The 2012 Bear Chase 50 Mile Race Report...

DNF.  I'm still trying, and struggling, to wrap my brain around those three letters.  DNF.

Normally, I go into mind-numbing detail in my race reports, about pretty much everything and anything.  I have verbal diarrhea when it comes to re-living my ultra running experiences and think of them as kind of blueprint for the newbie ultra runners out there (like me) - and what they can maybe expect in these kind of events.  This time though, I'm going to do things a little differently and focus primarily on the physical and mental aspects of my race, as opposed to every minute detail from start to finish.  Why focus on that?  Because right now I'm angry...  But don't worry, there will still be plenty of verbal diarrhea.

I could talk about what a beautiful morning it was - how the huge harvest moon setting behind the foothills of the Front Range, with dawn breaking at our backs, was simply a spectacular sight to behold as we headed out westward from the start line.

I could talk about my typical race experience of overhearing conversations of the fairer sex's relationship trials & tribulations - this time the story being an "Erik" with a "K" vs. an "Eric" with a "C" mistake almost ending in relationship tragedy.

I could talk about crossing paths with four large doe's - two of them bounding across the trail 15 feet in front of me.

I could talk about the ominous sight of afternoon thunderstorms rolling in over the foothills, or some early morning rain over the skyline of Denver, far in the distance to the East.  And how those sights will be locked in my minds' eye forever.

I could talk about how much I enjoy interacting with the other trail runners; Helping out #31 with an equipment malfunction about a mile into the race, by simply handing over one of my race bib safety pins, since she was down to just one.  Or, helping out a runner who was apparently suffering badly from leg cramps coming into the 33 mile Fox Hollow Aid Station, by sharing a couple of Salt Stick Caps with him.  Or just simply asking others who appeared to be struggling on the trails if they were OK, and trying to give them a little a little bit of motivation and encouragement - "Great job!  You're looking good!  Keep up the great work!"  On second thought, I am going to talk about that, and the mental aspect of it to me, but a little later on.

There are lots of things I could talk about and share and go into mind-numbing, drool inducing, detail about... but I'm not in that frame of mind right now.  Right now I am extremely disappointed, angry, and simply in a state of WTF.  And I've let those things spill over onto the World.

I went into this year's Bear Chase 50 Miler setup fantastically for a great day and a great race.  I'd done my second ever 50 mile race, The North Fork 50 Mile - a relatively tougher race (in my opinion), with with a lot more climbing and at higher altitude - at the end of June, and while I had some difficulties, I finished and ended up with a result I was happy with.  In the middle of August, I paced my buddy Chris for the final 40 miles of the Leadville Trail 100 - a task that took over 12 hours, through the entire night, from sunset to sunrise.  My regular training, while on the light side, had been good.  I'd been feeling stronger than I had ever felt.  My comfortable pace was faster than normal, my HR was down, and my climbing was constantly improving.  I'd busted my ass to get out of bed at 2:45am on Sunday mornings to do my long runs, so that I'd be home for when my girls were waking up and I wouldn't miss out on family time with them.

By mile 23 of The Bear Chase though, still only my third 50 Mile race ever, none of that made a lick of difference.  Mentally, I had reached the lowest of low that I had ever reached before.  The only things going through my mind were; "Why the f*ck am I out here?  I have no business being out here.  I'm not a runner.  WTF was the point of all my training?  It was all for nothing - a waste of time.  I could have been in my nice warm bed sleeping and having morning snuggle time with all of my girls."  I was having a total mental collapse.  I'd gone through low points in each one of my previous races, but never anything like this.  It wasn't supposed to be this way.  Today was MY day.

I personally don't care about where I place in these ultra races that I've come to really enjoy and love in a short time.  I'm out to beat me and my own goals, and no-one and nothing else.  Maybe if this was a lifelong thing that I'd been doing, and if I was actually fast, it would be different.  But I'm not fast, and the 2012 Bear Chase was the one year anniversary of my first ultra - the same race in 2011.  That race almost killed me (or so it felt at the time) but I finished it.  At this point I've been running for less than two years total.  It started out as a way to get fit, that came about because of my Doctor telling me I was a heart attack waiting to happen.  I find it to be a challenge - physically and mentally - and I enjoy that.  I love the solitude, and the immersion into nature and the outdoors, that is trail running. I enjoy the logistics involved in long runs and races.  I enjoy learning about the physiology involved, and what my body can, and cannot, do.  I enjoy the people, the camaraderie, and the brotherhood and sisterhood that permeates the sport.

I have a problem though.  I've let the ultra running community reach an elevated status in my mind and have come to believe that ultra distance trail runners are a perfect example of all that is good in people.  I've allowed the idea to become greater than it actually is.  What I really NEED to do though, is see ultra running for exactly what it is - a microcosm of society in general. What I tend forget, and Chris just reminded me of just moments ago, is that everyone is different, and everyone has different goals. I tell that to myself all the time - but needed a big reminder of that after this event.

I'd set some goals for myself before the race.  1. Finishing in more than 11:00 hours would be a disappointment for me.  2. I'd be very happy with a 10:30 finish.  3. I'd be over the moon with a sub 10:00 finish - and so I did my pace charts with a target of a 9:59 finish.  Last year took me 11:40.  I was looking for a a significant improvement in that time, which I based on my fitness and newly-gained experience at these events.

"When you give it your all, it’s hard to feel comfortable the whole time. Being out of your comfort zone and being OK with that is an important part of running ultras. It’s fairly easy to feel comfortable and want to keep that state all the time. To do great things, you need to step out of your comfort zone and be vulnerable." - Timothy Olson.

I'd read that quote just a couple of weeks ago and it struck a chord with me. Chris and I came up with a new acronym and had been discussing 'JBC' frequently on our lunch runs.  JBC = Just Beyond Comfortable.  This is personally when I feel my best, and typically perform my best, when running - when I'm JBC.  I wanted to put that to the test today, and so I did. I got dialed into JBC fairly early and was feeling pretty good about it all.

The first lap (12.5 miles) of four, I came in 12 minutes under my pace goal (which was 2:10) at 1:58 and was pretty much running a PR for the 1/2 marathon.  Faster than I planned, but I felt good and was running JBC, and not over-extending.  My HR was about 10 beats higher than it had been in training recently, but fueling was on track as was hydration, so not to worry.  My only real concerns on that first lap were a little bit of a sloshy stomach, and the three river crossings.  After the three river crossings, my feet, most specifically the index toe on my left foot and the index and middle toes on my right foot, were feeling some discomfort on the toenails.  It wasn't a big deal and the discomfort subsided before long.  I never really gave it a second thought.

End of First Lap - Feeling good

I was still going strong on my second lap, but dialed it in just a bit.  There was no way I could maintain the pace of my first lap (high 8:00 and low 9:00 mile splits), and my plan was to dial it in by about 1:00 per mile pace each lap.  By mile 15 my legs were getting a bit tired which I expected.  And I hit the standard 20 mile wall a bit early at about mile 19. Again, to be expected, but this felt more like a third lap effort, and not a second lap effort, which it was.  Had JBC been too much?  This is the physical and mental barrier that I've always had to, and was always able to, push through.  But the water crossings on this lap, right around mile 20, absolutely killed me.

My three problematic toes now felt like the toenails were going to rip right off.  The first lap was just some discomfort for a while after the water.  This time though, was much, much, worse.  I'd taped my toes before even starting the race.  My left index toe I'd lost my nail on a month or two prior, and it was still a little bit sensitive.  So, I taped it.  I taped it in training and I had taped it at Leadville - nothing different this time.  My right foot index and middle toes, I'd noticed a few weeks prior, would become irritated just a bit by a small ridge that had developed on the insole of my MT1010's.  So, I taped them.  If they bothered me just a little bit on a short run, they'd probably be toast on a 50 miler.  I'm a big proponent of being proactive when it comes to my feet.  I've read too many horror stories about blisters and toenails ending someones race.  I've always been proactive, and this time should be no different.  I had taped them with 3M Nexcare Absolute Waterproof Cushion Tape.  I've used this stuff tons, and love it.

So, I was hobbled a bit and feeling a good amount of pain in these three toenails.  It only slowed me down a bit but mentally, it destroyed me.  Just three miles later I was deep in the mental pit of anguish I described earlier.  I was at my 20 mile wall, which I've always had to push through, but now I had the extra toenail issue too, which I would not expect to have in a million years.  At the same time, I had the inkling of some pain in the tops of my feet - really minor, but there none-the-less.  Thanks to my deteriorating mental state, everything just seemed magnified and seemed to hurt that much more.  And I'm amazed at how fast it hit me.  Within 35 minutes, the time it took me to get from from mile 20 to mile 23, things had taken a huge nose-dive on me - and the worst was yet to come.

