Only 1 More 100 to 10

I have completed 9 races of 100-miles or more. My only DNF was during my first attempt at Leadville in 2008, but even with altitudes mostly above 10,000-ft I still made it 60-miles. I went back in 2009 and finished the entire course so logic would imply that completing just one more 100-mile race in order to bring my total to 10 shouldn't be all that "difficult".

Three months after finishing Western States I ran the St. Pat's 24-hour race in South Bend, Indiana. Things were going smoothly until I began getting sick after 50-miles. I packed it in after 62-miles. A warm camper and a soft bed with my sweet wife was much more attractive than dragging myself around that course all night long while puking my guts out. I guess my heart just wasn't in this one.

St. Pat's 24-Hour Run (October 2010)

I took some time off from running but then started training hard again at the beginning of 2011 for the Rocky Raccoon in Huntsville, Texas. I had completed this race three times before and I was ready to do it again. The problem was that I could not make it to Texas in time for the race. We were hit with several ice storms in Indiana which resulted in my flight being rescheduled several days in a row. Then Texas was hit with a snowstorm which resulted in my flight being canceled for good. I guess the good news is that I was in great shape for chipping away at all that ice.

Rocky Raccoon 100-mile Run (February 2011)

I continued my training into the summer with hopes of finding another 100-miler to enter. However, things took a turn for the worse when the inside of my left knee started hurting after a 14-mile training run at the beginning of May. The next week I could barely walk. This injury would linger for nearly the rest of the year and seriously limit my training potential. At times I would feel better and get my confidence up only to realize my knee could not handle the load. I entered a 50-km race in June but only managed to squeeze out a marathon due to issues with my knee.

Parke County Marathon (June 2011)

My knee was still giving me issues so I pretty much gave up running and switched to walking throughout the months of September and October. If I was going to enter the lottery for the 2012 Western States 100-mile Run, I would need to complete a qualifing race before November 12, 2011. I entered the Cactus Rose 100-mile Run in Bandera, Texas, and figured I would just do light jogging and walking in order to meet the Western States qualifying requirements and finally log my 10th 100-miler. The day went okay at first but then I went into self-destruct mode. I started getting sick, my knee hurt, and my legs were pretty much useless on that course with so many hills and rocks. I accepted a 50-mile finishers medal and went home. I knew I did the right thing by listening to my body and possibly avoiding serious injury, but needless to say I was still disappointed.

Cactus Rose 100-mile Run (October 2011)

I haven't run at all since dropping out of the Cactus Rose. I would be lying if I said I wasn't discouraged, but I am trying to take everything in stride and use the opportunity to rest and re-evaluate my ultrarunning training and goals. Even if I never get that elusive 10th 100-miler I know I'm a better person for trying. Probably the biggest lesson I am learning is that those who haven't experienced failure are probably not trying things outside of their comfort zone. You can't find your limits until you attempt to push past them. It may appear that I have found mine but I don't think I'm quite ready to accept that yet.

Getting My Feet Wet at Western States

Western States is the race that first got me interested in ultrarunning. All of my training up to this point was focused on completing this course. Other than my recent nausea issues, I believed I was prepared to make a successful run through 100-miles of the Sierra Nevada mountains.

We were notified that an unusual amount of winter snowfall had resulted in about 10-miles of the course still being covered in snow. I had practiced running in the snow this past winter and did not think that would be a big deal. However, what I failed to consider was that this would also result in a much larger amount of water on the rest of the course due to the excess snow melting in the higher elevations.

Snow + Water + Running = Wet and Blistered Feet

Right on schedule, I started throwing up around 45-miles. I stopped at 50-miles and then again at 55-miles for about an hour each time hoping my stomach (and my feet) would recover. It quickly became clear to me that this would be a death march to the finish. The key word here is "finish". Nothing short of that would do for this epic race.

I learned a great deal about myself out on the Western States trail. I also gained a lot of respect for a course that is much more difficult than it looks on paper. I will be back again to try for a sub-24-hour finish. Until then, I will still proudly call myself a Western States Finisher.

This Makes Me Sick

It has been almost 2 years since I experienced my first episode of severe nausea during an ultra. I have dealt with it during every ultra since then. The worst was at Leadville in 2008 where I dropped at 60-miles. I walked nearly 70-miles of the 2009 Rocky Raccoon after my stomach betrayed me. I went back to Leadville in 2009 only to get sick at 40-miles and finish just 11-minutes before the final cutoff time.
These stomach issues have certainly put a damper in my love of ultrarunning. What gives me hope is that I ran my first three 100-milers with virtually no stomach issues (my first 100-miler is still my fastest). I have spent the past 2 years trying to understand what is causing this. What is different? Why can I run 70-miles per week in training with no stomach issues but start throwing up 40-miles into an ultra? Understanding this problem has proven to be much more difficult than I originally thought. There are so many variables involved that there is no single thing that will "fix" it. Plus, since I don't have problems during training, I only get to try out new theories during a competitive run.

My prevailing theory at the starting line of the 2010 Rocky Raccoon 100-mile run was that I had been over-running my training. When you run too hard for too long, your body diverts blood away from "non-essential" functions like digestion. The stomach shuts down and simply stops processing. Eventually the stomach gets too full and puts a return-to-sender label on everything in it. I had stepped up my training intensity considerably in preparation for this race, so I was hopeful that I would be able to get through it without stomach issues. I was wrong.
I started throwing up after the first 30-miles. This was exactly like what I had experienced a year previous, even though I was in better shape and started out at a slower pace. I quickly resigned myself to working through the nausea the last 70-miles in order to try and understand what was going on.
I discovered that even though I was puking all the time, my stomach was still processing stuff. This was encouraging since that meant I could keep moving without fear of severe dehydration. It wasn't very pleasant, but I worked out a system where I could drink fluid until my stomach rejected it and then fill it back up again. This would give me about 20-minutes of absorption until I would have to start the process over again.

I estimate that I puked more than 50 times before crossing the finish line with a time of 23-hours and 45-minutes.. It was ugly ... VERY ugly ... especially to those who were running near me, but I was thrilled to make it in under 24-hours despite having the severe nausea issues. Another encouraging fact was that, other than the nausea, I felt great. My pace was limited by my stomach rather than my legs, so if I can just figure out the nausea problem, I should see a huge improvement in my times.
I did quite a bit of research after returning home and I now believe that my issues have been due to a simple "acid stomach". In my first few ultras, I ate more solid food than I have been recently. It seems that solid food acts to buffer the digestive system to reduce the acidity being introduced into the stomach by most sport drinks. I also had changed my sport drink from what I used originally. I took some measurements and found that my new sport drink was significantly more acidic than my old one. Two seemingly minor variables that obviously have compounded to cause a big issue. Who would have thought that the margin for error in a 100-mile run was so small?
In just over a week I will be running a 24-hour ultra in Iowa where I am going to try out some solutions to the acid-stomach problem. First, I am planning to eat significantly more solid food during the first 50-miles of the run. As for my sport drink, I am planning to dilute everything 50% with water and add a pinch of baking soda to reduce the acidity. I have found that about 1/8-tsp of baking soda for every 24-oz of fluid results in a pH level that is just above neutral for most sport drinks. I will also be taking a bag of Rolaids to chew on as soon as the first signs of nausea begin to hit.
I have tried all of this in training, now I'll just have to wait and see if it works during a race. I really hope it does, especially since the race is on a 1/4-mile track. It will be a LONG day for everyone involved if I puke as much as I did at the Rocky Raccoon.

