The Merriam Webster definition of Ultra is “going beyond or beyond due limit”. In high school the quote “moderation is for cowards, anything in life worth doing is worth overdoing” always struck a nerve. I guess now that I have been exploring the world of ultramarathons it all kinda adds up. There is something special about the unknown. The uncertainty and mystery are intriguing and captures the imagination.
I ran my first 100 miler last weekend at IMTUF 100. I was drawn towards the race simply because the thought of running 100 miles sounded really hard. The furthest that I had run prior was 42 miles and I wanted to see if I could do it. Of course, I have plenty of friends that have run 100 miles, but I hadn’t. I was curious to say the least. I knew that it would be hard, and I knew that I would run through most of the night. I knew that the basic ideal of running a 100-mile race was to complete 100 miles as quickly as possible. However, I didn’t truly understand. Numbers on paper aren’t equivalent to numbers in the real world and words on paper are never the same as a true experience.
When the gun went off at 6am I was giddy with excitement and the concept of what I was setting out to do. But I didn’t understand the magnitude of the situation. Maybe I was overconfident or slightly delusional, definitely inexperienced and green. I was smart and intentional with my plan, and I ate heaps of gels and drink mix, I ran slow and steady with purpose.
When I hit Lake Fork aid at 20 miles, I was so happy to see my crew and friends and strangers cheering. It took probably less then 2 minutes to swap my vest and eat a little bit of real food and I was back on the road. Steven began explaining race positions as I left but I cut him off explaining that I didn’t want to know. I did know that I was at the front of the race with a couple guys ahead of me but that’s about it. I didn’t want to know; I didn’t feel that it mattered at this stage of the race.
I felt the energy of the aid station and it was difficult to not shift focus to racing as it was so early in the day. I played one song as I left the aid station (Cody Jinks, I don’t remember the specific song) and felt immense gratitude and importance of the task at hand. I had trained all year for this silly race, and it was finally here. I wanted to prove that all my training and hard work was worth something. I wanted to make my loved ones proud. To have the health and ability to run for long periods of time is a gift, I wanted to seize the opportunity. I saw a runner a couple minutes ahead and he was coming back quickly but I was well in control, nose breathing and comfortable.
I caught him just before the Falls Creek climb and it was David who has won IMTUF a couple times in the past. We didn’t chat much, but we were friendly and introduced ourselves. Falls Creek was uneventful, and I hiked pretty much all of it with David close behind. I could tell my bowels weren’t super happy and I hoped it would pass. Reality slowly crept into my run.
Once we got to the top, I could tell that I was going to have to make a bush stop at some point which was an unfortunate sneak peek to what was to come for most of the day. I stopped and David passed. I was a bit discouraged dropping to South Crestline aid station (mile 30). I felt like I had been running for 4 hours and I really tried to focus on just getting to the aid station and not the rest of the day, but the idea of running 75 more miles loomed.
As I got to South Crestline someone told me the leader was about 4 minutes ahead which would have been good to know if I was in a race mindset, but I promised myself I wouldn’t race until Upper Payette (mile 56) or Snowslide (mile 71). I wanted my legs to feel better, so I asked my crew for Tylenol, but I had misplaced the bottle in the gear bags so there was some slight confusion and I didn’t care to wait. Especially considering David was just leaving the aid and even though I told myself I wasn’t going to go into race mindset, sometimes old habits die hard. The next time I would see my crew was Upper Payette, 25 miles away.
I caught David soon after and told him good job and started pulling ahead. At this point I knew I was sitting 2nd place. Soon after I needed another bush stop and David passed, continuing on his way. It really wasn’t a big deal, but I think yo yo’ing affected my mind space. Ben caught me around 33 and we chatted for a good while. I think he could tell I was sinking into a bit of a low but I’m not sure. He gave me some good advice and told me that lows pass, there’s plenty of race left in the day. I was happy to have company but just wasn’t in a great mood.
We got some Ginger Ale and water a couple miles later and reconvened with David. We all left the small makeshift aid station relatively close together, but Ben started to pull away. I passed David soon after but then had to take another bush stop, he overtook. Then I passed David as he was stretching on the trail. He went by me soon after while I again was in the bushes, I started sinking even lower. My legs didn’t have pep and all I could think about was how early in the day it was to feel pretty shitty. The legs were dead and my bowels were in shambles. I continued sinking.
