"To give anything lest than your best is to sacrifice the gift" ~Steve Prefontane

She looks nothing like a champion.  Exhausted, depleted, dehydrated.  You could probably tip her over with 1 finger. But she's a beast. She battled mountains and monsters and finished with a full heart and a hunger within....not a metaphorical hunger, the very real get me a burger and a beer hunger!

We arrived on Thursday before Saturday's race. We decided to stay in Springdale, Utah instead of Bryce. We had been to Bryce before, but had never seen Zion. Springdale is essentially at the mouth of Zion Canyon. This put us at about a 90 min drive from the race start. 

The Plan was for the boys to crew me...meeting me at the aid stations that allowed crews. The only problem was that the race started at 5:30am. That would mean they would have to get up at 3am for a really long day to catch a few minutes here or there with me at designated aid stations. 

I decided they would have way more fun enjoying another day of Zion together. This would also keep me from worrying about them and feeling bad for making them go through the rigors of crewing. It is actually harder for me to "race" with crew in many cases. Often, the benefit of having someone help me is negated by my empathy for their plight. This course had frequent aid stations, good course markings, and the weather, while anticipated hot, would not be particularly dangerous for a prepared runner.

We ate like kings Thursday and Friday before the race. On the course I would regret the richness of my diet and the particularly creamy, over the top margarita cheesecake desert that was sent straight from heaven to my table the night before the race.

So, no crew, no big deal. I'd bring my drop bags so I could have the type of gel (Spring Energy) and snacks that I knew would sit well on my tummy during the race. I Checked the race website... how early do I need to get up to get my drop bags in place for the race?

Typically, you have to have drop bags at the check in by about an hour pre race. With this race the drop bags had to be left at the race start the night before....by 8pm. Well shit, that wasn't going to happen. Oh well, I knew they would have snacks and gels at each aid, and while not my preferred, it would be ok. My stomach can tolerate many aid station options.

I made it to the start feeling great. Oatmeal and coffee in and ready to GO!

I had no clue my race would go south so fast, literally. Within the first or second mile my gut was cramping and I was deciding which tree to go hide behind.  Ok back on track. Got that over with and out of the way.....Then 2 miles later...again, off trail. This went on every 2-3 miles to the first full aid at 9-10 miles. Fortunately, I wasn't nauseated or feeling "sick" per se. My gut was just in overdrive, likely from the richness and excessive dairy the night before.

Here are views of heading up the canyon to the top of the plateau. 

At mile 9-10 aid station, I took a little extra time to sort myself out, take inventory of what I would need for the next 10 mile stretch, and of course spend more time in the potty. Grateful for hand sanitizer and wipes! I ate 2 cups full of potato chips while filling my water bottles and grabbing gels. I downed 2 dixie cups of cola as well. Pulled my hat out for the next more exposed segment.

Miles 10-20 were no better. I was grateful for the sage brush and few trees to hide myself. Mentally this was a tough segment. I was losing several minutes every 2 miles to time spent communing with mother nature. 

I decided not to spend time thinking about the time I was losing. It would not help anything. Instead, I focused on drinking plenty of water and minimum 200 calories of gel per hour. "Don't sacrifice anything" became my mantra.

That meant don't sacrifice mental energy on things I couldn't control or any would've, should've, could'ves. It meant don't sacrifice calories. Eat, take in gels, drink sport drink, whatever it would take to get minimum 200calories per hour in. I knew if I dipped under 200  with the losses I was experiencing, it could end my race. It meant don't sacrifice any physical energy. Make it efficient and make it count. Always asking, can you move a little faster here? Can you move more efficiently? No checking out mentally. Engage in the moment, the people, the scenery, soak it in.

At mi 19-20 I pulled into the next full aid station. I took a couple of electrolyte capsules, and again took stock of where I was at and what i needed. I ate probably 200 calories at the aid station, consisting of chips and pb&j wraps cut up in pieces.

Mi 20-25 my calves and hamstrings started to ache and feel like they wanted to cramp on climbing. I continued go as fast as I could without seizing up. 

At mi 25 they had real bathrooms, it was a campground. I was so happy. I ate more chips and cola and loaded up with gels. It was now getting hot and we were going to be hitting the most exposed sections of the course. 

This next segment would also be one 

of the most scenic. I would trade places with runners, passing on the downs, and being passed on the ups. 

My gut had eased up, and I was able to make it 5-8miles without having to hit a potty or bush. But now, my climbing really sucked. Any moderate effort took me to feeling like I was floating, like rising above my body. A weird bonky feeling. I still had energy unlike with a typical bonk, I just couldn't expend it without that floaty, out of body feeling. This was dangerous as a fall could be life threatening, so I kept my effort while climbing just sub-floaty.

Fortunately, when I went down, the floaty feeling disappeared and I could run hard down with good focus. I figured I would cramp and have more diarrhea running hard down, but it was the ups and associated increased effort and body temp that made me look for bushes.

Miles 32-38 were relentless steep up and downs.

Coming down into mi 38ish my quads started feel quite tenderized. Unusual for me this early, even on courses with more elevation change and longer descents. I suspected it was a combination of being a bit depleted and running quite a bit harder on the downs to make up for the slow climbing.

At mile 38 I ate Ramen and more cola and grabbed more gels to get me across the next segment. With the heat, getting 200 calories in became a challenge. No way solids would stay down at this point. So 1 gel every 30 minutes had to be downed. I was not having any problem drinking enough. I was extremely thirsty and was taking in enough water despite my losses, I just likely was not getting enough electrolytes. I was swelling some. Very typical and fairly mild for me at altitude.

The Battle to get gels down was comical. The conversation in my brain.."ok, start that next gel packet", my mouth, my stomach, my everything saying "nope" like a toddler with lips pursed, arms crossed. My brain, "just open the packet, you have 5 minutes to take one sip". I tried to take a sip every 5 minutes, but sometimes at 25 minutes with 3/4 pack of gel left, and negotiating no longer working, my brain just said "times up, get it down". There were a few occasional gags and 1 real heave but all the gels down, every 30 minutes for the next 3-4 hours.

The last significant climb was 47ish to 50.

The course turned out to be a little long, closer to 52 miles. At the last aid station, they had bacon. It sounded amazing. I ate half a slice of bacon and dumped the rest of my gels in the trash, giddy that I didn't have to eat another gel. The last 2 miles were down all the way to the finish. Quads still tenderized I managed a couple 11 min miles.

I milked everything I had out of myself the whole day. I never let up on making sure I did everything possible to create the best race with what I had on that day. I took nothing for granted and never relented. Everything was a conscious choice, even giving myself grace when necessary to catch my breath, settle my gut, bring myself back into my body. Never a moment of "I just got lazy" or "I just wasn't paying attention".

The whole way I was assessing what I could do to make sure I stayed in this race, what I needed, what I was taking in, how it was helping  or hurting and maintaining the max effort I could expend without negative returns. 

I loved the problem solving and it really kept my head in the right space and out of self pity.

As I came close to the finish, I could hear all the cheering. I was a little sad that my ending would not be met by anyone I knew, that I would get my stuff and leave knowing no one. Now I was feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted a hug.  I had never finished a big race with no one there.

As soon as I crossed the finish, a familiar face appeared and said "hey Lori, great job!" It was Don Sims, a friend for years. His wife was still on the course. He gave me a big hug, or more likely, I grabbed him and hugged him. It was the first really big hug I've given to  non-household member in over a year. It felt so good.  Poor Don, I surely stunk. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I started getting that out of body, floaty feeling again. I went over to medical and explained my situation and desire to get horizontal on my own volition rather than involuntarily. I knew I was fine. All of the blood vessels that had been constricted trying to take care of the essentials during racing were now dilating, and gravity was not helping. My blood was rushing to my feet.

It didn't take long for me to regroup and call Todd and Ethan. They were anxious to hear of my finish and gather together for a big ole meal..... minus the margarita cheese cake! 

I am so so grateful to my family, and my coach Eric Orton. They have helped me accomplish the Cool Impossible over and over again.

To coach....the guidance you gave to "stay on it" every mile was critical to my finish. Your coaching guiding me through the difficulties of this course was critical.   

,

My watch died before midnight, so I had no idea what time it was. The moon had disappeared somewhere behind the canopy of trees and I was now heading down what seemed like a long steep trail to the Weaver Creek Aid station. I was still being attacked intermittently by gnats. I felt like I was descending into the depths of the earth....or possibly hell. It felt surreal to be going down, down, down in the dark depths of the forest. This was some of the trail, only now it was pitch black....

My spirits and energy were still up, I just took note, as I would have to climb back out once I hit the aid station at mile 64. As I returned back up the trail I had the sense that dawn was coming. I popped 2 more caffeine gums and drank and ate, readying myself for the hardest part of the the race...a full 12-15 hours ahead of hiking and running. Yesterday, I only had to experience the sun and heat for 6-8 hours, in fresh legs. I was thinking, “Ok, soon we get to find out if I was patient enough, if my training was enough”.

Dawn broke and the birds sang and the biting gnat attacks subsided. I hit the paved/dirt road section early enough in the morning to avoid the heat. I was very grateful. After the road segment came Wilscot Gap aid at mile 81.

I was climbing slower as it was heating up, well after 10am, and my low back was starting to ache on the climbs. You can see it in my face in this picture. I used my poles to help myself on the climbs. It was good to see Dad again. He helped me with my pack and I refueled.

I picked up my other watch so I could have time, miles, and pace again. He again offered a chair, I again declined. I never sat down, only because I knew the pain of getting up would not be worth it. I had moved from 59th position to 27th through the night. I knew I was in good position among the women, but not sure if 3rd or 4th. My goal at this point was to not get caught by any women, and hopefully continue move up.

The last segment would be “The Dragon’s Spine”. Aptly named for it’s jagged, quite steep, up/down sawtooth terrain. It was also way more technical and narrow through this section. I knew it would be this way for the next 15-20 miles. Funny thing is, we did this once already on miles 1-20. I’ts amazing how perspective changes after 80 miles. I would have sworn it was a different trail. Mile 80-97 were just painful. My low back restricted my uphill speed to a seeming crawl. My quads 

were really starting to feel tenderized going down. I just tried to stay focused, move as fast as my legs would allow. I accepted the pain and tried to relax with it, instead of tending up. I continued to push calories and water to keep my energy up. I controlled everything I could to make the most of what I had left and mitigate the discomfort. I thought about friends and family supporting me, about Kevin Rolf and his battle, about the #lovehopestrength we share.

I used my bandana and filled it with ice at every aid, wrapping it around my neck to try and cool myself. I managed to pass a few more guys, no girls. One or two guys reclaimed their spots on the climbs ahead.

Darkness came in the last 3 miles. I finally hit the paved road leading into the finish. I looked at my watch with 1 mile left to go. 32:49. Any neurotic runner will understand what I was thinking. “If I run hard, I can finish in under 33 hours”. Why it mattered at that point, after 106 miles whether I finished in 32:59 or 33:05, God only knows. But, I wanted to see 32, not 33 on the clock. Damnit, I started to run harder. A 10min mile on fresh legs is not a tall order. A 10 minute mile after 106 miles feels darn near impossible. So here comes this stinky, bug eaten, quad ripped, back aching, runner blazing (not really, but it felt blazing) a sub 10 minute mile to hit the finish line at 32:58. I immediately sat down next to the 3rd place female in a heap. 4th female and 24th overall. I couldn’t be happier with how I did, with how I ran my race.

Now a bit of rest and back to training…. I have a date with a 238 mile race in Moab, UT in October! Onward and upward.

I can't give enough kudos to Coach Eric. He knows how to dial in to what I personally need to become a better athlete year by year. His coaching is individual, always taking into account where I am at and where I want to be. He is very strategic, but intuitive. He sees the forest, but pays attention to the individual trees in my training, and adapts and adjusts my training based on how my body and mind respond, helping me jump from one level to the next. I feel like this race was a jump to a whole new level, a level I needed to hit before Moab. Thank you coach.

My goals for the night: Stay steady, get in and out of aid quick. Eat more food, use caffeine at dusk and dawn. As the sun began to set I began to feel a little lazy. I popped 2 pieces of caffeinated gum and continued to eat bites of sandwich and drink water. The thick green canopy was starting to glow with the sunset, and the bright orange orb was visible intermittently as we crested knobs in the ridgeline. I contemplated the difference between knobs and gaps and peaks and valleys. It was still very warm and humid. I started rethinking my strategy. I was planning on really conserving all night long and making a hard all-day push the next day to the finish. But considering how hot it would be tomorrow, I decided I would make the night really count. I knew if I tried to push hard 12-14 hours tomorrow, I would die in the heat. I would need to conserve some in the midday heat. So my new goal was to maximize my focus and effort in the dark.

The trail would be a little less technical throughout most the night. The caffeine perked me up, and with the heat pulling back, I sped up without increasing my effort much if at all. I turned my waist light on. I was glad to not contend with a headlamp for 2 reasons. First the strap always gives me a headache after several hours and bugs. The bugs were thick and they flew straight to the light...which on my head would’ve meant my face. I came into Wilscot Gap a little after 9pm in 59th position. I had moved up 58 spots from 117 earlier in the afternoon. I suspected quite a few people had dropped out due the heat/terrain. I sure didn’t remember passing that many people. There was a group of guys that we traded positions all evening. They would pass me on the ups and I would pass them on the downs. We did this virtually all evening. Once it was dark I was mostly solo, seeing people only at aid stations or a few as I passed on the trail.

The moon was almost full and super bright. In Cherokee, as with most Native American cultures, the moon is masculine. I think it was former Chief Wilma Mankiller that joked, reasoning the moon is the man is because the woman is always the constant stable factor, like the sun, the sustainer of life, taking care of her children. The moon just shows up when he wants to and usually isn’t all there. I was also seeing more wildlife. A few deer, a hoot owl, small snake, occasional field mice crossing the trail, and some sort of bigger brown furry animal the size of a mole. It moved so quickly, I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Then a red-tail hawk, a few lizards, and a turtle. I listened to the frogs sing. It reminded me of a Cherokee story about the animals and birds that I’ll share at the end of this looong post.

I kept myself at ease, but focused. No laziness through the night. I made sure I was getting a steady stream of calories and water. I wanted to be primed for the sun that would drain me the next day. Every runnable uphill I ran, every downhill I ran, relaxed and fast and smooth as possible, no quad banging, no overheating. I was a bit disappointed that there was no coolness to come that night. We soon hit the 5 mile paved/dirt road segment. I ran all but a small steep portion. I remained focused, It was around 11pm and mile 33. I would hit this same stretch on the return, around mile 70. I wanted to hit that exposed road section before late morning to avoid the heat. That would really suck late morning or midday.

I made it to Camp Morgonton, mi 52 around 2:45am. I decided I would allow myself up to 10 minutes here to deal with any issues and really get good food in. The volunteer handed me my drop bag. I immediately opened it and grabbed the vaseline and asked “where’s the restroom?”. He looked puzzled for only a second, then grinned and nodded as I said, “I need some personal time”. Anyone who has run more than a few miles in the heat and humidity knows that there is “chafing”. Before leaving. I ate several squares of grilled cheese and headed back out. My only issue through the night was intermittent attacks by swarming biting gnats. All of a sudden, my ankles and lower legs would light up on fire. The only remedy was to keep running and rub my ankles and legs so vigorously as to kill the little bastards. This usually took about 30 minutes of running and rubbing. I would be in peace for another hour or so and get attacked again. This happened over and over through the night. One of my race goals was to remain as positive as possible. As soon as my brain started to lead me down a negative path I would intervene. “The gnat attacks are keeping me awake and alert and moving at least”, and “At least the attacks are intermittent, not constant”. And so ends part 2 of Cruel Jewel 100.

Now that I’m home, I can tell the Cherokee story I had in my head better by abbreviating an excerpt from Meditations with The Cherokee by J.T. Garrett. The full exerpt can be found at www.northerncherokeenation.com.

 The animals challenged the birds to a game of ball. The birds discussed the challenge, and finally decided though they were smaller, they were swift and agile, and the animals were slow and awkward, so they figured they had a chance. The animals boasted that they were strong. The bigger animals were proud and boastful, they told the small animals to get out of their way so they would not be stomped. 2 little field mice scrambled up a tree to sit by the little birds watching. Eagle saw them and asked why they were not with the animals. The 2 mice explained that they were asked to leave and that the animals made fun of them because they were so small. The Great Eagle told the mice they could join them and the birds made them wings out of the leather and string used on the ceremonial drum.

The game began, and the ball was thrown in the air. Hawk caught the ball. He threw it to the field mice. One caught it and glided into the air to the next tree. To this day, he is called bat. He passed the ball to another mouse with wings, who flew into another tree. To this day he is called flying squirrel. The birds ultimately won. So through this story the young Cherokee are taught to never boast about what they can do based on size or strength, but be humble true to their family, their clan.

Although not representative of this story, here is a picture of one of Murv Jacob's paintings. He is one of my favorite artists, and I think of his work often as I encounter nature and think of the animal stories I have heard. Although not Cherokee, he was recognized as a Master Artist by the Five Civilized Tribes. Much of his art brings to life the fables and stories told through animals in Cherokee tradition. He lived in my home of Tahlequah, Oklahoma and had an art studio down town. Of course he also has quite a bit of street cred for designing posters for the Grateful Dead. 

I chose this race for the sole purpose of getting another Hardrock qualifier. This was definitely the hardest qualifier I have done. We started at noon on Friday. The temps were already in teh low 80s with high humidity and almost no breeze. My goals for the first day, 1. Keep heart rate down and feel “too good” at the top of the climbs 2. Run the downhills easy, steady, no tension. 3. Eat a variety of real food. On the first long climb, I was passed and passed and passed some more. “This is where you have to behave”. I knew the keeping my heart rate down would be a challenge. It seemed too easy. By 8 miles I was in 145th place. I just kept thinking, “you are going to have to do this ALL day tomorrow in the heat”. “Don’t destroy your ability to perform tomorrow”. I pulled out my bandana and soaked it in every stream and wrapped it around my neck to cool me. Conserve and Perform.

This race is directed by Chrissy Ferguson. Need I say more? She is a powerhouse and puts on top notch events. The MANY volunteers were awesome. The weather was extremely challenging, with almost constant rain, very heavy at times, wind, and temps in the low 50s. I don’t know how they kept from freezing to death waiting on us for hours at aid stations.

Advanced warning...this is the long version. This helps me go back and pick through my thinking and what I did so I can be better prepared for the next race. I try to do this quickly after my races so my thoughts aren’t modified by time and the ability to process and change how I perceive my race. It’s amazing how quickly those first thoughts are modified by time and reasoning. I can also remember details of what I did better, and the devil is often in the details.