I came in 18 minutes faster than my plan at the 25 mile point at 4:15 elapsed.  I'd shaved even more time off and had those minutes in the bank. I planned on closing out that bank account and use all 18 minutes to regroup at the half-way point - if not physically, at least mentally.  My girls were all waiting for me at the start/finish line cheering me on.  Of course, as is always the case, the tears started as soon as I saw them.  Just like last year, they had made me some awesome signs with the very vibrantly colored words "Go Daddy!" and "Yay Daddy!" written on them, and they had ice packs ready for me so I could cool myself down (they were disappointed that there we no sponge buckets).  It looked like they were having a lot of fun hanging out and playing at the start/finish line.  I told Diana that I was in a deep, dark, pit mentally and that I was majorly struggling.  She made the point of telling me "You said that last year too at this point.  You can do it."  But today, I somehow knew, was different.

I had the fleeting thought of changing into my MT110's that I had in my drop bag.  I opted for fresh tape on the toes, and a dry pair of socks instead.  No shoe change.  I was convinced that the shoes were not the issue, since I'd done 40 miles at Leadville in them, new, right out-of-the-box with zero issues, and that fresh socks and fresh tape would sort things out.  My tired legs I could struggle through on - I did it last year here.  And my feet, well, they couldn't get any worse.  Never once did I think that the combination of cushiony/spongy/stretchy tape, wet feet, wet socks, and wet shoes could be the issue.  I ran this race last year in Merrell Trail Gloves with no socks.  No issues.  But, I'd never tested this exact, wet, combination before.

After my 18 minutes of re-grouping was up, which seemed to fly by in about 2 minutes, off I went - at a trot -  with my girls yelling "Good luck, Daddy! We love you!"  I probably wasn't even out of sight of the start/finish line before I was walking again.  Yes, my legs were sore, and tired, and my hip flexors were screaming, but it was my feet that were the real problem.  Specifically, the tops of my feet.  They were sore as hell.  And not dull, achy, sore, but, red hot poker stabbing sore, right on top of my foot immediately above my arch. WTF is that?!?  Whatever it was, resting at the AS for so long did nothing to help it get anything other than worse.

I was barely doing 20 minute miles, and my feet felt like someone was driving spikes right through the tops of them.  Every step was complete agony.  There was no way I'd finish the race under the cutoff at this rate and I'm really not interested in just finishing.  Been there, done that.  I want to at least be sub 11:00 hours. My left foot was hurting, but the right one was by far the worst.  I'd try to run by compensating for the right with the left but that wasn't working so well.  It was just too painful.  Even walking hurt like crazy.  Never have I ever thought about quitting during a race before.  Today was my first.  I wanted to quit.  I was not having fun, and I wanted to quit.  Before I even got to the Pelican Point AS, only 3.2 miles from the start/finish, I was planning my drop.  I'm not sure why, maybe because I was still clinging to a sliver of hope, but I continued right on through the AS and kept on going.  It was 4.6 miles to the next AS and I would drop there - if I could even make it that far, which I was far from certain that I could.  There were the three river crossings that I was dreading but there was a chance my girls would be there waiting to cheer me on, and I could just ride out with them, tail tucked between my legs.  I was so pissed and frustrated, that every once in a while I let out a loud "F*CK!!!" from between clenched teeth, or pickup a decent sized rock and hurtle it as hard as I could at a nearby tree.  Why don't I have the testicular fortitude to get my sorry ass moving and  to finish this godd@mn race?!?!?!

There was a constant stream of 50 mile and 50k runners passing me on this third lap.  Hardly a one even noticing me literally hobbling and limping along.  And here is where my "problem" from above, about an elevated status of humanity in the ultra community, comes into play.  And I needed Chris, and his seemingly infinite wisdom about trail running and ultra races, to give me a good kick up the arse about, and remind me of.  I'm actually embarrassed now to share my feelings - but I'm going to be brutally honest about how I felt at the time, in the moment, and even for a few days afterwards, and try to show how low I had sunk, and how far south my mind went on me.  So here goes (and if you are going to get bent out of shape, or have easily hurt feelings - just stop reading now);  Maybe everyone else was just buried in their own misery, and that's fine, I've been there in that misery, but never have I not tried to motivate or cheer on another runner, or make sure a runner was OK.  I continued to do that, even now still.  Even cheering on the runners going past me; "Hey, looking strong!  Keep it up!"  That to me is the essence and fabric of the ultra running community - everyone looks out for everyone and everyone wants everyone to succeed.  But my outlook at this point suddenly took a big turn towards the "F*ck you" spectrum.  My mental state had sunk that low.  I'd become the person I never thought I could be out on the trails.  Ultra running is my haven; my fortress of solitude; my escape from the real world of sh!t on the news telling me about people having their wheelchairs stolen, or people beating their grandmothers to death, or bomb threats at a daycare.  Ultra running is where my faith in humanity is intact and strong.  I switched off and talked to no-one, unless spoken to (which would momentarily help restore my faith in humanity, but only momentarily - one time being when I shared the Salt Stick Caps I talked about earlier).  Like I said, I was in the shit, and descending into the bowels of hell (how's that for dramatic?).  My feelings before writing this report, and even in the early stages of writing it, were that I wanted to immensely thank the handful of people that did take the time to slow down and make sure I was OK.  That I wished I had noted your bib numbers so that I could thank you individually by name.  That these good folk, in my opinion, have the spirit of true ultra trail runners.  I tried to chalk it up to this being an 'urban' trail ultra, and that hoity-toity road runners were out here trying to show up the trail runners on a "fast course."  That "city" runners had no class and were too self-absorbed to care about anything other than themselves.  "Mountain" runners and mountain ultras were different, were better.

What a load of nonsense.  It's complete and utter bollocks how I was feeling at that moment of the race, and  even continued to feel for days afterwards.  I feel like such a fool now.  But, that's how I felt at the time.  Amazing how the mind works.  Amazing how I projected my anger and disappointment in myself onto others for my own shortcomings.  I'm sure I wasn't the only person limping along out there.  And, did I really expect every single person out there to ask if I was OK?  It's not like I was collapsed in a ditch.  I was upright and moving.  I was just feeling sorry for myself.

How do I feel now?  Chris put it best - "I just know that putting too much hope/thought/stock/whatever into how people behave during an extreme hours-long physical/mental battle against others/course/internal demons/whatever is a losing proposition that is best saved for the finish after everyone has a couple of beers in them and can laugh about being pushed off a cliff by that one fast guy."

My real problem was that my feet were shagged, and that I was suffering a total mental collapse, and not the fact that someone didn't ask me if everything was OK.  It's a godd@mn race, not a love in.  Just because I'm not out to win it, or place top 10, or top 50, or whatever, doesn't mean others aren't in that situation.  Like I've said a ton in the past - everyone is different - I'd just forgotten that.

The cold water at the river crossings felt not too bad for a moment, being cold enough to numb things a bit, but that was fleeting and things were pretty much just getting worse.  When I arrived at the Fox Hollow AS, and was asked by the volunteer what they could get me I said; "My family.  I want to drop."  Problem was, my family wasn't here.  Casey (sp?), from Fargo, ND, was an angel of a volunteer, texting and calling my wife (leaving voice mails) to let her know I was at the AS and having problems.  I sat on the medical cot there, and waited, wallowing in my misery.  Finally Diana called back on Casey's phone.  I told her what was up and she told me that she'd get a hold of Chris, who was out looking for me along the course, and let him know what was up.  About 10 minutes later, Chris came screaming in on his mountain bike carrying all of his camera gear (he was out and about taking pictures of the race that you can see here).  If there was any hope of continuing, Chris, an ultra-marathon and trail running machine, would help me figure it out.

Not feeling so great at the river crossings.

