I had a version of this report full of pictures, but the file seems to be missing. So, this is the text only version:
Hardrock 100 Race
Report – 2004
Foreword
In December of 2003, I was disappointed to lose the lottery
for the Western States 100 race. I’d
missed the 2002 Western States race after surgery to repair a torn ACL. I’d worked hard in my rehab and had finished
the 2003 Wasatch Front 100 miler in 33:44:45.
I was hoping that I’d get another shot at Western States in 2004, a race
I’d never run.
Many runners on the internet ultra list were also
disappointed about not getting into Western States. Some of the comments seemed so negative that
I realized I’d fallen into the wrong mindset.
I couldn’t control the lottery, so why worry about it. Perhaps the closed door at Western States meant
another opportunity elsewhere. But
where?
Besides Western States, the other ultra that had intrigued
me for many years was Hardrock. With a
new entry system for the 2004 race, first time applicants didn’t seem to have a
good chance of getting into the race.
But, a losing entry would increase the odds of getting into the race in
a future year. So, I decided to apply,
assuming that I’d at least start the process of getting into the race in the
future.
I’ve entered a number of race lotteries over the year, and
one thing has always been true. For
every race, I’ve won the lottery the first time in and lost all subsequent
attempts. Hardrock turned out to be the
same. In early February, while I was
scanning the waiting list to see how far down I was, my wife, who was looking
over my shoulder, suddenly started yelling, “You’re in, you’re in!”.
I didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or terrified and I
guess it was a bit of both.
Training
I work with a coach and let him know the results. Living in Vermont would make my training
difficult. Most of our trails are closed
until Memorial Day and it would be tough to do adequate hill training until the
last month before the race. But, my
coach came up with a plan and I started working at it.
An early season test would be the Bull Run Run 50 miler in Virginia. Things went very poorly there. I was fighting a cold, I felt a bit
overtrained, and things were really stressful at work. The night before the race, I got to bed late,
feeling dehydrated and not mentally ready for the race. The next morning, I walked off the course 7
miles into the race, concerned by a sore Achilles tendon. The race was a disaster in many ways. How was I going to finish Hardrock if I
couldn’t do a much easier 50 miler?
When I got home from the race, I stepped on the scale. I weighed 196 pounds, way too much. I’d weighed about 186 at Wasatch the previous
September and even that had been too much.
I needed to get my weight down to increase my odds at Hardrock.
I was also anxious to get back to serious training, given
the disaster at Bull Run Run. But, my coach
thought I needed some rest and I took it easy for two weeks before resuming
training. This rest was good for me from
both a physical and mental perspective.
I changed my diet dramatically by mid-April, switching to a
near-vegan diet that emphasized unprocessed foods, including lots of salads and
beans and whole grains. My weight began
to drop quickly and I felt the effects quickly in my running.
On the 1st of May, I ran a strong 32 miler with
3200 feet of climbing. Two weeks later,
I ran a comfortable 32 miler and two weeks after that, a 30 miler with about 12,500 feet of
climbing. The next weekend, I
cruise-controlled a marathon just under 4 hours, an easy effort that was my
fastest marathon since 2000. I ran 335
miles in May and my weight was down to 176 at the end of the month. But, I’d only climbed about 29000 vertical
feet in May, less than the climbing I’d do in one race at Hardrock.
In early June, I focused on two last long runs before I’d
leave for CO. One was a 50K trail run in
southern Quebec
that had 10K of climbing. The other run
was an Adirondack
Great Range
traverse, a tough hike over ten summits in the Adirondacks. This one had about 10K of climbing and it
took 12.5 hours to cover 26 miles.
By the end of June, I’d run over 1500 miles for the year,
the most miles I’d ever run in a six month training cycle. Would it be enough?
It was about time to leave for CO.
Acclimation
I flew to CO two weeks before the race. I went straight to Boulder to visit with a friend and start my acclimation
at 6000-8000 feet. My first day was a
hilly 17 mile run and I did some rock climbing the second day. On my third day, I was supposed to meet my
dad in Colorado Springs,
so I decided to do some hiking on the Barr Trail that goes to the summit of Pike’s Peak. Given
the weather forecast, I thought I’d go up for 6 or so miles and then turn
around. But, I felt good and the sky
stayed clear, and I hiked 13 miles to the summit, covering 7400 vertical feet
in 4:21. I felt the altitude a lot above 12,500’, but
I was surprised to have even gotten that far.
I rode the train down to save my quads from the pounding that a 7400’
descent would create.
