My ultimate goal has been for a long time to run a 100 mile trail ultramarathon. I've been training for the better part of the last few years to get ready for this goal: first just getting in shape, then doing triathlons, then marathons, then 50k, 50 milers, and lastly a 100k. Along the way I learned much about nutrition, hydration, shoes, gear, etc., to prepare me for what I was about to embark on.
My original plan was to run the San Diego 100 in October as my first 100. I had run the Antelope Island 50 miler in March (an "easy" 50 miler) then went on to Squaw Peak in June, and that worked rather well. The idea was to introduce myself in 100 milers with an easier course first, then move to more challenging ones. I had heard of the Bear 100, and even considered it, but with the Kat'cina Mosa 100k in August, I thought being ready by the end of September was a little tight.
Then, one fateful Sunday on Timpanogos, while volunteering for TERT, I ran into Phil Lowry. He was doing a training run that day and I talked with him about my ambitions to run a 100 miler in October. Hearing that I finished Kat'cina Mosa, he said I could easily do the Bear 100, and that would be a good "first" 100 miler. Feeling encouraged, I decided to sign up for it.
[Left: waiting for the start with headlamp on GPS on] The Bear 100 is located in the Bear River range, East of Preston, Idaho, starting Friday, September 28 and ending Saturday, September 29. We drove up Thursday afternoon to the pre-race meeting in Smithfield, Utah, to pickup my race stuff and drop off the drop bags. The weather forecast was iffy, and it was difficult to plan on exactly what I would need in the drop bag. It was obvious others were in the same quandary as I was.
After a pre-race meal at the Olive Garden, we headed up to Preston to stay in our hotel. It was the only hotel in Preston and happened to be where the cast and crew stayed while filming Napoleon Dynamite. In fact, the room we had was the same room Napoleon himself stayed in. Going to sleep was difficult, and the worry of oversleeping the alarm kept me waking up and checking the clock. Finally, at 4am, I got up and began my preparations for the next 37 hours.
[Left: 2 minutes before start time] The race started at 06:00 Friday morning with a great deal of excitement in the air. Everyone was pumped and ready to take on the task ahead. There was around 84 runners starting the race, and about a quarter would not finish, but at this point, everybody was together. A lot of runners talked as we progressed, with cattle lowing off the side of the road. It was dark, so most were wearing headlamps or carrying flashlights to see our way. After a short distance on pavement, we turned off and began up single track. Climbing, we slowed down into a long line working up the trail. Occasionally, someone would try to move up the group when there was a chance, but most just kept pace. After an hour, it was light enough to see without flashlights. I felt good and was careful to drink plenty of water early on to keep my hydration up. It's easy in the first part to neglect drinking, and then spend the rest of the time trying to get hydrated again.
I also began taking a Gu every hour, following the hourly chime on the GPS as a reminder, and taking Succeed electrolyte tablets with it (one in cooler temps, two when it was hotter). I saw a runner in front of me trip on a tree root and roll onto the ground, to get back up and run like nothing had happened. [Right: sunrise]
The first aid station was Maple Aid around mile 12 and I arrived at 08:33, and after a quick snack break and water top-off, I was off again. Ahead was a about a 3,000 foot climb, then drop to the next aid station. The climb was long a arduous, but I maintained a descent fast walking pace.
It was mostly dirt road at this point and the country was definitely getting more beautiful the higher we climbed. The aspens were in fall color and the pines were beautiful. I was able to still enjoy the scenery and found the time to take occasional pictures. [Left: Stream crossing just beyond Maple Creek Aid]
The next stop was Franklin Basin Aid around mile 19. I arrived at 10:53 and was pleasantly surprised to see Joye waiting there for me. She had ventured up four wheel drive roads and found this aid station and hadn't been waiting very long. At this point I was still feeling strong and doing quite well almost five hours into the race. The pace I was currently going would have me finish in about 25 hours,
but I was under no illusion that I would maintain it. The longer the race, the slower you go. I was making a deposit in the time bank and was still considering a 30 hour finish possible at this point. Leaving Franklin it was fairly flat for the first part following a dirt road that would lead to the next aid station, which was a fairly easy 3.65 miles to Danish Pass. [Right: coming into Franklin Aid Station]
I arrived at Danish Pass aid station, mile 22.65, at 11:54 at a good pace. This was the first location I had a drop bag, so I loaded up on Gu, topped off water and grabbed a quick snack. I had been eating grapes, pretzels, bananas and goldfish crackers. At this point I was beginning to slow down a little. I had been given advice from another runner that the most critical part of a 100 mile race were miles 20 to 40, and that if you pushed yourself too hard, it would break you.