This was a “train through” race. No planned taper, not much recovery post race. I had done longish runs the previous saturday and sunday with hard long intervals.  I also did intervals and speedwork this week. This left me with tender quads through Wednesday. Thursday was my only really easy run this week and Friday no running.  Race strategy was to keep things very easy and controlled for 30 miles, then race with constant focus for the last 20 miles. My goal race this year is Moab 240, a 238 mile race in October. We’ve been working on speed early this season to get the legs accustomed to “faster feeling easier”. The focus will shift later this season to translating that “faster feels easier” to “faster feels easier LONGER” in other words speed endurance.  

With the predicted weather, I packed my 2 drop bags with dry long sleeve tech shirts, dry light, but waterproof, jackets and some caffeinated chocolate and various snacks I might decide I want. I knew from experience that even with a totally waterproof light jacket, with sustained wind and heavy rain, water would eek it’s way in over the hours around my head and neck, and along with sweat, gradually saturate me from the inside out. A heavier shell would keep the water out, but I would suffocate and sweat more. I wore shorts, as wet leggings are no fun.  With the temps, rain pants would also suffocate me. If I could keep my chest and arms warm, I would stay warm.

Race start was 6am, so headlamps on, we headed out of the park’s shelter into the rain and onto the road. Fortunately, we had a couple miles of road to warm up and spread out a little before hitting the rocky, rooty, muddy, wet trails. Initially, the trails were saturated. There were frequent pools of mud and water, some stretching several meters. We crossed some small streams and made our way over to Pinnacle Hill. We climbed a little, but were restricted to the base due to the weather. The dogwoods, blooming shrubs, and other trees were on full display. The bright green leaves were almost glowing in the early dawn. My mood was good, but not particularly “happy”. I knew the nature of what lie ahead….50 miles of rocky, rooty, muddy trails and cold rain. My mind was not excited. The race strategy, which seemed like it would be nice and “ez” (compared to most of my 50 mile races), was actually going to be challenging. I knew I would be in this mode for the next 20 miles... not racing, but not dilly dallying. Being in this place still required focus or laziness sets in. I felt decent energy was, but knew I was not rested, and I wondered how that would play out over the long haul.

I was tolerating solid food and water very very well. I started with pb&js i had stashed in ziplock baggies. I was probably taking in 200-300 calories or even more per hour, due to pace and effort, my stomach was absorbing it well. Normally on a 50 miler, max caloric intake for me is closer to 200 calories, and usually in the form of gels. By 10 miles I was starting to realize this would be the scene for the next 40 miles. Rocks, roots, water, mud, wind, rain. I had to pull my jacket hood on which limited my view to my feet and about 10 feet around me. It also limited my hearing to only the wind and rain. It was somewhat like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. Normally, at races you have the varying terrain, the changing views, the noises of birds, animals, leaves, and the chatter of runners to distract the mind. Not today. The scene unchanging. Everyone dead silent. Only 2-5 word exchanges here or there between runners. My body felt fine, my mind not so much. I was amazed and frustrated by how limited my senses were wrapped up in my jacket and hood.

By mile 13, I was calculating how many more hours of the same shit. 8? 10? It’s always a bad idea to calculate how much farther/longer one has to go this early in a race. Not only that, but I had to return on the same damn trail. The nasty shit I was treading, I would be treading again. I typically shoot for courses that are point to point and mountainous, so this was a huge shift for me. Quite frankly, I was being a baby. I thought about how many people would love to have the ability to be on a trail for 5 minutes, and at that moment, I realized I didn’t care. Normally, that thought sets my head straight. That’s when I knew I was facing the biggest challenge of the day...my own damn candy-ass mind set. I knew it was off…. and I was wallering in it, thank-you-very-much. I knew at 16ish miles I could make the decision to drop to the 50k, that is where we would split off from them. Go left, day done early, go right and it’s the whole enchilada. I knew i just had to get my ass past 16 miles so I would no longer have a choice. As time went on and my head did not clear, I was actually nervous I might just take the 50k turn. Fortunately I passed it.

At 18 miles I hit an aid station and was informed I was now in 2nd place. The 1st female runner was dropping and I was about 5-10 minutes behind the second. I knew this was a good sign, and very possible for me to catch her if she was going at a less conservative effort than me. I knew the cold and the rain would catch up and slow everyone down, and that most people were probably exerting a little higher effort to stay warm and get done as quickly as possible. I also knew that the next female was probably 20 years younger than me. Youthful legs count, but so does age and experience. And today’s course and conditions lent itself to experienced legs. So I was cautiously optimistic. Unfortunately, this knowledge did not lift my mind/spirits.

At 18 miles my mind was struggling, but I was doing nothing to help it. “Well, that’s just dumb” I thought. If my belly is grumbling, or my feet are hurting, or I’m cold, I’m going to try and help myself right? You would do something to try and alleviate those problems, right Lori? You would be stupid not to. My mind was hurting, no different than my feet or my belly….so what was I doing? Throwing salt on that wound. Beating myself up for having a bad head game.  Soon, I remembered that research shows that just talking optimistically to yourself actually boosts performance. This was shown in repeat studies to boost performance by 6-10%. That translates to speed. So just like calories make you faster, taking care of your mind makes you faster. I was at a loss for positive thoughts. “You’re doing really well….”. I laughed…. “is that the best you can really come up with?” Then I started thinking, what is the goofiest, silliest thing you can think of….and (don’t judge)...King Julien from Madagascar came to mind. The fuzzy, self absorbed, ignorant to the world around him, lemur. He is totally oblivious to his own ignorance and he dances. I visualized him dancing and talking in front of me, oblivious to the miserable conditions. The song he dances to in the movie?..… “Move It”. So I was singing, “I like to move it, move it” and following King Julien. I was not dancing, but it worked to put a little salve on my wounded brain. Then, I got out of myself enough to visualize how Todd would treat me at the end of my 100 mile races. He almost always paces me the last 10 miles. Always in front of me, with his black calf sleeves and black shorts. Making silly moves, shrugging his shoulders when I’d whine, saying “meh, you got this” Totally chill, totally confident. Just shake it off and lets go. Then thoughts drifted to my kids, oh man….I would not want them to feel defeated. One of my mantras in parenting, “show em how to be”. So, even though they couldn’t see me, I straightened up as if they were watching, to show em how to be, persist, be strong in adversity, finish what you start. By 24-25 miles I was back. I only had 5 more miles before I could “race”. I knew I could “race”. I was already passing people steadily and I knew I had a nice physical reserve just waiting.

Fortunately, I had restocked/refueled my mental tank over the past 5 miles as well. I ran in to good friend James Reeves as he was coming back. He looked great. I was worried about him as he did not wear a jacket, no vest. Shorts, long sleeve tech shirt and 2 handheld cold water bottles. He’s tall and lanky.  I was afraid he was going to freeze to death, so I was really relieved to see how fresh and good he looked. This also boosted me. Damn, if he can feel that good/look that good, so can I.

About 2 minutes from the turnaround I met the lead female. She looked to be feeling really good and moving well. I just hoped I was moving and feeling better. I took my time at the turnaround and downed a full cup of warm noodles and a square of pb&J. I did not feel the need to change even though I was completely soaked. I was comfortably cool, and thinking my effort would increase, was worried I would actually get hot if I added layers. I also didn’t want to take the time to change, knowing where the lead female was. In 15 miles I would have another opportunity to hit my drop bag with fresh clothes, so I took off. I still had 4 miles before I was to “race”, but with the lead female not far off, and a small road section and easier trail, I picked things up just a little and ran more focused. My heart rate didn’t go up much if any, but I felt like I was moving a little faster and definitely more efficiently.

The new focus really helped as well. I was focusing on my effort, increasing it enough to be steady and strong and not fade. My only concern was my heart rate. It was not going up despite my higher effort and perceived faster pace. I knew it wasn’t lack of calories or dehydration. I knew it was likely the cold, even though I wasn’t “cold”. I was cool. I kinda let go of the concern about heart rate and just focused on the effort, calories, water. I added some salt stick and started picking some saltier crackers from the aid stations.  I caught and passed the lead female around mile 29. We exchanged a few words of encouragement. I stopped looking at my watch so much, as I was noticing the awareness of my heart rate was making me too nervous. I just focused on effort, calories, water, not getting cold. I hit the aid station where our final drop bags were around mile 32. Here was my mistake. I was still not “cold” and the rain had let up just a little. I did not change jackets or shirts. I left in my saturated self. I knew I was soaked under my thin rainproof jacket. I had no gloves and I was really just completely soaked. I saw everyone else the same way, so I lulled myself into thinking I didn’t need anything more, I didn’t need anything more to sustain. But sustaining and performing are 2 different things. IMPORTANT. Sustaining and PERFORMING are 2 different things.  I needed more, dry clothes, dry jacket to PERFORM better. The problem was, I was ok, but I could have been much better. And, later I would find out that I did truly NEED that dry shirt and jacket.

The weather deteriorated even further. The wind picked up and the rain become a more sustained downpour.  There is definitely a significant difference between a steady rain and a steady downpour. The trail also changed. What was wet, rocky, rooty, muddy, frequent extended areas of water to ankles, was now a river. A muddy, rocky, rooty 3-6 inch river, with few exceptions of ankle deep mud where there weren’t rocks. The numerous stream crossings were now calf to upper thigh (on me) deep swift moving water. It was like cold immersion torture. I could feel my body temperature drop with each deeper immersion, which was literally every ¼-1/2 mile. This next stretch between aid stations was 8 miles.

At about mile 36 (halfway between aid stations) I ran up on a slender, 20 something, fast looking kid.  He was weaving and had a very distant look in his eyes. I asked, “are you ok?” Shivering uncontrollably, he shook his head “no”. He was shivering so hard and uncontrollable he was groaning with each really hard chill. I gave him my most stern motherly look and said, “ok, this is going to suck and it is going to hurt, but you have to get on my heels and run with me”. “We have to get your heart rate up, that is the only way. If we get your heart rate up, you will get warm”. I made him eat 2 of my sacred oreos to try and ignite his engine...or cause him to vomit. Either way, the calories or the vomiting would increase his heart rate, I thought sadistically. “We are going to run hard for 4 miles, that’s it, just 4 miles to the next aid station and then you get heat” I reassured him, “You are way faster than me, you can do this, but you HAVE to focus!”. He shook his head yes and I took off. It hurt. And, concerningly, my heart rate was still going up only slightly. My legs were now cold and gelling. My mind was fine, I was full of energy, but my legs were rigging. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to run hard enough to get his heart rate up enough to get him out of danger. I could hear him dry heaving and groaning behind me. He faltered and fell back a few times at first, but after about 10 minutes he was doing a little better. I knew we had a good 40-50 minutes to the next aid station. He continued to groan and heave.

I was working hard and trying to navigate the very slick terrain. I didn’t feel like I had time to slow enough to dig out food for myself or drink.  I did manage to get a few nibbles and sips though, as 2 hypothermic runners would not be of any use. At what I thought was about 2.5 miles left, I told him, “ok, less than a 5k, you got this, a hard painful 5k and it’s over”. About that time we passed another runner. He said “only a little over 3 miles to the next aid”. I was like, “shut the f up!, i told him less than a 5k several minutes ago”. Finally, we made it to the aid station around mile 42. Got him fixed up and grabbed a large zip-lock and threw a bunch of cookies in.

Filled my water bottles and took off. Time to get fueled back up and hydrated. That 4-5 miles of hard running was good, in that it gave me focus, but it was scary and hard. Hard enough that I needed to recover, I slowed down, telling myself, “just long enough to get your breath back and calm your screaming tired quads” The slowing gelled my legs even further and my pace was set. I couldn’t will my legs any faster and my heart rate dropped more. I got cold. Not dangerously cold, just miserably cold. But, I could see the barn. 8 miles left. I continued to stuff food in and water and ran as steady hard as I knew I could sustain without falling apart. Falling apart would mean walking, walking meant uncomfortably cold would become dangerously cold. I was so grateful to hit the last 2.5-3 miles of road. My feet and quads were not. The asphalt hurt. A lot. My legs were rigged, my feet on fire and my big toes screaming. I finished 10:27, first female 10th overall. I found out my hypothermic friend John was fine. He was pulled from the race and warm. I was so amazed at all of the runners. Like 180 people out there, amazed that most everyone did ok, amazed at the hikers. Amazed at the volunteers that endured those conditions to hand us food and drink and go above and beyond, taking my bottles, asking before I was finished with one cup of noodles if I wanted more and even asking, ”is the temperature of the noodles ok?” Seriously? You are freezing your ass off handing me noodles and worried that I might not like the temperature?! I was humbled….and so grateful. I learned much that I will unpack over the next weeks of training and reinforced things I already know. But King Julien? Really? I may have to watch Madagascar again. Hopefully I will have some pictures from the race to show how nuts the course was.

Sitting at Grouse aid station, mile 59, I see that line again. I see it in front of me, kinda like a mirage. Imaginary, but real, tangible but elusive. Like the end of a rainbow or the floating heat waves off of a hot highway. You squint to see it clearer, drawn to it. You want to chase it, touch it, but you can’t ever quite reach it. There it is again, “come... try to step across” it whispers. “Follow me”. I just didn’t have the heart, or quite honestly the back, lungs, or legs to follow that line, to reach out to it again. My quads were completely trashed. I had tip-toed, hopped, and danced a funky chicken sorta run down the 3-4 mile descent into Grouse. I was still moving, but it felt like my quads were tearing apart. I had been struggling on the previous 2 climbs as well, with my breathing and effort. I felt like I had a rope tied tight around my chest, pulling a heavy sled behind me on that last climb up Engineers.

We started at 6am at the Silverton school gym. I gave the kids and Todd one last hug and kiss and joined the rest of the runners at the start line. The weather was perfect. We made our way out of town, across a stream and up into the San Juan’s. I kept my effort in check, running the flatter and downs easily and hiking the climbs. I used one pole in my right hand as I climbed. I had torn my left rotator cuff last year during a fall on Hayden trail while doing trail work for the race, and ended up having 2 complete tendon tears that were repaired back in November. My left shoulder still not strong enough to use a pole. The sunrise was amazing as we hit Putnam Cataract Ridge, sitting at around 12,600ft, just 9 miles into the race. I ran easily down, staying relaxed and comfortable, knowing my quads were in for a looooot of downhill running. Coming down, we ran into volunteers representing the Golden Gate Dirty 30 race organization. They gave us kisses and well wishes. Below a pic of what a Hardrock aid station looks like for those who always ask..."what do they have at aid stations?" Well...at Hardrock...a little bit of everything served by angels.

I entered KT aid station at about mile 11 and emptied out granola bar wrappers, filled my hydration pack, and gobbled up a BLT sandwich made by the aid station volunteers and took off. About ⅛ mi from the aid station, I realized I had forgot to grab more fuel. Grrr. Back to the aid station, I grabbed a granola bar and a PB&J sandwich for the next climb. As we made our way up toward the next mountain pass, I met up with Louis Escobar, a very accomplished ultra runner, race director, and photographer. Although physically and cognitively far more superior, he has the cool accent and demeanor of Cheech, from Cheech and Chong. I was climbing with my PB&J in a baggie in my left hand and pole in my right. My intent was to have that sandwich eaten by the time I hit the peak. After a fair amount of climbing and no eating, Louis started making fun of me and my “sammy”. “Is that your security blanket?”, he teased. “Are you going to just carry that with you for 100 miles?”. I let Louis ahead of me as we got close to the pass and finished off my “sammy”.

We were now up at near 13,000ft and I was severely anxious about going over Grant’s Swamp Pass. I picked up a stone on my climb, and set it down at the memorial of Joel Zucker. He was a beloved Hardrocker who passed away shortly after his 3rd consecutive finish. I had been up there a few weeks earlier and peered over the edge. It’s a rock/dirt scree field at least ¼ mile long and STRAIHAIT down. My options were to ski on my feet or sit on my ass and slide down. Sliding down a rock scree on your ass is about as pleasant an experience as, well, sliding down a rock scree on your ass. Standing and skiing, I risked toppling over and rolling down the mountain; again, about as pleasant an experience as.... Louis looked like he was jumping off a diving board. I Don’t remember what he said, but he whooped and hollered and jumped landing feet first in the scree, surfing his way down. The hilarity of the scene removed my terror momentarily, and I jumped in behind him. Below PC @silentsummits.typepad.com.

The trick was to not send rocks and boulders down onto the person below while at the same time, avoiding any rocks being hurled at you from above. We all tried to pick different lines, but invariably I heard “roooock!” from above, and had to dart a few times to avoid getting hit. It was rather like skiing on top of an avalanche of rock and gravel, the whole mountain feels like it’s sliding out from under you. It turned out to be a blast.

Once I got to the bottom, I took a few moments to look back at what I had just done, and hoped I’d never forget how that felt. PC@endurancebuzz.com

The next 5 miles down the mountain were gorgeous. We ran across a grassy bench, then down around into a canyon of rocky dirt trails, grass, streams, and across rock slides. We continued to switchback down the meadows and rock into the pine forest. We reached an old, no longer used, jeep road and crossed a low river to get to Chapman aid station at mile 18, around 10,000ft elevation. I refilled my water, grabbed more bars and a couple of sandwiches and headed out. My feet were wet from stream crossings, and I was starting to notice a few hot spots on the bottoms. My feet were sliding around just ever so slightly in my shoes and creating friction when I ran. I tightened up my shoelaces, which took care of the problem.

The next climb was up Oscar’s Pass. Not a terrifically long climb, 3 miles, but a terrifically steep one, or seemingly so. It would top out at 13,400ft. I struggled up this climb. Breathing hard and moving oh-so-slow. I felt like a caterpillar on valium. My lower back was starting to ache as I climbed. “Pain is not a catastrophe... explore it” was the comment made by Dr. Halvorson, one of the medical directors at the pre race meeting. Pain automatically triggers anxiety. “Fix it, make it stop,or do something different”. But pain is just a signal. It doesn’t mean death is eminent, and it doesn’t always mean action is required. The pain I was experiencing was to be expected, it was not a dangerous sign, it was normal for the situation. Just tired muscles that wanted rest. Just seeing pain as nothing more than that helped me relax and climb. And, funny enough it dulled the pain. Yep, this is gonna hurt. Nope, it’s not serious. And, it will ease up when I get to go downhill, it always does.

Once again, the downhill revived me, relieved my pain, and I was witness to beautiful streams, meadow shelfs, rocky trails, and thousands upon thousands of wildflowers popping pink, purple, blue, yellow, and orange all around.PC@irunfar.com

The skies had intermittently thrown a little rain and thunder around, but very little at this point. We had a good 4 mile descent down into Telluride. All systems were go when I arrived. It was around 4:30-5:30, about 10 hours into the race. I was definitely behind my anticipated ETA. I sat for the first time and ate soup while my crew prepared me for the night. Knowing I wouldn’t make it to Ouray before dark, I added to my pack a headlamp, warm base layer top, and rain jacket. With full hydration pack and plenty of fuel I was in and out in about 9 minutes. I gave the kids and Todd kisses and headed out and up again.