The next day I drove to Ouray with my dad and ran an easy
three miles to about 8500’. Starting on
the Wednesday, 9 days before the race, I was going to go along on the
course-marking hikes that occur daily.
Some friends from back east had told me that these days are great ways
to meet other runners, to see the course, and of course, to acclimate to the
altitude. The first day was 16+ miles
with 6600 feet of climbing and it really scared me. We started with an easy hike up to the Maggie
Gulch aid station. Then, a cross-country
route up to a pass, a traversing descent on a trail, another cross-country section
down to a jeep road, up another saddle and down through a valley. It seemed that this race had no trail
miles. Finally, a herd path turned into
a trail to the Cunningham Gulch aid station.
From there, we did another major ascent, the last ascent on the course,
and a final descent to our cars. The
next morning, I was wiped out.
The course marking the next day was out of Ouray, where my
dad and I were staying in his RV. I
decided to not do the entire day of marking, not wanting to climb the 5500’ to
the summit while already tired. I was
trying to taper for the race itself. I
did perhaps the first 3.5-4.0 miles up the trail, climbing only 2200’ before
turning around. The descent was pleasant
and runnable, and except for the steep drop-offs to my left and I was really
enjoying myself. But, my left shoe
caught on a root or rock and it felt like someone had ripped my middle toe off
my foot with a pair of pliers. I decided
to simply hike down without looking at things, and I hobbled the whole way down. When I looked at the toe, it had already
swollen to twice its normal size and had turned purple from bruising. Just walking was painful. I was afraid I’d broken the toe and I still
don’t know exactly what I did to it, but there seemed to be no reason to go to
a doctor. A doctor would either tell me
that I could run or I shouldn’t run.
Either way, I was going to start the race as long as I could walk. Plus, Friday was a rest day.
After a day of rest, we were going to mark the course from
Telluride to the Governor Basin Aid station.
I took my ice ax with me for the day, trying to see if it would make
sense to use it for glissading in the race.
I have a lightweight racing ice ax that is fairly easy to carry and I
thought it might buy me some time in the race.
From Telluride, we did a long and fairly steep ascent to treeline and
then things got even steeper to Mendota Saddle.
From the saddle, we could finally see the pass and it took my breath
away. The final ascent was up a loose
scree field and it looked a bit scary.
But, 45 minutes after we left the saddle, we scrambled into the
pass. It had taken us 3:20 to get from Telluride to the
pass. John Cappis remarked that he’d be
happy with that time in the race and I agreed that this seemed reasonable. In reality, I’d only take 2:35 to cover the same terrain in
the race.
There was a lot of snow on the other side of the pass and we
watched as trail marking people came up the snow from the other side, kicking
in steps the entire way. I talked to
some other runners about glissading technique and we watched a few people go
down the slope. It was steep, but with
an ice ax, it was a trivial glissade.
From the bottom, I photographed a number of other runners glissading
down, some well in control and some completely out of control. We continued down more snow and I used the
ice ax three more times before we were completely below the snow. From there, it was an easy couple of miles to
cars and we were done for the day. I
decided that I’d use the ice ax in the race on this section.
My toe felt fine while climbing, but really hurt on the
descent.
The next day was the 4th of July and many of the
other runners were going to run a 10K in Silverton. I decided to run the 10K as well, but not
push too hard. I tried to treat the race
as a tempo run, but was surprised at the difficulty of the course. We climbed about 650’ in the 10K, mostly on
dirt roads. I took one major fall on a
wet stretch of dirt road while trying to pass another runner. I finished in 56:40, one of my slowest 10Ks
ever, but my position in the race field was more encouraging than my time. I finished ahead of more people than I
expected, but I also worked harder than I’d planned. My toe felt better than the day before, but
it definitely remained a concern.
The next day was the last day of course marking, this time
from Telluride (backwards on the course) to Oscar’s Pass. With the race now only 4 days away, I decided
to do only about half of the course marking.
I’d have to wait until race day to see the pass and Wasatch Saddle. My foot needed some rest and so did I.
That night, my wife and children arrived and it was nice to
see them again. The next few days would
be spent hanging out with them and getting my wife out to do some climbing. Plus, I had some race activities to deal with
– check in, course briefing, and a mandatory meeting. Thursday arrived quickly and it was just
about showtime.
The Race
I think I set a PR by sleeping 7 hours the night before the
race. I got up at 4:15 on Friday and had a bagel and some
scrambled eggs. My wife and son took me
to the start and we checked in about 5:30. I met my pacer, Brad Hatten, for the first
time. He lives in Durango and hikes on the course quite a
bit. Plus, he’s started the race five
times and in 2003, had finished in under 43 hours. His course knowledge would be invaluable.