Crestline is a high altitude trail with lots of rocks and poor footing but not a bad trail at all. You can move very efficiently if you are feeling good and the high alpine views are world class. My bowel issues continued to progress, and my discouragement grew. I was sitting 4th with 60 miles to run, making way too frequent bush stops as my competitors ran away from me. I was moving slow and my confidence shrank. I felt like a poser running this 100 mile race.
Earlier in the summer I had a similar situation occur on this exact trail where I had an upset stomach and cooling off in the creeks seemed to help me. I took a couple stops at creeks to dunk most of my body, but it only helped my current situation so much. Someone passed me during my last creek dip, and I tried to latch on to their heels, my legs just didn’t have the umf. I got dropped which further plummeted my mental stability.
After a couple more bush stops, I figured I’d text my crew what my current situation was looking like. I felt like a complete failure. I felt like I was letting them down not having a great day. Every time I thought about pulling my phone from my vest tears welled in my eyes. My parents drove 6 hours to be here to help me. Steven drove 8 hours to crew and pace. And I was out on the trail walking and shitting in the bushes. What a fucking loser. I surrounded my life with running this summer and made it a priority. When my girlfriend Elly asks me about my day, the highlight is usually my run. And then when its time to deliver, I’m walking, getting passed, and making frequent stops.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to admit things weren’t going great and texted Elly “still chugging but slow, almost to North Crestline” (mile 47). Turned out I was over half an hour from the aid station, but I didn’t really have a clue because I set my watch to “Ultratrac” mode to conserve battery and the mileage on my watch was wildly inaccurate. I even began thinking about dropping and started to hyper focus on the fact that I wasn’t even halfway into this race. Tears ran down my face as I slowly ran down the trail.
I finally hit North Crestline and ate a pulled pork sandwich, pickles, and filled my soft flasks. I kept my sunglasses on so nobody could see my sad puffy eyes. Leaving the aid, I started to think about how the next section would be mostly runnable downhill and that I could probably make decent time. One more bush stop and I was gaining momentum down the rocky dirt road at a decent pace. I even thought that I could be making time on people I was moving so well finally. Give a boy some gradual downhill and spirits will rise.
I got to the highway and saw the guy that most recently passed me crossing the creek which bolstered my confidence more than it probably should have. I was closing fast but I saw a proper campground bathroom and figured I probably should capitalize. When I left the shithouse, he was no longer in sight but I knew he was close. 2.5 miles to Upper Payette aid station and I would get to see my friends and family after a 25-mile stretch that was particularly rough.
When I got to the Upper Payette aid, I was mostly just relieved that section of the race was over and done with. I took a long aid station stop eating ramen, drinking Redbull, and getting electrolytes. I probably sat for 10 + minutes getting recalibrated, but I really needed it. I had some Tylenol, and I was off the races once again. Everyone was so supportive and helpful and even though most of my crew don’t have Ultra crew experience (aside from Steven), we were so fucking dialed. I remember telling my crew, in a shaky voice, “I had a rough time out there”. Without hesitation, Steven explained “that is okay, and that is completely normal”. I felt a deep sense of care from each and everyone of my crew in that moment and all my thoughts of dropping dissipated.
I left with really high spirits and felt like my legs were coming around. I hit Twentymile trail and felt a stark sense of peace and familiarity. I had run Twentymile a handful of times this summer and had always had nice runs, despite being a good long way from the family cabin in Cascade (almost 1.5 hours). I started to listen to music and got into a great rhythm. The legs were less heavy and I had escaped my epic low I was in a mere 10 miles ago. I started thinking that maybe I could catch a couple guys, and I told myself “you are a second half guy”.
I started to really roll, and I passed 4th place and his pacer. I was racing now and I wanted to catch people. I said hello and told them “Lets fucking get these guys”. I again reminded myself “you are a second half guy”. I continued charging and a couple minutes later I passed 3rd. I put on some hype music and repeated to myself “You are a second half guy, you are a second half guy” over and over and over. Soon after I caught David who I hadn’t seen for a couple of hours after yo yo’ing with him for a good while at the beginning of the race. I was happy to see him and he was encouraging as I went past. He told me Ben was probably 15min up and at the time I was thinking “fuck it, lets go get him”. I was racing full bore now. It was probably a bit early to put the chips down, but I felt really fucking good I wanted to capitalize. I was now sitting 2nd place. Turned out that from Upper Payette to Snowslide, I made up nearly 30 minutes in 15 miles. My spirits were at an all-time high.
