July 29th, 2023

A conscious reflection and reframing of my first 100k.

Reflection

The night before my race I lay in my tent clouded with doubts and fears for the next day. I ached to prove myself, to have a good race, but I felt hindered, wronged by the world to have had some tendons flare days before. “This was supposed to be my day to show the world who I am and how strong I am,” I thought. I then had a moment of clarity which I recorded in my journal attempting to reassure myself of my self confidence: “It’s not the race that proves your worth, it’s your ability to make it to the start line of the race.” However, my Dad gave another idea and noted how it’s one thing to race strong, but another to lay it all out, fail, and finish against all odds. Only then is one’s true character shown, how much grit one can muster to use at their disposal, how deep one can suffer, and how much one can lean into the pain. This contradicts my idea that your worth is decided by your ability to start. By lining up, you’re facing all your fears and worries, you’re at least somewhat confident in your training, and yet, if you suffer on the trail more than you ever have, does that not further prove your worth and abilities? I think both are true. I had many doubts, some lingered with me hours into the race, and yet I persevered and had fun. But when things went south and I had to dig deeper than I had ever before, I think that action proved something else – not to you, but to myself. I found the limit, then pushed it beyond all reasonable belief, beyond any mental and physical pain tolerance I had ever experienced. One of my mantras is the pain cave, usually I imagine myself chipping away at this cave, digging it ever so slightly deeper. The harder the effort, the deeper the cave gets. Saturday and Sunday, well, I bored a tunnel through the Earth and emerged on the other side. 

Perhaps the biggest lesson I’ve learned from this is how it is unhealthy to place lofty expectations and goals on ourselves, especially when upping the stakes and dangers to the levels a 100k may present. Sure, it’s rewarding to have fun and place, but by going so far beyond your own personal limits you grow beyond the need to prove yourself to others because you’ve already proven to yourself how tough you are. Finishing is already a massive accomplishment as well.

Rembering to keep things in perspective is vitally important too. It’s all to easy to get lost in comparing yourself to others. I feel this is further complicated by my young age, 20, at the time of this post. Most of my comparisons are to those well older than me in their mid to late twenties or thirties. After my finish I noticed a 23 year old in the top results and I couldn’t help to think to myself “Why couldn’t you have trained and finished that well,” and while I shut down the toxic thought quickly, I did consider it. I was the youngest finisher in this years race and I ran spectacular through 75% of the race. If I want to be challenging this podium by the time I’m 23, well, that’s still three whole years to train and learn. I mention this thought and analysis to offer an insight of how it can be hard for me to pull back and reframe my success. I’m developing at such an young age I can’t help but feel like I am older than I am and so I must focus on where I’m at now, not where I’m at with reference to someone older.

While I consider a 50k an ultramarathon, there is something special about going beyond the 50 mile barrier. You cross a boundary where you may enter the night, plan to not be out twelve hours but for twelve plus hours. It’s equally special and frieghtening, addicting. It’s a drug. This is only the surface of those feelings, to try and scribe any more would be a futile journey due to the complexity of those emotions and the depth of this experience. Je suis le vent.

Recap

I went out slightly too fast, but in a race of this length and time, some lessons must be learned the hard way. Fortunately, you can rebound due to the length and time commitment. I shared many of the first miles with a distant friend of my Dad, Kris. We summited Seven Utes Mtn 6 miles in just before 7am. The sunrise backlight the Nokhu Crags as a golden curtain was laid upon the vast landscape around us. The Park Range some 40 miles to our West looked otherwordly with an mix of alpine glow pink and golden light. The view was quickly shunted from mind as the descent off Seven Utes was one of the steepest of the day, even if only a few hundred feet. The trail to Lake Agnes provided spetacular views of the Medacine Bows but I hesitated to look north at the mountains I would be running in hours and miles later. My parents, along with a large crowd, had gathered at Lake Agnes to cheer on runners. It was noisy and beautiful; and exhilerating to see my parents.

The climb out of Michigan Ditch Aid, 11.4 miles in, I felt weak and short of breath. I fell back and focused on rebounding as it was so early in the day still. We ran up and down from the American Lakes which proved to be yet another spectacular scenic attraction of the race. Kris and I took the six mile descent from the lakes to Diamond aid slowly, which benefited my current state. Kris, who had started his third race here today, reaffirmed we were being smart as many runners flew by us on the descent. At only 15 miles in, there was much left to go.

I entered Diamond Aid, the first crewed aid (mile 19), around four hours. I initially felt a bit overwhelmed emotionally, shocked at how my body seemed to be short of breath. I was unerved. I took a bit of time as my parents restocked my vest and I ate and drank. As I prepared to leave a volunteer had me take a Ring Pop candy (diamond candy, Diamond aid station, duh?) I walked out of the aid station and regrettably tossed the Ring Pop as I couldn’t stomach the flavor. The climb up North Diamond Peak was long and steep. I ate and drank tons, taking my time to seriously rebound. I got in a groove on the climb and began to feel very good on the next ridgeline. I passed many in the next 3 miles to Montgomery aid, high elevation, nearing mid day, I was feeling good again!

