Weekly Totals: 82.4 mi (+12,511 ft); 24:18:28 on trail
Months of preparation – physical, mental, and financial –
led to Leadville where, this past weekend, I toed the line on 6th
Street with almost 1,000 runners. I felt well prepared and ready to run a fast
time, capturing a silver buckle of “under 25 hours” seemed doable. I probably
should have relaxed and simply enjoyed the run, because instead of a shiny new
buckle, I can only hobble away with a DNF.
I set some lofty goals and at times in the past few weeks, even several
hours into the race, I felt it was likely to come together. But mountain runs,
especially 100-milers, have a way of putting things back in perspective and of
putting even a little exuberance back in its place.
I was pulled from the race at 3:18 AM having missed the
23-hour mandated cut-off time (3:00 AM) at the Outward Bound – Fish Hatchery
Aid Station, 77 miles after starting in downtown Leadville at 4:00 AM. How did I get there?
The alarm went off in the trailer at Father Dyer Campground
on Turquoise Lake at 2:30 AM – a few clouds, but rather warm for 10,000 feet in
elevation. I did my typical pre-race intake of banana-blueberry smoothie with
yogurt and Udo’s Oil along with 20 ounces of Roctane electrolyte as we got
ready. At about 3:20, Dennis, Mary, and I headed for downtown while Des took
the truck to the Mayqueen Aid Station (Mile 13.5). She’d meet Dad and Mom back
at camp after I came through that first station.
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| The Start - a 4 AM crowd (Mile 0.0) |
At the start line at 6
th and Harrison, I joined
several other runners in the morning ritual of hoping to get into a porta-john.
Successful, I got into the start chute so that I’d be about 20 people deep and
waited at the edge of the barricade. In this position I could hand my jacket to
Dad and Mom a minute or so before the gun. I was feeling very ready at this
point, relatively relaxed and simply wanting to get underway. I’d never started
with a field this large, spread across an entire street and each person
ensconced in their own personal headlamp halo. I’d long dreaded the
single-track pinch at Turquoise where we’d encounter the rocks, stumps, and
roots of the trail. But for now, we stood through a cheesy recording of the
national anthem, I handed my jacket away, and the countdown culminated in a
shot-gun blast ringing through town – it’s 4 AM, time to run.
I held an easy pace down 6th Street actually
finding it pretty easy-going, not as crowded as I expected. I ran the first 5K
in 28 minutes, a little fast but all downhill and easy. I couldn’t see much around me but I had a
pretty good feeling of where I was. Things bogged down at the first real hill
below Turquoise Dam, but it’s short and soon we crossed to the single-track. The hill staggered the runners enough to make
the transition to single-track uneventful. I soon set a comfortable pace,
probably a little under a 10 min-mile, and decided I’d simply sit in and let
those that wanted to pass, pass. As long as I was going smoothly, I wouldn’t
pass anyone, I’d just keep an even spacing so I could watch the trail.
There was a lot of chatter on this section. Most of it
seemed to be old-timers coaching rookies on what to expect, where to look, how
to get it done. The advice varied from the immediate – make sure you drink – to
advice on how to navigate this same trail on the inbound twenty-some hours from
now. I was feeling so good I didn’t care what they said and simply enjoyed the
endless string of headlamps circumnavigating the lakeside trail. It appeared to have no beginning and no end
so I figured I was placed just about right, midstream in the scheme of things.
I saw Dad and Mom quickly at Tabor boat ramp where they had
walked over from camp. I was about seven miles in. A bit later, I’d just turned
off my headlamp in the growing sunlight when I transitioned to the pavement of
the Mayqueen Campground. I cruised
through the station in 2:15 just a bit ahead of my projected splits and feeling
great. Exiting the gauntlet of cheering people, it seemed like thousands lining
the little campground road, was exhilarating and one of my craziest experiences
in running, ever. And then I saw Des waiting with my Nathan pack. I dropped off
my headlamp and handhelds, squeezed into the pack, took a sip of coffee, and
headed out. Perfect.
The climb on the short section of the Colorado Trail to
Hagerman Road passed quickly. I broke between a walk and a run on the single
track and easily jogged the road as it climbed to Sugarloaf. It was still a
little crowded with runners but the graded dirt road spread things out. I was
relieved to be away from Turquoise but already missed the single-track. The
climb is moderate and you quickly rise above the lake and the early morning
views confirm you are truly engrossed in Leadville. With the summit upon me, I
dropped down the other side chatting with a young runner from Washington DC, a
roadrunner who’s picked Leadville as a first 100. I let him run away.
I tried to hold it in on the steep descent to the Hatchery
road. I’d run this before and remembered most of it very clearly. Crossing a
creek, I was soon scrambling onto the road and turning to the 23-mile Aid
Station. Yes, road. There is a crazy amount of road running in the Leadville
Trail 100. Probably ten percent or more is heavily traveled two-lane road. It’s
the first of several cracks in the boastful reputation surrounding the event.