We started promptly at 6:00
a.m. and I immediately found myself in the back of the pack. My primary goal for this race was simply to
finish and I figured that running early could only hurt me later on. I hoped that if things went well, my time
might be in the mid-40s, but I had no way of knowing if this was possible or
not. Scott Eppelman had given me some
great advice – just keep moving and let the course come to you. Trying to impose my will on a course like
this just didn’t seem to smart an approach.
So, I hiked out of town and onto the narrow trail known as
the Nute Chute. We followed this trail
until we crossed Route 550, and then we hit our first water crossing. My feet wouldn’t be dry much of the rest of
the race. We headed up and I fell in
with a number of other runners – Matt Mahoney, Joe Prusaitis, Mark Swanson,
Jennifer Roach, and Nancy Halpin, among others.
Near the top of the climb, I met and talked with John DeWalt. We would see each other a lot the next couple
days.
Mark remarked that he was surprised at my conservative
start. He thought I’d start much faster,
but I knew that I’d be conservative for much of the race.
The wildflowers were beautiful through the upper part of
this climb. We reached our first summit,
the Putnam-Lime Creek saddle about 7 miles into the race. We’d climbed about 3000’ so far. We then did a short descent and a climb to
another saddle in the next mile and a half or so. From here, the course went downhill steeply,
mostly on a cross-country route. I opted
to walk the descent and the people I’d hiked up with quickly left me behind.
We eventually got onto a trail and descended through a rocky
section and eventually to treeline. I
ran some stretches, but a near-fall worried me.
I’d already fallen once in the saddle above and I was worried about
hurting my knees or aggravating my toe any more. So, I resumed walking, the entire way to the
Kamm Traverse aid station. Here, I ate
as much food as I could and left the aid station with Uli Kamm. We’d never met but he was very generous with
his advice for this stretch and the race in general.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was near the back of
the pack at this aid stations. Friends
who were watching the results on-line were concerned about me for much of the
race because I was flirting with the 48 hour times. I simply hadn’t bothered to look at the
recommended 48 hour numbers or the cut-offs.
I figured it was best to run my own race and if I got pulled, it was
because I was too slow anyway.
As Uli and I walked the traverse, he told me that
conventional wisdom was that back of the pack runners should be close to him
and Jim Ballard. Falling far behind would
mean that I was at risk of not making 48 hours.
Uli also told me the history of the traverse that bears his name and
described the older and much faster route.
After finishing the traverse, we crossed a creek and I lost
Uli on the uphill. I almost left the
course by accident, but some hikers quickly corrected me. I started the long hike up to Grant Swamp
Pass. The top of the climb was steep and
I finally got there after a few tense moments.
This is the home of the Joel Zucker Memorial plaque and I duly placed a
rock on the memorial pile. The course
description for the top of this pass states “Take a deep breath and look over
the top of the pass into Swamp
Canyon.” I knew that this was likely the scariest
descent of the race, but I was in awe of what I saw. There was a soft snow field at the top, then
a long, seemingly vertical section of loose rock before more snow fields.
The manual says to glissade the snow field if it can be done
safely. I wasn’t sure if it was safe or
not, but the alternative looked like too much work. Other runners had worn a chute into the
snowfield, so I sat down and started sliding.
I got moving pretty fast and slid onto the rocks below the snow. I tried to stand up quickly and simply keep
moving, skiing the loose rock down the hill.
This turned out to be a lot of work and I had to constantly watch for
loose rocks from above me. But, in a few
minutes, I was down the steepest part and back on a trail. Across the valley was a big red mountain that
looked like a big dirt pile. There was
an obvious trail switchbacking up that mountain and I knew that was my next
climb to Oscar’s Pass. But first, I had
to get down to Chapman Gulch and the first aid station where I’d meet my crew.
On this descent, I noticed that my left big toe was starting
to bother me a lot. It hurt at the top
of the joint right by my foot. Plus, my
middle toe was sore as well. The descent
hurt a bit, but was easy and I soon found my crew. They gave me a new bladder full of Succeed
and I cruised the food table for something that looked good. It was well after noon and felt warm. My stomach was getting selective about what
food it would take. This would only get
worse as the race went on, but it never got as bad as at Wasatch last year, where
I was sure I would throw up. I also
grabbed my ice ax here, as a mental crutch mostly, for the descent off of the
summit.