UPDATE:

Well, reducing the acidity of my drinks made absolutely no difference with my nausea during the race in Iowa.  I started throwing up at 50-miles and was sick the rest of the race.  I still managed to finish 1st place male with just over 111-miles but it wasn't pretty.  Back to the drawing board ...

The Climb

"I'm at mile 40, feeling great, and am just about to start the climb." This was the last contact I would have with my wife for the next 9 hours as I began the most difficult portion of the 2009 Leadville Trail 100-mile race course. Starting at mile 40, the course climbs from an elevation of 9,200-ft up to Hope Pass at 12,600-ft and then back down to 9,900-ft at mile 50. Since the course is out-and-back, each runner must then turn around and do it all again in reverse. This section got the best of me in 2008 and I was forced to drop from the race at mile 60. I had spent the previous 12-months training for what was now a second chance of getting over Hope Pass and eventually back to the town of Leadville to complete the full 100-mile trek. I was determined to make it this time.

I walked for a while after leaving the Twin Lakes Aid Station (mile 40) in order to eat a small lunch and make sure I was fully hydrated. I felt great as I started to climb, but then my stomach unexpectedly let loose as I tried to swallow an electrolyte tablet. Since I wasn't feeling particularly nauseous, I didn't think much of it and continued upward.

The air in the mountains is extremely dry (I checked the weather forecast the day of the race and took note that the relative humidity was lower than it was in Las Vegas). In addition, the thinning air at high elevation requires you to breathe deeper and more frequently just to get enough oxygen. I was loosing a huge amount of moisture from my lungs with each breath. I was also becoming nauseous as I continued up the mountain. This was not a good recipe for success.

It had taken me over 2 hours to go 5-miles as I crested Hope Pass. My nausea was getting worse and I was quickly using up all of the fluid I had in my water bottles. Knowing that getting to a lower altitude could only be helpful, I proceeded slowly down the mountain to the 50-mile aid station in the ghost town of Winfield. Hopefully I could recover enough in Winfield to continue on and get back over the mountain.

I knew I was seriously dehydrated as I entered Winfield, but I couldn't believe it when the weigh-in showed I had dropped 17-pounds. Since this was more than 9% of my body weight, I had no other option but to remain in Winfield until I could rehydrate to a safe level. This is not an easy thing to do when you are so nauseous. Those aid station workers were troopers as they helped me try to get fluids in even as I was filling up all of their empty bread bags. Yuck.

One of the keys of ultra-running is to just keep moving forward regardless of how slow it seems. Rather than waste too much time in Winfield, I decided to leave and start the reverse climb back up to Hope Pass. I took all kinds of fluid, broth, and fruit with me so that I could continue to rehydrate along the way.

Fortunately for me, the halfway point in Winfield is where you are allowed to have a "pacer" run with you for the remainder of the race. The pacer's main responsibility is for safety and companionship during the night. My pacer, Mark, was energetic and ready to go. Unfortunately for him, I felt like I look in the above photo.

The second climb up to Hope Pass was slow and arduous. It took me just less than 3-hours to go 5-miles, but I was somewhat encouraged that it seemed much "easier" than it was the year before. Mark was patient with me as I would stop to throw up. Even though I was still nauseous, I was able to take in more fluid than I was losing. This was critical if I was going to have a chance at finishing this race without kidney failure.

The sun was setting in the mountains as I reached the top of Hope Pass for the second time of the race. Even though I still had 45-miles to go, I was encouraged by the fact that I would never be this high again during the race. The fact that the sun was going down would also make it easier for me to continue rehydrating.

I arrived at the mile 60 aid station 45-minutes before the cutoff time. I briefly celebrated since I had just officially made it farther than I ever had. However, there was still 40-miles left to go and I was nauseous, dehydrated, and very tired. It was time to enter into the "just keep putting one foot in front of the other" mode, a.k.a., the ultra-runner death march.

Even though the worst part of the course was behind me, there were still several large climbs left. Sometimes it is easier to handle the large uphills in the dark since you can't see the top, but it also seems like they go on forever. At mile 82, I crested the last large pass of the course at 11,200-ft. I was very thankful to have Mark with me since I kept falling asleep and wandering off the trail. He told me later that he knew I was in trouble whenever he would see my headlamp drop and I would start walking sideways. I now truly recognize the importance of a pacer in an event like this.

I spent most of the night walking mixed with periods of jogging whenever my stomach could tolerate it. As a result, I barely made the cutoff times for each aid station. With only 20-minutes until the final cutoff time of 30-hours, I turned onto the road into Leadville. Only 1-mile to go. There is no way that I can possibly describe the feeling of seeing the finish line after nearly 30-hours out on that course.

It wasn't pretty, but I made it. My final finishing time was 29-hours, 48-minutes, and 59-seconds. Of the 568 people signed up for the race, only 274 actually finished. I was number 264. Since I was one of the people who did not finish in 2008, running across that red carpet in 2009 was an incredible feeling. However, I knew that there is no way I could have done it without the incredible encouragement of my wife Lais, my family, and especially the practical support provided by my pacer, Mark. This was as much their accomplishment as it was mine.

Ultra-running is a crazy endeavor and it's difficult to understand why anyone would want to do something like this. I titled this blog "The Climb" because of the obvious focus of getting up and over a specific mountain that had previously got the best of me (and also because it is the name of a surprisingly good song by Miley Cyrus). However, at the risk of getting overly cheesy here, that's pretty much the experience of everyday life. There will always be struggles, there will always be uphill battles, and there will always be more mountains. Sometimes the mountains will win, but those are the times when you've got to get back up and just keep going. The red carpet awaits.

The Tortoise and the Hare

When the tortoise and the hare face off in an ultramarathon, the tortoise almost always wins. In the past two months, I have completed two timed ultra-distance races where I played the role of both animals: The Cornbelt 24-hour Ultra in Eldrige, Iowa, and the Hawthorn 12-hour Ultra in Terre Haute, Indiana.

The Cornbelt is as simple as it gets. Each runner has 24-hours to run as many miles as possible around a 1/4-mile track. Since I've experienced some serious nausea issues during my past few ultras, I decided that my only goal for this race was to run the entire 24-hours at a slow and steady pace without getting sick.

After the first marathon, I was in 5th place. Since I was running slower than normal, I felt great and had to exercise a lot of restraint to avoid the temptation to follow the leaders who were running much faster. I could not be concerned with them. My goal was clear and it did not include running to win.

Most of the initial leaders slowed down as the day wore on. I was in 3rd place at the 50-mile mark and moved up to 2nd after 70-miles. Still, I was nearly 2-hours behind the leader and was determined to stick to my plan ... slow and steady.

An interesting thing happened after the leader crossed the 100-mile mark. He started getting sick. I knew what that was like and was thrilled that it wasn't happening to me. He went on to reach 106-miles, but then dropped from the race. The hare had met his fate.

I pressed forward and logged my best ever time for 100-miles at 19:44:22. By the end of the race, I covered a total of 116.65-miles. The tortoise had won.