We headed up the next mountain toward the infamous Kroger’s aid station. This aid station is perched precariously at a 13,000ft jagged tip on Virginius Pass. PC@FRederick Marmsater Photography. The volunteers here back pack up this aid station. They all have hard hats on. Complete with cook stove, and elite athletes Joe Grant and Anna Frost preparing perogies on demand. This climb proved even more challenging than the last. By about 2 miles into the climb, I was struggling again. Dog sled behind me. As I approached the first ridgeline, I could see that line again, wavering in front of me, my edge, my outer boundary... would I actually reach it on this climb. Each climb my breathing was more labored and my pace slower. That sense that something was pulling me backward while I was fighting forward was returning. It was here I was starting to wonder if the little hole in my heart the cardiologist found the week before was making things harder for me.

I have always had difficulty with altitude races. I love them, but I have always felt like i’ve had way more difficulty than I should when I do them. I just never seem to perform to my ability at altitude. I’ve always chalked it up to not living or being able to train much at altitude, and just maybe lack of mental or physical fortitude, but when I came out to Silverton 3 weeks ago for a training week, I had severe problems and became worried enough to seek medical attention.

3 weeks prior to the race, I had planned a BIG training week in Silverton. I was planning to get as many miles on the course over a week as I could, up to 20 miles/day for 5 days. With each consecutive day I became more short of breath, more swollen, and slower. By the 4-5th day, I could hardly walk from the car to a restaurant without stopping to breathe. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut, tender and sore over my stomach and right upper abdomen, and very swollen by day 5. When I got back I had an echocardiogram and EKG done. I have a patent foramen ovale (small hole between the upper chambers of my heart) and some EKG changes. I also have a genetic mutation causing me to have high iron levels. This too can cause heart problems. As I write this, I am still in the process of having all of this figured out. At this point, we don’t know if this is actually impacting my performance at altitude or if it is just incidental, but either way it definitely impacted my psyche on this race. The cardiologist felt I had also created a lot of my own misery on this training week, creating a perfect storm by going from 600ft elevation to 9,000-14,000ft elevation and exerting myself over high mountain passes within less than 24 hours of arriving. We reviewed my electrolyte supplementation and fluid intake and I overdid it there too. The cardiologist encouraged me to run the race, assuring me, I was not in any significant danger as long as I allowed myself to acclimate for a week and avoided electrolyte tabs and only drank to thirst, no regimented water/fluid intake. So needless to say, when things started getting tough, I had this in the back of my mind as well. I had plenty of slow uphill miles to convince myself I was going into heart failure. By the time I reached Kroger’s I was pretty shaken and It wasn’t about to get easier. The freshly cooked perogie was amazing, and I sat until I caught my breath and a little more sense of mind.

Three weeks ago, I had climbed Virginius with now 13 hardrock finisher Chris Twiggs. We descended the other side, sliding down scree and bits of trail. I had assumed this was the route we would take down again. I wasn’t prepared for what we were about to do. I had heard there would be a rope to help with the down climb, but I didn’t realized the rope would BE the down climb. A gentleman with a hard hat and a rope dangling the length of a football field or more down stood to the right of where I had gone down in training. We would not be taking the trail, we would be down climbing the rock and scree face. No harness. No hard hat. I had not downclimbed in years, and never without a harness. Not to mention that bum left shoulder that can’t even lift a cast iron skillet. I did have gloves. I did have gloves. Ok, “I can do this”, I told myself as the bright blue-eyed gentleman gave me a 30 second in-service. I grabbed the rope and took my first step off. My left foot planted on a rock sticking out of the mountain, which immediately crumbled out from under me. It sent me swinging out wide to my right, hitting the mountain with the entire right side of my body and swinging me back to where I started. I dangled free of the mountain, hanging onto the rope looking despirately up at the gentleman with the bright blue eyes, eyes that were now the size of saucers. I’m sure I had the same look on my face. He was too far up to help me. I looked down, I couldn’t hold on like this forever. My options were a 50-75 meter fall, or get my feet back on the mountain and work my way down dammit. I did my darndest to accomplish the later, and finally gained footing and remembered how to down climb...feet out front, keep that left hand behind your butt, right hand in front of your face and work your way down. And I did it. Once again, at the bottom of a gnarly descent, but this time not so sure I wanted to remember that moment forever like the descent of Grant’s Swamp Pass.

Grateful to have that over with, I slid and skied down the next 2 pitches to the jeep road at the bottom. Now would be 8 miles down a secure jeep road to Ouray. The first mile or two were ok. The next 6 my quads become more and more tender. By the last 2-3 miles I was barely running on veeeery tender quads. They felt like they were bleeding. At Governor’s aid station, about halfway down I refueled, ate 2 cups of soup as quickly as I could, and turned on my headlamp. I ran with several different runners. I met a few Aussies and came upon Kirk Apt, working on his 24th finish. Yeah, fathom that! In retrospect I could’ve run faster down, it wouldn’t have hurt any more and it would’ve meant less overall time banging my quads.

I finally made it to Ouray, still somewhat convinced I was in heart failure, or maybe just wishing I was so I could call it done. Good friends Chris and Janet Cantwell were working Ouray aid station. Janet, “doc” checked me out. Normal oxygen level, normal lung sounds….I wasn’t dying. Damn. “I guess I don’t have a good reason not to keep going”, so with my tail between my legs I took some dry clothes to the bathroom to change out of sweaty shorts, bra, t-shirt and into warm dry clothes for the long night ahead. It was about 10:30pm. This was mile 44, and time to pick up a pacer. James Reeves would be running the night shift with me. When I changed clothes, I took off my bad attitude and in my brain, put on my superhero clothes. With each new piece of clothing, each bite of soup/food/whatever-the-heck I ate, I felt stronger, more confident, happy again. Headlamp back on. Backup batteries in pack, gels, water... let’s roll.

I ran the streets and as we started to climb out of town, I ran the flatter sections. When we hit the Bear Creek trailhead we started the steeper climbing and the long hike began. We were headed 8 miles up to Engineer aid station at around 12,000ft. Bear Creek trail had been closed to the public due to damage from rock and dirt slides caused by flooding during some heavy rains earlier in the week, only the Hardrock runners and their pacers were allowed to go up. I’ve decided Bear Creek trail is far less nerve wracking at night. You simply cannot see how far down you would fall if you took a misstep. Hundreds of feet in some places. We could hear the creek roaring beside and below us. It runs and falls, and is beautiful to see during the day, but a bit daunting to hear so far below at night. I felt pretty good for a while, but after 2ish hours of climbing, my back was spasming pretty good on the left side. I stopped every little bit to stretch and try to release it. It worked temporarily. The higher we got the worse it spasmed, and once again the rope around my chest tightened and the proverbial sled behind me felt heavier pulling me back as I pushed forward. I no longer feared heart failure, I was just pissed off that it was so f’ing hard.

We entered Engineer aid station and ate more soup and regrouped for the final push up Engineer. Another hour or more of back spasms and heavy breathing and we were at the top. I was determined to continue to fuel and hydrate, and take such good care of my body that I could know I had given myself every chance to feel better, to hurt less, to make it as far as possible as fast as possible. About that time a gel exploded all over my gloves. Nice. We hit the pass and started running down, 3 miles down to Grouse aid station. Once again, my quads were pretty busted, feeling like they were ripping apart as I went. We made it into Grouse at mile 58 at 5:30am. I ate, I slept a little, promising myself I would refuel and rest before I made my final decision. After an hour, I told James I was done. I felt like I had at the very end of 100 miles of other mountain races. I could not coax my back or quads to climb and descend another mountain. They were done. I knew without a doubt I would not be able to make it over 4 more peaks/passes on these legs. I wasn’t willing to torture myself any further to go any farther. I didn’t want to hate the experience.

A big part of racing for me in these mountains is the joy it brings me. Pain is part of it, it always is, and sometimes lots of pain. But going on would be torture. I finished my race with not an ounce of disappointment. I wished I could’ve taken James over Handie’s peak. That was my only sadness, that he would not see it, but I was wholly satisfied. Back in Oklahoma, I’m still grateful and pleased with how hard I worked, how far I went. I was the best me out there. Now it’s time to take care of myself, check out the ticker, and start working on the next adventure! Onward and upward.

Thank you to everyone who has followed and supported me on this journey. Todd, my rock, my love, my biggest fan. My kids who love and support me, and tell me to keep going. James and David, who have crewed and paced me on more than one mountain adventure, and their families who sacrificed their dad/husband/boyfriend to support me and help me through the race. Jeremy Harrison, pinch hitter crew. Thank you Jeremy for stepping in last minute to crew, sorry you didn’t get to pace me….although I think it was a blessing for you that you didn’t have to! Thank you to coach Eric Orton, coaching me now for over 6 years. Best coach in the world, bar none. Thanks to my Dad, ever present on my runs in my heart and in my head. You all are a part of who I am, and forever hold a piece of my heart.

Warning, this is almost longer than the race itself.....above PC @ Charles Danforth.

After 14 hours of driving, I arrived in Sheridan WY on Wednesday evening before the race. My two pacers/crew, David Newman and James Reeves, right picture

would be arriving Thursday evening. The race start slated for Friday morning 10am. They drove 17 hours to come crew/pace me. They would miss Father’s Day with their families and go at least 36 hours without sleep to keep up with me. I am so grateful to them both, and their families for allowing them to come. Without them, I would not have finished this race. This race would be a crucial race for a number of reasons. First of all, I needed this race finish to keep my name in the hat for my bucket list race, Hardrock 100. I wanted to prove to myself I still could be able to finish a Hardrock qualifier. More importantly, I needed the experience to gain confidence in my ability to complete Hardrock. My last qualifier, Mogollan Monster 100, 2 years ago ended disastrously. I finished, but my back failed at mile 95 and it took me nearly 6 hours to get from mile 95 to 108. I was completely broken and hunched over, I literally could not hold myself upright the last 10 miles. I was embarassed that I could not even stand straight hiking and running. That did not give me much confidence for Hardrock. My deepest fear going into this race was that my back would fail again. I didn’t want to finish this race in the same shape.

I ran Jemez 50mile race 4 weeks ago. I did well and finished strong, but in the few days after my back started hurting. I did a 3 hour training run and could not run uphill. My back was spasming and limited me severely. The next two weeks I worked with my coach Eric Orton, and Jordan Williams, DPT at Proof Performance in Flagstaff. They both worked with me, encouraged me, and helped me do what we could to help my back. The weeks leading into the race did not build much confidence. While uphills were better, my back still bothered me at least mildly on any uphill. This race would have 18,000 feet of climbing and the same descending. More than Mogollan. I also had a niggly hot tendon over my left knee cap that just wouldn’t settle down completely pre-race. With all of the training and sacrifice put into this race, my family, and my pacer’s sacrifices, I had decided that I would finish this race no matter what. I decided it might hurt like hell, it might not be at all the race I wanted, but I would finish. I had high hopes that if things went well, I could potentially finish in 26-27 hours. I knew that was possible, and that was a fun and exciting idea to entertain, but I was prepared for the worst.

I used to be judgemental about DNF’ing (did not finish) a race. I DNF’d at Ouray 50 mile last year. I was hard on myself for that. I had a horrible day there. It was the most amazingly beautiful course in the mountains, some of the same course as Hardrock. I was pushing too hard from the start. I was near dead last. I had stomach issues. I was hating that day. I was hating the course. I was hating myself. I started to hate the mountains and all that hate frightened me. I quit. I wanted to quit before I hated that place. I was afraid I would ruin my love for the mountains, ruin my desire to run in them. I’m glad I quit. It was the right thing to do.

I did a little shake out run Thursday morning. Everything felt great, but still had that little hot spot on my L knee. I was ready mentally and emotionally. I felt good about the race. I was nervous about my back and knee, but somehow just felt really calm in general. David and James arrived Thursday evening and we ate a hearty dinner and enjoyed eachother’s company. Friday morning we ate a big breakfast and headed to the pre-race meeting at 8am. The course director went over course conditions as it drizzled rain intermittently. Lots of mention of mud and rain. Lots. I didn’t think much of it. I expected rain and cold weather from afternoon to the next day. I had my drop bags stocked with warm, dry clothes, rain shells, and gloves. I knew I was prepared for really cold weather. Living in Flagstaff gave me lots of first hand experience with mountain weather. It is always colder and wetter than anticipated. When you’ve already been running for 40 miles, your ability to stay warm under normal conditions is compromised. Your thermoregulation is off, you are slightly dehydrated and depleted. I’ve seen severe hypothermia in 50 degree rainy weather at night. Normally, no one would consider getting hypothermic running in that. I personally experienced hypothermia at Leadville 100 in 2012. I was terrified I might not make it to the next aid station. I ran for two hours crying and feeling myself gradually freeze to death. I spent over 30 minutes in a warming bag by a fire once I got to the aid station. I was terrified to leave that aid station. Ever since then I have had a fear of that kind of cold feeling. I also don’t tolerate cold conditions as well as a runner since...so needless to say...I made sure I was damn well prepared for bad weather. Turns out is was a really good thing I was.

The other thing running 100 milers has taught me is to be completely prepared for your crew to miss you at the aid stations, and for the aid stations to have nothing you want to eat/need. Pack your drop bags like no one is going to be there to bring you something. If James and David never made it to any aid station, I would have been fine from a gear and fuel standpoint. Prepare for a 100 like no one will help you. I can’t tell you how many racers I have seen drop because their crew wasn’t there and they didn’t get what they needed. It is also a huge mental let down, so just expect it, and be pleasantly surprised when your crew is ready and waiting for you. Fortunately, James and David nailed it. They never missed me. They were right there, every time.

After the race briefing, we headed to the start line. 300+ runners jammed on a dirt road. PC@Bighorn100

Now I was nervous! I started counting women ahead of me, probably 30..at least. We took off and even more women passed. I was disappointed, but knew I had my own race and my own strategy. I had a feeling I would catch many of them. We ran the dirt road a mile or so up to the trailhead, hitting the single track trail that would lead 8 miles up the mountain. The drizzly rain started. It was cool, low 50s and felt good. The trails were mildly technical, narrow, and the mountain was amazingly beautiful, full of wild flowers and deep green grass. Pine trees dotted here and there and giant boulders. I let my heart rate be my guide, not letting it spike and sticking to the lower zones my coach and I agreed upon. It was tough letting all those girls go….30-40 of em. As we climbed I started passing runners. A few women here and there. Lots working harder. I could hear their breathing, mine was silent... almost. I was calm and relaxed. My effort was mostly easy. 8 miles up we hit a downhill and it felt good to open up and run down, still keeping my effort easy, focusing on relaxed arms and legs and back. My back was doing just fine and my knee completely silent. I noted how steep that downhill section was, keeping it in mind for the return. We ran some double track jeep roads, a few water crossings and more sweeping views of the mountains, pine trees, wild flowers, all under a cloudy and intermittently rainy sky.

I rolled into the first crew/aid station at mile 13 feeling great. Ahead of time, and in very good spirits. James and David filled my water bottles, gave me more gels, some encouraging words, and I was out of there. I added my rain jacket and gloves, as temps were getting cooler up higher, now around 8,000ft. I stuck with water, gel, electrolytes for the first 70 miles. Everything felt pretty spot on. We headed down out of that aid station on more double track trail. The trails were less technical than at Jemez and the trails around Flagstaff. I knew I was moving faster with less effort and was so grateful. I think this also helped my knee and back. The next 13 miles would be rolling up and down along mostly single track trails. I started thinking, “this is gonna be a course record kinda day”. I figured the men and women’s leaders would pull this off if the conditions remained cool and calm. This course gets notoriously hot in the canyons. The trail is mostly exposed, very little shade, and last year word was temps got to 105 during the heat of Friday and Saturday. At around mile 20 something we hit an aid station that was cooking bacon. I was hesitant to eat it, knowing my stomach was doing so well and solids often jack things up for me, but I couldn’t resist, it smelled sooooo good. I ate 2 strips and headed out. Along here I could hear Elk bugeling. It was awesome.

At mile 26 we hit a steep 4 mile section down to the next crew/aid station. It was technical and I made mental note, again, for the return, thinking I might want poles going back up that section. Near mile 33 was a roaring river over huge boulders. We crossed the foot bridge and rolled into the 33mile aid/crew station.

Still a bit ahead of schedule and feeling very well. I added a long sleeve tech shirt and a completely waterproof light rain jacket with hood. The rain was picking up. It was later afternoon by now. There were volunteers everywhere and many runners sitting in chairs, changing shoes, refueling and getting geared up for the climb. “Would you like to sit?” The pleasant teenager-looking volunteer asked. “No” I replied. “Would you like soup?”. “Oh yes, that would be great.” I got tickled at his response, “I’ll be back in 20 seconds”. He was so eager and rushing to keep from slowing me down. “You’re ok, no rush”. He continued to offer help as James and David helped me make sure I had what I needed to enter the next section, the rain and the dark. This section would be a 16 mile climb, gaining 4,000ft elevation to around 10,000ft. The wind and rain would pick up as we climbed. I continued to pass people as I climbed, just gradually moving my way up in the field. I continued to keep my effort and heart rate in check. Within just a few miles we started hitting mud. Deeper and deeper mud. Slick, sliding backward mud. And water crossings, lots of water crossings. It got windier and colder. My hands were getting cold and despite some water resistant gloves and covers, were getting soaked. I picked up my effort, simply to keep warm. Stopping to pee was not a pleasant experience...finding a hidy place, being cold, and exposing private areas...then trying to pull things up with cold, wet gloves and fingers that can’t feel turns into a funny dance and shimmy...funny to imagine, not So pleasant to experience it.  Men have it much easier. The climb, I alternated running and hiking depending on the grade and the mud. Running up mud is easier than hiking up mud, less sliding...sorta. You just get a momentum, but the effort is harder. I could tell I was using lots of accessory muscles trying to stabilize myself and was wondering how this was going to affect things later in the race.  There was a girl in front of me. I would catch up to her and she would speed up. Then she would slow down to the point where I had to hike. I would get cold when she slowed down. I said, “passing on your left”....nothing. She sped up a little, then slowed down.  I said, “I’m just gonna pass on your left”.....nothing, she sped up. This went on for a while. Finally, with more firmness, I said, “I’m going to pass on your left”. All I heard was, “No..blah blah blah”. I was freezing, it was then I hollered, “Well you better run girl!” She did. I think she was freezing too and just needed to hear that. She ran. We both ran into the next aid station.

