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.