rd place female.  The initial climb up to the intersection with the 50K course (which would be run the following day), passed by rather quickly. As we dropped down to the low point, clouds moved in and the rain started. At first it was just a light drizzle, then the thunder and lightening kicked in and it turned to a decent rain. I was still going shirtless, but the temps were pretty comfortable and there was no wind down in the canyon so I was feeling fine. As we started the long climb out, I noticed that I was feeling just a bit off. It was nothing alarming, but I know my body well enough. My feet and ankles were a bit achey and my muscles too fatigued for this early on. We eventually hit the high point and there was a bit more rolling terrain before the aid station than I remembered. It was here that I started to slow down more and had a hard time keeping up with the group of runners.

 

By the time I hit Blubber Creek, I knew I needed a break and decided that sitting in the shaded tent would be more pleasant than just plodding slowly along. I gave myself 15 minutes and figured that I would surely feel better after such an extended rest. I sat in a comfy chair and the volunteers offered to make me a fresh cheese quesadilla while I waited. As I was lounging, I looked up to see Tonia Elsworth Smith popping in. She was pretty surprised to see me and moved through efficiently. This gal is amazing.  She is the first pancreatic cancer survivor to run a 100 miler, and she came in 2nd place!

 

 

Leaving Blubber, the skies were mostly clear, and given my pleasant encounter with the earlier rain, I figured I would continue on lightweight and left my jacket behind (big, stupid mistake!). Unfortunately, even after the prolonged rest, I still felt pretty lethargic. I was walking even the most gentle of inclines and was barely jogging the nice downhills. I knew that my "race" was over, but I figured I would just settle back, enjoy the awesome scenery and company of other runners. I did stop at almost every viewpoint and took pictures, as well as just appreciating the landscape.  The section to Kanab is mostly rolling, but quite scenic; much of it along the edge of the plateau.

 

From Kanab to Straight Canyon, the route rolls along the top for a bit longer, then descends slowly on dirt roads, which would normally be an opportune time for me to zip along effortlessly.  Not on this day.  I had to put out real effort to even jog down the hills.

Nearing the aid station, I was surprised to be caught by Travis.  I thought he was well ahead.  We plodded along, side by side to Straight Canyon.  I took more time than usual here and tried to refuel with some ginger ale, but it didn’t do any real good.  At least I made one smart decision.  With the skies darkening again, I pulled a thin, long-sleeved shirt out of my drop bag before heading out.  This probably saved my life, or at least kept me from a DNF.  About half a mile out, the drizzle started.  Then the rain.  Then the hail, accompanied by thunder and lightning.  it was in this section that I started running more consistently with Jonathan Wheelright (who would later save my life).

It was bad enough in the trees, but once we made it out to the little saddle and got onto the gravel road, things got worse.  The lightning strikes were closer and the hail was really hurting.  It never got larger than pea sized nuggets, but man they hurt my nearly bald head and exposed ears.  The temperature also continued to drop and probably got down into the low 40’s.  I was thoroughly soaked and freezing cold.  Taking cover from the lightning and hail would have been nice, but I knew that stopping for even a minute would send me into uncontrollable shivers.  There was no clear sky to be seen anywhere in the distance and hypothermia was a most serious consideration.  I wasn’t setting any speed records on this section, but survival instincts kept me going and each close lightning strike gave me a boost of adrenaline.

As it turned out, a guy just a few hundred yards behind us said that he got knocked to the ground by a lightning strike - now that’s close!

The insane weather finally stopped as we got close to Pink Cliffs.  As we left the ankle deep waters of the gravel road behind, we started climbing up the steep, narrow “trail” to the aid station.  This was now soft and extremely slick mud!

The sun started to break through the clouds just as we got to the aid station but my fingers were too frozen to be able to snap any pictures of the gorgeous view.  In the tent, I changed into a dry shirt and warmed up by the propane heater, along with a handful of other cold runners.

Jon and I headed out of the and station together but separated part way down to Crawford Pass.  The top couple of miles were just miserable.  Last year, the dust was an issue from passing ATV’s.  This year, the rain turned all that fine powder into horrendous mud.  I was quite frankly shocked to have made it through without a faceplant.  It was slicker than ice.

Back on the trail section, I came across Tonia, Travis, Brett, Lee and other runners that I knew or had met earlier in the day.  They were all ahead of me and heading back.

I finally made it to Crawford and changed into dry socks.  The previous few hours of soaking feet had already inflicted some damage, but the fresh socks felt nice.  I rested for a bit and headed back out.  I was now trying to figure out if I would make it to Straight Canyon before dark.  I had a flashlight there just as a precaution, even though I originally expected to be there hours before sunset.  I was also thinking about my warmer clothes, most of which were at Blubber Creek, many miles away.  I knew that the single long-sleeved shirt wasn’t going to cut it after dark and kicked myself for not putting the wet shirt out to dry at Pink Cliffs so I could get it on the second pass.  When I did finally get back up there, I took the soaking shirt out of my drop bag and attempted to dry it by the fire.  One of the nice volunteers offered to trade me one of his dry shirts for my wet one.  I gladly accepted and was glad to be wearing two shirts as the sun lowered in the sky.

Jon and I left Pink Cliffs together and slowly made our way down towards Straight Canyon.  I thought there would still be plenty of light, but being in the trees, a valley, and with the clouds gathering again it was pretty dark by the time we hit the aid station.  I was glad to have packed my light here, but I had no more clothes.  Jon offered me a jacket and hat that he wasn’t going to use.  I almost turned him down, as I like to be self sufficient, but I wasn’t sure if I had any clothes packed at Kanab.  It was a good thing that I did take him up on his generous offer.  There’s no way I would have survived without them.