I explained to him what was going on - basically that my feet were toast.  He was wearing his MT110's and offered those up.  I was reluctant, but I took off my MT1010's, my socks, tore off the useless tape, and  tried 'em.  A few little jogs back and forth... No difference.  He asked me how my arches felt, and it took me more than a few minutes to clue in to what he was talking about.  Just in the past few weeks I'd developed occasional, but pretty intense, arch pain mostly in my right foot.  It was when I was running in my MT1010's.  Today my arches were fine, but maybe it was some kind of clue into the Top of Foot Pain.  We threw ideas back and forth, and brainstormed, and then he came up with the Tylenol idea.  He asked the AS volunteers for some Tylenol, if they had any - and they did.  The thought of taking pain meds hadn't even crossed my mind, probably since I'm not a believer in taking them - at least for events like this.  At least Tylenol isn't an NSAID, which are downright dangerous in endurance sports (hyponatremia, kidney failure).  It was 4.7 miles back to the start/finish and maybe some pain killers would get me through to the "end" at least.  I downed two capsules and wolfed down a ton of PB&J sandwiches, potato chips, coke, etc..  Chris also had the idea of taking a doggy bag with me and so I packed up a Ziploc with chips and M&M's.  So, after spending about 45 minutes at the Fox Hollow AS, off I went (after first making sure they didn't officially drop me), trying to make it to the 37.5 mile start/finish - where my intentions were to drop.

It was rough going and I kept checking my watch and waiting and wondering if/when the Tylenol would kick in.  Eventually it started to help out a little bit, but it took a long time, and wasn't 100% effective.  I'd say it brought down the pain by about 50% though.  Chris would pop-up from time-to-time along the trail, snapping pictures of me as I struggled past.

Credit:  Chris Boyack ©

By the time I got to the Cattail Creek AS (mile 10.1 on the lap) I was told that I had about 20 minutes to make the cutoff for the final lap - 2.4 miles away.  With my pain somewhat under control, and my legs feeling fresh now from all the walking and sitting I'd done, I decided to push it to the start/finish.  I was still planning on dropping at 37.5 miles, but I kind of wanted to leave myself the option to continue if a miracle were to occur.  My last two mile splits were a 9:53 and a 9:08.  At one point coming down the final hill, I checked my watch to see that I was doing a 5:32 pace.  I was fueled by my rage at that point, grinning and bearing the still substantial, but no longer worsening, pain, but knew already that I had just missed the cutoff.  My day was done, and didn't even have the option of continuing on having missed the cutoff by 4 minutes and 42 seconds.  I was an emotional disaster and not to be consoled.  37.5 miles in 8:34:42.  DNF.

Defeated

Looking back on it now, and going over theories with Diana and Chris, this is what we came up with as the root cause of my feet issues;  I'd probably been favoring my toes, because of my toenails, subconsciously.  In the typical style of a new barefoot/minimalist runner, where you seem to most commonly hear of TOFP (Top Of Foot Pain), people seem to arch their toes up in an exaggerated fashion to protect them more with their new forefoot strike (at least that's my/our theory).  Though I'm not new to barefoot/minimalist running I was probably doing the same kind of thing - moving my toes into some kind of more comfortable, but exaggerated and unnatural position, subconsciously, and causing strain on those top of foot muscles, tendons, etc..  If I feel my way up the tops of my feet, using my fingers, starting at the toes and working towards the ankle, the pain lines up exactly with the problem toes, and none of the other OK toes.  Stopping at 25 miles for so long (18 minutes) didn't help and only caused the muscles, etc., to cool-down and seize up.  And I think my toenails were an issue because of the combination of the tape, and the wet socks/feet.  The repeated soaking would soften my toenails and nail-beds, and the cushiony/spongy/stretchy tape would have a pulling effect on everything, since the tape and socks were now wet and having a clinging effect on each other.  In hindsight, I may have had no problems at all, if I had not pro-actively taped my toes.  I wish too now, that I had tested my MT1010's in water crossings (or at least got 'em good and wet) sometime in training.  That might have been enough to at least clue me into a potential problem.  I wish too that I had given going sock-less in the MT1010's a test, because the 4.6 miles I did do sock-less felt OK, except for a little achilles rubbing on my left foot.  But, as the saying goes, you wish in one hand...

As far as my mental state sinking so low, and not being able to pull out of it...  I really have no idea why that happened.  I was just fixated in the most negative fashion on everything - and I let me beat myself.

I know now that in the grand scheme of things, a DNF is not that big of a deal.  Most people have been through it, and why should I be any different?  I'll learn from it, I'll grow, and hopefully it will provide motivation in the future.  I've got my health, I've got my legs, and I've got the pleasure I get out of running.  It sure could be a lot worse.  I just need to get over it, which the process of writing this report, and the support of friends and my family, is helping me do, and move on.  And, as I always say; what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger.

I think I'm going to take a break from running and training for a few weeks.  I'm looking forward to coming back with a fresh attitude and outlook and decide what the future holds.  I'd been mulling over some grand plans for 2013, which I told myself hinged on the outcome of this race, but for now, I'm just gonna rest and let my body and mind heal.  I'll blog in the not-to-distant future with a "Reflections & Plans" posting.

Here is the link to my Garmin data.

Final words:

To Casey, the Fox Hollow AS volunteer from Fargo, ND - if you read this...  Thank you for everything!  I'm sorry I bailed before personally thanking you face-to-face.

Thanks to my friend Chris, for all the support, advice, and wisdom that you continue to provide.

But, thanks most of all to my three girls - I love you - and I couldn't do any of this without your love, your understanding, your patience, and your support.

North Fork 50 Mile Trail Race 2012 - Report

39.6 miles down, and I struggle into my third and final stop at the Buffalo Creek aid station right on the 9:00 hour mark. I started feeling pretty crap a few miles ago - probably somewhere around the Homestead aid station at 34.2 miles - and I've been getting steadily passed by other runners ever since. My lungs hurt, I have lower and middle back pain, bloated fingers, and while my HR is low, my breathing is rapid - way too rapid, and now I'm starting to feel dizzy. 10.6 miles to the finish. I'll walk it in if I have to. Quitting is not an option.

I rolled into the parking lot at Pine Creek Valley Open Space in Pine, CO at just about 5:25am, for a 7:00am start, and scored a primo parking spot. This early in the morning the only people around are volunteers, early-start runners, and people who are super keen, like me. Actually, I just didn't want to bugger around with the logistics of parking a few miles away in town and riding the shuttle. I like to putter around with my gear, listen to music, and generally just try to keep things as simple as possible. Plus, I'm pretty forgetful, so if my car is right there I have way less worries that I've left something important behind.

There's an hour and a half until the start so there's plenty of time to people watch, hydrate (I took in 24 oz of H2O and 24 oz Hammer HEED plus an S! Cap before the race), use the bathroom multiple times, and cheer on (or is it 'off'?) the early-starters at 6:00am. I was running today in my New Balance MT110's (which I love - except for the durability of the uppers) and had decided on using my CamelBak Octane LR pack with the 70 oz lumber bladder, over a single or double bottle belt and/or handheld. The Octane LR would allow me to carry more liquid, and more fuel and gear, much more comfortably than any other solution.

I took my 31.5 mile drop bag to the start/finish area (we'd pass through this spot one time during the race since there was a 50k being run simultaneously) and loaded my drop bag that would be used at the 9.9, 19.9, and 39.6 mile markers into the SUV that would be shuttling those to the Buffalo Creek aid station.

I enjoy watching and listening to the other racers and it's interesting to watch their prep routines - you never know what little pearl of wisdom you might glean. One guy had his camp chair setup at the back of his vehicle with what looked like a tackle box full of who knows what, going to work prepping his feet. Other people were just standing about chatting, and others doing static stretching (which I thought was a big no-no now), and others doing running warm-ups in the parking lot. It amazed me too how warmly some people were dressing. With highs forecast for the upper 80's, I didn't expect to see any tights, long sleeved tops, or dark colored gear - but there was plenty of it. I took notice too of the multitude of different shoes everyone was sporting and all the different number-bib placements. Damn!!! My bib!!! It's in the Buffalo Creek drop bag that I loaded into the SUV! See - forgetful. Luckily the drop bag SUV was still there and I was able to get it with no problem.  Jeez...

I did some short warm-ups of my own and I hadn't long finished up the nipple band-aids, lanacane anti-chaffing gel, and sunscreen when at about 6:55am, and still a chilly 48 degrees, we were all ushered to the start line. It was hard to hear over the drone of the 150 or so runners all packed together, but the Race Director gave a short speech, mostly about being smart and safe with a hot day in store for us, as far as I could make out, and then she sent us on our way.