The Hawthorn 12-hour Ultra was run 6-weeks later. My confidence after winning the Cornbelt caused me to foolishly set a goal of not only winning the race, but setting a new course record of at least 70-miles.

I was feeling great and was leading the race by a comfortable margin until I started getting sick at about 53-miles. I tried to work through it, but my stomach had shut down, was purging anything it could, and I was well on the way to critical dehydration. The strategy of the hare was reaping it's fruit. I walked my way to 62-miles but felt absolutely horrible.

Interestingly, the 2nd place runner for most of the day was also starting to crash. He told me afterwards that he was about to quit until he had heard I was having issues. He pressed forward to finish with just over 68-miles thinking he had won the race. However, there was a true tortoise out on the course who kept almost perfectly steady splits all day long and came out of nowhere to win with almost 69-miles. It's funny how simple lessons can be so difficult to learn.

In two months, I will face my seccond attempt at the Leadville Trail 100 (my first attempt ended at 60-miles). When I am standing at the starting line in Colorado staring down a 100-mile run at altitudes up to 12,800-ft, hopefully I will listen to the wisdom of the tortoise and avoid the pitfalls of the hare.

A Rocky Road

There is no such thing as an "easy" 100-mile run. I was painfully reminded of this fact as I witnessed a second sunrise during the 2009 Rocky Raccoon 100-mile Trail Run in Huntsville, Texas. This event was intended to be a mere training run in my quest for a finish at the Leadville 100 later this fall. I received a lot more "training" than I had bargained for.

I finished this race in just over 23-hours last year. I figured I could easily improve my time given my current training level, but would be satisfied with any finish under 24-hours. The possibility of dropping out or having to worry about the mandatory 30-hour cutoff time did not even cross my mind.

The day started out perfect. I was feeling strong and running well. I completed the first of five 20-mile laps in less than 3.5-hours. I immediately headed out on the second lap and reached the marathon mark at 4.5-hours. At 30-miles I was feeling great and even starting to think that a sub-20-hour finish was a possibility.

I started to feel nauseous at the 32-mile aid station. No problem. I grabbed some pretzels, took an electrolyte tablet, and started walking. I walked the next 8-miles to complete my second lap, but my stomach was getting worse.

Friends and family had set up a 1/4-mile corridor to cheer on the runners as we approached the lap turnaround point. Of course, this is where my stomach decided to let loose. It was so fast and uncontrollable that I didn't even have time to veer off the trail. All I could do was keel over and listen to the gasps of horror from the crowd of onlookers. I even heard a child say, "Mommy, what's happening?". This is one of the reasons why ultrarunning is not much of a spectator sport.

It took me 7-hours to complete my third lap. My nausea was getting worse to the point where I could not take a drink without throwing up. With no way to get fluids into my body, I was showing signs of severe dehydration. I could not continue without putting myself at risk. I was done. Just like at Leadville last fall, it seemed 60-miles was my limit. I was very discouraged, but knew that dropping out of the race was my only option.

I laid down and slept for more than 2-hours. After I woke up, my nausea was somewhat improved and I felt like having something to drink. Over the next hour, I drank about 1-liter of fluid and waited to see if my body could rehydrate itself. I realized things were getting back to normal when I had to get up and use the restroom.

I had already convinced myself that this race was over. However, my stomach was feeling better and there was still 12-hours left before the 30-hour cutoff time. Even if I could manage to get back in the race, the prospect of being out on the course until noon on the second day did not sound like much fun. I was really keen on the idea of getting some more sleep. As I fought this internal battle, I decided to get out my MP3 player and listen to some music. The song "Tubthumping" just happened to be queued up:

"I get knocked down, but I get up again;
You're never going to keep me down."

Despite what my brain was telling me, it was time to get back out there for two more laps.

The next lap was an exercise in moderation. I would jog until I started to feel nauseous and then I would walk. I was tired and experienced a few instances of "sleep-running", but I managed to finish the fourth lap in just under 6-hours.

During my fifth and final lap, I paused to watch the sunrise ... again. I had never been out on a course longer than 24-hours, but I was shocked to see how much the daylight energized me. I could run again. Every step was one step closer to home. I finished my final lap in 5-hours and proudly crossed the finish line with a time of 28-hours, 21-minutes, and 49-seconds.

Last year, I received the hand-crafted sub-24-hour belt buckle. This year, I received the not-quite-so-fancy buckle for those finishing under 30-hours. The one from this year means so much more to me knowing what I had to overcome to get it. Despite all of the negative self-talk coming out of my brain after three laps, I finished. Now I realize that this is exactly the kind of training I needed if I'm going to have a chance at finishing Leadville this fall.

Finding Limits at Leadville

Ultrarunning is about pushing your limits. After completing three 100-mile races and several other ultra-distance events in the past year, I was starting to become a bit overconfident in my abilities. However, I found my limit last weekend at the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado.

The week before the race, I was sitting on the front porch of our home in Indiana with my wife trying to comprehend the fact that the race I was about to attempt would be run 2-miles up in the sky. The same thought occurred when we were flying home from a family vacation last month and they announced that we had reached 10,000-feet and could start using our electronics again. Most of the Leadville race would be higher than we were currently flying in a commercial airplane! I simply could not get my brain wrapped around that while surveying the flat cornfields of Indiana.

Looking Out Towards the Leadville 100-mile Course

As I arrived in Leadville, all eyes were on the weather. The forecast was unusually cold for this time of year with predictions for thunderstorms, hail, sleet, wind, and snow. The scenery was quite majestic, but the constant presence of thunderstorms in the mountains gave me an ominous feeling about what I was about to attempt. I also took note about how quickly the temperature would change as each storm rolled in over the mountains. I proceeded to pack my drop bags knowing that I would need to be prepared for every kind of weather at all times during the race.

I arrived at the start around 3:00am. It was cold and raining, but I was ready. The first 13-miles of the course were on a trail that runs around a mountain lake. The hills are constant, but they are relatively short. This is just like the trails we have in Indiana and I was feeling quite at home. The altitude did not seem to be affecting me and I was running ahead of my anticipated pace.

The first big climb of the course began shortly after leaving the May Queen aid station at 13.5-miles. We moved from an elevation of 9,800-ft up to the Surgarloaf Mountain pass at 11,200-ft. I was thrilled that I was able to make it up and over without much difficulty. As we cleared the pass, I let loose and ran the next 6-miles of downhills until reaching the Fish Hatchery aid station at 23.5-miles. At times it felt like I was simply doing some downhill skiing, albeit with running shoes and rocks instead of skis and snow.

Most people complain about the next portion of the course since it consists of a continuous uphill climb on dirt road into the San Isabel National Forest, but I welcomed the change. Usually it is smart to walk the uphills during an ultra, but I found it more tolerable to alternate timed periods of running with periods of walking until reaching the Halfmoon Aid Station at mile 30.5.

Now well into ultra-distance territory, the course turned onto the Colorado Trail. I began to labor a bit on the uphills and found myself struggling for air as the elevation increased to over 10,600-ft several times. When the trail started a 5-mile downhill path to the the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 39.5, I was highly motivated by the fact that each breath had a higher oxygen concentration than the one before it.