I decided to give myself a little break and not burn myself out. I was just at 22% of the race done and need to reserve something for the remaining 78%. [Left: climbing out of Danish Pass] I continued power walking uphill and letting myself open up on the downhill sections. The weather had been cool and not much of a problem, now that we were climbing above 9,000 feet, and I still was wearing the long sleeve shirt I had started in. After a rolling section, we started a series of drops down into the next aid.
Beaver Creek Aid Station is about mile 30.6 and I arrived at 14:14, taking a little over 2 hours to cover just over 8 miles. Joye was there to greet me again, having taken the wrong road to Danish Pass, and this would be the last time I would see her until the end. After more grapes and pretzels, I headed up another climb. I don't remember much about this section. I was still going fairly strong and hadn't yet begin to crack. At this point, I would occasionally
be passed, or pass someone, but for the most part had been alone. [Right: between Beaver Creek and Fish Haven]
The next stop was Fish Haven Aid Station around mile 35. I arrived at 15:36 and was one third through the race, taking just over ten hours. Up to this point, I tried to stay only a few minutes at each aid, spending just enough time to get water, grab some food, and move on. I would walk out of the aid eating food so I didn't waste too much time. The next stop was the end of the first loop back at Danish Pass. I saw who appeared to be the first runner to drop out, leaving due to knee issues. I was bigging to feel somewhat fatigued.
Danish Pass was a welcomed site. You could see it from about a mile away on the road. The second entry into this aid station was mile 41.5 and I arrived at 17:38. The clouds had been building some, however the forecast for rain and snow still seemed like it might not happen. I ate a little more food now, downing a PB&J sandwich, before moving on. I grabbed all the Gu I had from my drop bag and proceeded on the trail.
This next section was high along a ridgeline trail that rolled along. [Left: a view along the ridgeline portion, as the sun was getting lower to the West] The sky was now getting darker and I had to switch between wearing sunglasses and taking them off. The sun would cut through the trees into your eyes one minute, then was totally blocked the next. I would only take a couple more pictures for the rest of the race, which I now regret. The trail into the next aid station dropped down off the trail through pine trees, a drop I didn't look forward to climbing up again.
Bloomington Aid Station is mile 47.2, just short of half way. I arrived at 19:36 and took my first real break, chancing a sit down in a chair. I didn't know when I had done it, but I had a pain on my left leg, below the calf, lateral and posterior, but above the ankle. It felt like I had a knot in my muscle, and standing up was a little painful, but stretching it out seemed to be fine. I seems to have come on somewhere in the last ten miles. This would be a companion I would have for the rest of the race. I was now dark enough that I pulled out my headlamp and flashlight, as well as put on my windbreaker and gloves, as the temperature was dropping and I didn't want to get chilled. I was probably in the 40's. Climbing back up to the trail, I continued along the ridgeline trail for a spell, then it began to drop down. I passed a runner with his pacer, but quickly left them far behind. It was now dark and I could see nobody in front or behind me on the trail. I reached the half-way point unceremoniously and pushed on. I was beginning to crack, and the darkness was not helpful.
Paris Canyon Aid Station couldn't come soon enough. It was mile 53.2 and I arrived at 21:52. I had my second drop bag here, as this was the beginning and ending of the second loop on the course. I changed out my lightweight shell for a better Gore-tex shell, restocked on Gu, ate some more, got loaded up with water and began to head out. But as I was leaving, water started dripping onto my leg. My hydration pack was leaking. This is a design flaw I have discovered on training runs, where if the hose didn't connect to the reservoir at the right angle, the pressure of gear in the pack would cause it to leak. I tried adjusting it and continuing on, but it was still leaking. Frustrated, I pulled the reservoir all the way out to discover the lid was not on right. Fixing that, I continued on but still felt water. At this point, I didn't know if it was still leaking, or the water was still in the pack from the earlier leak. It was getting colder, and the last thing I needed now was wet legs and socks. I was also feeling very fatigued on the climb and I began to slow down considerably. This was the darkest time on the course, where I began to question my ability to finish.