North Fork 50 Mile Trail Race - Course Map

I knew that there were 5 really big climbs to look forward to in this race;

North Fork 50 Mile Trail Race - Elevation Profile

It was slow going out of the gate with only enough room to go about three people side-by-side, and then we quickly reached a single choke-point where it was single file only, after which the real uphill stuff started. I'm not really sure where I was in the pack but probably around the 3/4 of the way back mark. I knew the climbing would pretty much start right away and my plan was to be conservative and walk a lot. Listening to the chatter around me, most people had the same plan.

I kind of get into the mentality sometimes of hooking on with other runners to keep a kind of pace group - and I have to do my best to not do that. Everyone is different. These races have people with all different levels of experience, fitness, strategies, and goals. On top of that, there are 50 mile and 50k competitors running the same course at the exact same time. Unless you can see their bibs (red = 50 miles, black = 50k) then you don't know what race they are even in. And I just assume a 50k person is probably moving faster than a 50 miler, but that is flawed too. I'll say it all again; Everyone is different. These races have people with all different levels of experience, fitness, strategies, and goals. You just have to stick to your own plan and trust in it.

There was a fair amount of jockeying for position in the first 3 miles of climbing - even on the tight single-track trails. I'd pass some people, some people would pass me. There was a fair amount of hiking in that first 3 miles too, but I was feeling really good. At times I was even telling myself to slow things down. 50 miles is a long way - save some.

After the first 3 miles, and 1000' of climbing, there is a mile of some nice downhill, followed by yet more uphill for about 2.7 miles. It was interesting during this time, listening to some chatter about how yoga class is a great place to meet single guys. As interesting as that was, I was really more interested in how beautiful the course was - with the early morning light filtering through the tall pine forests that we were running through. I wish I had taken some pics, but it was early in the race, and I didn't want to stop just yet for picture ops. It was a goal to soak up and enjoy as much of the scenery as possible though.

I cruised right through the first aid station (Homestead - 4.5 miles) without stopping, but still yelling a big "Thank you, volunteers!" on my way through. My initial strategy for aid stations was to try and refill my 70oz bladder with either HEED, H2O, or a mix of those only every 10 miles. I was carrying enough fuel with me (GU Roctane, raisins, S! Caps and Salt Stick caps) to get me to any of my drop bags - which I had access to basically every 10 miles - while supplementing with aid station goodies along the way. I would fuel with GU Roctane on the hours along with a salt cap, and Hammer Gel from the aid stations on the 1/2 hours. I'd play it by ear with solid food (potato chips, watermelon, cookies, PB&J, etc.).

During training, I practiced taking in fuel every 45 minutes which worked great over training/marathon distances. For this race, because of distance, altitude, terrain, and effort, I planned on fueling every 30 minutes. That may have been the first of my poor decisions.

At mile 9.9, an hour in and having completed the first big accent and descent, I hit the Buffalo Creek aid station for my first of 3 visits to it - I'd be back again at mile 19.9 and 39.6. I really only needed hydration this stop, so ignored my drop bag, and topped up with HEED. Something I was never able to practice in training was refilling my CamelBak 70oz bladder on the go. What a pain in the arse. At least during my first fill up I had a volunteer help me out. I unzipped the two zippers holding the bladder in my pack, unscrewed the large-mouth cap, and had her pour HEED into it until it was full. I grabbed a single gel for my upcoming 1:30 fuel, and I was feeling great when I left Buffalo Creek stop #1. I relieved myself shortly after leaving that stop (there are no toilets / port-o-johns on the course, so find a bush off the trail!). 10 miles done and urine is good. Perfect. Next stop - Shinglemill aid station at 15.7 miles.

At about a mile out from Shinglemill, after a big climb up to over 8,100' but now on the descent, a runner about 40 feet in front of me trips and takes a massive spill. He bounced up pretty fast as I yell up the trail - "Dude! Are you OK!?!" By the time I reach him I can see he's got a bloodied elbow but appears to be alright. I stop for a quick second to make sure he's OK, which he assures me he is and seems more worried about not slowing me down - so off I go. In the early stages of the race, and the still low sun filtering through the tall pines, casting a lot of shadows, ground obstacles are pretty tough to make out sometimes. I kicked hard-to-see roots and got my adrenaline shooting twice in the first 10 miles alone. At mile 6, I was right behind a guy who did the same thing and manged to get his hands out and save himself. Concentration on the ground had to be extra high in order to avoid any accidents.

I had a huge surprise waiting for me at Shinglemill (the only crew accessible aid station in the race). My wife and my girls were there waiting for me! I though that I'd only get to see them at the 31.5 mile mark (Pine Valley start/finish area) and again at the finish but this was an awesome surprise! My 3 year old came running at me yelling 'Daddy!' as I ran in. I had a touch of emotion come over me briefly but did a good job of holding it together. My wife told me that my 5 year old was over by the water bucket waiting to sponge water over my head. We talked a little bit while I tried to fill up my pain-in-the-arse bladder by myself from a big Gatorade cooler. The HEED wouldn't flow nicely straight into the bladder from the spigot, but instead ran down onto the table and then into bladder, and all over me and my pack, in a 6" wide waterfall.

Shinglemill Aid Station - 15.7 miles

Shinglemill Aid Station - 15.7 miles

Shinglemill Aid Station - 15.7 miles

I told my wife that I was feeling good, which I was, and after hugs, kisses, and goodbyes, I headed out. It was pretty much all downhill from here back to a second stop at Buffalo Creek at 19.9 miles. During this stretch, I took some time to take some pics. We were running in a burn area and the devastation is pretty amazing, but the views are epic.

Somewhere around 19.5 miles I started to get a bit tired. I was still averaging about a 12:00 pace and I was wondering if I'd hit the 20 mile wall or not today. I did, but it was not a huge wall at least. This was by far the best I've ever felt after this distance - and I've never done the terrain and climbing this race was offering up before. My mental state is very good.

I took some extra time at the 19.9 Buffalo creek station after coming in at about 4:04. I had a volunteer fill my CamelBak this time while I sat on a big rock, emptied my shoes, and taped my left big toe. I was getting a slight hot-spot on it and needed to nip it in the bud. Again, I never touched my drop bag. There were some people in bad shape at the aid station this time. I think heat was a big factor and some people looked absolutely wiped. I didn't pay attention to number bib colors, but if they were 50k runners, they could probably make it. If they were 50 milers, I'm glad I wasn't one of them.

Leaving Buffalo Creek, I had an uphill climb of about 1000' over 2.5 miles waiting for me.  I took the pace easy here and averaged about an 18:00 pace to the top. This stretch was very quiet and I think I remember seeing maybe one other runner. Not far after peaking out at the top, the Miller Gulch (unmanned - water only) station lay in waiting at mile 23.8.  Amazingly, about five or six of us arrived at about the same time and there was the choice of H2O or HEED. Like the Waterboy, I took H2O, which I had switched to at the last aid station.  One girl complained of having very tight hamstrings, and asked me how mine were, but most of the others looked just generally very tired. I'm sure I was looking pretty tired too, but at least my hammy's were OK.

Things are a bit foggy for me timeline-wise from here on out, but I think it was somewhere between Buffalo Creek and Miller Gulch that I noticed that my fingers were starting to swell just a bit. I also felt like I was over-fueling. It wasn't nauseau, but I just felt over-full - like things would overflow and come back up if I took in any more. Time to cut back a bit and go to 45 minute fueling. I had also been taking either S! Caps or Salt Stick caps on the hours. Time to cut back on those too. More mistakes I suspect.

Somewhere in the midst of these three aid stations a couple of us running together for a short time experienced a rapid darkening of the skies and the deep rumble of thunder. Rain!?!? "Rain would be sweet", I thought. And so down it came, not real heavy, and not for very long, but enough to cool things a bit and give us a little refreshment without a complete soaking.  I most definitely welcomed it.

After Miller Gulch, Homestead awaited once again at 28.6. I think it was here that I took on some real food for the first time; watermelon and some potato chips.  After that it was all downhill to the Pine Valley start/finish station at 31.5 miles (this is where the 50k runners would finish their races and partake in the post-race festivities). On the way down I started to cross paths with the leaders on their way back up at the 6:00 mark. The Ultra-Running community is so cool. Here are these guys kicking ass at the front, about 2 hours ahead of me, and each and every one makes a comment of "You're doing great" or "Great job".  Awesome people - very humble.