Back in Vermont,
I’d done a long run with Sue Johnston
in May. Sue has a first and second place
finish at Hardrock. She had warned me
that the first three passes are mentally tough in the clockwise direction. The second and third, in particular, are
difficult. Sue warned me not to let them
get to me mentally. She told me not to
“freak out” early in the race.
I climbed Oscar’s Pass very well. I passed seven people on the ascent, but as
soon as we started down towards Telluride, people started passing me
quickly. At least a dozen passed me on
this stretch and I became very frustrated.
My left foot was killing me. My
left knee was sore. I was slow. I started to think about dropping out in
Telluride.
I finally got through the worst of the descent and hit the
dirt road into Telluride. My crew was
here again and they ended up seeing me at a low point here. It had taken me 10.5 hours to go 27.6
miles. I had hot spots on my heels that
worried me. I’ve never had a heel
blister in an ultra, but one was forming.
My left foot felt like it was on fire.
I also had a pacer waiting in Ouray and decided that I
needed to at least get to Ouray before making any decisions about quitting.
I decided to switch my shoes from Adidas Supernova Trails to
the Montrail Hardrocks, plus change gaiters.
As I stood up in the Hardrocks, I knew that they were going to hurt my
left middle toe even more than the Supernovas.
I asked my wife to go to the car for my Salomon XA Pros. They don’t have enough cushioning for a
course like this, but I hoped my toes would be better. As I changed into those shoes and went back
to my original gaiters, I told my wife that it would probably just be easier to
quit right then. I was acting like a
baby. Finally, I was ready and had some
mashed potatoes and a sandwich and left the aid station. My temper tantrum had wasted 22 minutes.
My wife and kids walked a couple hundred feet out of the aid
station with me, wishing me well. They
were all so great. I was acting like a
jerk and the kids saw me only as super-dad heading out for the next part of his
run. How could I quit in front of them?
As I headed uphill, I felt much better. I worked hard on relaxing and getting back
into the race. The climb was steeper
than I remembered, but it was familiar.
Plus, I was passing people again.
I tried to help one runner who was clearly having trouble, but he seemed
to be done. He never made it to the next
aid station. I kept a steady pace up
this section and got to Virginius
Pass in just over 2.5
hours, way faster than during course marking.
This was one of my best stretches of the race, both physically and
mentally. I felt like I was back in the
race.
At the pass, I quickly changed into my long pants for the
glissade down the other side. In my
haste, though, I made a key mistake. I
had attached my new BD Zenix headlamp to the cross-straps of my pack and I left
it behind here. I had backup lights, but
I love the Zenix and I’d never get to use it in the race. I still haven’t gotten it back and I’m
hopeful that it will turn up somehow.
After some soup and hot chocolate, I jumped over the edge and glissaded
quickly down the hill. I passed a number
of runners using the fixed rope from the top.
A few more snow descents and I was on the jeep road to Governor Basin.
I had some soup and tried to eat a sandwich at the Governor Basin aid station, but my body was
starting to refuse many solid foods. I’d
been using lots of banana and chocolate Gu up to this point, and I simply
increased my use of Gu as my body rejected solid food. Uli and Jim Ballard caught me at this aid
station. I was now behind the two people
I was using as a benchmark for finishing.
It was also getting dark and I only had one flashlight for the 7 mile
descent into Ouray. If it died, there
were huge drop-offs to the right side of the road that I would be unable to
see. I ran some of the descent, trying
to stay ahead of an LED light that was chasing me down the hill. But, I walked way more than I ran.
I arrived in Ouray at 11:05,
about an hour behind where I’d hoped to be.
I met my crew and pacer and made some quick changes. I changed into new shorts because it was
warm. I drank a milk shake and had some
soup. It was the first time I’ve used a
milkshake in an ultra and I think I’ll use them again in the future. It went down great and the caloric density is
pretty high. On the other hand, I was
unable to even contemplate eating the cheeseburger they had for me. In the past, cheeseburgers have been great at
ultras, but my last two hundreds, they haven’t worked at all.
Brad was ready to go and we took off through town. It became obvious quickly that he really knew
the course and I simply watched his feet and followed. I’d warned him that pacing me would probably
mean a 28-30 hour hike with very little running. I told him that I was stubborn and persistent
but not fast. So, he set a solid hiking
pace and I followed. He told me that his
least favorite stretch of the course was coming up. It’s a nasty trail section that has evolved
just for the race, taking us to a roped crossing of the Uncompaghre River. From there, we went steeply uphill to the
tunnel on Rt. 550 and then up the Bear Creek trail towards Engineer Pass
and Oh! Point.