I kept moving well and the more gradual terrain seemed to suit the legs at the time. I moved well all the way to Snowslide where my crew was waiting. The sun started to go down and I flipped the hat backwards and threw on the headlamp. As I rolled into Snowslide aid it was beginning to get difficult to see. I saw Steven and ran up to him. He didn’t think that it was me at first and he didn’t realize until I stopped right in front of him and said “what’s up big guy?!”. He was so surprised and stoked and excited that I had made some moves on this section of the race. He enthusiastically gave me a hug and I sat down to swap vests to get ready to go up Snowslide climb which was a very rocky steep trail with awful footing all in the dark. Elly and I hiked the trail and summited Sawtooth Peak the day after I took 9th place at USATF Mountain Champs back in July. At that time, I was very sore but I wanted to be familiar with the trail and hiking up it on beat down legs.
I ate some real food and took some time at Snowslide aid. Jeremy the race director came up and told me that if he had 5 guesses of who would be in 2nd at this point, I wouldn’t have been one of them which really amped me up. Steven was going to pace from Snowslide which I was really looking forward to. We had done a Peavine summit (local peak in Reno) at 3:30am two days after I won USATF 50k Champs to prepare for this race. I knew the trail well and knew that I was in good hands.
We maintained my effort going up Snowslide and started to hear voices in front of us. Then we saw headlamps and knew that we were closing in on the leader, Ben. I was pushing at a sustainable effort but I knew I was on the edge. My breathing was getting weird and I felt like I couldn’t get a full breath. If I had just let my breathing go, it was shallow and highly frequent. I had to concentrate to get a full breath. I felt a similar sensation in my breathing while I was on Crestline earlier in the day but it subsided after I started dropping elevation. It seemed like the higher altitudes increased the severity of the poor breathing and as we approached the top of the Snowslide climb this was reaffirmed. It appeared that 3rd was about 5mins back as the trees cleared in the high country and their headlight bobbed in the distance. We all had a race on our hands with top 3 being 5-10 minutes from each other.
When Steven and I reached the top we were very close to Ben. Ben and his pacer stepped to the side of the trail to get organized, and we went past. I was really happy to see Ben crushing it and he was nothing but supportive as we passed. My knees really started to take a toll and I used my poles on a lot of the initial downhill trying to get some relief. Steven told me some jokes and tried to buoy my mood. However, my high was beginning to wear down and my breathing became even more difficult. I was still pushing but I couldn’t find the flow I had the previous 15 miles.
Once the trail started to level off to a nice gradual downhill Steven took the lead and we tried to make good time on this very runnable section. I felt like this would be a good time to try to make time so Steven and I grinded away. I started to get much quieter, and my breathing wasn’t getting better even though we were running downhill. I was eating well and taking care of myself, but my breathing was really concerning. Some people use high tech heart rate monitors or lactate testers to monitor training and effort. For the past couple of years, I have relied on my breathing and have gotten pretty good at it. Now I felt like I was approaching my redline and my internal monitor was now unreliable. I knew I wasn’t redlining but I couldn’t help but hyperventilate and it took all my energy to try to get good deep breaths.
Our next aid was Lake Fork #2 (mile 83) and the final miles to the aid station drug on and did not come easy. Steven kept the mood light, but I began to get lost in my own head. I was physically present and mentally unavailable. I barely had the energy to move, not enough energy to properly breath, and thinking felt like it took too much energy. I was a semi catatonic zombie running down the trail. Stars in the sky, my best friend by my side, moving through space and time as efficiently as I could.
When we reached Lake Fork, I could tell that I had burned through some matches. My breathing was now completely out of control and I was getting scared that something was legitimately wrong. I couldn’t sustain this any longer and I hoped that we ran strong enough to get away from Ben and whoever was in 3rd. My belly was full of all the nutrition I was forcing down and I was sick of sugar. We swapped a tailwind bottle for applesauce, and I took some Pringles to replace gels. I sat in a chair and was trying to eat Ramen as David ran into the aid. He was the mysterious headlamp I saw on the Snowslide climb. He took care of himself very fast and was out of the aid station in a couple minutes as I tried to eat some food that wasn’t processed sugar. When he left the aid station, I told him good job and he said “see ya soon”. I didn’t believe him and I felt defeated as he left the aid station as I sat in a chair bleeding time.