I rolled into Pine Valley at 6:35 elapsed, and well within the 8:20 cutoff (if you don't make it there by 3:20pm, your race is done). As far as I was concerned, I was doing pretty well. Since my girls met me at Shinglemill, I wasn't expecting them to meet me here as originally planned. I had the aid station volunteers fill my CamelBak as usual, with H2O, and downed a few cups more - but no food.  The picnic shelter was packed with people and I finally found my drop bag. I pretty much just emptied my shoes, slathered on sunscreen, grabbed a Clif Bar to slowly snack on, and hit the trail again. But not before downing some more water and pouring some of that icy cold goodness over my head. It was about 1:40pm by the time I headed out, yelling my thank-you's again to the volunteers, just like at every station, and man it was hot.

From here we went a different route back up to Homestead (stop #3 of 4 there) at mile 34.2. We had to climb this monstrous set of 'stairs' up out of Pine Valley. I wish I had taken pictures because it was a tremendous view looking down over the parking lot from way high up - and I was certainly moving slow enough to have done so - but I was too tired to bother. I was walking/hiking with two other runners, of which one was an early starter. He actually had a digital thermometer on him. 89.4 degrees. Damn. I left those two behind me and forged on ahead.  Eventually the trail merged with the one I had come down from Homestead on, and I encountered a steady stream of both 50k and 50 milers on their way down. I averaged well over a 20:00 pace getting up to Homestead and arrived at 7:43 elapsed.  2.7 miles took me over an hour.

I plunked down in a chair at Homestead.  My breathing had started to get very rapid and my lungs hurt. My HR was not abnormal at all though - it was right where it should be. The volunteers asked what I wanted and I just wasn't sure. I joked about a beer and they said "We have beer if you want it". "Really?" was my retort.  "Uh, ya. Do you think we're stupid enough to be out here, as hot as it is, without ice cold beer?" I told them that maybe the next time around I'd take them up on it. They did explain that the Race Director didn't want them handing it out, but if I really, really wanted it, it was mine. Again - the Ultra scene = awesome people.

I had to really take stock of my situation now. Things had deteriorated much further than I thought. My legs weren't so bad - I mean they were tired, but I was doing WAY better than I had in my first/last 50 mile race, which was much less difficult of a course. I was on pace to easily break the 12 hour mark today - which was my stretch goal. But, I had lost focus on fueling. It only takes so many GU and Hammer gels, along with electrolyte drinks to get you overdosed on sweet. And, my over-fueling feeling had me fueling only about every hour now, and I was drinking only water - though I was pounding that back pretty good. I'd fill my almost empty 70oz bladder with water at every aid station, plus I'd down a couple of extra cups too. I certainly didn't feel dehydrated. I told one aid volunteer that I hadn't urinated since mile 10 - an hour into the race - and almost 7 hours had gone by since then and nothing. And I showed him my now even more sausage-like fingers. "I've got too much salt in me." (mistake #???) I said. His advice; "You have to pee.  You have to get it flowing out of you. It's going to be tough and you have to just relax, but you have to get it out."

Before I left Homestead,  the same guy told me - "You're still doing OK. You're in the top 10."  "What?!?!  No way...".  He tells me that if not top 10, then I'm close. I head out after many thanks to the volunteer crew and we yell back and forth about seeing each other again soon (still one more stop here to go).

Now, I'm pretty sure he was just trying to pep me up a bit, but then I get thinking, holy crap - what if I am that close to the top 10. I've really only been passing people, and no-one has been passing me. But there had to be way more than 10 people that were coming up when I was going down. And right about then the tears started flowing a bit and I got pretty emotional. I was thinking about my family waiting for me at the end, and about possibly having that strong of a finish. Hold it together, man - you have to take his advice and pee.  Concentrate on your situation and don't even think about things out of your control.  There is still a long ways to go.

I stepped off the trail and I managed only to get a trickle out, but now I actually do feel like I do really have to go. But it's very dark yellow, and nothing more is coming out. I'm now remembering my buddy Chris (Agile Fox) telling me stories from his races. Once you get going, you're gonna have to go every two minutes. But, dark yellow urine is a sign of dehydration. I'm not showing any other signs of that, but my fingers, and now I realize my feet, are swollen. I was just crying tears two minutes ago. My mouth is not dry. I don't have a headache or feel dizzy. How can I be dehydrated? I'm just confused about what's happening and what I can possibly do to fix it - and now I'm obsessed with peeing, as well as the fact I think I have too much salt in me.

I decided to try turning on my phone at this point, and could hardly believe it when I actually got a signal! I had a bunch of texts from my good buddy Kev cheering me on  I texted him back while I plodded along and also sent my wife some texts too explaining that I had completed 34.4 miles and would probably be another 4 hours. Then the signal went dead.

It's about 2 miles of yet more climbing from here and then the longest downhill of the day starts down into Buffalo Creek and beyond; about 1200' over 6 miles. From there is one last big climb and then downhill to the finish - it's still 16 miles but I've got over 6 hours to do it if things get REALLY bad. I could walk and make it.

On the way down to the final Buffalo Creek stop (39.6 miles), I got passed by at least a half dozen other racers. And, even though it's pretty much all down hill, I'm walking a lot more and people are catching me. My lungs are hurting me badly now, my breathing is very rapid, and my lower and mid-back are screaming for a chiropractor. I stop about every 5 minutes - obsessed, trying to relieve myself with no luck. I half jokingly curse my prostate. I chat with another runner from Durango, who I actually catch up to and who might be in worse shape than me. He's struggling with cramps and is walking a lot (I know he's walking a lot because I have him in my sights for about a half mile out going through an old burn area). I ask if he's been taking any salt and he says no - the only thing he is taking is HEED. I offer him up a couple of S! Caps which he gladly accepts and downs. He's thinking that I'm moving a lot faster than him, but I tell him I'm in no rush, and we arrive at the Buffalo Creek station together. I grab my drop bag and hit a chair. He, and others, head out well before I do. 39.6 miles down in 9:00 hours which has me ahead of even my stretch goal of a 12:00 finish. But, I'm about to learn that the final 10.6 miles are going to really suck.

The volunteers fill up my 70 ounces, yet again. Did I mention yet how awesome all the volunteers are?!?!  You could never pull off the logistics of a race like this without them. I hope that every single one of them heard me when I yelled out at every aid station "Thank you volunteers for being out here!"

I grabbed another Clif Bar from my drop bag, emptied my shoes and grabbed fresh socks. I really wanted watermelon bad, but it was just hot soggy bits and pieces that were still left. Bah. I need to get going - so I stand up from my chair - and almost fall completely down. I'm dizzy as all hell now. One volunteer asks me if I'm OK and a couple of them look a little concerned about me. I tell them that I just need to walk for a little bit (a mild understatement) to get my legs back.  One aid worker asks if I want ice for inside my hat and I stupidly decline before heading out.

Sandy Wash aid station is at 42.3 miles - a mere 2.7 miles from where I am right now. I walk the whole way averaging about a 19:00 pace. I'm munching on a Clif Bar and drinking lots of water but if anything I'm getting worse. My breathing is really rapid and my lungs, and what I now suspect could be my kidneys, are hurting. I'm dizzy and at times find it difficult to walk in a straight line - which I'm trying to do in order to use the tangents and cover the shortest distance that I can. I'm still stopping every 5 minutes to try and pee but only getting small amounts of really yellow stuff. Keep moving. Don't stop. Keep moving, but take it really easy. I'm emptying my shoes again, while standing in the middle of a dirt road, when another runner comes around the bend. He sees me struggling with this simple task and sticks around to make sure I'm all right. I don't know that I am alright, and I'm still confused about my situation, but I'm not giving in now. We chat a bit and he goes on ahead. I arrive at Sandy Wash a short time later and they are expecting me. "Too much salt?" the one volunteer asks? He's got on a red Hardrock 100 shirt - he's going to know his stuff. I guess the runner I talked to filled them in on what I had told him. The two volunteers there check me over and are of the opinion that I'm OK. They didn't think I was retaining that much water, and they had me do a lick test on my arm - "Does the salt taste good, like you want more?" "Nope." The last time I took a salt cap was 6 hours ago - even if I initially was having a salt issue, how could it possibly be too much salt this much later?  I'd become convinced that I'd taken too much salt, and that I really needed to relieve myself. I was fixated on those things. All mistakes I think.

Just before I head out on my way out, the runner I previously chatted with came running back to the aid station. He asks the crew "Did you say it was 5 miles uphill to the next station?"  "Yep - 5 miles - uphill." He responds with; "I'm going to need two full bottles for that I think." That conversation was NOT something I needed to hear at that moment.