The night came and the wind and rain continued. We hit an aid station about 3 miles from the top. I briefly stopped at the fire, filled my water bottles and took off. Any extra standing around would be dangerous. I was cold, shivering, but heartened by the fact I knew I had dry clothes waiting at the top. I left the girl behind at the aid station and took off. The mud became just completely ridiculous. It was now 6-14 inches deep. Not very runnable. With large ponds water up to 2 feet deep in spots. You couldn't tell whether the next step would sink 2 inches, 6 inches or 14 inches. It was pitch black with fog and rain and no moon. I fell several times getting my gloves covered in mud. I fell sideways, backwards, forwards, every way imaginable and some ways I never imagined. Wiping my runny nose with mud covered paws. I felt like I was in a mud wrestling pit. The slowness was getting me colder. Then it happened...a turning point…. at around mile 44, I stepped knee deep into mud and pulled my foot out sans shoe. I fell forward launching my water bottle and gel pack into the sinking mud. It was just that moment... I wanted to cry, to stop, to quit. I was a little panicked too. I couldn’t fathom 3 more miles of this...I could barely move forward, how was I going to get to the top? At that moment, clear as a bell, Coach Eric’s voice rang in my head, “Don’t think, just do”. He first told me that years ago when I’d worry about this or that during a key training run or race. Usually, it was before a track workout where I’d be running beyond what I thought my limits were. For me this phrase meant, “you know what to do, just do it”. It was like everything became silent. The wind and rain were tuned out. I reached my hand 6 inches down and retrieved my mud filled shoe. I snatched my water bottle and gel flask before they disappeared. I sucked several mouthfuls of water and mud from my water bottle and spit it over the spout to clear the mud and stuffed them back in my pack. With frozen fingers, a few curse words, and a lot of effort, I stuffed my foot back in the mud filled shoe, thinking, “My foot will just have to squeeze the mud out, there isn’t room for both and my foot is going to win this battle dammit!”. I got moving again and just kept going. I drank even though it tasted like mud, I ate gel mixed with mud and I kept going. The nurse in me wondered what kind of organisms might be growing in the mud I was consuming, but I figured I had a good 24 to 72 hours before the full effect of any parasitic or bacterial infection kicked in...long enough to be in a hotel with a nice bathroom.

I came into the tent/aid station at the top at mile 46. The heaters inside were incredibly welcoming. I was greeted very quickly by a medical person and my pacers….”Do you need to sit?” the lady with the stethoscope said. Shivering, I looked around. There were runners everywhere sitting in chairs shivering. They all looked like death. I knew if I sat, I would be dead too. 12 hours into this journey I had not sat once, and had no intention to now. “No, I just need to get warmed up”. We pulled off my wet outer clothes. I pulled on a smart wool top, another fleece lined top and the medical person stuffed hot bean bags down into my bra and under my armpits. We added a rainproof jacket, dry gloves, waterproof glove covers and tightened the hood to my jacket down around my face. I sucked down 2 cups of ramen noodles and some of a quesadilla. I didn’t let myself “think” about how long it would take to get down the 16 mile mudslide in the cold rainy dark. If I had allowed myself to “think” about it, I probably would not have left the tent. I relied on what I knew….I was warm, I was dry, and I had what I needed to be safe, so I left with David at my side. I knew the trail, having paid good attention going up, so I took the lead. David and I chatted a little at first...then just exchanged curse words as we could hear each others smack-down falls in the mud. I was quite sure he was regretting his decision to come pace me.

The next 16 miles were a blur of falls, curse words, and running/sliding down. There were many stream crossings and foot bridges. It was a miracle I didn’t slide right into the damn bridges or the roaring streams. 6 hours to get down.  I came upon another lady about my age and allowed myself to slow down a little, staying behind her as we chatted for about a mile. We both fell numerous times. We gave up asking each other, “you ok?”. We just assumed if the other got up and kept moving all was well.  She was a 3 or 4 time HURT 100 finisher. HURT is of course another extremely difficult 100 mile race that takes place in Hawaii. The last time she ran she fell around mile 8 and broke a rib. Her daughter was at the next aid station. She had every reason to quit, but her daughter reminded her that she promised her ice cream if she finished the race…. and her daughter really wanted that ice cream. So she finished. I cannot even imagine running 90+ miles up and down volcanos with a broken rib….for ice cream for my daughter. If it were me, Avery would be very disappointed.  She slowed down to get some calories in, and I passed her. I passed a gentleman who was running with 2 or 3 other men. He had fallen and earned a concussion. He was okay, but good grief! As I rolled into the mi 66 aid station, my next pacer, James said with wide eyes, “That took you a reeeally long time”. I don’t recall my response but I was thinking something like, “No shit!” I lost my previous pacer David, somewhere on the way down. He was no longer behind me. I told the aid station chief who agreed to check with the previous aid stations to see if they could locate him. Fortunately, he was on the trail. I was worried he had fallen and broken his neck. I really didn’t want to have to explain that one to his wife.

It was 4-5am and dawn was approaching. I love the pre-dawn on 100 milers. The air is crisp and there is just something so relieving and inspiring to witness the first hint that the long cold night is almost over. The sunrise hasn’t started, but you know it is coming. It feels like being renewed, like when I stepped into the water to be baptised, just before the baptism. It’s the anticipation of its arrival.  It is only through the dark, cold, long, sleepless, somewhat frightening night that the dawn is so appreciated. A sense of, “I made it”. It is worth the miles and sleeplessness. I was relieved and thought surely the rest of the trails would not be as treacherous. James hadn’t slept all night trying to keep track of me and traveling up to 2 hours between aid stations. It’s almost easier to run from aid station to aid station than to drive the routes around the mountains to access crew spots. Nevertheless, he was cheerful and ready to roll. We crossed the roaring river over a footbridge and began to climb a steep 3 mile section. I opted to use climbing poles here to help. It was still alternating between rain and drizzle as we climbed. My climbing was slow, but James was patient. I worried he would get really cold, noticing he didn’t have any gloves on and I questioned whether or not he had enough layers. I had plenty of time to contemplate this as the climb was so slow for me. My quads and calves working fine...all of the hip flexors and stabilizing tendons and tiny deep accessory muscles crying from the 16 miles of stabilizing me while running in the mud. If you are ever interested in pacing, just know, pacing sucks. The pacer is running/hiking at a much slower pace than they are used to, often with a grumpy, less than eager racer. I was giving every segment my best effort, but unfortunately, after spending the last 16 miles trying to stay upright, every muscle in my legs, hips, back were struggling to maintain. I still felt strong in general, just slow, like I still had 10lbs of mud stuck on my feet. I didn't let myself open that mental door...to think about how slow i was now moving, about how much damage this had done to my time and pace.The trail conditions were still crumby, very muddy and slick. We often had to get completely off the trail and trek through the scrub/brush to keep from just sliding backward. It was also much of the time faster to do this despite the shrubs and clods of grass and rocks. Unfortunately this required more of those “stabilizers”.

The most memorable point was coming into Cow Camp aid station at mile 76. Bacon and fried potatoes. I stuffed my face full of both. The trail was getting even more slick. The aid station workers were pretty convinced they would not be able to get out of the aid station, would likely be there another day. There were two runners that had run intermittently with us into the aid station. They were both pretty down, one convinced he would drop at the next aid station. The next aid station would be mile 82. I tried to encourage him...to make it to mile 82….he could surely finish. It’s almost all downhill from there...literally, like 12 miles of that would be downhill. He had made it day, night, and part of the next day. He ended up regrouping and finishing...ahead of me. I kept telling myself, “the next section is going to get better”. Nope. More mud. Getting out of cow camp was absurd. It’s uphill out of that aid station, double track, normally supremely runnable. Now slick as snot on ice. The alternating sliding on the trail, side stepping off the trail and through the brush. When the brush became unbearable, I’d step back on the slick mud until it became unbearable. Back and forth. I was getting frustrated and confused as to which was harder. James finally just pointed and encouraged me to just follow him. He was thinking more clearly and could evaluate where to run/hike better than I. Most of this section from mile 76 to 82 was a complete walk. The only comfort was knowing that it was the same for everyone else. Also, no women were passing me. A few men caught me in this section, but I held my position. Based on what I was seeing, I was thinking there was a chance I was inside the top 10 women. I kept telling my pacer. I think “I’ve moved way up, but I am probably the dead last female on the course”. This section I just put my head down and kept going. I didn’t allow myself to think about how much farther or longer or the fact that I was walking/sliding instead of running. I knew I couldn’t go there. The switch was flipped, “Don’t think, just do”. Despite the crappy conditions, my mood was pretty decent. I was starting to allow myself to lose perspective on fueling/hydration and time to finish. I had in my mind that I was getting “close”. While I had completed 76 miles and “only” had 26 more to go, I wasn’t realizing that 26 miles meant at least 6-7 more hours.  I think if I had thought in those terms I might have sat down and cried. I wasn’t as focused on getting those 200 cal/hr, salt and 1 bottle water per hour. I still maintained good fueling/hydration/salt to mile 82 aid station, but wasn’t as focused on it and might have started slipping a little behind as I got closer to mile 82.

I was so so glad to get to mile 82. This was the last big aid station before the finish. “All downhill from here” in my head. I knew if I made it to mile 82 I would surely finish, so it was a huge relief to make it there. One of the aid station volunteers said, “you look pretty fresh”...I didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or flatly respond that she was either a horrible liar or too sleep deprived to recognize how horrible I really looked...and probably smelled. Another volunteer noted the amount of mud all over me...everywhere...including in my ear. James emptied my pack of everything I didn’t need. The day was warming up quick. I ate something at that aid station, refilled bottles and left. I forgot to grab more salt. I did grab a plastic baggy full of goldfish. Still not thinking about really how much time I had left, I planned to eat the goldfish as my sole calories. By this time I was really tired of the gels, the heat was making it hard to want anything and my stomach..as usual late in race was not interested in anything.at.all. I still had minimum 3-4 hours left. 1 baggy of goldfish was not going to be enough calories. However, FINALLY, the trails were becoming more firm and dry. This meant RUNNING!

We had started meeting fresh runners….the 50 mile, 50k and 18k races all started that morning. It was  a love hate feeling...more love than hate. Their fresh enthusiasm, encouragement and cheers for us haggard 100 milers was incredibly uplifting. The jealousy of their light, fast, hop-scotchity  running was tough. But we were on the home stretch! It was about that time I saw Don Sims. He was running one of the other distances that day. He ran up to me and gave me the biggest hug. I was afraid he’d crush me, I felt so frail at that point, but the hug energized me and his genuine enthusiasm was infectious. He caught this picture of James and I, I was shedding another layer of clothing when we met.

James and I continued on, and After about an hour, I looked at my goldfish baggy….I think I had eaten maybe 8 goldfish, and not a full bottle of water. I took my last 2 salt caps and stuffed about 10 goldfish in my mouth and drank the rest of the bottle and determined myself to pay better attention and drink and eat more.  I was swelling. We had 1 more short but very steep climb at around mile 90. Almost 1000ft in less than 1 mile. It hurt. My back was spasming, but I just shortened my steps, stayed tall and moved as best I could up.  We topped out and I was so thrilled to finally get to go down...on dry trails! The sun was out full on and the wildflowers were beautiful. Thousands of daisy-like and sunflower-like flowers, columbines and white fluffy flowers. The jagged rocks shone bright in the sun, and the deep green pine forest covered mountains all around.

Soon though, the joy of getting to run downhill was replaced by...well...not joy. My quads were trashed. The tops of my feet were screaming, the flexor tendons of my feet on fire from pulling my feet out of the mud for so many miles. After about 4 miles of running down I told James, “I think my quads are bleeding internally”. He was feeling pretty beat up too, either that or he was lying to make me feel better. Fueling and hydration became a blur. We dumped out 8 miles later at the bottom of the trail and at an aid station. Still with ¾ full bag of goldfish. I knew I was behind on calories and probably salt too. I was drinking plenty of water though and swelling more. It was getting really hot. I think I ate like 4 peanut butter crackers here. I knew James was going to expect me to run well the 5 mile dirt road section into town. I was a little foggy and out of sorts. I got a couple of electrolyte caps from the aid station also. The wheels were starting to come off the wagon. I rambled over the next couple of miles of trail at a much slower pace than I had hoped. I was struggling.

We hit the dirt road. 5 miles. That’s it. I ran as hard as I could….which was insanely slow. It was a slight uphill grade that felt like Mt. Everest. James could actually walk as fast as I was running. It was sad. But, I was upright...my back did not fail. I Wasn't hunched over and limping. There were people cheering on the side of the road...a sprinkler at the edge of someone's yard, pointed at the road for runners to cool off.

Kids running popsicles to us to help us feel better. The road was very hot and dry. We finally turned into town. More cheers, “Be proud!, look what you’ve done!” someone said. My eyes welled up with tears. “You are amazing!” The people were so excited and encouraging. A small stand filled with people in the last 25 meters were cheering and clapping and shouting more praises. Finally, finally...the finish line.

The finish was in a park next to a stream. I got past the finish area and collapsed in a heap on my back in the cool grass under the shade of a tree next to a couple other runners who had done the same. I opened my eyes, and David and James were there. I laid there for a few minutes. A medical volunteer came and stood over me and asked me how I was doing. “Much better”, I replied.  “We’re here for you” he said. We chatted a bit and he offered to take a look at my feet in the medical tent. I made my way to the river and soaked my feet and rinsed off layers and layers of mud. I laid back down for a bit more. James or David came back, “6th female” one of them said. I was surprised. I started 30 or 40 females back. So many didn’t finish. Only 47% of the starters finished. Of over 70 women, only 25 or so finished. I got my Hardrock qualifier! I finished without my back failing. I ran smart and worked every section as best I could. My only downfall was in those last 20 miles...I need to remember to be persistent...to the finish with calories/lytes/water. I probably lost 15-30 minutes on the race in that section slowing due to low calories. Not much in a 29 hour race, but still.

Again, I can’t thank David, James, and their wives and kids for donating them for my race. Coach Eric Orton, I am so fortunate to have found him 5 years ago now. He has helped me grow strong, stay healthy and motivated, and up to the task racing. His intuition and instinct continue to amaze me. I can trust him completely as my coach. He has never steered me wrong. He keeps me honest about my goals and desires, and helps keep me from hindering me in training and racing. Todd, my rock, was not able to be there, but I summoned many of the things he would say in those last miles he normally paced me on these crazy adventures.  The best one volleyed in the last 10 miles of my last 100 miler amidst my whining and whimpering  about my (excruciating) failing back... “It’s gonna hurt until you finish, so you might as well speed up”. His comments usually conjure the image of a rock hitting him square in the head, but I know he will never let me give up in the trail...on anything. And he knows how sorry my aim is anyway, so he figures he is safe. I can’t wait to go to Hardrock. My turn is coming…..

This was a “training through” race. My big race is Bighorn 100 in 4 weeks. The goal was to have really good focus in this race, to do well, but not go out too hard and have to recover much in the days following the race. I need to be able to put in another week of high mileage, quality work for Bighorn after Jemez. I won't have the luxury of a rest week after Jemez. Instead 1 more push week.

The temps were predicted cooler, upper 30s at start and high around 65, pretty perfect conditions for a long day. I met up with friend Grace Mills, a wonderful ultra-runner and human being. She introduced me to several of her friends that would also be on the course that day, including Cindy Stonesmith.  

Jemez course starts on the single track trails in Los Alamos, around 7,000ft. We would top out a couple of times at 10,500 feet. The course has 10,500ft of climbing and about the same descending.  Initially, we climbed rocky single track trails up Guaje Ridge. About 6 or 7 miles up I met Cindy. We climbed together and got to chat about our upcoming races and goals and family. She has Western States coming up. We had run many of the same races. She had also been to Bighorn and helped give me an idea of what the course is like. We continued to climb rocky trails to the ski resort around 10,000 ft, followed by a really stinking steep climb up the boot pack trail straight up the ski slope to the peak. I took the lead up and we both worked to keep our effort in check, knowing at mi 35 we would be doing this again. Cindy kept check on how long it took us, to use it as a measuring stick for round 2.

We topped out where the trail then switchbacks down rocky single track trails down the backside of the mountain, down to about 8,000ft. I took the lead on the down and created a little gap between us. Mother nature was calling loudly, so i ran a little harder to gain enough of a gap that i could get off trail and hidden to take care of business without spectators. Sure enough Cindy and a few other runners came zipping past. They never saw me, thankfully. I got myself back together and back on trail, but it would be 20 miles before I ever saw Cindy again.

I hit the aid station at the bottom and readied myself to go back up and over another ridge. This was a difficult section. Mile 20-28. Solo climbing, the day heating up and no sign of Cindy. At the top of the ridge you can see down into the Caldara….just amazing beauty and exposure across kind of a volcanic basin of grassland.

After dropping a steep mile down, the 4 miles across here are steady runnable uphill miles under a warming Sun. This section starts at about mile 28. With 2 big climbs under my belt, and more to come, staying focused on running this section was tough, the temptation to hike strong.

The last ½ to 1 mile climb out of the Caldara is silly. 32 miles in, straight up loose sand/rock/scree. One foot up, one slide down or sideways. Grabbing tree limbs, rocks to keep from tumbling back down.  The next couple miles we got to enjoy easy single track rolling trail again into the ski lodge. Time to regain a little strength, open the legs up and contemplate the steep climb to the peak that had already been endured once before.

At the ski lodge, mi 35.5 I got to see Todd, the kids, and friends David Sooter and Katie Bryant and their little munchkin River. One year old River was chillaxin’ in his stroller. I was so excited to see everyone I was squealing and almost yelling “HI! YOU ARE SOOOOOO CUTE!!!” his look of “Oh dear God that crazy stinky dirty lady is gonna Get me” had me settle down just a tad. He then seemed very amused and ready for me to lift him up. He's obviously been exposed to stinky, loud ultra-running women before….ahem, Katie.

They asked if I needed anything, “just a fresh pair of legs would be nice”. I hugged and kissed the kiddos and hubby and started the trudge back up the ski slope.

It was a relief to see Cindy again. As I rolled in, she was already climbing out. That made me feel that maybe as tired and slow as I felt, I was not losing as much ground on the other gals as I had thought. She was definitely a stronger climber than me, so I didn't push to try and gain any ground on that climb. I hoped I would catch her on the down. I need up climbing with a nice guy. I focused on the backs of his heels as we climbed. Matching his short, relaxed steps. We chatted a little. I mentioned the desire for fresh set of legs and he replied, “ those are the legs that are gonna carry you home”. I smiled and realized I had a pretty good set, with lots of experience to get me there.

Down the other side I caught up with and passed a few guys and another girl. No sight of Cindy rolling into the aid station at mi 40ish. Leaving this aid station was more climbing. I was less than enthusiastic here, but ran the climbs I knew were runnable (very slow) and hit it on the down. My uphill legs felt sucky, but my downhill legs still good. I was relieved to go down again and at the bottom of that down I caught back up with Cindy. “Hey stranger!” I yelped. So happy to see her, as I had missed our running together, and motivated to try and keep up with her now that I found her again.

She relayed that she thought I had just dropped her and was way ahead. I explained I was half naked when she passed me, and I really didn't want that to be her last image of me. We laughed a little, and I let her lead us up the next climb. It took work to keep up with her And I sorely wanted to let her go. With under 10 miles to go, I just had to believe I had it in me to keep up.