At 9,200-ft, the Twin Lakes Aid Station is the lowest part of the course. Over the next 5-miles, I would climb up to Hope Pass, the highest part of the course at 12,600-ft. This is equivalent to climbing all the stairs at the Empire State Building nearly three times. Even though the weather was starting to turn bad, I was looking forward to moving on and hitting the toughest part of the day with full force.

A few miles into the climb up towards Hope Pass, I started to feel more fatigued that I ever have during an ultra. I figured this was just the altitude and continued to move forward, even if it was slower than I had anticipated. Nearing the top, I had to stop several times just to catch my breath. My heart and breathing felt like I was in the middle of a speed workout, even though I was moving forward at the pace of a slow hike.

I sat down for about 15-minutes at the Hopeless Aid Station near the top of Hope Pass. The rain, snow, and hail that were pummeling me on the way up the mountain had stopped and the skies had cleared. As difficult as it was for me to get up the mountain, I wanted to make sure I relished the views before beginning the 5-mile downhill trek to the 50-mile turnaround point in Winfield.

I again hammered the downhills after making it over Hope Pass. My aunt and uncle were planning to meet me in Winfield and I was going to make sure they didn't have to wait any longer than necessary. As I descended the mountain, I was troubled by the fact that the far side of Hope Pass seemed much steeper than what I had just climbed (since the course is "out-and-back", my first job after Winfield would be to climb back up and over the mountain at Hope Pass). Those concerns would have to wait since I was now arriving in Winfield, comfortably down below 10,000-ft elevation, and could celebrate the fact that I just made it halfway through one of the toughest 100-milers in the U.S.

Recovering at the 50-mile Turnaround in Winfield

As I took a break in Winfield, I noticed a bit of nausea coming on. I tried drinking some fluids, but immediately noticed that my stomach wasn't too happy about the idea. After lying down for 15-minutes and not feeling any better, I figured I would try heading out and hoping that some easy walking would calm my stomach. This approach had worked in previous ultras, so I had no reason to believe it wouldn't work this time.

I was overcome by fatigue much quicker as I started the climb back up to Hope Pass. I hiked at a painfully slow pace and still had to stop and catch my breath every few minutes. As I ascended, the time between breaks got shorter and the breaks got longer. My nausea was getting worse and I began vomiting each time I would stop. Even a small sip of water would be immediately rejected by my stomach. Without fluids or food, I could feel that I was starting to dehydrate. Halfway up the mountain with all of my energy stores depleted, it became more and more clear that I would not be able to finish this race.

Resolved that I was past the point of a quick recovery, I was faced with the choice of heading back down the mountain to Winfield or continuing over Hope Pass and down to the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 60.5. I determined that I would give it everything I had in order to make it over the mountain to Twin Lakes. As I proceeded above treeline, my pace consisted of about 10 short steps followed by at least a minute of rest. By the time I crested the mountain, it had taken me nearly 3-hours to travel a mere 3-miles. The prospect of reaching Twin Lakes before the mandatory cutoff time was highly unlikely.

My nausea was beyond hope when I began the 5-mile descent to Twin Lakes. Day was turning to night and I was so fatigued that all I could muster was a slow walk. The feeling of being dehydrated and having water but not being able to take a drink created a sense of hopelessness like I have never experienced. As I slowly wandered down the mountain in the dark, I processed all kinds of emotions and found myself dealing with deeply personal issues that I never even knew existed. Although not the most pleasant experience, I now realize that this is the kind of thing that can make an ultra a life-changing event.

6-hours after leaving Winfield, I finally entered the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 60.5. I had missed the cutoff time by 30-minutes, so my only option was to let the workers cut off my medical wristband and then find a ride back to my car in Leadville. I used to think that the mandatory cutoff times at each aid station were a bit harsh, but it was a blessing in this case. Even though I would not have made it much farther, I probably would have still considered going on if I wasn't pulled from the race. The cutoff time served the purpose of protecting me from myself.

I took a shower and was able to eat some hard candies 2-hours after leaving Twin Lakes. It took almost 4-hours until I was able to sip on some Sprite and eat some crackers. I fell asleep in my car for the rest of the night and then woke up to see my friend Dan Brenden finish with a time of 27:25:55. This finish puts Dan one race closer to being one of only two people in the world to complete the "Grand Slam of Ultrarunning" five or more times. I now have a much greater appreciation for how difficult of an accomplishment that really is.

In the end, only 2 of every 5 people finished this race and most of those who did were from Colorado. I know I gave it my best effort, but it is still difficult to be one of the runners who didn't make it. I also now realize that what I experienced on the mountain to Hope Pass was actually Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). I was even starting to exhibit the early symptoms of High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE). There is no way I could have willed myself through that without putting myself in serious danger.

The next day I did not think that I would want to try this race again. Since then, I have done some research and realized that it would be possible for me to cope with the altitude and finish if I trained specifically for it over the next year. My only decision is whether or not I want to invest the time and energy necessary to make it happen. One thing I do know is that it's not your failures that define you, but how you are able to deal with and rise above the failures when they do happen.

I originally asked my uncle, who lives part-time in Colorado and is an avid outdoor enthusiast, if he would like to run as a pacer for a portion of the race. He declined because he did not want to slow me down. However, as I was leaving town, he left me with these words, "If you come back next year, I'll be ready to join you in Winfield and get you over that mountain". How can I say no to that? Until next year ...

Running in Circles in Iowa

Back in high school, one of my events on the track team was the 2-mile run. This equates to 8-laps around the track. I hated this event. I believed it was torture to have to run around the track that many times. I vowed never to spend that much time running in circles again. Last weekend, more than 20-years later, I found myself attempting to complete more than 400-laps around a ¼-mile track as part of the Cornbelt 24-hr race in Eldridge, Iowa. Never say never.

It all started this winter when I met Bo and Ron, a couple of local ultra-runners that I contacted after seeing their names on the lottery list for the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run. I thought it would be great to have someone else nearby to go out and run the trails with. However, I quickly found out that they weren’t really the trail-running types. Their favorite 100-miler was this 24-hr track run called the Cornbelt. A track run in Iowa? Why would I drive through three states to run a race with the same course as the high school down the street from my house? At least the trail runs usually have some interesting scenery. I quickly realized that I was the victim of “trail running snobbery” and figured I would give this track idea a try.

I was looking forward to the Cornbelt run about as much as I look forward to going to the dentist. Now that it is over, I can share the top five reasons why a 100-mile track run can be as much fun as any exotic trail run:

• The nearest aid station is never more than ¼-mile away. You can throw all of your stuff into a large duffle bag and have it all available all day long. The logistics of packing drop bags for a point-to-point run can get quite complicated.
• There is always someone nearby to help pass the time. Both the fastest runner and the slowest walker are always within ¼-mile of each other. Usually when dealing with a low point in a 100-mile run, you are on your own. Even just a few minutes meeting someone new during a walking break can really lift your spirits.
• Race strategy and planning is greatly simplified. I put together a detailed pacing plan for every lap. I knew all day long how I was doing relative to my plan and could make adjustments accordingly.
• They turn on the stadium lights when it gets dark. It was nice to not have to worry about night running gear.
• There are spectators … sitting in bleachers … with popcorn and pizza. Anyone who has attempted a trail ultra knows that this is not the norm.

Don’t think that this means a track ultra is “easier” than a trail ultra. I’m convinced that the constant hills on most trails are easier on the legs than the constant repetition of running around a track. Running 100-miles is difficult no matter how you choose to do it.