The final stop before the finish was again to be Homestead (stop 4 of 4 there) at the 47.3 mile mark. It was agonizingly slow and I averaged only about 22:00 pace while climbing about 1200' over those 5 miles. And, I was all alone now. I saw no-one in front of me and no-one behind me that entire 5 miles. I kept checking for a cell signal the closer I got to Homestead, hoping to catch that intermittent signal, but no luck. I was hoping to text either with my wife or my buddy Kevin to help give me some kind of boost. Man, where the f*@k is that aid station!?!? Right about now I'm wanting, no NEEDING, an ice cold Coke and a chunk of juicy watermelon! I take it as a good sign that my body is actually starting to crave something. Much better than trying a handful of raisins and spitting them out because it tastes like a glob of High Fructose Corn Syrup. I take cravings pretty seriously as I figure my body knows what it really needs, and this is how it tells me - with murderous cravings!. Where is that bloody aid station!?!? I talked to myself over that 5 miles more than the rest of the entire race combined. Mostly of the derogatory sorts, like; "You stupid a**hole - I can't believe you did this to yourself!!!" And, when am I going to get a cell sig... wait! I got one!!! The next few minutes I spent texting with Kev and he gave me some encouraging words. My wife however was not responding, so I tried calling her. Immediately to voice mail. Her phone was probably dead and she'd already be waiting at the finish line. In one of her earlier texts she explained that they missed me by 40 minutes at Pine Valley - so she's probably thinking I'm way ahead of schedule. I already know that I'm not making my 12:00 stretch goal anymore. Then, finally, I can hear something in the distance - people talking - it's Homestead at last.

2.9 miles to the finish. I arrived at about the 11:45 mark and immediately hit a chair. "Coke please..." "Uh, we're all out of Coke. All we have is a half can of warm 7-UP." "I'll take it. And I'll take one of those beers you were talking about earlier." They were insistent that they weren't supposed to be giving out beer - but they obliged, probably seeing how badly I needed it. I managed to get half the beer down and a couple of handfuls of potato chips, since there was no watermelon there either. Interesting that I could handle, and actually really enjoyed the salty potato chips - since I've had it in my stupid head for about 25 miles that I've got too much f'ing salt in me. Mistake after mistake after mistake. I chatted with all the guys at the station about my 'situation' of too much salt, not peeing, etc., etc. once again. One guy said that he ran an entire 50 miler without peeing once before. Huh - that jogs my memory of my My first/last 50 miler - I did that exact same thing!!! It's amazing how the mind gets confused and foggy in conditions such as these horribly hot, 50 mile endurance events. I must've stayed there at least 5 minutes and finally knew I had to get going. They topped off my water, and I headed out, but not before getting passed up by the tight hamstrings girl from Miller Gulch. It's all downhill from here they told me...  And I have to say that Homestead aid station was by far my favorite stop. It was a party there and the whole crew was awesome!

I started away from the aid station still at a slow pace, but it didn't take long for the 7-UP, the PBR, and the potato chips to kick in, and I was suddenly feeling much better. The dizzy head was gone and sore lungs and back were starting to improve. Even the sausage fingers were stating to improve, even though I still couldn't relieve myself. I quickly realized I needed to empty my shoes though, as I forgot to do it while sitting at Homestead. So, I found a rock to sit on and emptied them out. I carried on a little further and realized that I needed to stop again and shake out my socks this time. I found a comfy log and did just that. As I was tying up my last shoe, I took a peek up the trail, and I saw a runner coming. "Meh - whatever", I thought at first. My goal has always been just to finish, even though I thought I had 12:00 in the bag for much of the race. But then I don't know what happened. Maybe because I felt I had done so well, through the first 35 miles or so at least, that I was now thinking - "No friggin' way am I getting passed again." So, I took off running. It's probably fortunate that the runner's pace didn't push me too hard, as I was always able to keep a comfortable lead on them. Those last couple of miles seemed long but at least I was able to actually run the last 1.5 miles. So much better than the previous 8.7 miles or so of walking.

I finally hit the concrete sidewalk and knew that in about 30 seconds I'd be a 2-time finisher of a 50 Mile Trail Race. I crossed the little pedestrian bridge, took a right turn and could see the yellow shirts of the volunteers at the finish. And, as I approached the finish line, my oldest daughter was off to side of the trail waiting to give me a high-five just before I crossed the line where my wife and my 3 year old were waiting for me too.  Hugs, kisses, and maybe just a few tears, all around.

Official Time - 12:21:48 - 40th out of 53 official finishers - Garmin Connect Data

Me, my oldest daughter, and Janice O'Grady (RD) at the finish line.

Pace (blue) and Elevation (green)

HR (red) and Elevation (green)

HR (red) and Pace (blue)

North Fork 50 Mile Trail Race - Finishers Award

To close - I have to say what a great race this was. All the personnel and aid stations were top notch.  The trail markings were very well done as well and there we no problems navigating the course.

In hind-sight, I think my strategy at aid stations should have been to pound down Coke and HEED as much as possible since I was probably just dehydrated - though not really showing many of the typical symptoms, or at least cluing into them. And I never ever did 'break the seal', leading me even more to believe it was dehydration. I probably should have just stuck to my 45 minute fueling plan throughout as well and been more conservative with salt caps.  Other than that I really had no problems.  No blisters, no chaffing, no sunburn.

Again, this was a fantastically well put on race, and I've come out with much greater knowledge and wisdom that I went in with - and next time I'll do even better because of it.

Thanks to Janice O'Grady, and all the volunteers and crews that were involved.  Amazing job by all!

But my biggest thanks are to my family who put up with all my training; day after day, week after week, month after month, and all the race day craziness. I love you.

Race packet picked up...

Got my race packet today.  #70. Apparently forgot my 'emergency kit' at home though. Leatherman Micra, spongy tape for blisters, lanacane, etc.. Guess I'll have to do without. Excited to get rolling! Disappointed there seems to be zero cell signal at the race course. Was hoping people could follow on Endomondo, and my family to track me on Instamapper. Doesn't look like that will work though. Going to try to take some pics along the way...

Bear Chase 50mi Race Report...

It's hard for me to know where to start with this being my first race report and all, so I guess I'll just start at the beginning:

The car's thermometer read 59 degrees. That was at about 5:15am when I rolled into Bear Creek Lake Park for the second annual running of The Bear Chase, for my 6:30 start. Ya, kinda early, but I didn't want to be late. It's my first race and I'm not really sure what to expect. It's a beautiful clear morning, with a light breeze putting some nip in the air, and a crescent moon laying on its back low in the eastern sky. A photo would not have done it justice. Good thing about getting there early - sweet parking spot. Front row, about 20 feet from the start/finish line.

Things are still getting setup so I'm not exactly sure what to do at this point. There aren't a whole lot of people around yet. So, I started to putter around in the back of the car with my drop bag (packed the night before) and my gear a little bit. Figure I'll get my shoes (Merrell Trail Gloves) on, sunscreen up, get my race shirt and bib on, and walk around with my headlamp to take in some pre-race ambiance. Nipple band-aids, some toe tape, and Lanacane anti-chaffing gel were applied well in advance at home so that’s covered. It's nippy like I said, so I pulled on the 'tube socks with the toes cut out arm warmers' (awesome idea Chris!) and the cheapo Walmart disposable gloves. I find the 50mi drop bag area, 10 feet in front of my car, and the port-o-johns. Not much else to figure out really. So, I listened to some A7X in the car, made a couple of pit stops, positioned my drop bag and waited. At 6:15 I downed a Salt Stick cap, a Clif Mocha Shot and finished off my 24oz of PowerBar Perform. I strapped on my Camelbak Delaney Plus loaded with enough GU Roctane, Hammer Perpetuem Solids and Salt Stick Caps to get me to mile 25 and clipped my hat onto the belt. I was ready and anxious to get rolling.

By now things were in full swing. There are a ton of people about, and anticipation was building in everyone. A nervous excitement was in the air, or maybe that was just me. Morning is just kind of getting started and it's still pretty dark but dawn is starting to break from behind Mt. Carbon. It's no longer dark enough for headlamps so no need to drag that along. I talk a little bit to the guy standing next to me at the back of the corral. We're both first time ultra runners. He asked me about my Trail Gloves asking if they were minimalist and if I was wearing socks or not - which I wasn't. We wished each other good luck. When the announcer asks how many first timers’ there are quite a few hands out of the 80 participants go up into the air - mine being one.