Like I said earlier numbers are never really a true representation of reality and words on paper are never equivalent to a true experience. As I sit here writing and recalling the race, 17 miles to go doesn’t seem like a large feat. Only one big climb to go and then it was all downhill. I knew all the trails on this last stretch and a lot of them are personal favorites. However, with 17.5 hours and 83 miles of running in the legs, and at a time any normal person would be sleeping, 17 miles sounded fucking brutal. I knew I could do it, but I just wanted to be done. The only way to get to the finish was to move. So, Steven and I disappeared into the dark forest once again.
All I could muster was a powerful speedwalk as I hyperventilated down the trail. We jogged when Ben went by us on the out and back section, and he was close. Depending on how long he spent in the aid station, he could be right on us at any moment, especially if he was moving well. Steven pushed me hard and tried to encourage me to stay on the gas, but I was pedal to the metal. My breathing would not calm down and I legitimately couldn’t go any faster. I am surprised that I wasn’t more discouraged, but I think I took pride in the fact that I was doing everything that I could even if Steven wanted to push me harder. Steven asked me what I wanted out of this race and I responded, “I want to finish”. In reality, I wanted to hold off Ben more than anything. Steven encouraged me not to settle for just a finish and that I should run a complete race. I would never forgive myself if I just settled. I agreed with him even though I don’t think I said anything. Talking is difficult would you are breathing as hard as you can.
I felt that David was untouchable and he seemed so smooth and controlled when I saw him at Lake Fork. I completely counted out catching him, especially with my breathing the way that it was. I needed to take care of myself more than anything. What I had been doing simply wasn’t working so I pivoted. I didn’t take in any calories for a full hour going up the Boulder climb relying on the food and electrolyte I had consumed at Lake Fork aid. I started to sip applesauce to at least get a slow drip of calories at 18.5 hours. I started to breath a bit better despite climbing to a higher altitude and I began jogging more downhills and gradual sections. I am still scratching my head with the breathing thing. I feel like I took too many calories and my body was completely overloaded between and calories and the effort. That or my belly was so full it was affecting the contractions of my diaphragm.
Regardless, we started to move a bit faster the second half of the climb and I was happy to feel we were making progress. Or maybe my perception of effort became more manageable, I don’t know. Steven played some classic rock but my mood was at a constant level of indifference. I was ready to be done running. We reached the top of Boulder with no sight of headlamps. We stopped and swapped some light batteries, and I ate some pringles. We were 89 miles in and all the climbing was done. I could finally sense the finish and started to get slightly more optimistic.
I had a couple bush stops on the descent off of Boulder, but my legs were working okay on the downhills. Steven fell a couple times, and I felt really bad and was worried he had hurt himself. I figured we could get to Boulder aid (mile 94) at around hour 21. Then complete the last 7 mile stretch in less than 1.5hour which would make my finish time 22:30. I feel like there at the end I was doing the time. Maintaining movement and trying to breath deep. 100 miles takes a long time to run. I now truly understand that. Not just numbers and words on paper.
We got to Boulder, I filled a bottle, swapped a headlamp, Elly and I were off. Elly and I had run pretty much all of the final stretch earlier this summer, so we knew what to expect. It was a beautiful full circle moment. She reminded me of what we had left, and it seemed doable with all the downhill. Just keep moving, just keep moving. She was upbeat and excited. I was really happy to have her by my side, I just felt bad because I just couldn’t match her energy. It’s funny how far 7 miles is after running 94. Elly said she would keep an eye out for headlamps, and I could just focus on running. We played some music and that helped pass the time. The last 3 miles I finally felt a sense of relief that this thing was almost over.
Elly encouraged me to keep running up little hills and every time we hit a hill I’d start hyperventilating like crazy. She suggested to pickup the pace every half mile starting at 1.5mi to go. I tried but my legs didn’t have all that much go. At the time I really didn’t see the point. I was tired and beat, I felt like it was just beating a dead drum at this point, but I listened to her anyway. I didn’t see a point in terms of positioning, and I wasn’t on the verge of going sub 22hr or 23hr, however, generally speaking, I want to get the most out of myself every race I line up for. So we pushed on. I felt deceived when she told me 0.5mi to go and that last stretch seemed much longer than 0.5mi. I was running as fast as I could and I felt discouraged that the finish line was never showing itself. And finally, it did. I thought about sprinting it in to get under 22:30 but I just wanted to enjoy the moment. I crossed the finish line in 22:30:06.