For a few minutes, however, I forget it because I’m entering another string of
race fans and well-wishers prior to the Aid Station. I easily forget I’ve almost
completed a marathon in about 4:30 and enjoy the festivities. Until I run into
the cars.
The traffic – oh, the traffic – of crew vehicles is a huge
conundrum. And here, we are sharing the road with the traffic as we leave the
station. My crew has smartly chosen to skip Outward Bound and go directly to Treeline,
Pipeline, or Halfpipe Crew Area (whatever it’s called) to avoid this traffic
mess. I check in and out and re-join the road to run along white fog-line while
the traffic nudges past. It gets old quickly.
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| Mary and Des at Treeline (5:15; 9:15 AM Mile 26.5) |
It’s a relief to leave the pavement and head toward the
forest. I meet the crew at the “treeline” and trade my Nathan for handhelds.
This is the first race I’ve used a gel bottle holding the equivalent of five
gel packets. It stows nicely in my pocket and keeps things simple – a good
idea. I seem to be keeping up with the intake too. The climb to Half Pipe is gradual and I skip
through the aid station having just seen my crew a couple miles earlier. I’m
now on a nice section of dirt road changing to the Elbert section of the
Colorado Trail, now we are trail running. But it seems to take a long time, and
I understand why Darren struggled with the inbound portion of this in 2011. I
top off my bottles at Elbert (fluids only) station and begin the steep drop to
Twin Lakes. Still on target.
The drop into Twin Lakes is a blast. I take it easy trying
to not pound the downhill and soon I’m in the town. My wonderful crew has taken
up a spot at the cabin of John Trent’s crew (the Trent Family) just past the
fire-station. Here, I gulp down an Ensure and trade my handhelds for the Nathan
with my poles attached. I’m a little over 8 hours in at 40 miles and feeling
very good. But it’s also here that the cracks in my race and the event in
general begin to grow.
I didn’t expect the climb to Hope Pass to be completely
un-runnable. I’m not sure why, but I thought there’d be a few more switchback
sections. It’s a good hike and I try to keep a rhythm going. Soon enough, the
front of the pack comes cruising the downhill. At intervals, I step aside for Mike
Aish, Ian Sharman, and Nick Clark, along with their pacers. I actually only
recognize Nick, as he’s sporting his usual Pearl Izumi jersey. He gives me a
cheerful “good work” as he passes. Not long thereafter I see Footfeathers
coming down the trail. Wow, I think, but then his pace seems different as he
stops to tell me his body just won’t let him continue and that he’s dropped at
Hopeless. As we pause, Hal Koerner comes by pacing Scott Jurek who doesn’t look
so good but is still moving quickly downhill.
Although the chaotic mix of inbound and outbound runners is
just beginning, Hopeless Aid Station still has the feel of its classic
reputation. The llamas are grazing nearby and a few tents dot the little
plateau just above tree-line. I pause to fill my water and continue the walk
upward; I’m now an hour and a half behind my projected pace and have to
re-focus on the now crowded trail. There is, however, a highlight that makes
Leadville special. An exceptional mountain panorama spreads out before me as I
attain Hope Pass. It jolts me to life and I’m suddenly looking forward to
running into the scenery below.
Start and stop, start and stop. I’m trying to be courteous
to those climbing the steep trail but it’s frustrating. Little packs of runners
moving in opposite directions on the narrow trail. The climbers are hurting in
their efforts, but we wait. Off the trail, it’s too steep to pass side-by-side.
But I guess this is the nature of this segment of the race.
John Trent (Reno, NV) falls in behind me as we approach
Winfield. It is here that it becomes evident that the event has taken a turn
for the worse. We drop onto the road and begin a jog among two-way vehicle traffic,
most of which isn’t moving. It’s a slalom course between sideview mirrors and
scattered crews. Des sees John first as I missed their little set-up, but then
she escorts us both to the Aid Station. Once over the timing mat, it’s complete
chaos. The small station tent was a mess, so I simply grabbed a coke, got my
water filled, and left the tent. That was my plan anyway. Turns out that Des,
Dennis, and Mary had to hike into Winfield from several miles down the road,
having seen the traffic situation ahead. It was almost as tough for them as it
had been for me. I should have left a drop-bag at this station, but then I
heard that it often took considerable time for drop-bags to be retrieved by the
few volunteers struggling with the onslaught of traffic, crews, and runners.
Who knows? But thanks to my crew for the beyond-the-call effort, I felt better
for seeing them. Although we sat inches from idling traffic, I paused at
Winfield for too long – almost a half-hour. I left at 13:15 into the run.