At Montgomery I refilled flasks, one with disgustingly warm ginger ale, and flew down a 4.5 mile descent on an old mining/logging road. The temperature steadily rose as I descended into the mid day heat. A few miles of hilly terrain following the descent led me to Ruby Jewel Crewed Aid, mile 32, where I jogged confidently into the aid. “I’ve come back from the dead!” I exclaimed to my Dad as my Mom filmed my arrival and Truck, who had arrived, began to work on my vest. I took a decent amount of time at Ruby Jewel, sipping on lots of fluids and stocking up on pickles and salted cucumbers for the next section. It would be 20 miles until the next crewed aid, six plus hours for me so it was best to be prepared. I expressed my concerns and fears to Truck who reassured me it’s just a long day out and to take it one step at a time.

A few miles past Ruby Jewel I slipped off a rock and submerged both my feet while trying to dunk my hat. I was pissed, I wouldn’t see my crew until mile 52, and I had no way to dry my shoes and socks, so I was left to run with wet feet and hope they didn’t blister, for 17 miles. Despite this setback, the climb out of Ruby Jewel and descent past Kelly Lake was simply incredible. Growing clouds and rumbles of distant lightening urged me and the others runners not to slow near the top of Kelly Lake Pass as we were above tree line, surrounded by scree and tundra. An afternoon shower at mile 40, just under 10 hours in, was a welcome surprise. During the shower, I grouped up with three other runners. We were quiet but collectively enjoyed the pace and made swift time on the descent to the Clear Lake aid station. We picked up two other runners that we caught bringing our crew to six runners. We joked we were a “train” on the trails. About a half mile before Clear Lake Aid I upped the pace to arrive at the aid station before the group as to not waste as much time in the aid station. One other runner tagged along with me and this move fractured the stability of the train.

The Clear Lake out and back proved to be harder and more technical than I imagined and wished. I took the uphill tremendously easy but the sheer technicality slowed me on the descent and my body began to hurt as a result. I soaked my legs in a creek at the top of the out and back, roughly 400 yards after the turn around. I saw the first of the runners who was in the train with me go by on his way up. The descent took agonizingly long as my legs were hurting significantly now. When I arrived at Clear Lake Aid for the second time I took a decent break, making a point to consume plenty of food and liquid with hopes my legs would rebound. I filled a 17oz flask with coke as well in a further effort to help my legs turnaround. The volunteer referred to it as “straight diesel” and the nickname stuck with me. I left Clear Lake 2 with two of the runners from the train.

By mile 47 running became physically painful, surely a result of fatigue and my extended taper due to the tendon flare up. Walking at this point became increasingly painful too, my feet wrinkled and soggy, thighs aching on each step forward, and about everything else was feeling something too. I walked from miles 48 to 52, these four miles becoming the worst low of the race so far. I broke down crying once, frustrated at how my legs seemingly gave up and at the increasing pain. I stopped once to examine my now concerningly wrinkled feet only to realize the best thing I could do for them was to get to Canadian Aid where new shoes, socks, and blister treatment awaited me. The juxtaposition of crying on the trail while limping towards Canadian in pure survival mode while the sun set and golden light cast over all to see was one of the most untamed moments of the race. It goes to prove that the 100k distance doesn’t mess around, it ain’t all peaches and cream. I arrived at Canadian Aid disheveled, feeling like a shell of my former self who was running so well not many miles ago.

I broke down, crying from the pain, exhaustion, everything. Admittedly, my parents didn’t think I was going to continue onwards but after replenishing and refreshing my feet with new socks and shoes my pacer, Truck, guided me out of Canadian. 

I didn’t run any of the next 14 miles to the finish, my body hurt enough when just walking. We shared an incredible sunset, alpenglow on the mountains to our east and a curtain of gold over the forests and meadows to our west. We kept moving and once the pain got too bad we would find a log or rock which I could sit on for no more than two minutes. These 14 miles took so long, my anticipated finishing time of 9pm-10:30pm quickly turned into a 12am-2am time frame. Time ceased to exist for me though, between the pain and the orb of our headlamps I wasn’t concerned with much else. I explored some dark areas of my mind in those final miles, but I never stopped, I never turned around, and I never doubted I couldn’t finish once I left Canadian. A little after 1:10am, some 19 hours and 40 minutes into the effort, I crossed the finish line. 

I couldn’t have done this without my parents and Truck. All of them played key roles in my finish. My parents ceaseless cheering and enthusiasm, their collaboration to restock my vest and grab food from the aid station kitchens. Truck, a seasoned 50 mile veteran and mountain runner, had story after story to kill the time and keep my mind off the pain, all the while ensuring I had fun even in the darkest moments. I’m already reminiscing on the hardest parts of that race, surely type 2 fun. 

And to the volunteers that had every aid station dialed, cared for every runner, thank you! My friends at Tailwind as well, thank you for the support, I estimate over half of all my calories that day were liquid!

Some rough calculations:

• 18+ servings of Tailwind, ~3600cal at least!
• 26+ gels
• At least 2.5 feet of sliced and salted cucumber
• The better half of a watermelon, sliced and salted
• Nearly a whole jar of dill pickle spears
• 10+ hat dunks, 4 mid race creek baths
• 1 awesome day!