At one point, there was a rockslide in front of us but not
close enough to be a worry. We cleared
the switchbacks and started on the ledge trail.
I could see the darkness on my right that represented the void. It was important to stay on the trail
here. While this section doesn’t seem
dangerous at all when fresh, a slip when tired could be disastrous.
Finally, we cleared the ledges, and went past the Grizzly
Bear and Yellow Jacket mines. From the
second mine, it was just over a mile to the Engineer aid station. Before we got there, Brad told me that he
didn’t want me to sit in the chairs by the fire. He said it was too easy to stay there. I thought of the phrase “Beware the
chair”. When we got to the aid station,
I sat on some cold dirt and Brad got me some soup. I had a hard time drinking the soup because a
nearby runner was throwing up repeatedly.
Others around me just looked at each other. I think we were all afraid that listening to
the sick runner would put us over the edge.
I told Brad I needed to get out of there.
We’d already done over 4000’ of climbing from Ouray and
there were only another 1000 or so to the top of our climb. Brad led the way and I simply followed. Eventually, I noticed a few snow flurries in
the air. Shortly thereafter, I saw the
light at the top of our pass and the longest climb in the race was over. It had taken us about 5 hours to do less than
10 miles, all of it uphill though.
At the top, we got onto an amazingly easy jeep road and
headed down. From the top, it was 5
miles and 2200 vertical feet down to the Grouse Gulch aid station. The next two aid stations would be
critical. Grouse claims more runners
than any other stations; it’s apparently easy to drop out with a fourteen
thousand foot peak lurking in the next session.
After Grouse, the next big aid station at Sherman often claims runners as well. At the trail briefing, Charlie told us that
he thought the Grouse to Sherman
stretch was the crux of the race. I
thought about all of this as we walked down to Grouse. It was getting light.
Just before the aid station, I stopped at a roadside
porta-potty. Brad must have thought I
was taking too long, because he knocked on the door to make sure I hadn’t gone
to sleep. I got out of there and we
talked as we headed down. I’d been out
for almost 24 hours and I was sleepy. I
also needed to re-tape my feet. I asked
Brad if it would be OK to sleep for 30 minutes to let my pruny feet dry out
before re-taping them and he agreed.
As we got to the aid station, my crew wasn’t there. And then, suddenly they were there, arriving
just as I did. I told them of the plan
to take a quick sleep break and I found a cot in the aid station. I unwrapped my feet and exposed them to the
air and laid down. It took me about ten
minutes to fall asleep and about ten minutes later, Brad woke me up. It’s an old trick and I would have done the
same thing to him. I don’t think
ultrarunners ever get the full amount of sleep they request at an aid station. I didn’t argue with Brad and taped my feet as
quickly as I could. I put on dry socks,
grabbed a veggie breakfast burrito and we were gone. I’d spent 38 minutes in the aid station.
At the aid station, Brad introduced me to his friend, Heinz,
and explained that Heinz would take over pacing from Cunningham to the
finish. Brad was very generous in his
time as a pacer, but thought that getting some sleep during the weekend would
be a good idea. I found it hard to even
think ahead to Cunningham, but quickly agreed to the switch.
On the ascent to American-Grouse
Pass, I tried to eat the
burrito, but it was tough to choke it down.
I ate most of it and then had some Gu.
The climb was beautiful in the early morning light, despite a few rain
sprinkles. It was tough though – 2700
vertical feet in 2.5 miles, the last part very steep. From the saddle, I got my first look at
Handies. It looked like Mt. Everest,
but Brad quickly told me that it was much easier than it looked. From long days in the mountains in the
northeast, I found that easy to believe and we headed down into American Basin.
Again, Brad was great here, leading the way and I just had to move. I stared into the distance, looking at the
climb to come.
Near the start of the climb, we came across some young
backpackers. One of them was playing a
funky-shaped guitar and singing a Pink Floyd song. I asked the two hikers if they knew “Going
Down the Road Feeling Bad”. I don’t know
if they didn’t know it or simply didn’t get my feeble joke, but they told me
that they didn’t take requests. The day
before, I’d been listening to the Dead on my MP3 player while hiking up Oscar’s
Pass. Going Down the Road Feeling Bad
started while I was hiking the pass and I ended up laughing out loud. The previous year, at Wasatch, I was much
happier when a tough climb was greeted with the Dead’s “Fire on the Mountain”,
and the song’s plea “Long distance runner, what you standing there for? Get up, get up, get out of the door”. However, this year, GDTRFB seemed more
appropriate to how Hardrock was treating me.