The climb back to Hope went pretty well and I kept the pace
I’d projected for that upward and inbound section, and that includes my idle at
Winfield. But Hopeless was beginning to look pretty ragged. It’s designed to be
a “safety” station supported by hearty volunteers who pack their llamas in-and-out
several times in preparation. It wouldn’t work without them. But they were
overwhelmed, and supplies were running low. Runners shared broth from a single
metal cup, others scavenged a cup or two from trash bags. I donned a warm shirt
and my headlamp and ducked into the forest. In the dusk I began to lose energy.
I fueled with gel but the downhill seem too steep to run, my quads began to
revolt. The over-effort started to weigh on me, and my confidence waned. Would
I reach Twin Lakes by the cut-off?
And so the chasing of cut-off times began. As I descended,
it seemed too many people were passing me. I was eventually at the river-crossing
and the water felt great, but I had to keep moving. I tried jogging through the
meadow area below Twin Lakes and it seemed to work. But what should have been a
beacon (wasn’t I once exhilarated by the cheers), turned again to chaos. I had
to get into the timing mat before the cut-off at 17:45. This forced me to run
past my crew, though Dad had met me at the highway crossing. We jogged into the
firehouse and then found the timing mat. I was in with 18 minutes to spare.
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| Leaving Twin Lakes (17:50; 9:50 PM Mile 60.5) |
It took a little time to get going again. I pulled on some pants
and added a second long-sleeved shirt. The station had very little warm food
(only oatmeal), but I’d down an Ensure and a Starbucks double-shot can. A
volunteer kindly handed me a subway sandwich in a plastic bag, one for the
road. And from there I climbed out of Twin Lakes.
I spent the next three and a half hours (really?!) getting
to Half Pipe. At times I thought I was going pretty good, but obviously I spent
a lot of time simply walking. This should have been a bit of a recovery section
due to its gradual downhill following the climb from Twin Lakes. Seems I could
barely keep a 20-minute mile going. I could eat just fine; I’d downed the
sandwich and kept the gel intake going (I think). The night was perfect, a
gibbous moon following the trail, but I couldn’t respond. I made Half Pipe by
the cut-off, but I could see the cards about to be dealt.
I moved onward hearing a goofy trumpet far off in the
distance, probably someone’s crew at Treeline. But it seemed very far away, and
soon I noticed I was on the Treeline dirt road and a few crew cars were parked
up ahead. Finally, I came upon my crew where Dad was ready to go – we’d agreed
he’d pace me this section to at least the Fish Hatchery. Although I’d suspected
my race was about over, it seemed good to keep going. Maybe something would
jolt things back in order, and all were encouraging me to keep at it.
And so
Dad and I set out from the same spot I’d joined Darren in 2011. We chatted
about that symmetry as we headed toward the dreaded pavement. It was at the road
where the trumpet was blaring as a kind of warning of the impending cut-off (it
wasn’t an actual trumpet but one of those non-musical horns so common at soccer
matches). Quiet please. We jogged the road ever so slowly. I searched for
leg-power, but it wouldn’t come. At one point, my pacer even dropped me as
another pair passed us. He hung with them until realizing I hadn’t matched up.
And then the time cut-off passed as we were about a mile from the station. The
lights ahead pulled us in, but I arrived at 17 minutes past 3 AM and 17
minutes beyond the cut-off. My race was over.
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| The End (23:17; 3:17 AM Mile 76.6) |
The Fish Hatchery (i.e., Outward Bound) station was
relatively quiet and had certainly seen better times. With a kind hug the
station chief cut off my timing band and we climbed into the truck. Soon we
were back at camp, the eastern sky just beginning to hint of Sunday morning.
I’m not really sure what happened out there. It is likely that
my confidence got the best of me and I enjoyed the early racing too much. I
felt pretty good until about 55 miles, the point of my return to Hopeless.
There, the combination of effort-at-altitude, downhill hesitation, fuel
mismanagement (possibly), and deterioration of the event’s personality (the valiant
volunteers, thank you all, were overwhelmed) seemed to conspire against my
forward motion. And yet, mountain ultras are all about overcoming obstacles –
internal and external – and I lacked the ability, in this case, to do so. It is
something I look forward to working on.
The blogosphere is rife with criticism and sadness that storied
Leadville has lost its soul. I would have to agree, but that can’t be the cause
of my DNF. My exuberance made it fun and allowed me to push harder than I
thought I could, but the costs were ultimately too great and I could only
continue until time ran out.
Thanks so much to all the volunteers that kept at
it amid the growing chaos. The Trent crew was very generous and happily allowed
us to share their Twin Lakes spot; and way to go John! Immeasurable thanks and love
to my crew – Desna, Mary, Dennis, and Tephra. You fought the demons with me
and even with the setback, I had a most excellent adventure in your company. Dad,
I’m proud to have run a little bit with you, wish it could have been more. To
Darren, Tim, and all the trail-mates who shared the prep time with me, many thanks
– and let’s find some redemption and regain some trail-running soul none too
soon. Keep going…