[Left: 09:41, on the climb from Maple Creek to Franklin] It was at this point that Karl Meltzer, the lead runner, would pass me going back into Paris Canyon. He was finish the race a couple hours later, finishing in a blistering 18:50:45. I also realized at this point that eating grapes all day had not been a good decision, as I had an emergency bathroom break. Not to get into too much detail, that experience left me raw and in pain while walking. I had some jelly for this purpose and had applied some, but it wasn't helping. My left leg was hurting particularly bad on the uphill sections (which were frequent) and I had slowed way down. I was alone, tired, hurting and becoming more convinced that I wasn't going to finish. I was no midnight and I felt defeated. This was just bad.
Then I began to think of the disappointment of not finishing. I had set out to finish a 100 miler this year, and I wasn't going to fail. I was there. I was doing it. I needed to wake up and getting moving. I wasn't going home without a finishers plaque. I was determined to finish. I began to move faster now, but a realization began to come over me. I had wasted a lot time puttering around. I was still a good distance from the next aid station and fear that I was going to not make the cutoff time began to creep in. I didn't know what the cutoff time was. Had I wasted too much time? Was it even possible to make it out of the next aid station? I kicked into gear again and pushed myself hard. There were several climbs and I powered walked up them like it was the first ten miles. The opened up on the downhill sections as fast as I dared. I needed to do this or risk being dropped. The next hour I covered the remaining distance.
I was relieved to coming into Dry Basin Aid Station at mile 60.9. It was 01:11 Saturday morning, and the cutoff was 01:45. If I hadn't pushed myself, I probably would have been dropped here. This was the start and end of the second loop, so I would be coming back again. I had felt renewed in my determination to make it. The left leg was now quite sore after sitting, but I welcomed the opportunity to sit down more. I had caught up with a runner and pacer than passed me just out of Paris Canyon, and now I would pass them leaving the aid station. I couldn't dawdle, I had to move. I was 30 minutes away from the cutoff here and I needed to open that gap at the next aid station. The first part was a road that was a slight incline, but that soon got steeper, then it turned off and went through a serious of "speed bumps". I think there were jumps for dirt bikes, but it was a sharp climb up and quite drop, which was hard on tired legs. This continued through a meadow area that was confusing to cross at night. Another runner at the far end of the meadow was looking for the trail, and we finally located it in the trees. Going down hill, I soon needed another emergency stop. The grapes still. Continuing downhill, the wind began to blow and the trees moved. It was creepy, at first, sounding like animals were stirring all around me, but I soon realized it was the trees moving. A storm was coming.
[Left: elevation profile for the Bear 100] Mill Creek Aid Station, mile 67.6, was a welcomed site at 03:42. It seemed like a bit of heaven. The volunteers there were very cheerful, offering hot towels to wipe your face with, and soup. I risked the chicken noodle, and found it to hit the spot. I also asked to borrow some Vaseline. I was there for 20 minutes before I realized it, so I headed out. The next stretch wasn't fun, following just outside a fence that was being constructed. It had started sprinkling some at this point, but was more of a spit than anything serious. Another grape break was needed, and soon I was climbing again. This section is infamously referred to as "The Roller Coster". On the elevation map it doesn't look too bad, but doing it was something else. Even though I should have been completely and totally wiped out by now, the chicken soup I ate seemed to have given me extra strength. I was pushing hard up the climbs.
Then the rain started in earnest. I was still in trees, so the ground was just getting a little wet, but it was causing a layer of mud to form on top of the dirt. This mud tending to stick to your shoes and leave a dry footprint behind. I came up to a stream crossing with several fallen trees in the way. The path was over a bunch of logs, so I put my foot on the first log and placed all my weight on it to climb over, but that didn't work well. The tree was smooth and my muddy shoes slipped forward between two logs, dropping down a couple feet between branches coming out of the logs and straight into thick mud. At the same time, I lost my balance and fell sideways, with my lower right leg pinned by the logs. My first thought was that I was going to break my leg for sure. But as I lay there, I realized that I was fine. My muscles hadn't even cramped up. I got myself up, pulled my foot out of the mud, and carefully climbed over the logs to continue on unscathed.
The next roller coaster continued for what seemed forever. Just when you thought you might be done, another hill loomed in front of you. I caught up with two runners and a pacer in a section that seemed like a road under construction. There were trees down all around and tractor treads through soft dirt, now muddy from the constant rain. At times, it was difficult to climb due to the mud, which clung now to our shoes thickly. Dawn was beginning to come and the sky slowly lightened as the rain continued.