Soon, we were on the ascent route to the top of the Handies
and for the first time, I noticed that climbing was getting more
difficult. I stopped several times on
the climb to regain my breath. We made
the summit about 10:00. I’d originally thought it possible that I’d
see the sun rise from this summit, but I was way off that pace. Brad showed me the old Upchuck Ridge route,
possibly the only place where a route change at Hardrock has made the course
easier. I was glad we weren’t taking
Upchuck.
The initial part of the descent was tricky, but things
quickly got better and Brad picked up the pace.
We were descending with Jim Drummond and Chuck Kroger, but eventually
Chuck got ahead and Jim couldn’t keep up, so we were by ourselves. The descent to the water-only aid station at Burrows Park took forever and a quick stop there
was pleasant. While the road was hot and
dusty, I knew we could make some decent time there. We spent some time with John DeWalt on this
stretch, but neither of us could muster much of a running pace. We eventually took a right turn onto a newly
constructed trail and it was a tough trail.
It only lasted a few minutes though and we were almost to Sherman.
It took us 6:01
to cover this stretch, vs. Brad’s normal time of 6.5 hours. We also had heard that Karl Meltzer had
covered this stretch in less than four hours, in the dark, earlier in the
race. I can’t even imagine going that
fast for these 13.5 miles.
At Sherman,
I was feeling good although I could feel some hot spots on my feet. Brad suggested changing socks, but I decided
to not touch my feet. I was afraid the
tape would come off, so I left things alone.
I ate some soup and grabbed my nighttime gear and we headed out. The worst climbs were now behind us and I had
only about 30 miles to go. I’d left the
aid station after a key portion of the course.
I had 17 hours to cover 30 miles and for the first time in the race, I
allowed myself to start thinking about finishing times, rather than just the
concept of moving towards the finish. If
there were no disasters, I was sure I could make it.
The next few climbs were easier than those earlier in the
race and I pushed hard out of Sherman. I passed Uli here and I think it was the last
time I saw him. We got to the stream
crossing just above a waterfall and rather than waste time looking for the
safer upstream crossing, we just plowed through. A slip would have been bad, but we were
striving for efficient movement.
We caught Joe Prusaitis just a bit later. It was the first time I’d seen him since
Ouray. He seemed tired, but in good
spirits and still focused and we continued on.
We continued the long but gradual climb to the Cataract-Pole
Divide. It was now feeling hot in the midday sun and some distant but
gathering clouds worried me a bit. I
didn’t want a thunderstorm to force me off the course for a while or to make
the trails slippery, either of which would be disastrous. We heard a bit of thunder, but we were never
really threatened.
From the Divide to the Pole Creek aid station, I was
suffering. There were a few things going
on here. It was hot and I was low on
water and calories. And, I was sure that
Joe was lying to me about distance remaining in the race. After we’d cleared the divide, I thought we
were going to head right into Maggie’s Gulch.
I had simply forgotten about a large portion of the trail in my tired
state. Brad kept telling me that we
still had 23-24 miles to go, but I was convinced it was only 17 or so, and I
was unsure why he was lying to me.
Severe sleep deprivation was setting in and I had many hours to go. I needed to muster all of my strength to stay
focused.
On the descent, many people passed me and they were
running. Brad tried to get me to at
least shuffle faster on this nice downhill trail, but I wasn’t there. I was trying to just survive. We finally saw the Pole Creek aid station,
and cruelly, it was up a big hill. We
got there and I asked for caffeine. They
didn’t seem to have any. I had some hot
chocolate, and depressed over the lack of caffeine, I decided to leave. A volunteer mentioned that they could make
some hot chocolate and add instant coffee.
I declined, stupidly. Brad asked
me to take some soup or potatoes, but I simply left the aid station. Runners who have a pacer should usually
listen to them and my next 4.4 miles would prove this.
From the aid station, we had a gradual descent to a valley
floor and then an ascent to a saddle over to Maggie Gulch. The saddle was hidden but seemed relatively
close. But, every time we went around a
knob or knoll, we saw that we still weren’t there. Near the top, despite taking 4 caffeinated
Gu’s on the climb, I simply wasn’t there.
It seemed like I was in a dream where I was trying to move through
water. Somehow, I made the Maggie-Pole Pass summit and knew that I was close to
the Maggie Gulch aid station. I forgot
that the summit was on the Continental Divide and I wouldn’t have cared
anyway. The descent was tricky but I
made the aid station in fewer than 20 minutes.