You know, I don't even remember if there was a bang, or a countdown or what exactly to start the race. I just remember thinking - "Stick to the back; Ease into it; Keep your HR down; Run the tangents if there are any; If it feels like you're going too fast or working too hard, you are." The front people took off amidst lots of hooting and hollering and I started out in a crowd of slow walkers at the very back, which turned in to slow jog, and into an easy pace. It was on. My first real race, and it's a 50 mile ultra at that.

Habitually checking my Garmin for pace and HR I notice my HR is about 220. WTF?!? Well, I know it's just my HR monitor acting up at least, or interference from other HRM's around me maybe. After a while it sorts itself out I'm in the low 150's. Beauty. 1st mile clicks by at 11:40 pace. Feeling good, and I figure I'll speed up a little bit, but keep it in check since I've felt awful during training my last two weeks. There's a guy just up ahead of me running with a girl and he's jabbering non-stop to her. If that's his thing then cool, but it’s got me kinda got me irritated since I was hoping to enjoy the silence of the morning and really only wanted to hear the rhythmic foot-steps of the other runners around me.


That first mile and a half heads due west from the start/finish. Beautiful trails winding in and out of green, lush, canopy with the sounds, and occasional sight, of the creek next to us. The leaders had already done the 180 degree turn after a quick bridge crossing and were heading due east again. I would catch a glimpse of them every so often across the creek and through the trees. They were moving - fast.

It's only 3.2 miles to the first aid station from start/finish, but I had had enough of the talking before I hit 2 miles in. So I gave a courteous; "I'm going to pass you on your left" and never saw him again. I guess I expected there to be a certain ‘feel’ during the race and I wasn’t getting that. Call me high maintenance I guess.

Other than my plan to take a GU Roctane every half hour, and a Salt Stick Cap every hour, I also had a plan to drain 24oz of liquid (either H20 or PowerBar Perform or combination of those) in the distance in-between each and every aid station. Seems like a lot of liquid, almost 100oz per 12.5mi lap, but they were calling for an 86 degree day and no cloud cover at all. It was going to be hot. On top of that, I'd estimate that only about 45% of the course provides any shade. The other 55% is totally exposed with no cover. I'd have to stay on top of keeping hydrated. That meant never letting my mouth get dry and monitoring my urination frequency and the color of it. I also wanted to take in a bit of food - potato chips, pretzles, watermelon, bananas, etc., at every aid station. I'd been having problems with my stomach for weeks, whether running or not running, and I wanted to keep food in there to try to keep it settled. Any stomach issues would probably end my race early I suspected.

Before the 1st Aid Station

Before even getting to the first aid station, where I ditched the gloves and arm warmers, I had settled into a comfortable pace behind an older guy in a Bear Chase 2011 tech shirt. He'd been in the rear pack with me earlier. I thought "Man, this guy’s form isn't very good. I hope he makes it." We were moving at a 10:15 - 10:45 pace now and I never though about passing him up. I was comfortable right now. He had no belt or fuel with him that I could see, a hat tucked into his shorts, and a handheld bottle. Nothing else. About a mile after the aid station we had to cross a small bridge where there was a manned timing mat. Well, the guy there went absolutely nuts! "Marshall!! Marshall Ulrich!!! We Love you Marshall!!" He ran along side us lavishing lots and lots of praise on 'Marshall'. I knew that there was an UltraMarthon, Adventure Racing, Legend named Marshall Ulrich running the race today, but had no idea that I had been tailgating the guy for the past few miles, and negatively critiquing his form! What's extra funny for me is that my buddy Chris told me that he ran with Marshall (ya, first named basis now) during his first 50mi ultra! Small world I guess. We ran mostly together until the aid station at mile 10.1 where I forged on ahead and didn't see Mr. Ulrich again. Checking the results it looks like he dropped out at the end of the 3rd lap. We had exchanged a few words during our run together, mostly about how beautiful the day was, but once I knew who he was, I knew I had a cool little story about my brush with fame and left it at that. Quite a few people recognized him, and he was always very cordial with them. Seemed like a class act to me.

Before that 10.1 mile aid station, we had climbed Mt. Carbon, done three creek/river crossings, and gone through an aid station at 7.8mi. Now, Carbon isn't all that high - something like 220' of vertical climb but in only 0.4mi, so it's pretty steep, footing is loaded with loose rock, and I saw no-one running, or even jogging it (though I'm sure all the top guys and gals ran it). The descent from there is narrow single track with lots of loose junk on the trail, but you can make pretty good time here and it's a welcome relief from the slow climbing. From there you enter a scenic wooded area, where the three water crossings await you. The water is cool and refreshing but now there are the squishy shoes to deal with. The Merrell Trail Gloves shed the water fairly well and I don't have socks to deal with. I'm golden. A quick turn north from the water takes you to the 7.8mi aid station. Fueling and hydration is going well, and my urine is good. I take on food, top up my empty bottle with half H2O and half PowerBar and head out to what I will now call the 'soulless' part of the course heading west - 7.8mi to the 12.5mi start/finish.

1st Lap Water Crossing 

From 5500' at the 7.8 aid station, you're now exposed to the elements, just like on Mt. Carbon. You continually climb, with a few miserable ups and downs in there, past the 10.1mi aid station to the highest point on the course at about 5800' somewhere around the 10.6mi mark. From there it's mostly downhill back to the start/finish, but still with no tree cover and a good mile of single track that seems like a foot deep, foot wide trough cut out of the dirt, with baseball sized rocks strewn throughout. I crossed the line in 2:18:31 - a decent pace for me. I'm happy with that effort.

I have a drop bag at the start/finish, but I don't need it yet. My feet are feeling fine in the Trail Gloves. I've got no chaffing, my stomach is perfect, and my fueling and hydration is spot on. My HR is still in the 150's and I'm feeling good. I think it was here that I stopped with the PowerBar and went just with H2O for the duration. I was getting overloaded on sweet. Lathered up more sunscreen, grabbed some pretzels and banana chunks and off I went.

Now, on the first lap, I had been running with people, or had people fairly close in front or behind me the whole time - but now - crickets. Literally. Total silence and solitude, except for the crickets. Suddenly it felt like one of my 3am training runs, except that it was light out. I think I encountered 2 people over the next 3 plus miles. At the 3.2 aid station there was a runner/gopher/volunteer this time - a teenager asking what I needed - just a refill on my bottle - which he handed back to me once I arrived at the station. I thanked everyone for volunteering and supporting all of us, which I had done at every aid station previously, and everyone hereafter. I have to say that the volunteers were just awesome during this event! I have nothing to compare it to, but I don’t see how it could have been done any better!

I noticed as I was leaving that my bottle was only about 2/3 full and contemplated turning around to top it up, but I was already on my way. I would just conserve it. I made a mental note to remember next time to really top up and to even take some extra swigs before leaving the aid station on the next lap since it was 4.6mi until the next station. A little bit too far for comfort considering the mounting heat. The other stations are 3.2mi, 2.3mi and 2.4mi in between only, so 4.6mi was stretching it.

The rest of this lap there was little to report, other than maybe the speed walker / gazelle leaper runner that I kept encountering ever since we started out this morning. He would speed walk, then doing this bounding running stride, then speed walk again. Over and over and over. And if he wanted by someone, he was going by them at all costs it seemed! I was a bit disappointed in lack of etiquette in general after asking Chris what to expect, but it is a race after all I guess. I gave myself a quick systems check at mile 16 since on my last long training run, that's when my legs started to struggle. I was good this time though. I got to the 7.8 station ready for liquid knowing I had stretched it. I think this is when I ran into Matt - the guy I talked to at the start who was doing his first 50mi as well. He was struggling with stomach issues and was slowing. Things looked grim for him.

On 'Soulless'

This is where I hit the port-a-john on the first lap - but not this time. Hmmm.... Off for the soulless section to get back to the start/finish. This is where the mental and physical struggles began. At mile 20 my legs started really feeling it. My pace is slowing and I'm doing about 13:00 pace now. I know that my wife and girls are waiting for me at the line and know that will give me a boost. I grind through to get to there at exactly 11:30am. Five hours - 25mi - a 2:40:29 lap, only 20 minutes slower than my first. I'm happy with that, but my pace is slowing and I know it.

Half way there...