We had some descending, so I took the lead and worked at a moderate effort down. As much of an effort as it was for me to hang on to her on the ups, I could feel it was a similar challenge for her on the downs. We hit mi 45ish aid station and caught another female. We headed out together and quickly passed her and another guy and worked more downhill running.

The last aid station left us at mi 50 with 2 more miles of mostly climbing, and a little flat just before a steep little jut up a crevice. I let Cindy take the lead, knowing this would be painful, and it was. I teased her that it would be payback time for the descending I dragged her through. She seemed to take great joy in returning the favor….kidding of course. I really struggled to stay within close reach. We hit the crevice together and climbed up and out. With 100 or so meters to the finish we decided to nail it together. Neither of us had any desire to Sprint or try to overtake the other. I think our combined effort pushed us both to beyond where we would have ended up solo. This was a really awesome race experience added to many before. Enjoyed the beauty of the terrain, the mountains, and the people most especially. 

Tulsa Area Trail and Ultra Runner’s (TATUR) Snake Run is timed event. There is a 3 hour and 6 hour division. The goals is to run as many miles, all on single track trail, as you can in the time allowed. The course is a 3.75ish loop, with 1 smaller 0.5 mile optional loop to run around. The course is relatively flat, mostly smooth trails. I don’t typically like flat courses, loops, hot weather, or timed events...so of course this was the perfect one to do! The only reason I chose this one was TATUR. They are just quite simply awesome people. They can make a mountain runner want to run flat pancake loop trails for 6 hours at sea level, in temperatures and humidity she hasn’t seen... well, since her last summer trip to Oklahoma.

We had headed to Oklahoma for spring break, and I needed a long run. Snake Run lined up nicely. My coach Eric Orton and I outlined a plan for this race. He said, “you won’t be rested”...the understatement of the week. We wanted to see if I could be conservative enough to have my last hour of racing be as fast as my first hour. This challenge is huge for me. I never ever ever have been known to start a race too conservative. This would require a huge dose of patience and trust...and humility. We also wanted to be super tight with hydration, salt, gels and see how that might benefit me, or at least work out some of the kinks in my fueling. I almost always struggle with nausea after about 3 hours of running. Ok, that last sentence left plenty of room for my non-running friends to make 50 thousand jokes about someone who runs for 3 hours complaining of nausea. Anyway,  4 years of struggling with fueling, I have never completed an ultra without big stomach issues.

I had driven 17 hours to Oklahoma 7 days prior to the race, and ran plenty (45-50 miles) the week of the race, including some speed work. I was tired. I was to drive 17 hours back to Arizona following a shower after the race. I started to dread my decision a few days before the race. I didn’t know how I would possibly do it. 6 hours is a long time to run in circles. I was afraid it would be plenty of time to contemplate how tired my legs were, how long the drive was going to be, how hot and humid it was, and so on and so forth. I was afraid I might quit. Fortunately, good friend David Newman agreed to come to the race. Just knowing he was going to be there, I could never quit. I couldn’t disappoint Newman. He had run a 50k the weekend before in really raunchy weather conditions and mud. I couldn’t imagine he was doing this race for any other reason than to encourage me. I know I wouldn’t have. He also paced me at Mogollan Monster 100, so he’s seen me ugly, slow, and dirty. It’s always comforting to have someone who has seen you at your worst. He ended up having a really good day, logging over 30 miles himself...on a recovery week?

We started the race together, bemoaning our decision to do the race in the first place. We caught up on friends, and life in general. After about 2 laps he got bored with my conversation (of course not!)  and backed off a bit to find his own rythm. There were 2 girls ahead of me. I settled in, and keeping my heart rate much lower than I usually do, and cruised along. I focused on fueling, starting at 1 hour in...gel, 200-250 calories per hour. Water, about 1 700ml bottle every 45 minutes. 2 S Caps per hour. This course allowed everything to remain steady, and it paid off. By 3 hours my stomach was happy, no swelling, no nausea, no dizzy, no sloshing/bloating. My energy better than the first hour. I kept my heart rate in zone 2 the first 2 hours pretty consistently. The day was warming up and I was feeling good, so I allowed myself to drift up into zone 3, as long as it still “felt like” zone 2. By this time I had passed one of the girls in front of me. And the next girl was probably 5-10 minutes ahead.

At 4 hours I was sure I could pick it up just a little and still have a last hour as fast as the first. I also saw the lead female. She was starting to slow just a little and this was too much to resist. I felt great. I continued the fueling, hydration, salt and I stayed steady in zone 3 to 4a. I’d back off when I hit 4a (HR 159-163), but still feeling like I had plenty of energy. A little after 4 and a half hours and 27 miles in, I passed the lead female. I cranked it up a little more knowing very well that I could maintain a higher effort for 90 more minutes. My HR was more zone 4a and a little 4b (HR 164-167) when I came through the last big loop at 5:31. I knew I couldn’t get another 3.75 mile loop in, so I headed straight for the ½ mi loops. These little loops are a little rockier and little ups and downs. I was feeling fantastic though so I cranked it out, bringing hr into zone 4b-5a (HR 168-173) and finishing 5 more loops on the ½ mile course. I ditched my pack and ran free and fast those last 20-30 minutes and felt fantastic, huffing and puffing all the way! I knew I had negative split the course and accomplished our goal. That was the most gratifying feeling, to accomplish that goal I have chased for years. The goal that no one else could accomplish, no one else could chase it. No one else could be patient for me, no one else could trust my ability, no one else could give me a negative spit. No one else could race hard for me those last 2-3 miles.  It was mine to be had, I had to take it from those inner demons and ego that holds goals and dreams hostage…. I got it! So take that!  ....And then I got the flu and ended up in bed for a week.....C'est La Vie!

A whole different experience this year and a nice platform for next year’s training….

I checked in with friends and hosts Ashley and Michael on Thursday evening after arriving in San Francisco. We headed to the pre-race event at Equator Coffee. It was exciting to see the elite athletes and feel the excitement of the runners and crews and chat with friends, releasing some of the pre race jitters.

Friday morning I awoke to the lush green hills of Mill Valley and did a little shakeout run. I spied the headlands and trails I would be racing on Saturday and spent much of the day visualizing the course and my 50 mile run on it. I was looking to have a better race this year, I made many fueling and effort based mistakes last year, and felt confident a better day was ahead regardless of my actual finish time….although I did want to beat my time from last year.

Ashley offered to pace me the last 20 miles. This wasn’t planned, and I was nervous the distraction of another person might hinder me. I typically train and run best solo, but I knew Ashley’s competitiveness, ability as a coach, and drive could come in very handy. It also served to reinforce being conservative the first 30 miles, as I sure as Hell didn't want her to see me slog along the last 20. We ate at an amazing Dominican restaurant with fried, salty, oh so tasty plantains. I snagged an extra order of those to put in my drop bags as a treat on the run. We got back to my host’s place and laid out race gear and hit the hay.

The alarm at 3 am race morning was painful, the flannel sheets and loads of covers begged me to stay. I made my way to my hosts kitchen for a bagel with plenty of cream cheese, banana and some coffee. I was gonna need some caffeine for this up/down kinda day!!

We loaded up and headed to the race. 40 degree temps and long lines to the porta potties awaited. I dread the pre race cold, but have learned to bundle up and wait to shed it all until just before the start. I have spent many pre race mornings shivering my ass off, wasting huge amounts of energy trying not to freeze to death.

We started at 5am, I was in the second wave of runners, 5 waves total. Headlamp on, heading briefly down, then up the first 2 mile climb. I kept my effort easier than last year, watching my heart rate, the lights of San Francisco, and my breath in the dark morning.  I reminded myself, “if you must pee, pick the side of the trail UP hill. Last year, looking for a place to pee, I managed to fall down the headlands. I made the mistake of picking what I thought was a bush on my left to hide, coastal side, and stepped off the trail, only to fall straight down about 15 feet through thick lush trees and bushes.. The “bush” I had aimed for was actually the top of a tree clinging to the side of the headland. Fortunately, there was plenty of foliage,including trees, scrubby bushes, and of course, poison oak, to slow my descent and allow me to catch the tree. I hooked my arm on a tree. There would be no falls this year!

Descending down a couple miles in the dark and then back up a mile I was feeling good. I had specific goals for calories and water.  My stomach is always the trick, and usually where my downfall will lie if there is one. I can't take any solids other than a few potato chips here and there. With sport drinks, I swell up like a toad, getting the water to sport drink ratio way out of whack.

I have gone round and round with coach over the past 4 years with this. He never budges, I always swear I don't need/can't tolerate/am not built to get the amount of calories water/hr he recommends...always convinced he is over estimating. In training I can get by with, and do very well with way less (of course my training runs are never over 3-6 hrs). Every time I try to get more calories in my stomach revolts. What I finally learned, and this race confirmed, if I get the water in, yes MORE, then the gels will absorb, and I will race better.

I saw Ashley at mi 9 aid station, the base of the 4th and longest climb (7 miles up).We switched out gels, got rid of my headlamp and I was off. The next aid station is aptly named “Cardiac” as it sits about 80% of the way up the steepest portion of the climb. No crew allowed at Cardiac, so I got there and hunted for my drop bag with my fresh flasks of dreaded gel. No drop bag. I searched for about 2 minutes and realized it didn't make it. “whelp, plan B”, grab some gels from the aid table, fill water up and go.

About 50 feet out of the aid station here comes Michael with my drop bag. Woot! Apparently, my drop bags didn't make it on the truck so he managed somehow to get to cardiac just in time. An amazing feet as he was crewing Jorge Maravilla who blazed the course and came in 4th male. Keeping up with Jorge proved almost impossible in its own right, as he blazed the course almost faster than you can drive aid station to aid station. I know getting me my bag in the mix was no small feat. I whipped out the plantains, so excited for a salty bite. As soon as I put it in my mouth the urge to vomit was quick to follow. I was so disappointed, as they were so yummy the night before, and I was sure they would be a nice treat. I managed to get that one bite down, but unfortunately the rest would be for the birds.

Out of Cardiac and a few more miles of climbing along the sweeping headlands,we started seeing the elite field on their return. This is a tricky and occasionally frightening experience, as the trail is only 12-18 inches wide with a wall of headland on the right and hundreds of feet fall to the left. Those going up yield to those coming down, and a slight nudge, bobble, or misstep could send you for a nasty, even life threatening fall.

Coming into mi 24 aid station, after 7ish miles of climbing, it's time to descend close to the same amount back into Stinson Beach. I allowed myself a little faster effort, but still conserving so that I would have some really good descending the last 20 miles. This downhill section starts with the sweeping headlands and back down the very narrow single-track Trail.  Soon enough, we are in the woods with rocky and rooty, somewhat moist, single-track Trail and stairs, twisting and winding down into Stinson Beach. Each aid station you can hear from about a half-mile out, cow bells, Hoots and hollers, lots of activity and noise. I couldn’t help but smile and feel excited again.

It was good to see Ashley again after several hours, now at mile 29. She was ready to go! Her energy was great and it energized me. She cheered all the runners at least 30 feet ahead of us and thirty feet behind us. I think all of the tired runners took advantage of her pacing coming out of Stinson Beach. The steepest climb on the course is going out from this aid station.  It's two miles straight up the Muir Woods on twisty rocky and rooty trail with lots of steps. I was definitely moving better here this year than last. My fueling was going well I felt very energized and very well hydrated. Ashley proceeded to tell me as we were talking about her last race on these trails where a gentleman nearly knocked himself out hitting a low hanging tree branch. Not even 10 minutes later, with my head down looking at my feet, I managed to nearly scalp myself on one of those branches. A couple inches taller and I would have been toes up, flat on my back. We passes more people as we climbed. As we crested the top of the climb, Ashley ran ahead to meet me at the next aid station with fresh gel and water. She sprinted on ahead much like a little jack rabbit, “Shit, Ashley, could you at least make it look a little harder?!”

 I took the next two miles down the rocky-rooty, step laden trail a little more aggressively, as this was now my time to race. I ran down thinking, “this is what I came here for!” We passed several more people going down, I was moving up steadily. Following the descent is about 3 miles of rolling, some steep, some easier terrain. It's the only stretch of the race thats not totally up or totally down.  I got pretty sick and hot here last year and struggled through this section. This year I was moving much better, although starting to feel just a little queasy at times. I managed to pass more runners as we went, and descended into Old Inn aid station at about mile 38. I had worked to pass one girl in particular who had been somewhat rude on the trail, and I wanted to keep that lead. Ashley and I left the aid station and scooted along at a pretty decent clip over the next three miles into Muir Beach. I felt okay here, but felt like the gels were sitting on my stomach a little bit with intermittent, but very real nausea. I also noticed that my hydration had dipped a little bit, so I started trying to drink a little more and continue to get 200-plus calories per hour in. By the time we got to Muir Beach I was quite nauseated..

What I always feel is the most difficult climb is #7, the one coming out of muir Beach. It's not the longest or the steepest, about a mile and a half, but 800+ feet up that first mile, very steep with short little breaks the whole way followed by false summits.

This is where my stomach really went south. I was not happy on this descent. My stomach was full of gel. I knew I needed to force more water but it was so difficult to even take steps as I would burp up watery gel.  this is where I have a choice, and I almost always choose to stop everything in hopes that my stomach will settle over time and I can restart the fueling again.

Instead I made the very difficult, but smarter choice to drink more, just keep getting more water in to absorb the gel. I just had to tell myself, "until you drink more water, that gel is not going anywhere but up". So I persistently drank a little at a time.  At the top of that nasty climb was the most painful part, with a full, bloated belly….running a couple miles down, jarring my bloated stomach. Getting into Tennessee valley, I forced more water and added a S-Cap in.nd hydration. 

Immediately leaving Tennessee Valley aid station is an immediate up of a mile or two. This would give my stomach a break from the jostling.  I started that climb as a hike. About fifty feet into it, Ashley turns around, all cute and fresh looking, cocks  her head and smiles and says in a disgustingly kind voice, “do you think you can run this?”. Well 

s*** yes I probably can. And then I got a little agitated, and I was like, “fine, you want me to run?!  I'll run!”.  I ran all the way up to Alta aid station at mile 47.  It actually felt pretty good, my stomach was recovering, and my strength returning. I had a good go up that last climb. At Alta aid station, near the top of the very last climb, you can see the Golden Gate Bridge.  I now had less than 3 miles of descending, with one little speed bump at the end. We headed down, and I chased Ashley with all my might, including some 7 minute miles all the way to the bottom. The last little half-mile is a bit of a hill, but hearing the  finish line cheering and the announcer...you know it’s right there. I finished in 9 hours 34 minutes, bested my time from last year, and came in 4th in my age division. Definitely a step up from last year.

Huge, HUGE thanks to Ashley, for knowing just how to pace me….always staying a little out of reach in the right places and joining back with me briefly at just the right times. Perfecto. She was not just along for the ride, she had a job to do and she nailed it…. and provided a lot of encouragement and support to other runners along the way. She provided the perfect amount of distraction from the difficulty, but none from the task at hand.

This race takes place in the North Phoenix community of Cave Creek. Flagstaff has already cooled down to evening temps in the 40s, so the car’s outside temperature reading of 90 as we rolled into the area made me a bit nervous. I had also downed a yummy frozen custard treat about an hour before that was now making me a bit nauseated.

We arrived a bit early, so I took off to do a little pre race warm up. My goal race is now The North Face Endurance Challenge Championship 50 mile race in San Francisco in December. So while this is intended to be a good training run, it is not a race we prepared specifically for. Coach reminded me before the race, “you are not rested, so let's make this a good training run”, implying to me not to have big expectations. My heart rate this past week would indicate maybe a little fatigue as well, so it was much easier for me to run relaxed, without pressure to perform, and I think this was key. I tend to really pressure myself in races and can really undermine my own effort early on.
As I warmed up under the warm setting sun, I noticed my heart rate really responsive, and my legs feeling light. I wasn't sure that the higher heart rate wasn't related to heat, but was pleased that everything felt good. The sun was setting, with brilliant pinks and oranges,casting shadows through the saguaro cactus. I love the desert, the warmth, and critters, but did wonder if any rattlers would be out starting their evening hunt. They blend in nicely on the trail and the headlamp doesn't give quite enough sight ahead. With enough runners on the trail though, they would likely be avoidant of it…..I reassured myself.

I made my way back to the start, slipped my headlamp on and got ready to run. We took off on the single track, dusty, rocky trail making our way around and up the low mountain. My heart rate immediately spiked and I forced myself to back off, watching several guys gals go on ahead. I was a little disappointed, but had 2 main overriding goals for the evening. First, was to keep my heart rate down, out of zone 5. The second, more difficult challenge was my Coach’s goal for me on this 3 loop course (almost 7 miles each loop). He wanted to see if I could run patiently enough to run the 3rd loop faster than the second. A tall order for this impatient soul.

I cruised along twisting and winding up, brushing zone 5 heart rate, but feeling as though I were taking it maybe even easier than I should. I trusted my heart rate’s warning and did not go beyond. I kept thinking, “this is the easiest I have ever run this distance this early on”. Usually in a 25k-Marathon distance I am running at an upper moderate to hard effort the whole way. I enjoyed and savored the more relaxed, but strong effort. It never felt lazy, but I knew that first whole lap I had more to give, and as I went it built confidence for lap 2.
I started catching and passing girls midway through the first lap, catching the lead girl without increasing my effort around mi 3. We played hopscotch for a bit, she'd catch and pass me on the climbs and I'd return the favor on the descents. We chatted and enjoyed each other’s bits of conversation. I kept having to remind myself to keep my goals in mind and not just try to charge ahead.

The sun was now gone and temps were much more comfortable. I was going through a lot of water and taking in a swig of gel every 15-20min. We’d catch views of the lights of Phoenix as we climbed and even some fireworks in the distance. On the final descent toward the end of lap 1 I passed the lead female. I had to hit the Porta potty at the aid station and felt sure the lead female had regained her spot. I refilled my water bottle and took off.
As I started lap 2 I reminded myself of the goal...make lap 3 faster than lap 2. This really kept me in check, thinking can I run faster than this 7 miles down the trail? I made sure that answer would be yes. And then as I took a swig from my full and only water bottle, the cap popped off and rolled away….somewhere off the trail in the darkness, also emptying out half my water. I spent about 2-3 minutes in search until I remembered I had stashed another empty soft gel bottle in my pack...which I never do. I quickly pulled it out and poured my remaining water into the new bottle with a lid. Huge relief. I was not looking forward to no water in the warm desert for several miles.