Copenhagen Basin Aid Station was in a parking lot at mile 74.6. It was now 07:10 and I put my headlamp away. They had began packing up stuff, and chairs were wet. Several runners had stopped there, some were sleeping, others talking of dropping out. I figured at 75% done, I was definitely going on. I got water and some food, stretched my leg out, and began the long climb up the road. The rain starting turning to snow now as we climbed above 8,000 feet again. And the road went on for what seemed forever. Then, for no reason, my eyes began to sting. I had packed eye drops for this, not knowing how well the toll wearing contacts for this long would
take, and they were fine again. Onward and upward. [Right: snow beginning to stick to the trees and bushes]
Copenhagen Road Aid Station came fairly quickly at mile 78.5. It was now 08:36 and I decided time to put on sunscreen again. But time was wasting, so I pushed on for a little more climbing, then a drop into Dry Basin. The snow had cleared a bit, but soon clouds rolled in low, hugging the ground, so I was running inside the clouds. The air was moist and chilly. I was glad now for the jacket I had, and my legs remained warm from the work there were doing, so I stayed in my shorts. Soon, though, the wind started up again and little pellets began falling, like tiny hail, at times coming horizontally across the landscape. There was not yet an accumulation on the ground, the the temperature seemed to be just around freezing.
The second time into Dry Basin was a relief. I was now at mile 82.8 at the time was now 10:04. I had gained some time on the cutoff, but the weather had become worse. I needed to get going, and I knew the next section to Paris Canyon wasn't easy. I remembered the night before dreading the downhills for they would now be uphill on the return trip. I set out hoping to keep a good pace. I wanted to have plenty of time to finish. The weather continued to worsen and the pellets turned into snow. Worse, the snow was beginning to stick to the ground. Luckily, a runner and pacer ahead of me were leaving tracks, and even though I couldn't always find the trail markers (flags tied to bushes or trees), I was confident I was going the right way back. The wind was colder now, and the situation more serious. I decided it would be prudent to put my pant windbreaker shell on. I was also noticing my hands and feet were getting cold. Not good. I was wearing good gloves, but my shoes were summer variety, and the snow was beginning to build on them. My bite valve on my hydration pack froze, so I had to warm it in my mouth to melt it enough to drink again (the valve has a magnet, which freezes the water first). I would spit out the first draw of water as to avoid cooling my core too much. I flexed my hands and feet, swinging my arms more, to keep myself warm.
Then I began to worry, would they let me past the next aid station? Would the conditions be bad enough that they would pull us out? I pressed on, hoping they wouldn't stop us. A mile out from the next aid station, I saw a man standing on the trail, waiting for me. He had walked up the trail looking for me and two other runners still behind me. I greeted him with humor, asking "Are you ok? You look lost." He chuckled and replied that he was looking out for me, and that I seemed to be fine, so we continued down together, only to be joined by a second volunteer a little further. The other two runners so caught up as well.
[Right: topo map of Bear 100 course] Paris Canyon the second time was a relief. I was at mile 90.6. But it was 13:18, I had lost time on that stretch due to bad weather conditions and general fatigue. I need to get moving, but decided I should first change my shoes. I had packed a pair of winter running shoes (water proof and warmer) just for these conditions. For the first time, I took my shoes off. I had only loosed the laces on the left shoes around mile 40, otherwise hadn't touched them. I had worn Injinji socks (like mittens on your feet, the toes were individually covered), and the second from the outside toe on each foot had broke through. I had noticed a little rubbing there from my shoes. My feet seemed to have swollen a little, because getting the shoes on was more difficult than usual, and I had two volunteers helping me. I geared back up and painful stood up to re-stretch that left leg again. It was more painful the longer I had gone, and took longer to stretch back to walk and run again. After a short climb up, the road started down through clouds and light snow. I was able to open up and run most of the way downhill to the final aid station.
German Dugway Aid Station was at 93.6 miles. It was now 14:20, and I had just 2 1/2 hours to do the final seven miles. I decided that have a last cup of chicken noodle soup and take a rest, so at 14:33 headed out again. The next two miles are called "Leland's Ledge" (after the race director) and must be a trail he blazed himself. It is not maintained and would be challenging on a good day. With rain/snow coming down and the mud clay-like, it was extremely difficult and slow. I was lucky to make it a mile in the next half hour, and the the second mile another half hour after that. I now had just over an hour to cover the last 5 miles, and I was tired, fatigued, worn-out, sore and in some pain. The two miles had been scrambling over rocks, climbing over trees, controlled slides down steep sections, and concerted efforts up muddy climbs. I was beginning to think that I might miss the final cutoff, that I might not cross the finish line before the race clock was done. I had until 17:00, and I was loosing time. I would open up for short bursts, only to have to stop for lack of energy and realize I barely had covered any distance.
