As I am sitting here in the comfort of a familiar place and a cup of joe in my hand I am hesitant to write about myself. It is easy to write about others, or create fictional stories, or write about an idea or plan that isn’t nearly as tangible as a true experience. I have a hard time with being in the spotlight not because I don’t like the attention or feel undeserving. I feel uncomfortable because I know that my story is insignificant, as others have more powerful, more important, and more impactful stories. And millions and millions of other people have their own interesting and fascinating stories that are mostly unique to them. So, as I sit here, I would like to acknowledge that there are other stories out there that are more interesting than mine. Stories that deal with life and death and love and hate and truth and fictions. Stories about loyalty and brotherhood and family and friends. Stories that are better than this one.
I could hear the announcers from afar, the intercom echoing through the village of Palisades Tahoe ski resort. I was about to race Broken Arrow 46k in Tahoe, California. A race that has become one of the premier trail running events in the country, attracting some of the best athletes in the United States and a handful from other countries. The winner would walk away with over $5000 and everyone would be gunning for either prize money (top 5) or an automatic berth entry (top 10) for the following year. The course is brutal with an advertised 28 miles and 10,000ft of vertical climbing, testing every runner's physiology and toughness. This year would be especially difficult as approximately 70% of the course was still covered in snow. I can personally attest, running in snow fucking sucks. The course consisted of two loops with the first 4 miles being runnable and rolling through a heavily wooded forest. The course proceeded to climb to the top of Washeshu Peak where much of the course was covered in snow and consisted of the steepest climbs of the course with a ladder and steel hand rope in sections of the course fencing off exposed cliffs. We would then descend off of Washeshu down a very steep ski slope (still covered in snow) and then climb the ski run parallel which lead to the final 3 ish miles of service road descent to the finish. Because of the snow, the course ended up being a little bit shorter than years past. However, I was not aware of this until after the first loop of the course.
As I pulled my race singlet over my body and strapped my running vest around my chest, I felt completely empty. I had run the vertical kilometer the day prior and had a disappointing performance taking 18th place. I had run as hard as I could and puked at the finish line in front of all of the competitors that had just beat me. I wasn’t disappointed in my effort or my preparation, but I believed that I was a top 10 guy and I had watched 17 other guys completely run away from me. I felt inferior. Now I was preparing to run the hardest race of the weekend and I felt emotionless. I was not nervous, or excited, or happy which are the usual emotions that I experience before a big race. I did feel intimidated and discouraged with a dash of sadness for whatever unknown reason. I was physically present but mentally and emotionally absent. A couple friends wished me luck but all I wanted to do was run away and I hoped with all my heart that these emotions would dissipate after the gun went off.
After a short 5-minute warmup jog we headed to the start where I found my place in the second row of the field right off Josh’s shoulder. Josh is the coach of the Western Mountain Sports Trail Running team that I am currently part of. He is an individual that I have a great deal of respect for as he takes young athletes under his wing and teaches us the tricks of the trade in this crazy trail running world. The gun went off and the typical mad dash start presumed with pushing and shoving and cowbells and hollering raping eardrums from either side. Complete sensory overload that spikes adrenaline and makes the antsy even more antsy. I settled in and ran comfortably, and my emotions turned to despise as other athletes pushed by me. For I felt that many of these athletes were running poorly planned races with zero acknowledgement of the course ahead. Josh and I found each other after a couple miles, and I ran behind him for about 20 minutes. I passed Josh to share the lead and to give him a break as we slowly reeled in the group of guys ahead of us. I remember feeling better running with Josh and my negative emotions settled and I felt a little more at peace with the challenge that we were undergoing. At about 40 minutes we popped out of the forest, and I could see that Josh and I were sitting 15th / 16th but relatively close to the leaders as they were still in sight. At this point of the race Josh made an early move and started to move up the field. I did not feel like I could sustain that effort for another 3+ hours so I settled in and hiked the steep sections that Josh was running. I stopped at aid stations and took my time. I did not have the urgency that is normally present in big races like these. I took my time and was not too emotionally invested in the time it took to get in and out of aid stations. I just didn’t care. I was moving well through the snow scaped service roads, but I also felt as if I was going through the motions. My legs burned and my lungs worked as the climbs were steep and slipping in the snow was inevitable. It was slow going but I told myself that I just needed to keep moving. I finished the first long climb to the top of Washeshu Peak in the same position that I started the climb and passed several people off the descent only to get passed by the same people on the final climb. I was tired and hitting an emotional low as we crested the final climb of the first loop. I could see several runners ahead of me on the descent, but I couldn’t pick out Josh. Physically I felt okay but mentally I wanted to give up. The challenge of completing another lap seemed impossible and I became discouraged and moody. I finished the first loop and went straight to my drop bag to grab an 8oz flask. I refilled bottles and was complimented with how calm and collected I was. I explained to the aid station workers that today probably wasn’t going to be my day and that I was just trying to finish as several runners completely skipped the aid and passed me. I ran out of the aid adjusting bottles and saw Maren and the kids (Josh’s wife and kids). I asked how Josh was doing not because I wanted to catch him but because I genuinely wanted him to have a good day out on the course. Maren said he was a couple minutes up and looked good.