For the Cornbelt, I broke up my plan into 25-mile phases. I planned to run the first 25-miles in 3 hours and 45 minutes. I would then add 30-minutes to each subsequent 25-mile phase. In summary, here were my planned times for each phase:

• 3:45:00 – Mile 0 to 25
• 4:15:00 – Mile 25 to 50
• 4:45:00 – Mile 50 to 75
• 5:15:00 – Mile 75 to 100
• 6:00:00 – Mile 100+

We arrived in Iowa about 3-hours before the race start time at 7am. We checked into our hotel, grabbed a quick nap, and then headed out to the track to pick up our numbers and get ready to run. Even though the weather was cold, windy, and rainy, I found the experience to be quite enjoyable.

Because my plan called for me to run the first phase faster than the rest, I was leading the race after 25-miles. Even at the 50-mile marker, the top three runners were all within 1-mile of each other. Normally this would be a problem since I don’t usually find myself on the winner’s podium, but I knew I would slow down and I could tell that the other two front-runners would likely hold their current pace the entire day.

I resisted the urge to follow the leaders and stuck to my plan. As a result, I set personal records for every ultra-distance along the way. I passed the 50-mile mark in under 8-hours, the 100-km mark right at 10-hours, and had run almost 73-miles after 12-hours. I was on schedule to finish 100-miles in under 18-hours until everything fell apart at mile 91.

It seemed like every muscle in my legs cramped up after finishing 362 laps. At the same time, my intestines decided they were tired of holding on to their contents. I rushed to the restroom and tried to pull myself back together until I began shivering uncontrollably. As long as I was moving, I was generating enough body heat to stay warm in the cold weather. However, when I sat down, the tell-tale signs of hypothermia quickly became evident. I made my way to the medical tent to get some hot-chocolate and blankets, after which my stomach grew tired of holding on to its contents. I then became dizzy and quickly realized this was not going to be a quick fix.

The person counting my laps graciously offered to let me sit in his car with the heater running. I took him up on the offer and ended up taking a nap for about 90-minutes. After waking up, I was warm and over the nausea issues, but my legs were far from ready to get moving again. I knew that it would be extremely hard, both mentally and physically, to complete 9 more miles. However, there were 6-hours left on the clock and knew I would regret it if I didn’t at least give it a try.

As I was dragging myself back out onto the track, one of the race directors was shocked to see me. Even though it was 1:00 in the morning and I had already run 91-miles around a track in Iowa, he felt compelled to say, “Don’t do anything crazy!” Finding the warning quite ironic, all I could think was, “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

I limped around the track for a couple of laps and was eventually able to move into a slow walk. That last 9-miles was probably the most difficult time I have had in an ultra. I was able to spend some time talking with my friend Ron along the way, but then he began to deal with his own issues with the cold. Finally, after 3-hours of walking, I passed the 100-mile mark. I went an extra 6 laps and then decided to call it a day, even though there were still 3 more hours left in the race. I was quite happy with what I had accomplished and was confident I would not have any regrets the next day.

Besides, I have to have something more to shoot for next year!

How To Run Rocky Raccoon

Last weekend, I successfully completed my second 100-mile event at the Rocky Raccoon 100-mile Endurance Run in Huntsville, Texas. Since my first one, I have received a lot of questions about exactly how it works to run 100-miles. So, rather than go through a standard step-by-step race report, I am dedicating this article to providing all of the grueling details of how I personally trained for and completed my second 100-mile run.

Dan Brenden and I at the Rocky Raccoon

Before running my first 100-miler last fall, I did a lot of reading about the various physiological issues with going beyond the marathon distance. I had a plan that ultimately carried me to the finish. However, even the most scientific plan must be tailored for each individual’s specific physical and emotional makeup. This is why the best ultra-runners are usually the ones with the most experience. Below is how I personally approached the Rocky Raccoon run, but with more than 250 people in the race, I guarantee that there were more than 250 different strategies. Here’s mine.

Race Planning

One of the things I enjoy most about ultra-running is the planning involved. To be successful on race day, you must have a solid nutrition and hydration plan, a good pacing plan, a plan for running at night, a plan for dealing with the weather, and also a plan for all of the unexpected things might happen along the way (and yes, unexpected things WILL happen). During a short running event, the difference between a good day and bad day could be just a few seconds or minutes. At a 100-mile run, the difference could be several hours or a DNF (did not finish). At Rocky, 1 of every 3 people dropped out before the finish. The dreaded DNF looms over every race.

Drop Bags

We were allowed 2 drop bags at the Rocky Raccoon. The course consisted of a 20-mile loop with some out-and-back sections, so we would have access to one of our drop bags about every 6-7 miles. I have found that deciding what to put into each drop bag is one of the most difficult parts of the planning phase. When will it rain? When will I need my night gear? How many batteries will I need to keep my lights on in the dark? What will the temperature be at 7:00am? What will it be at 2:00pm? At midnight? The best you can do is make an educated guess and then plan for the unexpected. Here is a detailed list of what I put in my drop bags:

• Extra Clothes – 6 shirts, 3 sun hats, 5-pairs of socks, 2-pairs of shoes, 2-pairs of pants
• Weather Gear – 2 warm hats, 3-pairs gloves, 2 hand-warmers, 2 ponchos, 2 jackets
• First Aid – Motrin, ankle brace, athletic tape, sewing kit
• Night Gear – Headlamp, 2 flashlights, extra batteries
• Food – 25 gel packets, 6 sports bars, 6 electrolyte capsules, 2 bags choc espresso beans
• Drinks – 1 gallon Perpetuem, ½ gallon apple juice w/ Super Food supplement
• Other – 6 bandanas, 2 towels, body glide, sunscreen, chapstick, MP3 player, sunglasses

Nutrition and Hydration

Most of the research out there shows that a well-trained runner can store enough glycogen in their muscles to make it about 22-24 miles. Given this, it is critical to take in enough carbohydrates during an event to cover the difference. It is also critical to stay fully-hydrated. Once dehydration sets in, it can be almost impossible to recover and still finish without putting yourself at risk for other serious issues.

I estimate that it takes about 18,000 calories for me to run 100-miles. However, it would be impossible to consume this amount of food while running without becoming seriously nauseous. The nutrition plan becomes a fine balancing act between eating and drinking enough without upsetting your stomach. I have found that I can eat about 250 calories per hour and drink about 20 ounces of fluid per hour.

When it comes to selecting food, I believe that your body is programmed to know what it needs. When arriving at an aid station, food that I would normally find repulsive looks really good, whereas food that I normally love doesn’t look good at all. I try to go with what looks tasty as long as my basic hydration needs are being met. Here is an estimate of what I actually consumed during the Rocky Raccoon run:

• 4.5 gallons of fluid – roughly 20% Perpetuem, 50% Gatorade, and 30% water
• 10 gel packets – usually I take more of these, but they weren’t sitting well this time
• 2 breakfast burritos
• 1 ham and cheese sandwich
• 1 cheese quesadilla
• 4 cups of chicken noodle soup
• 3 baked potatoes, cut up and dipped in salt
• 1 can Pringle’s potato chips
• 6 cups of pretzels
• 8 Oreo cookies
• 1 cup of gummy bears
• 2 cups of animal crackers
• 2 cups of mixed nuts
• 4 cups cantaloupe
• 2 cups honeydew
• 8 strawberries
• 1 cup chocolate-covered espresso beans

Pacing Strategy

Patience is the key to an effective pacing strategy. Like any running race, you must adjust your pace for the distance. Just like you can’t run a marathon as fast as you could run a 10k, you can’t run 100-miles as fast as you can a marathon. The big secret here is that almost no one actually “runs” the entire 100-miles. Most of the pacing strategy revolves around how fast to run and how often and how long to walk.