For whatever reason I was emotionless at the finish. I thought I'd cry tears of joy, but I just felt relief. Not even joy, just relief that it was all over. After I crossed the finish line, I got a high five from my Mom and I shook Jeremy’s hand. We settled into the heated tent and had the opportunity to chat with David and Jeremy a good bit. He handed us our prizes and belt buckles. The belt buckle is something that I had forgotten about but is something I am incredibly proud of. It is a functional prize and a symbol of a true experience. A true experience that I put a lot of miles in to obtain. A true experience that tested my character, my resolve, my mental toughness, and my physical fitness.
It is difficult to put into words how I am affected by this intense experience. I certainly wanted to make my loved ones proud and the thought of failure and letting them down was a powerful one. The difficulty of the 100 mile distance seems to amplify emotions which made my personal motives slightly more clear. With some time to reflect, some of my motivations seem to be flawed in certain ways. Regardless of my result, I know that my family is going to love me unconditionally. However, there was, and continues to be, an unrelenting desire to prove myself. I am not sure if this is a personal flaw or blemish but maybe just human nature. A desire to be accepted and loved.
Running 100 miles through the mountains is fucking crazy I really do understand that, more than I did before I ran this race. I didn’t know what my limit was when I was standing on the start line. I didn’t know how my body would react or if I could endure the inevitable pain. I knew that not running further than 42 miles prior, probably wasn’t a good idea and the thought of going 100 scared me. But I didn’t really think about it before the race. I just approached it with a “fuck it” attitude and figured I’d find a way to get to the finish. Honestly, this might have helped me I don’t really know. I do know that everyday life is quite luxurious. I do know that sometimes life will beat you down, but you always come out of it.
I have heard people say, “running is like life”. To them I say, run 100 miles. It doesn’t get realer than that. I think that’s the closest life comparison I have come across in my lifetime. When you are struggling in life, usually the end isn’t in sight. In a 100 miler, the end seems unattainable, even when you are 17 miles from the finish. I’ve never gotten that sensation in sub ultra races or even 50k’s. Sub ultra hurts like a mother fucker but its over so fast, its equivalent to ripping off a band-aid. The end is in sight even if you are redlining and blow up. You can jog it in within a couple hours. A 100 mile is like holding your hand over the fire and holding it there for a lot longer than you want to. There’s no escape. Pain becomes your friend; patience becomes your ally. You are trapped for a duration that is no longer comfortable, you must endure.
Quite honestly, I am still digesting the whole experience. However, I can say that I have a much lighter outlook on this crazy life we get to live. We all get caught up on the unimportant trivials and stress in our lives. Most of the time we create problems out of nothing. What happens if you are a little late? Oh, someone messed up your order? You are worried of what others think of you? It’s all inconsequential bullshit. And if you’re struggling, trust you are going to make it to the other side. Things are going to get better. It’s all a roller coaster of ups and downs and twists and turns and we are on the ride so we might as well enjoy the hell out of it. The Merriam Webster definition of Ultra is “going beyond or beyond due limit”. As far as I know, we only get one life. Might at well get the most out of it, and beyond.
This is likely the last race of the year for me, and I am damn proud of the running year I put together. I trained with IMTUF in mind all year but that didn’t stop me from racing any distance, any discipline. There are vertical specialists and 50k specialists and 100-mile specialists. When I toe a starting line, I don’t really care, they are all races with the common denominator being who can run the fastest and get to the finish line first. I wrote something in my journal in 2021 that was titled “The Leatherman”. It basically described how I aspired to develop and utilize a multitude of tools to become a more successful runner. Now three years later I think I have done a pretty good job at honing a lot of skills, and nevertheless a lot of fitness. Whether it is a short trail race or a 100 mile, I believe that I can be in the mix. Below are my race results for the year.
Red Hot 55k- 2nd
Behind the Rocks 50k- 1st / CR
(Moab Triple Crown Series-1st)
Lucky Peak Ascent- 49:58 (Not a race, but a vertical effort I am incredibly proud of, first person to ever go sub 50)
Broken Arrow 46k- 6th
USATF Mountain Champs- 9th
Ruby Crest Trail (NV) FKT- 6:12:22
USATF 50k Trail Champs- 1st
Austria Infinite Trails 30k- 2nd
IMTUF100- 2nd
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