I told Brad that I needed a longer break here for calories and caffeine. He agreed with this very much, despite the
fact that we were going to lose daylight soon.
I had a coke, two cups of soup, some watermelon and a cup of mashed
potatoes. I felt like I couldn’t
possibly eat any more and we took off.
The aid station director, Lisa Richardson, was at this aid station and
she had a few Powergels. I found one
with double caffeine and stashed it into my pack for later.
We left after 19 minutes in the aid station, leaving just
after 7:00 p.m. I only had 16 miles to go and I had 11 hours
to cover the distance. We started up the
climb to Buffalo Boy Ridge, but I was confused.
I’d helped to mark the course and things seemed different. Matt Mahoney was with me and he agreed, so I
just followed the flags and didn’t worry about it. A rockslide came toward me near the top of
the ridge and Brad warned me about a few rocks that were closing in. I had to move to avoid being hit. At the summit, I thought I’d remembered that
we went straight down to the old jeep road in the basin below us. Instead, we traversed downhill on a decent
trail for a long time. Brad was in a
hurry here, wanting to clear the next basin in the daylight, but I couldn’t
keep up. Near the bottom of our descent,
I stopped to put on long pants. John
DeWalt passed me here and told me that his pacer had fallen back. I joked that maybe we should switch pacers
since I couldn’t go fast enough for my pacer.
From the trail, I’d shown Brad the new pass we were going
over before starting a cross-country trek in a bowl. That pass, Stony Pass,
took a long time and even Brad was out of breath as we got to the top. We needed flashlights as we started the
descent on the back side. I told a few
people what the rough descent route was, but it had been daylight the last time
I’d been here.
After about 15 minutes or so, four of us lost the
trail. There were sheep grazing in the
bowl, bleating at us incessantly. The
dog on duty to watch them was barking like crazy. It was jet black dark. And, the next marker was missing. We were worried.
I finally told the people with us that I could find the
route based on my course marking day, but that we’d have to angle cross-country
through the bowl and they’d have to trust me.
I don’t think they really trusted me and I’m not sure that I completely
trusted me, but the other option was simply going in circles, looking for a
marker that the sheep had probably trampled.
I’m not sure how long it took – maybe 15 minutes that seemed
like 3 hours, but we found a marker.
Brad quickly started going marker to marker and showing me the way. The lower we got, the closer to Cunningham
Gulch, the better the trail got. But,
the trail was way worse than it had been during the trail marking day. It was very dusty and very slippery. I fell twice and found my LED light almost
worthless in the dusty air. And, I was
inhaling dust.
But, thankfully, I could see the last aid station and we
were getting close. After we got to the
road, it took just a couple minutes to find my family and get to the
station. I simply wanted some coke and
soup and I wanted to hit the trail. I
was guessing I had about 5 hours or so left in my race and I was hoping I might
be a bit faster. My family had brought
me a milkshake and I had some of that.
My poor daughter was clearly exhausted and I knew she wouldn’t make the
finish line. My wife and son were
planning to be there, but the rest of the crew was going to bed and they’d meet
me in the morning at the awards ceremony.
I found my next pacer, Heinz, and we crossed the river and
headed up. And up. This was the last climb and I’d hiked it
before, but not with 94 miles and 30K+ feet of climbing behind me. We had to climb 2600’ to 13K – one last time
at 13K in the race. On the way up, I
tried to stay with John Dewalt and his pacer and one other runner, but I was
having some breathing problems. I think
the dust on the previous descent was the source of the problem, but I had to
back off a bit. It was OK though. Heinz was a great pacer, a wonderful positive
and soothing voice. And, I knew I was
going to finish. I just needed to do it
at a slowed down pace.
Partway up, I had two Gu’s but they didn’t seem to
help. After another 45 minutes, I told
Heinz that I was going to take a break and eat the double-caffeine Powergel
that I had. We turned off our headlamps
and marveled at the stars. I pointed out
some shadows on the walls of a nearby bowl but Heinz said nothing. I suddenly realized there was no moon and
they couldn’t be shadows. They were snowfields. I pointed out that the snowfield
on the right looked like some sort of demonic face. Heinz humored me. Then, I noticed that the snowfield to the
left was moving. It looked like the
profile of Phil Lesh playing bass for the Dead.
I enjoyed the hallucination for what it was, but said nothing to Heinz
about this one. It seemed appropriate to
have a hallucination about the Dead though.