I enjoy shorter races as much as I do the ultra-distance runs. Thus, I tend to run at a faster pace than most ultra-runners but walk more often. If I were to focus my training on running continuously for 100-miles, my pace would be too slow for me to stay competitive at the shorter distances. At the Rocky Raccoon, my pacing strategy could be summarized as follows:

• Run at a 8-9 minute per mile pace, when possible
• Walk for 10-15 minutes after eating
• Walk the up-hills and run the down-hills and flats
• Walk when dealing with issues such as nausea, blisters, muscle pain, etc.
• Just keep moving forward, no matter what the speed

The key for me is to be in tune with how my body is doing and know when it is okay to run and when I should walk. It’s difficult to set specific parameters beforehand because you go through so many cycles of feeling bad only to be followed up by a period of feeling good. I ran about 80% of the first 40-miles, but then my knee started hurting from an injury I incurred a couple of months ago. I also was becoming quite nauseous and knew that I was starting to get dehydrated. As a result, I power-walked about 70% of the next 45-miles. I was finally able to pull it together and run most of the last 15-miles. Here’s a list of my split times for each 20-mile loop:

• Lap 1 – 3:37:22
• Lap 2 – 4:01:34
• Lap 3 – 4:38:29
• Lap 4 – 5:09:54
• Lap 5 – 4:40:23

I took about a 5-10 minute break between each lap to do things like use the restroom, change socks, and replenish my water bottles. My final finish time was just over 23-hours. I was originally hoping to finish a bit faster than I did, but I believe I did the best I could given my current training level and the weather conditions. It was much more humid than most of us were prepared for, so I wasn’t the only one dealing with nausea issues.

Night Running

Since it is in the middle of winter, daylight is a premium. In addition, the dense forest adds at least 30-minutes of darkness after sunrise and before sunset. More than half of my time on the trail at Rocky Raccoon was spent in the dark. The trail is in relatively good shape, but there are several sections that are full of rocks and/or tree roots.

I have found that I can run most efficiently with two separate light sources hitting the trail each at a different angle. I wear a high-powered LED lamp on my head and carry a high-powered LED flashlight. This provides a sort of stereoscopic vision that makes it easier to determine the exact location and height of each obstacle on the trail. I also carry a small LED flashlight in my pack that I can use as a backup, if necessary.

The night before the race, I purchased a package of extra batteries without giving much thought to how many I would need. About 45-minutes after the race started, both my headlamp and my flashlight went dead. I replaced the batteries to get through the morning and then stashed them in one of my drop bags for me to pick up before dark in the evening.

I found out how long my flashlight lasts when it went dead again after 4-hours in the evening. I replaced the batteries with my final set of spares. I now had a serious issue. I knew that I would be out on the course for 5-6 more hours but only had 4-hours of life on my flashlight. My headlamp was still working, but I had no idea how much longer that would last. In addition, I didn’t know how much life my backup flashlight had in it and I was out of spare batteries for that one also.

Out on the trail, I turned off all my lights for a moment to see what I would be dealing with if all of my lights went dead. It was frightening. Not only could I not see the trail, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The forest is dense, there was no moon, and the sky was overcast with clouds. I had to figure out a way to make sure I had at least one working light until I made it to the finish.

I began using only one light at a time in order to stretch as much time out of my 4-hour flashlight that I could. I would use my headlamp whenever I was walking and then switch to my flashlight whenever I would run. Without both lights, I stubbed my toes and got tripped up on the roots several times, but I somehow managed to get by without turning an ankle. Next time, I’m not going to skimp on the extra batteries.

An interesting side note to all of this, when I was unpacking my drop bags today after getting back home, I pulled out a bag full of extra batteries. I now remember packing them, but I certainly didn’t remember it during the race. I’ve read that when your muscles start to become depleted, your body diverts glycogen from your brain. No permanent harm comes from this, but it does make it difficult to think clearly at the time. Perhaps next time I should carry a list of my drop bag contents with me during the race.

Training

I saved the training section for last since it probably makes more sense now that I’ve laid out my particular race-day strategy. In general, I try to run 40-60 miles per week. This includes at least one speed workout, one hill workout, and one long-run of 15-30 miles. In addition, I try to power-walk about 15-20 miles per week.

The biggest change I’ve made in my training program since moving into the ultra-distances is to spend more time power-walking. Even when I’m not able to run during a 100-miler, I can still move forward at a respectable pace while walking. There were even several instances at the Rocky Raccoon when I was “walking” and passed someone else who was “running”.

The longest training run I completed leading up to the Rocky Raccoon was 30-miles. With a family and a job, I simply can’t afford to spend all weekend running. I did a 50-mile trail race about 6-weeks before as a “dry run” to help refine my planning and get some additional distance training. I also tapered my mileage for 3-weeks leading up to the big event.

Recovery

It is quite entertaining to observe all the runners the morning after a 100-mile run. Rather than highly-trained athletes, it looks more like a field trip from the local nursing home. Everyone is shuffling around like they should be wearing a robe and slippers. The best part is during the awards ceremony when a person who just covered 100-miles can barely walk 20-yards to get their prize.

My biggest issue from Rocky Raccoon seems to be some nasty blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I received a great book for Christmas about preventing and dealing with blisters, but I haven’t got around to reading it yet. I read enough yesterday to learn that the reason I got these blisters is because I didn’t properly take care of the ones I earned at my first 100-mile run.

My feet and muscles will probably feel better by the end of this week. However, it can take 6-8 weeks for my endocrine system to fully recover. This means that when I go out for a run, I’ll feel fine, but my body will just be generally sluggish. I’ve heard that this time gets shorter after each event.

During the Rocky Raccoon run, I asked myself several times why I was doing this and swore that I wouldn’t do it again. However, even now as I sit here with my swollen and blistered feet, I’m already thinking about how I can refine my plan and do better for the next one. What’s even stranger is that I guarantee there are 251 other people who started this year’s Rocky Raccoon who are thinking the same thing, especially the 85 who did not finish.

Just Keep Running

Consistency is key to the success of any fitness program. Like most runners, I go through periods where I am consistent, but it doesn’t seem to take much to derail my training program. This fall, I experienced the worst derailment since I started running 3-years ago. I had just finished the Heartland 100-miler (recovery is tough), my family was in the middle of purchasing a new house (moving is stressfull), and the weather here in Indiana was starting to turn cold (running in shorts is easy). As a result, I went almost 3-months without so much as an easy recovery jog.

With my finish at the Heartland 100, I successfully qualified to enter the selection lottery for the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run. Although I did not get selected this year, I noticed that there were two other people in the lottery who lived in a neighboring town. I was curious, so I contacted one of them and quickly gained an invitation to one of their daily group training runs.