Soon after I saw a headlamp ahead. I figured it was the lead female, but as I got closer I realized it was a racer in a different distance still on the course. There were quite a few runners on the course doing different distances. I reminded myself to settle down. I knew coach would be looking for that faster 3rd loop. I just kept asking myself…”can I run faster than this 7 more miles down the trail? As we came into the aid station located about mid lap I ran upon one of the male runners. The aid station crew congratulated me and told me I was 3rd. I was a little bummed, I didn't realize there were 2 girls now ahead….and then she said, you're the first female. SUHWEET!
Within about a half mile I caught the second place male,he was walking. He had run too hard and fizzled. I kept picking my way up the mountain and noticed another head lamp moving at about the same pace as me. I wondered if it could be the first male. I started plugging along with a little more effort to try and see. I also noticed as we started descending I had not minded my downhill stride up to this point, allowing myself to over-stride and trigger some pain behind my R hip/glut and IT band. I quickened my cadence and determined to keep my feet under me, which settled things down. I came in to the start/finish area and the last loop just behind the first male. I took my time to refill water and grab some salty chips and headed out.

Oooooook, now is where the real work began. Remembering my challenge by Coach, make that last loop faster. It took effort, I really just wanted to settle and maintain, but I took a deep breath, put my head down and grabbed some energy from the cool breeze that was now trickling into the night air. Within a half mile I caught the lead male. We exchanged greetings and congratulations on our efforts and good runs to this point and I moved ahead steadily up the mountain. As it would flatten a bit I would have to remind myself to keep up the effort. The miles stretched longer and my joints and tendons started aching, I knew this meant I was getting dry. I increased my water intake. I now knew I had several minutes on the lead male. Now it was a real challenge to run faster, with no one chasing and no one to chase, only the clock. The final climb was rough and I knew on those couple miles I was not moving as fast as I was climbing this section the last lap. I hit the last descent and really pushed myself, although still not as hard as I would've if he were right behind me. As I heard the finish line music I found another gear and ran hard through the finish.

I was 1 minutes slower on lap 3 than lap 2. All things considered, I was just fine with that. That goal kept me pretty smart and allowed me to have a great run and strong finish. Lessons learned that I can carry forward. Onward and upward!

Yup, I'm gonna do it. I'm going to Giants. Tor Des Geants, that is. It's a 200+ mile race following the Alta Via 1 and Alta Via 2 around the Italian Alps. There will be 24,000 meters/78,000 ft of climbing...and descending. It is a single stage race, meaning there is no designated down time for rest. You rest as much or as little as you need, but the race goes on. We have 150 hours to complete the course. There will be "life bases" every 30 ish miles with cots and showers and hot food. Between, will be some smaller aid stations. The whole countryside comes together for the race, encouraging runners, offering food, wine and shelter to us total strangers running a crazy distance up and down the mountains.  I am extremely excited, and ready. We've still got a lot of work to do to get me there physically, but mentally I feel like this is the right year. I know I can do it.

4 years ago I had no idea such races existed and would have balked at anyone crazy enough to do such a thing. I signed up for coaching with Eric 4-5 years ago to train for my first, and what I figured would be my ONLY ultra. The only reason I was doing an ultra was to support a friend.  I tease coach Eric that sometimes I feel like Alice In Wonderland. When I started training, I stepped down a rabbit hole, Eric being the Mad Hatter. A fun and fairly accurate analogy of my first years of training. Now I am leading myself down rabbit holes and into uncharted territory, gaining confidence in my own instincts and ability.

I look forward to the continued evolution of myself. Building blocks of confidence with the mortar of peace replacing anxiety and insecurity. A greater appreciation of humanity and nature and the vulnerability of both. Grateful for a coach that has helped me along this path sometimes leading, but most importantly teaching me to lead myself.

Here's a link if you want to see more about Tor Des Geants...

 https://youtu.be/Ajg8FUFKMJc

I’ve been running for years, (like 23 of them), but only started my true love affair with running 4-5 years ago when I sought Eric Orton to coach me to my first ultra marathon. At that time I didn’t “love” running. I ran for years for fitness and to keep my weight in check. I do not look like the lean female runners I see on the pages of Runner’s World.  I tuned out the time running with music and did everything I could to distract me from the torture of exercise. I only signed up for an ultra because of a friend who was doing one and wanted someone to run with her. I only reached out to a coach because I didn’t have a clue how to “train” and I sure as hell didn’t want to sign up for an ultra and not be able to complete it.

4-5 years later, I find myself on a jeep road in the middle of nowhere, running freely for the pure joy of running. My own heartbeat and footsteps my music, with the accompaniment of wind, critters scurrying and birds chirping. Completely aware of everything within and without, completely alone and completely complete. I may run 3 miles, or, on occasion...over 100.

I’ve always admired adventurous women. Women who were out there, doing what they love with passion and grit, seeking to inspire other women to do the same. I also use “she” to 

motivate me to get out the door on days when the warm covers begged me to stay, when I had been up 3 different times in the night with waking little ones.  I would think, “she” is out 

there, “she” has the same struggles as me and is going for it anyway, so can I. Sometimes 

“she” would have a name, a friend, an athlete, whoever, but mostly the “shes” were a 

collective spirit of women I admired, doing what they loved, inspiring others, even when it was hard or didn’t make much sense. “She” was also the person chasing me in races, pushing me to give it my all. “She” was always right behind me. I even put duct tape over my garmin 

during a 50k race once. Normally, I rely heavily on my watch during a race for pacing, heart 

rate, etc. I just taped over it and wrote, “she’s right behind you!” Every time I looked at my 

watch to try and gain information about how I was doing I would see that.  I ran my heart out, had a great race and a 50k pr. I haven’t thought much about “she” lately. As I was driving in to Flagstaff before dawn this morning for a training run, I thought about she.  I tried to put a 

face to her….and my own image came. I have finally become “she”. I like her. I look forward to seeing what “she” will be up to this year.

Having never been to San Francisco, I can’t imagine a better way to see it for the first time than running across 50 miles along the….ahem...Northern California coast line. I would be staying with friends and had intended to drive from home in Arizona. In my brain, which has long since looked at the state of California, San Francisco should be somewhere near San Diego, and therefore only a 7 hour drive max. As race day closed in, my “Southern Cali” friend, Ashley mentioned flying in and picking me up at the airport. I was like, “Naw, I’m just going to drive”. The hesitance in her voice led me later to actually look at the map.  Uhm...San Francisco is not anywhere near San Diego and would be a 13+ hour drive. Not an impossible drive, but 26+ hours in the car over 4 days and 50 miles of running sounded very unappealing. Oops. Fortunately flights were cheap.

On arriving Thursday evening, we headed to The Sports Basement to listen to the Salomon Team speak and watch a few videos. Got to see Ricky Gates, Dakota Jones, Ellie Greenwood. It was a kick. It was so funny as well, my senses were totally overstimulated by lights, cars, people. While despite my obvious geographical ignorance, I am not naive to big city life. Growing up I lived all over, however, the past 11 months we have settled into the Navajo Reservation and desert life. Flagstaff being the closest “big city”. Not just the activity, but color….my world is colorful, brilliant oranges, reds, brown, some sage green and pine as we get to Flagstaff, but this was the full spectrum! It had been a while.

Did a little shakeout run on Friday morning and chilled out most of the day on the couch, looking at all of the different plants, birds, sights and sounds, thinking what Saturday would be like. I was not particularly nervous. The excitement of just experiencing the course and witnessing a landscape never seen before overshadowed race jitters.

I arrived well rested at the start line with temps in the upper 40s and a stiff breeze. I stayed warm by the fire pits until the 5am go. We took off in waves and I settled into a comfortable groove. It was a nicle little down before we started the first 2-3 mile climb. As we ascended up the headlands in the dark, coffee kicked in and I was quickly searching with my headlamp for a place to pee. With several hundred runners going by I was trying to spy a good shrub or scrubby tree to hide myself. I spotted what I thought was a good shrub to my left, stepped off the trail and immediately crashed down 5-10 feet, straight down the headland. The shrub was the top of a scrubby tree. With hands grasping branches and shrubs to stop my descent and climb back up, I tore myself up nicely, but no real injury. And of course as fate would have it, I could no longer pee. I assessed the damage, which seemed slight and climbed my way back up and on to the trail. I should have known better, but I  really thought there was more level ground before it dropped. I was a little scraggly, pulling shrubs and brush out of my shorts for the next ¼ mile, but no worse for the wear. 

We continued to climb and I looked back to see over a mile of streaming headlamps snaking their way up the course behind me. I could see the shadow of the headlands ahead in the dark. The sun started to rise and the views of the headlands and coast were amazing.

I Came into the first big aid station, Tennessee Valley feeling well. Traded out bottles and made sure I had what I needed for the next go. I had taken in roughly 130-180 calories those first 2 hours. As I climbed back up the headlands around mi 10, I started thinking, “I’m just not feeling it”, My HR started dropping a little and my effort seemed a little high and I felt a little colder. I started thinking, “This may be a really long day, I am less than 11 miles in and feeling a little low already”. I started thinking about calories and added a gel, within 5 minutes I was feeling back on top and raring to go.

Came into Muir Beach at mi 12.7 back in action and rolling well. The next climb to Cardiac aid at mi 17.9 would be 5 miles all up, but very runnable. I played leapfrog with a couple of guys the whole way up. It was nice to chat. I kept a steady trot up, quick turnover,  while they alternated hike/running. Made it to Cardiac aid at 12.7 (aptly named as you have significant climbing either way into this aid station). Top of the Headlands here, sweeping views of the ocean. Standing meant getting cold quickly, so I made quick work of replacing bottles from my drop bag and making sure I had what I needed. This was the first time I missed Todd, I had gotten used to seeing he and the kids at aid stations recently. I fumbled with cold fingers, and it seemed to take forever. 45-55 degrees F on the coastline is much colder than 45-55 in the high desert/mountains. Duh Lori. The aid station volunteers were fabulous and helped as they saw me fumbling.

Out of Cardiac and on to McKennan Gulch at mi 22.8. I little more climbing before some up and down over the next miles. Here is where we started seeing some of the Elite runners making their return. This section of trail was a little frustrating, but even more staggering views. The trail was maybe 18-24 inches wide in spots with hundreds of feet drop down and ocean views to the left. To the Right was steep cloddy uphill headland. So as runners would come down I would step up clumsily off the trail to let them pass without the downhill runners having to break stride. There was supposed to be about 30 elite women contenders, so I was counting of course! I figured I was somewhere between 30-40th female position, which made me feel pretty good. As we dodged in and out of the woods a bit, I started getting some tightness in my low back.  I was also getting a little nervous about how my quads felt. They seemed a little more stiff and tender than I thought they should at that point...would they hold up? About that time I felt a sharp pain under my watch. I looked down and some sort of yellow jacket thingy was stinging me. I smacked him away, but he left a nasty reminder with swelling and shooting pains. I decided now was a good time for some ibuprofen. Between my thoughts, my back and the sting, and I got a little distracted and a little behind on water. I had taken a gel in and it was kinda stuck there. I hit the 23 mi aid and downed more water and replenished my bottles I had been following “Jenny” for several miles. She was running with a group of guys, all singing her praises.  Apparently, everyone but me knew Jenny. We’d hit the aid station, “Jenny! You look so good”,  “Great work Jenny!” her male entourage also from time to time telling her how she was rocking the course.  I left that aid station a few minutes behind most awesome Jenny, greeting the Porta potty as I had nearly every aid station.

The next section would be a little up and down then a good 3 miles of descending. I closed the gap on Jenny and the boys and we ended up in a bit of a conga line as we closed back in on Stinson beach. The trails were narrow, windy, and more technical...more what I'm used to. I took great pleasure in passing all 5 boys and “Jenny” before we came into Stinson Beach at mi 30. The goal was to arrive at mi 30 warmed up and ready to race the last 20. I felt good and ready, and with Jenny now just behind me a little more motivated. I was quite sure my pace would not be much faster, but my effort more assertive.

Cardiac aid station was only 3 miles ahead. I got hasty wanting to leave my new competitor behind. It didn't occur to me how much steeper this climb would be or how long it would take. My climbing was ok, a bit lackluster and I was getting a little dry and low calorie. As I snaked up the 3 mile climb, I was introduced to sections of the Dipsea trail, famous for its many many stairs. My muscles were really getting sore going up and my heart rate was not spunky at all. I didn't have any fuel/fluid options until cardiac, so I made plan to get there, be smart and do what I needed to to get my mojo back. I drank water at the aid as I restocked my bottles, electrolytes, gels and headed out.

The next section would be 2 miles down then some steep climbs. I did well on the down, passed 2 more girls and several guys. Then came the ups. My quads tender, and sluggish. I stayed at mostly a baby step jog up, but took a few hiking breaks. I was moving slow enough that my 2 bottles 15-17oz each were again gone about 1-2 miles before aid and with gel in stomach like rock with no water to absorb it. I came in to Old Inn aid at 36 miles back to feeling nauseated, full, sluggish. My urine was dark. More water, refill bottles, gels and go. 

Fortunately, a short, but little steeper climb out of Old inn and I would be headed down or flat for 3+ miles. I managed to hold my lead. And chugged water at aid and downed a water bottle within 15-20 minutes. The gel was absorbed and I had more energy for the downhill and flat section ahead. My quads were getting more tender at this point, but I just pushed on past it telling there would only be 2 more descents. I came in to Muir Beach at mi 40 feeling better. I loaded up and headed out. I was getting a little more on track with water, lytes, and fuel, but I think the damage had been done as the next 2 mile climb was really difficult and slow. It seemed to go on forever. I was so glad to be done climbing that the next 2-3 mile descent, although quads feeling rather shredded, seemed to cooperate. Overall I was moving slower and getting a little cold, which actually stimulated me to keep pushing on the downs to stay warm.

Last climb from Tennessee Valley to Alta aid  at mi 47 was more bearable. I was a little frustrated as I just couldn't seem to get back my mojo, but at the same time was hanging in there and getting things corrected with water and fuel. I hit the Porta potty at the top, mi 47 and urine was looking a little better. Time for the last push down. 3 miles all down with just a slight up at the end. I was so relieved. I spotted Jenny, she must've come through while I was in the porta. She had dropped her entourage and was moving well! I was about 2 minutes back on her, and although I never closed the gap, it helped me keep giving it my all the last few miles, no slacking. It was hard for me to figure where I might finish. This terrain and this distance were pretty unfamiliar.

I knew I would be very pleased with sub 10 hours, but wasn't sure what was possible. I finished in 9:47. I was hoping to place in the top 30, I placed 35th...not too shabby considering the national and international competition.  this race is quickly becoming one of the most competitive 50 mile trail events in the US. I had such a blast, even with some significant fueling issues. It was such a fast course for all the climbing and descending it offered up, 10,000ft climbing and 10,000ft descending over 50 miles. 

I had no plans to do a 100 this year. 2 years of Leadville training and finishes, kinda finished me on the hundred mi distance for what I felt like would be a year or two. Last year my goal was to complete all of the US Skyrunning Ultra races. I did all but one, mostly high altitude, all very difficult courses. I fell in love with mountains and the 50 -100k distance training and racing. Far less overall fatiguing for me than the dedicated 100 mile training. A year off of 100s also gave me a break mentally and the ability to play around with different styles of racing and training. A huge plug here for coach Eric Orton. He has been with me for over 4 years now and his training program caters to me and keeps me fresh and happy, except when it's not supposed to and he always reminds me at those points, "you are supposed to be tired", or "this next week is trying to mimic how your legs might feel at mi 70", that's how it's supposed to feel". So often when I'm tired I lose perspective and think something is wrong, Eric knows what to watch for and knows infinitely well what my body is saying based on my heart rate, my effort, my paces and my comments on my runs. It's nice to have that trust in him and know he knows right where I'm at and what we need to do next.

In January I picked all my races for the year. My goal was to continue to work on altitude training, climbing and descending, and technical trail work. My key races would be Jemez 50k...not my A race, but a good test of the waters (came in 6th female and had fueling issues). Next would be Tushars 93k (3rd female). Great experience of steep and rugged trails and the bonus of 16 hours of running at 10,000 to 12,000ft. Had some gi issues/fueling issues there too, but better in that realm overall, and gave me confidence that I was doing well with my training and that the trails I was using around Flagstaff were definitely "tough enough". I basically got on Strava and found the steepest, gnarliest segments I could around Flagstaff and go run them, over and over. Rob Krar even gave me some tips on the local bootleg trails to use. My next race would be Flagstaff 55k Skyrace and then my A++ goal race this year, the Boston Marathon of ultra races, The North Face Ultra Champions 50 miler on the Marin Trails in San Francisco in December. This is the one I want to be as fine tuned as possible for...that was until 6 weeks ago.

The Hardrock 100 came around again this year. I've always wanted to do that, but not enough to set my heart on a qualifier. That changed after this year's Hardrock. Now I reaaaaaaallly want it. So, about 6 weeks ago I signed up for Mogollan Monster 100. It was one of only a few races left this year that was a qualifier for Hardrock. So basically 6 weeks ago my training went from mileages and efforts right for 50k-50 miles to 100 mile training.....and boy has it been a hard 6 weeks. Part of me wondering if we were doing enough for me to be able to complete a 108 mi gnarly course, and the other part too tired to do an ounce more than we were doing.

Even as we started to taper, my runs felt hard, my heart rate not responsive, and I was tired. I was really worried I was going to go into the race fatigued, but like magic (not magic, excellent coaching from Eric) 2 weeks before the race my energy bounced back and so did my hr responsiveness, with my last 2 runs feeling phenomenal. All systems were go.

My husband Todd, Tom Lane and David Newman would be my crew and pacers. Todd wouldn't arrive until I was over 50 miles into the race, So Tom and Dave were my guys. Tom and his wife opened their home to me, and it felt like home. Their guest bed is the most awesome bed I have ever slept in! His wife was gracious and even set things out for me for my pre race breakfast.

I slept great the night before the race (unusual for me), but I was not nervous. For me this was not a race at all. My only goal was to get that qualifier. To finish. And with only 6 weeks of 100 mi specific training, I knew I would be lucky to get that finish. It was all about doing everything I could to make that finish line. Tom and David took me to the start...

A quick side note about my nutrition during a race. I'll be boringly detailed with regard to this race if anyone cares. My disclaimer being that I definitely do NOT have race nutrition down yet. I have found race nutrition to be very elusive. It is so individual and race condition specific. There are very few things similar about any runners race nutrition. The common core is enough water and enough nutrition, unfortunately "enough" is different for every person, and for me it is different depending on the distance, temperature, course difficulty and altitude. I am still a novice at figuring out my own needs on any given race. But practice makes perfect so practice what you plan to do during the race, even if it's only a 3 hour run. Just do it. Just like you would if you were in the race.

So I wanted to make sure I kept my pack light and I really wanted to try and eat solid food. This seemed to work better for me at Tushars. I started out with 2 bottles in front, 1 with SOS (electrolyte mix, no calories), 1 plain water bottle in front and 1 water bottle in back. I decided to not use the bladder as i knew i probably would never need more than 3-4 soft gel bottles between aids and i could easily stash 2 bottles in the sleeve I would normally stick the hydration bladder in. I use a Salomon S-Lab 12 pack. This also helped me keep excellent track of how much water I was getting. I also never had to take my pack off to mess with filling the bladder. I packed a granola bar and peanut butter crackers and a gel. The first aid station would be 2:30-3 hrs away.