As I approach I hardly notice the cowbells and people cheering - where's my family? I'm scanning and scanning the crowds, but I can't find them. I had felt some emotion coming on on my way down the hill to the line in anticipation of seeing them, but now I wasn't sure what was going on. Quick thinking – “Get to your drop bag - restock, check your feet, beware the chair, and get moving. They're probably setup just down the trail picnicking - you'll see 'em.” But now, I feel like I'm really struggling. Two more laps of this!?!? I just don't know if I can do it. Then, Diana is right in my face. "When did you come in?!? We've been watching and listening for you! Let me go get the girls!" I told her to bring them to the side of the course since I couldn't go to them. The tears started as soon as I saw them walking over and calling 'Daddy!' I fought so hard to bottle them up so that the girls wouldn't get concerned. They had made me some awesome little signs at home that morning to cheer me on and showed me them. I gave them big hugs and kisses and we had a short chat. I told Diana not to come back for the finish. I explained that I was struggling and wasn't sure of the outcome. I didn't want my girls to see daddy as a big mess at the end - if I could make it. I had to get moving and so I bid them farewell and set off on what was going to be the hardest physical thing I've ever gone through...

Laps 1 & 2 - Pace / HR

Laps 1 & 2 - Elevation / HR

I headed out on lap three in a rough frame of mind. Honestly, things get a little hazy here for a while. I keep telling myself 'baby steps' and not to look at the big picture - that I still have 25 bloody miles to go. I had to switch my Garmin 405 (dying batteries) for my wife’s 210 and the HRM wasn’t working on it, even after testing it the night before. Bah! Alright, at least I’ll know my pace and the time. It’s all good. Again, there aren't a lot of people around me. At this point I was kind of wishing there were - though I still wasn't missing incessant talking guy from mile one. I did my best to take in and enjoy as much scenery as I could. I was still getting to see speed walker guy every once in a while too. He'd get in front of me, I'd get in from of him, and so on... He didn't seem to appreciate my comment of “You've really mastered the speed walking technique!” on one of our probably two dozen position changes over the race. I was being sincere though. The guy was a machine and was still rocking. I kept encountering a tattooed girl running with a pack that had caught me and passed me around the 3.2 station. The 3.2 station!!! I messed up with my hydration again!!! I mentally noted to take on, and in, more water than normal while stopped and I screwed up. Damn mental fog. I had done the same thing just a while earlier when I meant to Vaseline under my arms where I had some minor chaffing from my sleeveless T rubbing, and - oh ya - sunscreen! That was minor though. Hydration was may more important! Now, at the top of Carbon, there is a restroom and water for the golf course that is next to there. Why didn't I stop? Right... why didn't I stop. Great question. It's mostly downhill from here to the aid station but it's still about 3.2mi away - and it's hot. I run out of water with one mile to go, and my mouth is dry. Stupid.

The water crossings provide some relief for the legs, and I soak myself good. Just have to get up the hill to the aid station. Still no urine and I'm doing 16:00 pace'ish now. "Just get to the line and you can pretty much walk the last lap; Don't give up; Get to that tree down there; Get to that gate; Think about people that know you’re out and are cheering for you; Keep the legs moving; Keep going; Keep going; Keep going."

I turn to comedy for support now. I keep thinking of some movie lines from Step Brothers - just stupid juvenile stuff - but it gets me laughing. And the Brooks Running commercial where one guy is running and the other is in the van lending support. "Tell my kids I love them!" "Karl, you don't have any kids...". That helped me kind of 'check out' during the 'soulless' section of the course that I now pretty much hated with a red hot intensity. Matt had caught up again at this point and had his stomach troubles behind him. Said he was feeling good again. Good for him, not much help for me. Really the only issue I was having now was tired, screaming sore, legs. My longest run before today was 26.2mi. I was slowly approaching 37.5mi now. I notice the girl with the pack and tattoos coming in the same time as me but most things are a blur at this point. That lap took me 3:10:30. 30 minutes longer than the last lap. Things are getting worse. At least I was 20 minutes ahead of the cutoff time required to start the last lap.

3 down - 1 to go...

I knew at this point that I had 3 hours 50 minutes to do the last 12.5mi. I still wasn't 100% confident that I could do it - but I was going to do everything I could to get it done. One aid station guy was telling a story; “The girl came in and sat down. I asked her if she needed anything. She hesitated… finally said “Nope, I’m pretty much done.” Got up and walked away.” Crazy. I debated a change of footwear to conventional trail shoes but decided against it. My toes on my right foot were all blistered, but I felt nothing. No pain. I taped 'em knowing that I had to. I taped the other foot too and my left heel. Matt had taken up a chair behind me and told me he was on pair of shoes number four! Wow. I felt that my hydration was back on track, fueling and salt was good, but man, I was sick of GU Roctane and so I tried some Honey Stinger Chews... Ugh! WAY too sweet!! Abandoned that. I had done three Hammer Perpetuem Solids Tabs somewhere on lap 3 and abandoned those too. You need about 8oz of water to choke just one of those 'tabs' down. I'm getting set to head out when tattooed backpack girl appears right in front of me; "Let's get going. We're going to finish this together."

It was tough getting up and heading out, but it was way easier than if I had to do it myself. We walked for a while to get the stiffness worked out and would kind of jog and walk, walk and jog. Can't call it running any more really or at least it didn't feel like it. We were doing about 15:00 pace so it could have been much worse I suppose. My compatriot in pain was Joanne McKay from Denver. We chit-chatted along the way with each of us alternating with 'OK, let's jog this section for a while.' We talked about how we were both slightly nauseous – though she seemed worse than me. I was dreading every single GU Roctane gel that was still to come, but still needed. She had a good support team there, including her boyfriend who drove out to meet her at the bottom end of Carbon to cheer her on. I told her about losing it when I saw all of my girls at the mid-point. We had some good conversation and it most definitely helped.

Being smarter this time, I filled my bottle at the top of Carbon. Not sure if it would have helped me on the previous two laps but it sure would not have hurt! It didn't seem like there were too many people behind us at this point. I know now that 26 of the 80 starters had dropped out by this point already, and only seven people would finish behind us. One of those was a guy we found sitting on a log. He was toast. Joanne offered him some ginger chews to help his nausea but he was done. He had done 42 miles but couldn't go on. We had to keep moving. We finally hit the water with a couple of other people. Everyone there just sat down up to our waists letting the magical water cool our aching legs. Three several minute stops to do that were totally worth it. Finally at the 7.8 station I was able to urinate - not a good color. Less than 5 miles to go now though. The toughest 5 miles I've ever done.

The soulless stretch seemed to go on longer than ever and be steeper than ever too on this final lap. We were talking a lot less now it seemed and we each were taking turns leading us forward. It was nice that the sun was finally getting lower in the sky and it was cooling down. I don't think the heat really bothered me as much as it did most of the other people though it seemed. My feet now though, had become very sore. Not because of blisters, but just from the 45 miles of pounding in minimalist shoes. Several people on the first lap commented on them and I didn't see anyone else wearing any. One guy asked; "How do they feel after 30 miles in 'em?" My response: "Dunno. I've never gone that far before. Guess I'll find out today." And that I did. My feet felt like hamburger now. I kept doing calculations on what pace we needed to maintain in order to make the 12 hour cutoff. When we reached the 10.1mi aid station, we could do a 20:00 pace and make it in time. We knew with 99% certainty, barring disaster, that we'd make it... And so would speed walker guy, because he was hot on our heels! I later found out that Chris has raced with guy before. He’s an old-timer that’s been in the ultra scene forever. He told me that last year, he got passed by him in his last mile of the Leadville 100!

My goal now, was not to let speed walker get in front of us. I don't know why exactly, because my only competitiveness from the get-go was against myself, but both Joanne and I kept a close watch out for his position behind us. With less than a mile to go we knew we had it in the bag. We'd have some time to spare. That last 2.5 miles was the worst ever though - twice as bad as the 2.5 before it. I started to hope that Diana and the girls would actually be there to cheer me in, and I could feel tears building again. There weren't a lot of people around any more and Joanne sped off ahead at the end to meet her boyfriend and support team who were waiting for her. I crossed the line at 3:30:37 for the lap - 20 minutes slower than the last. Elapsed race time: 11:40:14. Chip time: 11:40:05. I got my finishers medal and stumbled to my car.  I don't think anyone was even taking pictures anymore.

Laps 3 & 4 - Elevation / Pace

The Hardware!

Six people finished in the 12 hour limit behind us, and one more just after. 100 people registered, 80 started and 53 finished under the cutoff. I was 47th. I had met my goal. I staggered over to Joanne and her friends for a brief moment, did some congratulatory high fives and fist bumps with them and drove home to my girls.

"Daddy's home!" More tears... I couldn't have done it without them.