Heading up towards Kanab, we joined up with a gal from NY.  Her and I stuck together as Jon broke ahead towards the top.  It was a good thing too, as my light started to fade prematurely.  The clouds came on us again and a light drizzle was accompanied by many thunder booms and bright flashes, though none were within a mile.

Kanab was a bit crowded.  Brett was there, along with Justin and his fiancé/pacer, Jen.  Jon was still there and ready to go.  The NY gal was not feeling great and with high probability of rain and lightning forecast for this upcoming section along the edge of the plateau, decided to call it quits.  Another runner started out and headed back after a dozen steps.  I grabbed a fresh light and Jon and I donned trash bags (which were scented) and went forward.  It was rather comical since the bags were rather undersized and we couldn’t even move our arms.  A stumble would have been really funny.

As it turned out, we had a light drizzle for the first mile or so and then the skies overhead cleared up.  There were still plenty of cool lightning strikes a few miles off, but nothing close and no more rain.  As a sign of the “off” day I was having, my new light started fading well before Blubber Creek and I had to stay close behind Jon.  Between the company, clothes and light, I was really starting to owe my race to this guy.

It seemed to take forever, but we finally made it to Blubber.  I had my UD pack here with all the essentials, including another flashlight with fresh batteries.  We warmed up and rested for a bit, then headed out again.  We stayed together for the rolling section near the top, but after we started the descent, I had to pull off into the woods and despite my rushing and picking up the pace afterwards, I just couldn’t catch back up to Jon.  He got a second wind and wound up beating me by over 2 hours.

I kept up a pretty good pace until the bottom.  Once the climb started, I slowed considerably.  Part way up, I came across Travis, yet again.  We hung together for a short bit, but he was moving even slower than me and we separated.  It seemed to take forever to reach the junction where the 50K would join the course.  I remembered thinking the same thing last year.

I was getting more and more tired.  Not just physically, but sleep deprivation was hitting me like never before.  This was my 10th 100 miler and I had never come close to feeling this sleepy before.  On this section heading towards Proctor, I stumbled along in a sleepy haze, wanting nothing more than to lay down and close my eyes.  I marvel at the fact that I didn’t end up face down on the trail.  I was just so incredibly sleepy.  Miraculously, I made it to the aid station and was about to sit in a chair for a snooze when someone vacated one of the cots and offered it to me.  I laid down, took my shoes off (my feet were killing me), threw a sleeping bag over me and dozed off.  A well-meaning volunteer woke me up shortly thereafter to ask me how long he should let me sleep.  Too dazed to speak, I gave him a look that clearly expressed how I was feeling.  I was left alone after that.

I woke up about an hour later, just as the sky was starting to lighten.  I was pleased that the prolonged rest didn’t stiffen my muscles at all.  I ate a whole bunch of pancakes, grabbed a burrito to go, and headed out into the cold morning.  I shivered for a bit, but knew the temperature would quickly rise as the sun came up above the hills.

When I had come in to Proctor, I was unsure of the race cut-off (never having to worry about that before) and was afraid that I wouldn’t make it if it was 30 hours.  Being told it was 36 gave me some peace, but now I still wanted to at least break 30.

A few miles out from Proctor, I passed a guy and a gal stopped on the side of the trail.  My eyes were still pretty fatigued and I had to really stare back at them for a bit to realize that it was Travis, again.  He wasn’t doing that great, but as soon as he saw me, he got his ass into the next gear.  He passed me shortly, but the competitive side of me was also rekindled and I kicked it up a notch to stay close on his heels.  He was pushing the uphills, and I was reeling him in on the descents.

I got into Thunder Mountain just after Travis and we both sped through, though he left half a minute before me.  Brett was there also and urged us both on, though I think he was having foot issues.  Within half a mile, I caught up to Travis and Jen, thinking we could all enjoy the next 8 miles together (though I would of course outsprint him at the very end).  But he cried “uncle”, blaming his poor fiancé for not being able to keep up the pace ( I wonder what his excuse was for the previous 92 miles?).

That little competition with Travis was actually one of the highlights of the race. Neither one of us had the race that we wanted, but we had a blast egging each other on until the very end.  His fiancé actually did a great job, especially given that this was her longest run ever!

The final climb back up through the hoodoos was pretty nice, but the subsequent meandering, in and out of little finger valleys was interminable.  It just took for freaking ever!  My watch had died so I was counting on non-racers that we came upon for distance estimates.  A couple of hiking gals said 4 miles and I thought they were out of their minds.  There was no way it could still be that far.  Then, what seemed like hours later, a jogger said “only 2 miles to go” and I nearly punched him in the face.  I was done, and I needed to race to be done also.

A couple of eternity's later, I finally heard some cheering, came around the millionth bend, and there it was - the glorious finish line.  29:20:36 - about 7 hours slower that I had hoped, but at least it was over.

This was definitely my worst performance ever, but it was memorable, and I was able to connect with new and familiar runners more than ever before.  Matt and Ultra Adventures put on a spectacular event in a most majestic setting.  Unfortunately, my body just rebelled, and the weather certainly didn’t help.

I finished my 6th 100 miler of the year, and despite the slow time, I’m glad that I persevered.