I was so relaxed going into this race because it really wasn't a race for me, it was an adventure and an experience. I only hoped I wouldn't be out there till 6pm on sunday. The only parameters I allowed on my watch were HR, current mile pace/split and overall average pace and activity time/hours. No time of day. I didn't want to have much awareness of "how long" I was out there or how long I had left to go. I just needed to know hours so I could make sure hour by hour I was eating/drinking enough.

Here I am race ready!

I started mid pack of about 70-80 runners. The first climb out of the aid seemed gradual and my HR spot on with how I felt, maybe a little higher hr than effort at first. I decided to stay under heart rate zone 4a and really try to not even get into 3 on the gradual climbs and for sure zone 2 on flat easy. The trails the first 8 miles were less rocky and technical overall than Flagstaff. I was relieved! Nice n cool around 40-50 at the start and not a cloud in the sky from start to finish.

I figured there were probably 7-10 girls ahead of me. I knew the predicted winner, Olga King and I recognized the other predicted leaders and really wanted to stay behind them. Olga and a few women my age or older had some pretty extensive tough 100 mile resumes. I knew they knew how to be smart so I wanted also to watch them and be smart like them.

I felt fantastic from the get go and mid zone 2 felt like 1. Low 3 felt like 2. I was really happy about this and had to really watch to not go by just feel. About 2-3 more girls passed me including Olga who was hiking almost as fast as I was running. We were climbing above the town of Pine, aptly named with the trees. The trails seemed to flow easily with lots of desert plants and lizards scurrying. We greeted each other and I followed her just trying to watch her hike while I jogged. I tried shifting to a hike following her, but my effort and HR would go up, so I continued my easy relaxed jog. We chatted a little and I dropped back a bit, but kept coming up on her on dhills. She tripped a few times and then took a nasty little fall/ twist and a few runners ahead of me helped her up. She was ok and opted to walk for a bit and so I passed on. It was a bit of a conga line, but a low pressure easy one. No one was in any hurry which was nice and we all chatted and found our own grooves. I shifted between hiking and running and around mi 7-8 it got steeper, but still nowhere near the grades I did routinely in Flag and way less techy. I shifted to hiking as my hr jumped up into 4a a couple times. I hiked mostly in upper 2 to very low 3 these last couple miles I think. I knew I had passed a couple of girls, but was not paying attention. My crew knew NOT to tell me where I was in the pack or what kind of pacing I was doing, ie..."you are on track for a __ finish" just tell me I'm doing great, whether I'm in the front or last place. They all knew this was just about finishing. Tom and David were there to greet me at mi 10, filled my bottles and reminded me to be patient. Good stuff. They both knew how important a finish would be so they took good care of me at aid stations and helped keep me smart.

The next 5 mile stretch was super easy, mostly dirt road. Stayed in zone 2 here, sun up and warming. I ate my granola bar and 6 peanut butter crackers and 2 bottles of water/electrolytes bottles by 1 at around 2:30 into the race. I ate a pb&J at aid and drank 4-6oz cola. Left aid 1 with 2 bottles and pb crackers and my emergency gel. I knew I was only 5 miles or about an hour on flat to downhill roads to next aid, so I wouldn't need more than 1-2 bottles and 6 pb crackers to munch as I went.

My stomach loved the pb crackers, my energy level was great and I was taking advantage of being able to breathe! 5-8k elevation is so different than racing 100 at 9-13k! I felt very well hydrated and fueled. Made sure I always got at least 1 17oz bottle per hour and was averaging a little over that. Hit aid 2 at 14-15mi. Tom and David missed me at mi 15 aid, the course is remote and aid stations were hard to find, which I anticipated. The other thing I always do is pack every drop bag with everything I could possibly want or need. I pretend I won't have any crew and the aid station won't have what I want. It's these things that can unravel a good day. And KNOW the course. I knew what every section would be like, I read and reread and reread the detailed course directions and made little 3x4 cards with detailed instructions from aid to aid. Lots of runners got lost on this course the first year. I was determined to give myself every opportunity to know where I was at any given time or be able to figure it out. The course was flagged really really well this year, but flags get blown away, trampled, eaten by hungry deer, elk or Yetis, or even worse vandals remove the flagging from sections... happens every race. Can't control 100 miles of trails and dirt road mazes.

Next section would be mostly downhill with a good 2 miles of really techy dhill (still not as bad as Mt Eldon trail in Flagstaff). I passed 1 or 2 women here, no one I recognized and several men. I kept my dhill very easy feeling, noticing Hr was mid zone 2 mostly on the techy faster stuff. There was some shade intermittently, and it still felt nice out. Got to Geronimo at mi 19-20 feeling very well.

I knew the next section of "highline trail" is considered to be very difficult and very exposed. It was warming to close to 80, and it's a dry heat ;) This is the trail used for Zane Gray 50 miler. One of the toughest 50 mile races in the country. I took an extra minute or two to make sure I had all 4 water bottles full and ate more pb&J and had enough pb crackers, pb filled pretzels and my emergency gel. My stomach was doing great and my energy level and mood fantastic. I left with sunglasses, cooling neck bandana (plug for Columbia brand) the softest most spongy bandana that holds water and has cooling material and a visor by Columbia with the same cooling fabric. Most cooling fabrics are stiff and scratchy especially that Frog Togg stuff. I also wore a white super soft Columbia tee with the same cooling material. I wore some solar sleeves, but they were annoying and I pulled them off at aid 1. I stuck an empty 20 oz bottle in my pack with full intentions of dousing myself at every stream possible.

...Packed and ready and outta here!

1-2 miles of easy switchbacks up going out. I alternated run/hike and stayed in zone 2 mostly. Rare if any zone 3. I wanted to feel good this section. It was definitely warming up but I was comfortable and there was a nice breeze. Lots of red slickrock, prickly brush and rocky, but not seemingly very techy trail. Little stream crossings about every mile. I could hear them as I'd get close. I determined one should never pass up a stream in the desert, and pulled off my hat and bandana and soaked them at every one. I also whipped out that empty 20 oz bottle, filled it with cold stream water and dumped it on my head and back every time. "Remember Lori, this race is about finishing", I would tell myself. Take the time and do what it takes. That empty water bottle was my favorite trick! We were funny, the next stream I caught 3 other guys, we were like dogs playing in the water. One of them told me I was right behind the second female. Awe shit. I told him to shut up, it was way too early to be even thinking about place and that was not where I was going to go in this race. It did make me really evaluate my effort, was I going easy enough? The answer was yes, but this helped me to relax even more, there was absolutely no hurry, and I was obviously doing very well and could take it as easy as I wanted. So I took all the time I wanted at every single stream and thank God there were about 3 or 4 equally spaced streams on this section. It was all short ups and downs, seemed mildly technical, but man the brush was chewing up my legs. Feet felt great in my Innov8 terraclaws. Knees were happy and so was i. There was more shade than I expected, but still not much. I drank almost all 4 bottles, going through 1 and 1/4 to 1 1/2 17 oz bottle per hour here. I ate up my pb crackers, I was eating about 8/hour or 300 cal/hr mostly. I came up on Nadine Haluzcak- know I just totally butchered her last name, but that's the only way I can think to spell it, sorry Nadine! This was about about 1-2 mi from aid. We chatted and I let her stay ahead of me. Definitely no need to pass her. She won San Diego 100 in june. I noticed she was a strong fast hiker. I am not....yet. Both she and Olga so far could hike with less effort than I. I played with it a little, just to see what hiking her pace felt like...it felt like work! So I stayed with my easier jog mostly, hiking when my hr or effort went up. We came into the aid together at Wahington park, mi 29. She breezed on through. I took time to eat more pb &j and make sure I had plenty of water/sos, granola bar and pb filled pretzles. I had done well, 300 cal/hr over that last section. Leaving mi 29 there was a Nasty little power line climb going out. Now this was very rocky/slidy/techy/steep, but really for less than a mile. The other 1-1.5 miles was rocky jeep road with an oh so awesome cold stream crossing I again took full advantage of dumping 20 oz on my head (loved that empty water bottle!) Soaked bandana and hat as well..... and managed to lose my prescription sunglasses down the stream. Damn. At least i had them for the worst part of the day. "I'll think about how much that just cost me later". After 2 miles of climbing a football field of nerf football sized rocks layered upon more of the same layered on dog food, the next 5 would be gradual up a dirt road. That got old quick and I passed several male runners that were hiking. I kept my slow jog. I did not want to walk any roads if I could avoid it. "We dont walk roads" became my mantra. Totally sun exposed and not the place to lolly gag. It seemed like it was not as hot here, a rim road, so prob 8k high. I had no idea time of day and didn't want to know. I was just pleased I was feeling so good and really tolerated the heat well with all the stream crossing, my neck stayed cool with my bandana and my face shaded with my hat.
But That road seemed to go on forever, until we finally hit Houston aid. Now at mi 36. I was not nauseated, but not craving anything they had. Pb&J was not as appealing but I ate one anyway, drank 4-6oz cola and filled 2 bottles. The pb crackers were working and I was able to get 300 cal/hr so I decided I would stick with that as long as it worked. Gels and pretty much everything else sounded horrible. I was swelling a little, but as long as I pushed the water it would go down at this point.

The next section would be rocky trail up and down the first 3 miles under tree cover,then smoother trail. I was thinking it would be all gradual downhill and was a little annoyed at the first 3 miles of up/down. I hiked most of the ups and ran easy down, still mostly in zone 2. The last mile into the aid I caught back up on Nadine, we chatted, and I let her hike into the aid in front of me. She was in/out fast as ever. We were now at mi 42ish. I had not been paying attention to my splits, only the hours to keep track of calories/fluid. I knew it was later in the day, and asked the aid worker if dusk would be coming in the next 2 hours, she said yes so I grabbed my headlamp. I ate a little at the aid and drank 4 oz cola. Nadine gone, which was fine. No hurry. I expected this section to be a gradual uphill. It was at first, but the trails were nice and it seemed very very runnable. I felt great! My energy was good, tummy good, and mentally feeling very sharp. We snaked along and across a nice stream. Campers here and there with their tents set up. We were shaded and I had survived the heat of the day very very well.

I passed Nadine and came upon another female. "Oh shit" was my first thought. "That's the first female". It was Susan, can't remember her last name, but a tough gal from what I remember. She was nauseated and walking intermittently. I offered her some pepto or zofran. She declined, she said she just needed to walk a bit. I went on ahead. This is NOT where I want to be at under mi 50. Not even halfway into this race. I think I eased up even more, and dammit if I didn't come upon Nadine. We'll shit. Nadine said she was fine. I noticed her walking some too. I was completely baffled. I could hear them chatting with each other behind me as we climbed. I hit a trail intersection that wasn't well marked and so I walked back about 50 yards to the girls. Why not walk with them for just a bit? No reason to run ahead. We would be going down that nasty power line back to Washington park in less than 1/4 mi. Nadine had bonked. She asked if I thought she could recover. I told her "Hell yes, you'll be amazed at how well you will recover". I told her she was blazing through aid stations, take time and eat and drink and really get what you need. I asked if she had a pacer and she did which would help her get on the right track. Susan was still a little green and at a low point, but perking up as we just walked. We really enjoyed our time together, gave us all a boost and a chance to reset. We hit the power line and I went down first. I hit Washington, mi 52 just ahead of them with headlamp on. Sun went down just as we came in.

I panicked at first, no sign of Tom or David. I was faced with the possibility of doing the gnarliest section of the course solo at night. Then they appeared out of nowhere. I ate Ramen noodles till I was full, drank 6oz cola. Filled my pack with more pb crackers, and headed out with Tom. I was now in first place. Tom said not a word about this. This next section was absolutely ridiculous! 5 miles of highline trail/not trail. In the first mile I heard that sound, that rattlesnake sound. As tired as I was, I realized very quickly he had to be around 3 feet, or hopefully more, to the right of the trail. Dark, can't see it so we just plodded on. No jumping or screaming by mi 57, just a very dull comment to Tom, "was that a rattle snake?" "Yep". "Thought so" and on we went. The grass was over my head, we lost the actual trail more than we found it. There were bumps and logs and boulders and dips I couldn't even see. I fell hard several times. Very little if any running through here. If we ran I fell. I took one fall down a ditch I didn't appreciate and grabbed a tree limb going down yanking my R shoulder and landing very awkward and hitting rocks and tree limbs as I went down. I scared the hell outta Tom I think. My shoulder and neck muscles were now on fire, deep burning sensation and muscles tight. This is also where I started to get some burning in my R glut medius when I climbed. It was mild here. I still ate and drank well, 300calories/hr mostly here. My headlamp sucked. But I knew I had another at Hell's gate aid. I heard another rustling to my left and turned my head. My head lamp caught about 6 pairs of eyes all at eye level staring at me. Now this time I yelped and cursed! My first thought? A family of Yetis. Not elk, deer, bears....Yetis. they were cows. The rattlesnake didn't scare me, but the cows did. Those vicious cows.

We finally hit Hell's gate at mi 57. No drop bag. I forgot we couldn't have drop bags here.Shit. I ate some ramen. The next section would be 7 miles. No sos, no pb crackers. I filled 3 bottles with water, put new batteries in my headlamp, asked the aid station worker if she had a small baggy I could put food in for the next 7 miles. She hooked me up and I took 2 bananas and a baggy full of chex mix. We left the aid and headed out on that nasty trail. It opened up a bit and after 2 miles we started our next rim climb. It was beautiful with the brightest moon!

I was climbing seemingly very slow for effort and R glut was burning pretty good. I reminded myself to keep this climb as easy as possible, I still had a very long way to go. I got passed by a couple guys. We finally hit the top for 2-3 miles of road running. I had eaten my banana and was enjoying the chex mix. Still getting 200-300 cal/hr and at least 1 water bottle per hour. It was very cool now, but felt good. We hit Buck Springs aid at mi 64. Ate good bowl of ramen. Again no drop bag.. well damn. Another banana and more chex. I was still feeling very good. A little sore all over, but sharp mentally and in good spirit. Nadine and her pacer arrived as we left. Next 7 miles would be all single track and seemed mostly flat/down with 2 different short drops into canyons and climbs back out. Climbing kinda pitiful, but running well down/flat. Glut burning with climbs mild to moderately, but disappeared when running flat/down.

Arrived at pinchot mi 72 and ate more ramen, drank more cola added a light jacket and gloves. Filled bottles, got my sos back and was digging the chex so continued on munching as I went. Always muching. I was pretty sure I was still getting at least 200cal per hour plus loading up on ramen and cola at aids. I started to swell a little more, so I drank more which helped, some. I started to realize I was probably getting way too much salt. All I was eating was crackers and chex and pretzels, and adding sos electrolytes. It was cool and i was no longer sweating so not losing much salt either. At mi 75 Nadine and her pacer passed us. This didn't bother me at all. I teased her and said, "I told you, you could recover!" That was the last time I saw her. We kept on. That 7 mile section to mi 80 was tough! Up and down, very rocky, the climbs seemed a little harder, but I kept my effort in check and ate and drank well.

Tom gladly handed me off to David just before dawn at about mi 80. I was looking forward to the next section, rolling dirt road for 5 miles along the rim with an amazing moon! David's conversation made the miles go faster. I ran almost all of this section, hiked just a little up one section of road. We came upon a radio guy with flashing lights directing us down power line. I could see him about 1/4 mi out and fantasized he was an alien spaceship and hoped they were there to abduct me off the course. I told him my fantasy and he said, "I was thinking the same thing about you guys!" He was tired too. Actually, I still felt very sharp and fresh other than sore. I took some Ibuprofen earlier in the night which also helped.

Remember that power line climb I mentioned earlier...like nerf footballs on nerf footballs on dog food, we got to go back down that little treat.We hit Washington aid at mi 86 at dawn. I Ate a slice of bacon, some ramen and cola. It was here I noticed pretty significant swelling and started really getting it that my cracker obsession was probably doing me a bit of harm. Unfortunately, nothing else sounded good and I made the poor choice to continue with pb filled pretzles. I did stop the sos. I debated 3 or 4 bottles of water and made the very stupid decision to take only 3. The next section would be 9 miles on Highline trail, the very exposed trail. it didn't occur to me I would be in the sun for the next likely 4hrs, not 2:30-3 hrs. I went through the water within 5 miles. The salt was overwhelming. I did NOT want another cracker, and had no water now anyway to wash it down or flush the swelling I had. We hit a spring and I opted to fill 1 water bottle and take my chances with whatever organisms it might be contaminated with. We had too far to go to do without. My watch had long since died. That bottle was gone seemingly fast, and I was as swollen as a toad and feeling hot and dizzy. I knew we were about 2-3 miles, likely a good 45 min out as slow as i was moving here from the aid station. I told david to take my bottles and go ahead to the next stream and fill them and come back while I kept jogging the downs and hiking the ups. I wasn't sweating, I was just this dry skinned swollen toad. I had way too much fluid.. all in my soft tissues and I was thirsty as hell from all the salt. I was completely waterlogged and felt like I was dying. I finally got 100 meters from the aid and here todd came with 2 water bottles(he didn't get in with kids til late the night before, so this was first I saw him). I broke down and cried, but knew now I was going to be ok. This was the first time I sat in 95 miles.

I had some hot spots on my feet and Tom taped em up as I guzzle water and ate a whole grilled cheese sandwich. Todd said, "I've never seen you this swollen". I could tell he was a little alarmed. We stopped all crackers and only water and put gels and stinger wafers in my pack and headed out. I drank and drank and finally started peeing straight clear water. The swelling improved a little. I was off a little mentally, but held it together as my kids were there petting on me and I could see their worried faces. I was a scratched up bloody mess. My legs looked like I had been fighting for my life with a Bob cat, I had some bigger cuts too from my falls in the Hell's gate section and I was so swollen. David handed me off to Todd, and he took on pacing me the last 11 miles. Poor guy....

Then it hit. As soon as we started climbing my R glut was on fire and then my R low back would spasm as well. Every step up was excruciating. If I stopped it would ease, but any uphill step would trigger full on back and glut spasms so severe they rivaled hard labor pain. We tried massage, stretching, contortions, it would ease while we did that, but as soon as we started up it would start all over. We were just wasting time. I climbed 1-2 miles per hour up that rim, 3 rolling up then 2 wickedly steep and technical. Todd got me up that mountain. "The pain will go away the sooner we get done". I told Him "I can't do this" when we were about a mile and an hour from the top. The only thing less appealing was running back down the rim, so on we went, me whimpering the whole way. About mi 100 Susan passed me. That hurt too, but I was glad it took to mi 100 before she caught me and I was glad for her to come back from her low point. We finally topped out and I was hopeful I could run.