I reported to the local high school parking lot at 4:45am the next day. The temperature was below freezing and the streets were deserted. I was briefly introduced to Bo and Ron, the two runners on the Western States lottery list, and we headed out onto the city streets for a brisk morning run. A few more runners joined in along the way, and I started to feel like Forrest Gump was visiting town and I was just along for the run.

Since that first day, I’ve learned a few things about Bo and Ron that are worth sharing. First of all, they’ve been getting up early and running everyday for nearly 30-years (yes, that means Saturday and Sunday too). I’ve been barely consistent with breathing for that long. Even when the weather is bad, I can tell you exactly where to find Bo and Ron at 4:45am in the morning on any given day. Even when Ron was forced to stay at work past midnight for several days in a row, he still showed up for the daily run the next morning (although, he did show some confusion about what day it was).

Another item to note about Bo and Ron is that they are what most people would call “old-school ultrarunners”. These guys are hardcore and just like to run … and run … and run. It doesn’t take a fancy race in the mountains to attract these guys. In fact, their favorite ultra is a 24-hour run on a high-school track where they have each consistently covered more than 100-miles every year. Since my ultra experiences thus far have been limited to trail runs in somewhat exotic locations, my first question was how they dealt with the boredom. “Why would we get bored? We get to change direction on the track every 3-hours.”

On New Years Eve, Ron and Bo have a tradition where they run a marathon around a 1-mile city block. Feeling like it was an initiation of sorts, I had to join in. Six runners successfully completed the marathon, with two other runners completing at least 10-miles. Although it was challenging, it was more about the socializing, camaraderie, and enjoyment. Something that is easy to forget when you are too focused on the competitive nature of running.

2007 New Year’s Eve Marathon

It’s now been a month and I’ve managed to remain consistent on the early morning runs with Bo and Ron. I’ve even went so far as to sign up for that 24-hour track run. I’m sure I’ll have something interesting to write after that one. Regardless of whether I personally manage to continue getting up so early during the cold midwestern winter, I guarantee that Ron and Bo will still be out there running.

A Long Run on the Prairie

In order to apply for entry to the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100), participants must meet certain qualifying standards. I was originally hoping to qualify last May at the Ice Age Trail 50-miler in Wisconsin, but that option was cut short when I sprained my ankle early in the race. I could not find any other 50-mile runs that would easily fit into my schedule, so it was looking like I would have to wait another year to try for the WS100.

In June, I ran as a pacer at the WS100 for Dan Brenden, a very experienced ultrarunner who just recently became one of only two people in the world to complete the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning four or more times. I learned a lot from Dan out on the Western States Trail in California, but he was also very thankful for my part in helping him achieve his first sub-24-hour finish at the WS100. As a result, he decided to sign me up and pay my entry fee for the Heartland 100-mile run in Kansas this year.

Successfully completing a 100-mile race is one way to qualify for the WS100, but I couldn’t imagine why I would want to go that route. Regardless, Dan was planning to run the Heartland 100 and seemed to think that I would be able to go the distance. My wife encouraged me to do it and also convinced me that my chances would be significantly increased by having someone like Dan to run with. I thus began training for my first 100-mile run.

The Heartland 100 course is in the Flint Hills of Kansas, the last great expanse of tall-grass prairie in the United States. The landscape was unspoiled and unending. The cattle on the land still graze without fences. As we approached the race course, it was difficult not to think of the herds of buffalo that must have roamed this area many years ago. I began to feel that this would be an experience I would not soon forget.

Section 1: Start to Teterville Aid Station at Mile 25

Since Dan had already done twelve 100-mile races this year alone, I didn’t question his logic when he said we needed to leave by 4:15am in order to be ready for the start at 6:00am. It was dark for the first hour of the race. The wind was strong but it was not unbearably cold. The trail of headlamps bouncing in the distance down the road was surreal, but the sunrise was probably the most beautiful I have ever seen. Everyone was running together with relaxed anticipation, meeting new people and talking along the way.

As Dan and I approached the 10-mile marker, the meaning of the second word in “Flint Hills” became clear. The hills were not incredibly steep, but they were long. I had been drinking constantly since the race started, so I also discovered how difficult it would be to find cover to relieve myself. For wooded trail runs, all you have to do is step off the trail a few feet and do your business. Out in the open prairie, there is no such thing as modesty.

Normally when you go for a run, you avoid doing so right after eating. When running 100-miles, you must eat constantly. I began to feel nauseous at about 15-miles from all of the eating I was doing to counteract the estimated 18,000 calories that I would burn during the race. I found that eating pretzels and crackers seemed to help calm my stomach, but I would battle this issue periodically throughout the rest of the day. Fortunately, it never became bad enough to be a serious concern.

Section 2: Teterville Aid Station to Turnaround at Mile 50

There is a large tower near mile 50 on the course which first came into view 20-miles before we would arrive. Distances were very difficult to judge out on the prairie. When running in the woods, you can usually only see what lies ahead a few yards at a time. During this event, you could almost see the entire course. The issue of running towards a goal on the horizon which never seemed to get any closer proved to be one of the more challenging aspects of the course.

As Dan and I began our second marathon of the day, we were proceeding at a comfortable pace that we hoped would allow us to run harder during the second half of the race. However, both of our legs were starting to feel tight and tired. I stopped a few times to stretch, but I began to fear how I might feel later on if I was already starting to feel bad this early in the day. I later learned that your feelings in a 100-mile race are not linear. If you are feeling bad, hold on and you’ll probably start to feel better. If you’re feeling great, then be patient because you’ll get over it soon.

Somewhere near the 30-mile marker, a thunderstorm that we had been watching for several hours finally reached us. Normally this wouldn’t be a huge concern, but we were running on a ridge and were definitely the tallest objects around for miles. Fortunately it passed quickly and Dan and I were both starting to feel revived as we approached the halfway point.

Section 3: Turnaround to Teterville Aid Station at Mile 75

Since the course was out-and-back, on the way out you could see the lead runners on their way back. I determined that we were in about 30^th place at the halfway point. Most ultrarunners start out too fast and then crash sometime during the second 50-miles. Since we had been taking it relatively easy for the first half of the race, it was now time to pick up the pace and start moving up in the pack. Dan and I finally went our separate ways as we each determined to see how fast we could finish this course.

Throughout the day, my extremely supportive wife, Lais, and our four children met me along the way to provide both mental and physical support. Since we were combining this trip with a visit with Lais’ grandmother, Lais’ sisters Carmen and Heather and their children also came along to help out with crew duties. Seeing them at the crew checkpoints was more helpful that I could have ever imagined, especially during the second half of the race.

The sun was setting and it was starting to get dark as I left the Ridgeline Aid Station at mile 64. The socializing that occurred during the first section of the run was long over with since the field was so spread out. Runners typically enjoy the loneliness of a long-run, but the isolation I experienced in the dark after running for 13-hours straight was almost more than I could handle. Running up on a coyote in the road and the endless shine of spider eyes reflecting the light of my headlamp certainly didn’t help either. However, after a while, I began to appreciate the serenity of the night. Even though it was still quite windy, the calmness of the prairie in the dark was an amazing experience.