Neil Bangs and I linked up prior to the first climbs of the second loop and we chatted for several minutes. I asked him how he was feeling, and I could tell by his demeanor and responses that he was ready to roll. I was still in a bit of a low, but Neil was encouraging and told me that this is when everyone would be coming back to us. I responded by telling him that I like to roll the dice even though I wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic that I would be making big moves. But I did realize that I needed to give myself a shot. Neil told me to build into it and that is exactly what I set out to do. I took a caffeinated gel and separated from Neil, we were sitting 17th / 18th. I told myself that if I could pass five guys, I would be happy. Guys started coming back to me with surprising ease and I made a genuine effort to acknowledge everyone that I passed whether they were 11k or 46k runners. I passed Josh around mile 15 and he told me to be smart. At this point I was absolutely rolling. Whether it was the caffeine, the mellow first half, the words of encouragement, the momentum gained by passing other runners, I will never know. All I know is that I was gifted with some incredible source of energy. My arms and legs tingled with adrenaline and my heart swelled. I felt as if I could do anything, and I was unstoppable. I passed five guys in less than four miles. Confidence building after every person that I passed. After I passed five I set out to pass another five. I wanted it all and I was somehow able to translate all this positive emotional energy into something special. Something that I can’t quite explain, much less understand. And as I hiked as hard as I could up the hills of Tahoe my soul was free and I felt was exactly where I was meant to be in that moment of my life. A complete 180 from the first half of the race. My demeanor had shifted into hyper competitive mode and I was in and out of aid stations with one singular purpose. I chugged sodas and sprinted out of aids. I was going to lay it all on the line. I was going to turn myself inside out and my lungs burned, and my legs turned lactic, and damn it felt good. And I used the pain and discomfort as fuel, and I continued pushing. Someone told me I was in earshot of 5th about halfway up the climb to Washeshu Peak and I didn’t really believe them. I kept working and passing and got to the top of Washeshu and passed another guy. I descended as quickly as I could and sprinted into the aid just asking for electrolyte. They filled me up in a couple seconds. I saw Grant Barnette as I left and patted him on the back as I sprinted away. I ran scared the last 4 miles of the race. I started to cramp on the last big climb but it seemed manageable and not too concerning. Someone at the top of the final climb told me I was in 4th about 10 minutes back from 3rd and about 2 minutes ahead of 5th. I remember thinking “I don't give a fuck about any of that” and I ran pretty much as hard as I could on the final decent, maybe leaving a touch in the tank just in case Grant made a move on me. The final descent was surreal as I knew that I was in 4th at Broken Arrow. After taking 18th the previous day and sitting in 17th only a couple hours before. I crossed the line, rang the bell, and crumpled into a chair. My heart swelled and I remembered what Jeff Mogavero said the day before at the Elite Athlete Panel, “It’s not over until it’s over”. And then it was over, and it was all worth it.
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