I ran slowly over the next mi across a field and then we went down a super rocky steep nasty trail. I did ok at first, the spasms were still there but milder. It didn't take 100 meters though and my glut and back were spasming 10/10 pain all the way down. So I down hiked at about 2-3mph at the most. The pain was making me severely nauseated. I nibbled on stinger wafers and drank water, but not much. After what seemed like an eternity we hit the paved road. Walking the paved road helped. We walked fast, but I was done. I was tilted to the left. Tom, David, and soon the kids met me about 1/4 mi out and encouraged me to run. We all ran.... well I jogged while they walked slowly to keep up (this was very depressing) through the finish in 33:08. I was so relieved to be done and so relieved my back eased up once I stopped.

I felt awesome until I jacked things up at mi 86. I set myself on a dangerous course with regard to salt and water which spiraled out of control from mile 85 to 95. From mi 95-108 the back spasms nearly broke me, definitely broke my spirit, but I was grateful I made it, grateful all that did not spiral down earlier in the race. If it had, I would never have finished for sure. am sore all over, but definitely not hurt.


This was my best 100 mile race ever. I just wish I had recognized what I was doing to myself with all the salt before it was too late. I've never had problems with glut/back spasms before, I took some nasty falls that may have triggered things or just plain ole muscle fatigue induced em.

I can't thank everyone enough. The volunteers were stellar. Without Todd, David, and Tom I would never have finished. Tom kept me from wandering completely off course through the night. Left to my own route finding skills, I'd be in Mexico by now. David made those last miles go much faster with his humor and conversation, relieving my mind and spirit of the burden at hand. Todd, my rock, got me over that last rim climb and to the finish. No one else on this earth would have been able to convince me I could get to the end. By George, we did it boys!

I had the yeti walk down by the end! 

This race takes place North of Utah’s Zion and Bryce canyons, in the seemingly remote and beautiful Tushar Mts. I had never heard of this range prior to signing up. I completed most of the US Skyrunning ultra races last year and fell in love with racing these types of courses. I have had the opportunity to see more and cover more terrain in 1 day than most will see in a lifetime. I am blessed. Because of the love and support of my husband and children I made it to this race. Todd could not arrive until the afternoon before the race, so I loaded up the 3 kiddos on Wednesday before the race and we drove to Utah. We were stunned by the 15 mile road climb into the resort. Elk and deer everywhere, Mt range views so unique to this area, not like the Colorado or Georgia or SE Oklahoma Mountain ranges I have experienced racing in (yes Oklahoma has mountains). Truly unique is the only way I can describe them.

We picked up the ATV rental (only access to aid stations was via atv) on Thursday and drove 30 miles on the Paiute trail back to the condo. What a blast! My 8 year old Avery was quite nervous, cried a few times, but I think enjoyed the ride….or at least I don’t think will suffer any sort of PTSD. My boys loved it! Up and down and all around, we got views of some of the course and aid stations being set up. It was also intimidating to see the descents into the valleys and the climbs to the peaks. I couldn’t wrap my brain around doing 58 miles of it in 1 day. I’ve done a few 100s, including Leadville 100, a high elevation race, but I’ve never done that much climbing, summiting so many peaks and ridges and descending into so many deep valleys in such a short (relative to the 100 mile) distance. There would be 11 peaks or ridges to climb over with close to 17000 ft climbing and 17000 ft descending total.  Based on my climbing and descending on training runs, I suspected it would take me at least 15 hours. The one reassurance was that I felt fully prepared and knew what I was getting myself into. I knew it would be brutal at times. I knew the terrain would be gnarly with a few reprieves of ATV trail or dirt road. I didn’t have any illusion of anything less. I knew I would have problems along the way and would need to continually “work the puzzle” of nutrition, hydration, electrolytes, pacing, good form, etc., managing aches and pains and everything else that pops up unexpectedly. I’ve learned to expect nothing and accept everything, continually adjusting and adapting. Last but not least, I knew the course profile and the map. I had memorized the climbs, knowing which ones were steeper and about how long each of the 11 would be. This was critical. I was surprised at how many people showed up with no real idea of the magnitude of the course. That could explain what I think was about a 50% finishing rate. I could be wrong but I think there were close to 80 starters and only 40ish finishers.

So, the race….Start at 5am with headlamps on. Temps in the 40s, I had my Salomon race vest with 2 full bottles of water/elecrolytes (I used SOS electrolyte mix), 2 energy bars, 2 gels and super light rain jacket just in case. Down the rutted out double track atv trail about a half mile before we hit the first climb. No visible trail, just flags across the rocky brushy mountainside up. Several small stream crossings. I settled into a low moderate effort climb, alternating hiking and running depending on grade and terrain. We summited the first climb and descended again. On the second climb to a ridgeline the sun was rising. It was gorgeous. This was around mi 4.

My plan was to take in at least 200 cal per hour, hopefully mostly with bars/solid food and 1 water bottle/electrolyte mix per hour. I had eaten a big breakfast 2 hours pre race and wasn’t hungry, but knew I would need it and wanted to stick with my plan. We came down and then up again to the first aid station at mi 8, Allunite Ridge. The volunteers were fantastic, taking my water bottles and refilling them, asking me what I wanted. They were cooking bacon over a portable cooktop. Nothing sounded really good and I was ok with bars so I gratefully declined. I did drink some cola and maybe grabbed a handful of crackers munching my way out of the aid station and on up the ridge. Over the ridge and down what I vaguely remember as fairly techy single track trail mostly, better etched and less overgrown. We hit the bottom of the descent around mi 11. My hands were starting to swell a bit and I was feeling more full, almost a little nauseated.  Wanting to stick with my tested strategy, I continued to eat a 200 calorie bar/hour and 1 17oz water bottle/hr. My biggest fear was bonking. The first mile of the climb was on super techy trail, followed by no trail with flag finding….unfortunately we lost the flagging, likely to hungry deer and elk. Here are some early pictures of the tamer terrain and a miner's cabin.

The whole course was marked really really well, however, for some reason this section just wasn’t there. I and a few other runners spent about 10-15 minutes zig zagging up and down and around trying to locate flagging. Finally a yell from above hailed the trail and we were back on and moving up. All the rest of the way up, no real trail, just some trampled sections from other runners, flag to flag to the summit of Mt Delano. Beautiful Vistas awaited.

I took inventory as I went over the top. Swelling a little worse, tummy nauseated and full feeling. Hmmm….too much water? Not enough lytes? Definitely not absorbing the food or water I was taking in well, but energy level was very good. I decided to go ahead and continue to try and get 200cal and 1 bottle per hour at least to the next aid station and then decide if I need to change things up. Down a mile or two and then a gradual up into Mud Lake aid station at mile 16. At that point I was pretty miserable and starting to worry that I would not be able to turn things around. I really hated to divert from my fueling/hydration plan. It worked well at my last 6 hour long training run at altitude with lots of gain/descent. Unfortunately, I have a long history of tummy trouble and swelling during races as well. I decided to back off just a little on the fluids. Bars now sounded terrible and the thought of trying a gel made me gag. Cola sounded good, the thought of peanut butter crackers did not make me gag. So, I grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers, downed a cola and was off.

The next section would be about 3 miles down and then 2 ½ miles up. The down was okay, good energy and nice and cool which helped. Got to the bottom still pretty swollen and full/nauseated feeling, but I had been able to munch crackers a bit. The 2 ½ miles up weren't great, but not as miserable as when I pulled into Mud Lake aid. I had scaled back just slightly on fluids and food and was noticing a slight decrease in swelling and nausea and a slight increase in energy. Here is a mountain lake I found as I descended..

I hit Buillon Aid station at the top of the climb at mi 23. This was the first time I would see Todd and the kids. Avery was worried about me going into this race, so I put on a good face for her but shook my head at todd, and quietly told him of my swelling and nausea. It was here I decided to test a change, rework the puzzle a bit. I decided no fluids, no food until I hit the next aid station, which was probably only 20-30 min away and re-evaluate there.  Down I went. I was feeling better and better. I got to Copper belt aid at mi 26 feeling pretty ok. Hands less swollen. Not hungry, but not nauseated. Better energy. All good signs. I drank more cola, drank a cup of broth and grabbed a huge handful of peanut butter filled pretzels and headed up the next 3 mile climb to Copper Belt peak. This would be a 6 mile out and back section. 3 miles up to the peak and 3mi back down, then continuing on the loop course. This would also give me my first glimpse of where I stood in relation to the other females on the course. About 2 miles in I saw Sarah White-Woerner, looking awesome running down the mountain. We said “hey”, I was thinking…”Can I just borrow your legs for a bit? I’ll give them back...in say...20 miles? Then the second female, then the 3rd.  All three seemed out of reach as I climbed and they descended. I knew there was 1 more female ahead of me at that point.  I kept climbing, hoping I was closer to the 4th place female. I kept trying to eat and drink as I went up, but not pushing fluids or food, just a bite here and a sip there, just under the nausea threshold. About 5 minutes from the summit I saw the 4th place female. I was excited, I knew she was within reach if I could continue to hone in and keep the nausea and swelling in check while still getting enough calories and fluids/electrolytes. Coming down felt good, I passed a couple of males on the downhill and made it back into copper belt aid at mi 33 in better shape than ever. I downed another cup of coke and grabbed as many peanut butter pretzels as I could and headed out. I stuck another bar in my pack hoping it might sound more appealing as I went. I thought about eating a gel, but wanted to puke just thinking about it. At this point pretzels and peanut butter were my saving grace. Todd made it down while the kids were up at the top of the next climb. I was thrilled to see his face, gave him a quick kiss and on I went. It is so rejuvenating to see loved ones on the course...to see that tough love and determination in his eyes gave me confidence.

Baaaack up to Buillon aid at mile 36 where the kids awaited. Noah’s first question, “so when do you think you will get finished?”....Fortunately I still had enough sense not to say what I was thinking. “I don’t know” was my response. I really had no clue. I was focused on aid station to aid station. I think if I had to stop and think about how many more hours...at that point I had been running/hiking over 9 hours, and reality was I would be running/hiking another 7.  If I had stopped to fathom 7 more hours I would likely have sat down and quit. I didn’t think time. I knew I was behind my goal, but all I focused on was the next aid station in miles. 5 miles, 8 miles, 7 miles. just bites. Some harder to swallow than others….like those damn energy bars.

The next 7 miles would be mostly down. This was where I started to race. Ha! You should see what “racing” looks like at mile 40 in the mountains! But I was focused, I felt fueled. I was still swollen, but not miserable. About 5-6 miles in, I could hear this rushing water. I thought it was a stream or a creek, but it was so loud. It kept getting louder until finally I saw it. A huge waterfall! A couple hundred feet from top to bottom easily. I was stunned….nobody told me that was on the course! What a sweet surprise!

I kept on, I noticed on this descent my quads were starting to get a bit tender, but knew I didn’t have any more long descents left, just 1-2 milers at most. I crossed the stream at the bottom and headed up into Miner’s Park aid station. I was so excited, I had caught the 4th female here. She was headed out as I was headed in. Suhweet! Race is on! All of the volunteers, this station included, were so attentive and kind. Asking what I needed 10-20 feet before I came into the aid. Handed off my water bottles and pack. I knew this next climb would be the crux of the race. 5 miles up and 4,000 feet of climbing. I had no idea how long it would take me and the next aid station was 6-7 miles away. I was sure it would be over 2 hours, so to be on the safe side I asked the volunteer to fill both bottles and put 20 oz water in the hydration bladder as backup. At this point I think I was drinking more like 15oz water/electrolyte mix per hour. This was keeping me hydrated and I was less swollen. I think my calories were more around 150 per hour, but not sure as I was now eating more from aid stations. Downed more cola and broth, no peanut butter cracker or pretzels, so I opted for a package of Teddy Grahams and ate them as I climbed.

I saw 4th female about 200 yards ahead, climbing with 2 guys. I watched. She was using climbing poles, she seemed awkward with them and she looked tired. I laughed, wondering how tired and pitiful I probably looked as well. I felt pretty good though, and decided to try and catch and pass her. I took a big breath, started swinging my arms and hiking as efficiently and quickly as I could, running the less steep grades. I was trying to be stealthy (you should also see what “stealthy” looks like at mi 46). I got about 10-15 feet behind them and let out as cheerful as I could muster, “hey guys”. They turned and looked, we chatted for a minute, but I wanted to hurry and pass as I didn’t know how long I could “look strong”. I passed them and thought, “make it look easy Lori” I felt like a runway model...a short, stinky, swollen, nauseated runway model. I was working it! I stood tall, swung my arms and tried to look as comfortable and efficient as I could. I kept this up until I was sure I was completely out of sight. Then I exhaled huge and slumped for a second and thought, Oh shit, I’m dying! I eased up just a tad, but stuck with the arm swinging, efficient and fast feeling climbing. I ran when I could and hiked when I couldn’t. I wanted to gain as much distance between us as I could on that climb, yet still have enough juice to descend down the other side strong. I had to force the teddy grahams. 2 little guys at a time, every couple minutes and water/electrolytes in between. Then I saw 2 runners coming back down the mountain. I asked what was wrong, she was suffering from altitude sickness and couldn't go up over the next peak. She smiled and said, "you are now in 3rd, go get it! That had to be tough to be 9 + hours in and not be able to continue. I continued to climb. I was getting nauseated again and swelling a bit more. Then I saw a male runner ahead. We had about a ½-1 mile left of climbing. I saw what was ahead  though. I knew it was coming and here it was...It was straight up very loose gravel and small clods of grassy/thorny bush thingies. The runner in front of me sat down on a rock and deflated. I could tell he was just crushed at the thought of starting that section. I offered a little encouragement...really, what do you say at this point anyway? I knew exactly how he felt, I had been there many times before. Nothing anybody says helps and encouragement seems to sting even more, but I tried. Then I tried to go up. I slid back down 3 times before getting a foothold. This was boosting neither his nor my confidence in getting over this peak. I then told myself, “Make this as EASY as possible, DON’T make it hard”. Baby baby steps. One tiny step forward and often 1 slide back. “Just focus on the next flag, Lori”. I finally hit a more rocky section and it was a wee bit easier. I passed another male and we commiserated and cursed together as I passed. Finally made the summit. That 1 mile took 35 minutes. Down the other side toward Allunite aid at mi 50.  Going down my legs felt horrible, my quads were getting very tender and I now had a little “hot spot” over my R knee cap stabbing me with each foot strike down. I tried to put more calories in going into allunite hoping I would feel better. A little climb into allunite I was running. The aid station rang the cowbell for me. He stopped ringing it about 20 feet out.  I said, gasping, “more cowbell...I need more cowbell”. He laughed and rang it more. He smiled and told me, “The second place girl just left and she looks rough”. I laughed and said, “We are all a little rough at this point”. He said, “you look good, You can catch her”. Man I did my best to down more broth, cola. No crackers at this aid and nothing else they had looked appealing at all. I had the volunteer fill my bottles with water and I added my SOS electrolyte mix to one of them. I left out of the aid running up the hill.

I was at mile 50. My shoulders were getting tired with my pack, which seemed odd, it really seemed really heavy. I started to realize I probably had like 5 bars stashed in there by now. I also never tapped into the 20 oz in the bladder. I went up and up until I no longer saw flags….where’s the flags? Crap, this has to be the way? I continued up probably 5-10 minutes and decided to go back to the last flag and re-orient. I came back down and I’ll be damned there the flags were, to the left, leading off the road and onto trail.  I couldn’t believe I missed em. 10-15 minutes lost. 7 miles left to go. No number 2 in sight. I ran down as best I could. I fought the feeling that my legs were dead, “Now come on legs, just do this, 7 miles” I ran pitifully down and hiked pitifully up. I kept forcing bites of bar and sips of water. I was swelling. I was nauseated. I was hurting, but I was close. 1 male caught me very quickly going up and seemed to be moving way faster than me. This was tough to swallow. I knew if he passed me with that much ease, I must be really moving as slow as I felt. I kept trying to coax my legs to move faster. I swung my arms and used my upper body as much as I could to help. It was like they were stuck in this gear and there wasn’t another to tap into. I was at least glad I only had 7, not 30 more miles to go.

Around mile 54 it got dark. Headlamp on. The last 2 miles down felt treacherous. Spotting flag to flag down the valley, overgrown and wobbly rocky. My water bottle leaked a little and as it dribbled down my leg, the numerous cuts and scratches from running through the brush all day lit up like fireworks. “Oh man, that shower I was looking forward to is gonna hurt!” It jolted me a bit, but also stimulated me to run a little faster. I rolled my right ankle on a rock and tripped several times. “Now, Lori, pay attention, don’t get injured the last mile of this race dammit!” I hit the final little 100 meter climb to the finish line and Todd and the kiddos found me and encouraged me to “run” UP to the finish. 2 men were right behind me and the kids did not want them to beat me. Awe shit, “ok” and I ran with my husband and 3 kids through the finish. 16:49 was my time. 3rd female. I was greeted by the race director with a hand carved tomahawk and a check. I shared congratulations with the 2 men behind me and made my way to the bonfire where I met 2nd place female. We had a nice long conversation over beer and pizza. I got the opportunity to spend time with other runners and let the kids look me over and pet on me as I sat by the fire. We headed back to the condo. I pulled my pack off and realized just how freaking heavy it was! I pulled the bladder out. The aid station volunteer I had asked to put “no more than about 20 oz” of water in it had filled it to over 40 oz. Ha, he must’ve thought it was going to take me a lot longer to finish than I did! I also pulled out like 5 solid energy bars, some chewed on. My pack looked like that of a hoarder. It had to weigh close to 5 or more lbs!  A huge mistake on my part, I was so weighed down those last 20 miles! No wonder my shoulders hurt! and after a quick and painful shower (razor blade like cuts all over my legs) I crawled into bed…..and coughed water up all night long. My breathing all night was a little fast and I finally got up at 2 am and took acetazolomide, a diuretic/altitude sickness medication. I took another at 7am and finally started to feel better.  2 days later I am still awaiting the return of my appetite. I had to swing by the grocery store and passed the aisle with granola bars and energy bars and almost vomited.

Really had an amazing race. This was the most rugged and beautiful course I have experienced….yet. Thanks to everyone, first and foremost my husband and kids. Coach Eric Orton, who patiently and persistently works with me to reach my “cool impossible”. A big plug here to his Mountain Running Academy. Although I still have much to learn, attending his camp really helped fine tune my mountain goat skills.

To The race directors their families and all of the volunteers that made this race not only possible in its inaugural year, but a slam dunk from start to finish. They catered to us with all kinds of food and drink at aid stations, anticipated our needs before arriving, always encouraging and attentive. The course marking was phenomenal, especially considering the course and terrain and the hungry elk and deer. The fluorescent pink was perfect and whatever reflector tags you used for night were so easy to spot with headlamps. Thank you thank you thank you, as I am particularly skilled at wandering off course easily. You made it very difficult to get lost...I still managed, but only a little bit. This race helped me believe I might just be able to tackle more. Thank you for sharing your beautiful back country with us.