Section 4: Teterville Aid Station to Finish

Running into the Teterville Aid Station at mile 75, I discovered that the bottoms of my feet were beginning to blister. The constant running on the rock-covered dirt roads was beginning to take its toll. There was a guy sitting next to me at the aid station who also discovered his feet were beginning to blister. The difference is that he seemed to know what to do whereas all I could do is look at them and wonder how much worse they would feel after one more marathon. I later caught up to him on the course and he explained what he did to help deal with the blisters. My first assignment after getting home is to buy the book “Fixing Your Feet” by John Vonhof so that I’ll be the one taking care of my blisters with confidence at the next 100-mile race.

I reached my lowest point of the day just before the Lapland Aid Station at mile 83. Usually I have success in focusing on how far I have already traveled rather than the how far I have left to go, but it wasn’t working this time. The remaining 17-miles just seemed too far. My feet were getting sorer by the minute, my shoulders and back were extremely tight, I was sick of carrying my pack and water bottles, and I was just plain tired. It was past midnight and I still had several hours left to go. I just wanted to lie down and be done with it.

Fortunately for me, my crew had decided to make one last stop at Lapland. I gladly plopped down into the chair they had brought for me. However, one of the aid station workers gave them the wise advice not to let me fall asleep or sit there too long. I realized the danger of the chair, but it was sweet while it lasted. After some serious back rubbing from my wife, a few shots of Mountain Dew and a hit of espresso gel, I was a new man. I don’t really remember everything my crew did for me at Lapland, but whatever it was, it got me to the finish.

With about 6-miles left to go, the hills were leveling out and I started running harder than I had all day. I knew if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to start running again, so I just kept going. As annoying as it was, a modified mantra from Dory of the movie “Finding Nemo” kept repeating in my head, “Just keep running. Just keep running. Just keep running, running, running. What do we do? We run, run”.

All that running late in a 100-mile race really paid off. At the 92-mile mark, I was in 11^th place and roughly 30-minutes behind the 10^th place runner. By mile 98, I was in 10^th place. With less than 100-yards to go, I moved up one more position and crossed the finish line in 9^th place with a finishing time of 21-hours, 35-minutes, and 20-seconds. My original goal was to finish in less than 24-hours, so I was quite pleased with how things turned out.

My wife and two of my children ran with me for the final half-mile of the race. I cannot fully express the emotions I experienced during that final stretch of a very long day. I could not have done this without the support of my wife and family. They supported me not only during the day of the race, but during the countless hours of training required to go this unfathomable distance. I also could not have done this without Dan, who I should mention was also able to pick it up the last half of the race and finish not far behind me in 13^th place. Last year, I ran my first marathon. I could have never imagined that I would do almost four marathons in one day less than 12-months later.

Section 5: Finish Onward

Joining the 100-mile club is not really something that brings much admiration from the general public. The general reaction I’ve seen is that once you have a desire to move beyond the marathon distance, there must be something deeply wrong with you. When hearing why I was going to Kansas, the typical response was, “Why would you want to go and do something like that?”

One of the interesting thing about ultrarunners is that they can never give you a straight answer to the question of “Why?” However, at a 100-mile race, no one dares to ask the question. Everyone understands that each runner has their own reasons why they are compelled to do something so strange. Usually the reasons are such that they cannot fully comprehend themselves, let alone express to someone else.

Personally, I’m not exactly sure why I have been compelled to move into the world of ultrarunning. I do know that I am much healthier than I was three years ago and that the time spent running has helped me to keep other areas in my life in a more healthy balance. I also know that it has brought wonderful people into my life that I would not have known otherwise and it has helped to bring my family closer together. Most of all, I know that things in my life that seemed overwhelming a week ago just don’t seem like such a big deal anymore.

Pacing at Western States

The hardest part about wanting to do the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100) next year is that I live in Indiana and we don’t have many hills here. In order to gain the specific training and experience necessary to run 100-miles in the mountains of California, I have to do a bit of traveling. As part of this process, I flew to California last weekend to run as a pacer in this year’s WS100.

The rules of the WS100 allow each participant to have a pacer for the last 40-miles of the race. The main goal of the pacer is safety, since at this point it is beginning to get dark and the runners are very fatigued. A tired runner moving alone in the wildernesss at night who falls off an embankment might not be found for several days.

The runner I was chosen to pace for was Dan Brenden, a 56-year old attorney from Arizona. After doing some research, I discovered that Dan is quite the ultra-marathoner. Not only was this his fifth running at Western States, he is one of only five people in the world who has completed the “Grand Slam of Ultrarunning” three or more times. In addition, he has completed the “Last Great Race” the past two years. For those not familiar with these accomplishments, the Grand Slam involves completing four of the toughest 100-mile races in the U.S. in less than a 4-month time period. The Last Great Race is similar, but adds two more 100-mile races to the requirement.

When I arrived in Squaw Valley last Thursday, I was terrified that I would even be able to go the distance. Since I sprained my ankle last month, I haven’t been able to do a continuous run longer than 10-miles. Before the WS100, the longest distance I’d run was 31-miles over gentle terrain in the daytime. My job here required that I go 40-miles over mountainous terrain, mostly at night, and all at the pace of a very accomplished ultra runner. However, this race was not about me. There are no finisher awards for pacers. I was here for Dan and I needed to do whatever I could to get him to the finish line in Auburn.

Although Dan has finished this race 4 times, he has never done it in less than 24-hours. This is the cutoff time where runners are awarded the hand-made silver Western States Belt Buckle, a.k.a., the “most coveted prize in ultra-running”. The weather forecast for race day was near perfect and Dan had been running well the past few months. It became clear to me that this was his year for a sub-24-hour finish and I needed to make sure he persevered the last 40-miles to Auburn.

When Dan arrived at the 60-mile marker, he was about 10-minutes behind a 24-hour pace. Given his experience, I figured I would provide information rather than running advice. I studied the course route, the elevation profiles, and all the split times necessary for a 24-hour finish. I also strapped on my GPS so that I could provide realtime information on pace and distances.

Through the night, I had to be sensitive to Dan’s needs, all while keeping him on pace. If I pushed too hard, he might get discouraged. If I didn’t push at all, he wouldn’t meet his goal. I knew that he could make it before the 24-hour deadline, but things can get pretty hairy after so many miles in the darkened wilderness. I have never in my life been so focused on a single goal. Nothing mattered at that point other than getting Dan to Auburn before 5:00am. I didn’t even notice my own aches and pains because I was so determined to keep Dan on task.

After almost 10-hours of running with Dan, we arrived in Auburn just before 4:30am … 30-minutes before the 24-hour cutoff. As we ran around the Placer High School track for the final 300-meters of the race, I was completely overcome with emotion because Dan had met his goal and that I was able to be a small part of it.

As Dan crossed the finish line, he swept up his crew chief, Huguette, in a tradition that is widely known in the ultra-running world. I then disappeared into the sea of spectators, unknown to the lights and the cameras and the glory of a sub-24-hour WS100 finish. The job of a pacer is one of anonymity, but the reward of seeing Dan win his race was more of an experience than anything else I could ask for. No matter what happens from this point forward with my own WS100 aspirations, I can be satisfied with having played a part is such an epic adventure as well as the special bond formed out on the trail that only Dan and I can comprehend.

Dan and Huguette (Crew Chief) at Finish

Dan and Patrick (Pacer) at Finish

Dan and Patrick with WS100 Silver Buckle