I had to get myself going again, I couldn't let the Bear beat me now. I had suffered through the night, pushed myself harder and farther than I had even gone. The longest race I had done was 62 miles and 19 hours. I was now at 95 miles and approach 34 hours. I had far exceeding my training, and amazingly I could keep going. After a drop through trees, it began to open up and I was now running across fairly flat terrain into the blowing snow. This was not good. I pushed harder, dug deeper, and continued on. It started downhill again and my spirits lifted. I could continue on a decent pace downhill. I pushed and pushed, and slowly was making progress. Then I saw a climb. Not just a short one, but a long climb. I was mad. I was done with uphill. I had done enough uphill. This was not fair. I was not going to let this defeat me. I let myself get angry. I shouted into the wind. I got myself stirred up. I was going to finish. I pushed even harder, and after the hill, went even faster downhill. I needed to finish. I was determined to finish before the cutoff. I pushed on.
Now, 5 miles doesn't sound like that far when you have done 95, but it seemed to go on and on with no end. I was pushing myself to my limits, and I had to be careful. I nearly rolled each foot pushing myself now, and I had working off several rolls on the right foot in the last couple months. A bad roll now would doom any chance of finishing in time. I had to be careful, but I had to take risks.
With about one mile to go, I came back to the road. The same road we had run on 33 hours early at the start of the race. Pavement might sound like a relief to the mud, rocks and roots I had been dealing with, but it was hard. I had to push harder. And the road rolled a little up, a little down. I tried to get my rhythm going, my training pace. Kat'cina Mosa had 6 miles of pavement at the end. I had just one to go. The finish was almost there. I was going to do it. I pushed on, running as hard as I could. The snow had stopped and I was getting warm. I took off my balaclava and ran without any head covering. I was going to finish. I had time.
Finally, I could see the finish. Running into the parking lot, Joye came out from the building to meet me at the finish. I had done it! I would be the last runner, finishing in 62nd place. My official race time was 34:44:32. I got a nice laser-cut wood plaque and black bear belt buckle (for those that finished in 30-35 hours). From those that started, 22 had dropped out. I had conquered the Bear! [Left: right after finishing]
I was pretty beaten up. The race had taken it's toll, but overall I did well. I had avoided any race-ending injuries, not aggravated any old injuries, kept my food down, stayed fairly hydrated, and finished the race running. It turns out that I likely tore my Peroneous Longus (or Brevis) in my left leg and had gone for 60 miles on it. It also pinched my Anterior Femoral Cutaneous Nerve, causing numbness on the surface of my left upper leg. I had a numb spot on my back, and I compressed my spine pretty good. Nothing that a few trips to the Physical Therapist and Chiropractor hasn't helped resolve. I did have to drop out of the San Diego 100 which was three weeks after the Bear 100 on advice from my PT.
I don't need a chronic muscle problem, so I'm taking time off of running to recover. I have mapped out my 2008 race schedule, and I hope to do 2 or 3 100 milers. [Right: Joye with me at finish]
Lessons learned:
- Don't eat grapes
- Carry Desitin (works great in recovery) instead of jelly
- Reduce my pack weight... maybe carry less water?
- Eat chicken noodle soup more often
- Finding a pacer would help a lot
- Try green and red LED lights
- Heart monitor is nice for training, don't need one for races
- Garmin Forerunner 101 proved itself again. Change lithium batteries around 20 hours.
- Don't eat grapes
[Right: ]This week I returned to the Alpine Loop for my Winter snowshoe training. It had snowed a few feet during the week and the road hadn't been grated yet, so it was still fairly powdery. Many snowmobiles helped to pack the road, but 3 miles above Aspen Grove, nobody had broken the new snow, so I decided it was time to turn around. I had started out thinking I would do 16 miles (Pine Hollow to Aspen Grove and back), but ended up doing just under 10 miles in just under 3 hours. The snow was fresh enough to still be challenging and this was my first outing with snowshoes this season.