Shortly after we resumed climbing, we hit the top. I’d done it – all the big climbs were
done. I was very tentative on way over
to Little Giant Saddle, not wanting to slip down the scary terrain to the
right. After the saddle, I was also very
tentative for a while on the steep descent, not wanting to tumble down the
talus field to my left. I used my
trekking poles and tried to use my handheld light as well, but this was
difficult.
We made it to the dirt road section past the Big Giant mine
and we continued down. I knew that we
had a couple road miles to Arastra Gulch and then 3+ miles to the finish.
Another runner caught us and introduced himself as Bill
Losey. We’d been close for much of the
last 30 miles, and talked a bit, but we hadn’t exchanged names. When he told me his name, I knew that he was
a good friend of another friend, Joe Novicky.
Joe is a great cheerleader for us when we do our tough races and we
talked about Joe on the way down the road.
Heinz let us have our conversation and simply walked ahead,
navigating and keeping the way clear.
I’d noticed earlier that Heinz was periodically kicking rocks out of my
path to reduce the chance of me tripping.
Suddenly, Bill and I picked up on this and we started designing a new
career for Heinz as an ultra pacer. He
was simply so helpful and positive that any runner would do well to have him as
a pacer. I don’t know if we amused Heinz
with this conversation or embarrassed him, but it worked for us. Finally, near the Arastra Gulch road turnoff,
Bill went ahead.
We found him later picking up an animal bone and putting it
into his pack. Apparently a friend’s son
wanted a dinosaur bone from the race and at mile 97, Bill had the clarity of
thought to think that the bone on the road would work. Heinz and I showed Bill the way across a
creek and left him behind. He’d stay
just behind us the entire way into town.
We now had about 3 miles to go into town and I was shot, but
I just kept moving. Suddenly, I saw some
sort of a painted African mask laying upside down on the trail in front of
me. The colors were beautiful – mostly
teal stripes and I stopped to look a bit more closely. The only thing there was a rock. A little bit later, at an intersection, I saw
trail markers going in every direction.
Heinz beckoned me straight head, but there were markers indicating a
turn. Upon closer examination, the other
“markers” were yellow flowers.
We started crossing one stream after another. At some places, the stream and the trail were
the same. We could occasionally see
lights in the distance. Three o’clock came and went. Sub-45 would not happen. Then, Heinz recognized the ski area and we
were nearly there. There were a bunch of
chairs to my left and someone congratulated me, I think. I thought there were 6 or 7 chairs, but maybe
they were all empty. Then, someone
needed my name and number and radioed the info to the finish line. We were really about done.
Bill was just behind me and I didn’t know if he wanted to
pass me or not. I’m a pretty competitive
person and I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he tried to catch me. But, the gap stayed fairly constant. We crossed a few streets, including Main Street. I knew Reese Street was next and then a left
turn would take me to the finish.
After we made the left I could see the school. My wife and son came out to meet us and they
were so encouraging. At 3:37 a.m., 45 hours, 37 minutes and
30 seconds after I’d started, I crossed the line. I kissed the rock and tried to hold back the
tears. Somehow, I’d done it. After nearly giving up about 35 hours
earlier, I’d finished Hardrock.
I told Dale that no matter what I’d imagined about the
course, it was harder. I told him that
as much as I love the Wasatch course, Wasatch simply doesn’t compare to this
course. I also told Dale about Sue Johnston’s advice and how that had helped to
stay in the race when things were tough earlier in the race.
I went inside to check up some friends, particularly some
other east coast runners. I asked about
other runners on the course, hoping that others I’d been out there with would
make it. I’d finished 65th
and there were 15 others who would finish later, 7 of them in the last 20
minutes of the race. There were 125
starters and 80 finishers, the most finishers in the history of the race. At Wasatch, I’d finished in the top half of
the starting field, but I didn’t pull that off here.
Aftermath
I took a shower and simply went to bed in the gym. I slept off an on until 8:30 or so, when Brad woke we up. He told me that it was time to get up and get
moving, just like he’d done 26 hours earlier.
As soon as the concession opened, I bought a Hardrock
finisher’s jacket. I got the last one in
my size, but I hadn’t been willing to buy it before I’d actually finished.
A few things strike me about the race. First, I’ve never done anything close to this
difficult. The second night was very
mentally difficult and the visual tricks my mind played on me were quite
interesting.
I ran very little of the course – certainly fewer than 10
miles and maybe as few as 5-6 miles. I
am not a good downhill runner and that left me walking
