So last weekend I was up in the Bighorn mountains of northern Wyoming for the Bighorn 100. I was more relaxed going into this race than I have previously been before an ultra. Last year I obsessed over every detail before Leadville. Maybe I'm getting wiser, or maybe it was the influence of my good friend Mike, who drove up with MK and me, and was also running. He has a laid back attitude to racing that borders on unprepared. Regardless, the guy can run and suffer with the best of them.
The drive up was uneventful, minus being told by a Wyoming state trooper that we were sleeping on private land and needed to move. Friendly enough for a cop, but it never ceases to amaze me how some people don't seem to see the arbitrary nature of certain rules. We had obviously just pulled off the interstate to sleep before resuming our drive. We were on a nondescript dirt road with nothing but sage brush and pronghorn for miles. The officer still felt it was necessary to tell us to drive under the overpass to the other side of the highway to camp on the side of a road that looked exactly like the spot we were vacating. I thought about pointing out how silly this was, and how I didn't appreciate being woken up at midnight and told to tear down my tent and put it up a half mile away, but in my experience cops don't like being questioned, and rarely have anything approaching a sense of humor. So after a windy night off of I-25, we drove on up to Dayton for a morning run on the first part of the course. The Tongue River canyon is quite beautiful. The river was raging with snowmelt, and the surrounding rock formations were a stunning backdrop. After a nice jog to loosen the legs up, we drove to Sheridan to check in and grab some food. After check-in, some lunch, and final grocery shopping in Sheridan, we headed out to the Tongue river trail head to camp. I did some yoga by the river, and then enjoyed a big salad that MK prepared. MK and I slept in the tent while Mike crashed in the back of the truck. It then proceeded to rain all night long. I told myself that limestone drains really well and it won't be too muddy. I actually slept pretty well.
When I woke up the clouds were blowing out, leaving blue skies behind. We made some coffee and breakfast, and started drying out the tent before heading the five miles back to town for the start. The 10:00 am start allowed for a casual morning rarely experienced the morning of races. I put on some sunscreen, chatted with friends, and the next thing I know we were lining up for the start. The first five miles are flat dirt road to the Tongue river trailhead. I was taking it really easy, chatting, and marveling at how often some runners were stopping to take photos. I understand that some of these folks are from places like St. Louis, and they might be overwhelmed in wide open Wyoming. Still, I could not help thinking of alpinist Marko Prezelj, when he asked, "are we having an experience, or recording one?" As we turned onto the singletrack these guys were still snapping the photos, and I almost bumped into a couple of them as they were not quite far enough off the trail. I was about to start slapping them. Luckily the course turned steeply uphill, and I started passing people. A lot of people. Which made me realize I may have started too far back in the pack. This was the only point in the race that I may have gone to hard. The trail was narrow, and to pass I had to go around in the grass, which was soft and spongy. I just couldn't sit at the back of the line of stare up at all the vertical to the top of the pass. I love to climb, plain and simple. So I threw in a few accelerations, and probably passed twenty people over the duration of the first big climb. Then it was a few more up and downs to the aid station at mile 17, where I would first see MK. Due to the altered snow course we would see this aid station a total of four times during the race. I topped off my water and headed out for the seven mile out and back. This section was muddy, and the mud would stick to the shoes, making them heavy. The nasty stuff was short lived, and some winding trail through the sage brush and snow brought us to the turnaround. Back downhill through the mud and we were at the aid station again. This is around mile 24 at this point. I'll spare you the boring details of the next many miles. It is hard to describe. I'll just say that the miles rolled by through open alpine terrain with wildflowers and many stream crossings. Then the we started dropping some elevation and winding in and out of trees as we headed towards the Little Bighorn River. This was one of the most enjoyable sections for me. The miles just rolled by and the scenery was idyllic. Then we headed downhill in earnest and finally came to the bridge over the river, where we had drop bags at the mile 40 aid station. I grabbed a headlamp and kept on cruising. The trail stayed close to the river for a while working up and down some rocky bits as we headed up river. This is where I saw the first place runner come through after the 50 mile turn around. He was waaaaay out front. Then the trail climbed steadily uphill through pristine forest, until reaching the the turn around in the waning light. I filled up the hydration pack, clicked on the headlamp and started back. I could feel some blisters coming on, and I knew I would have to spend some time back at the footbridge aid station tending to those. The next ten miles drifted by in a series of lights beaming from heads saying: "good job" or "nice work". Work? Heck no, I'm on vacation!
So at mile 60 I stopped at the aid station to tend to my feet. I cleaned them off, put a blister pad over the monster on my left big toe, and donned fresh socks and shoes. I slammed a double-shot coffee drink, and I was on my way. Things were feeling good (perhaps due to the caffeine) until I felt a searing pain from my blistered toe. I could not put any weight on it without feeling like I would collapse from the pain. I hobbled along on my heel, while lifting my toes up off the ground. "I'm done" I thought to myself. I knew that if the pain kept up like that I was not running the remaining 35 or so miles. But, to drop out one must at least get to the next aid station, so I kept plugging along. Slowly I was able to weight the foot again and the pain subsided. I realized that the blister must have popped, and the pain became manageable. Not long after this was one of the best parts of the whole experience. My mind was as blank as I can recall. I was all by myself, with no lights to be seen. There were no course markings, as there was just that trail, with no turns for miles. The clouds had blown away, leaving a bright moon in their place. This was around mile 70, where I feared my race might come undone. Instead this was the place in my mind I enjoy the most. I lose myself and just become the movement. No fear, no anticipation, no real sense of time. Just pure movement.
The sun then began to rise, and I could see the Dry Fork aid station in the distance. What I had feared would be a hard climb back up turned out to be pretty easy, although I was walking more than I would have liked. I changed shoes and socks again, knowing the worst stream crossings were behind me. Then I headed out for the 7 mile out and back again. This time MK was with me to pace. I was moving pretty slow, but feeling confident that I was gong all the way. So miles 76 to 83 were a nice morning stroll with my girlfriend. Back to the aid station, and my terrible memory had me thinking it was all downhill to the finish. Well...not quite. I ran with a nice kid from Hood River Oregon for a while, but my legs were grinding to a walk. I let him run off as I dropped into energy conservation mode. A few guys passed me on the downhills, and I would then pass them on the up uphills. I would say my biggest weakness at the 100 mile distance is running downhill in the later miles. I can climb forever, but the down kills me. When we finally got to the long steep downhill where I was passing people in droves on the way up, I was walking down most everything, while guys were passing me left and right. I was jealous and pissed off at their ability to be running at that moment. I knew I was losing time on what should be "easy" mileage. When we finally reached the Tongue river Canyon Trail, I breathed a sigh of relief. No more steep downhill! The canyon trail rolled along nicely, and I even managed some jogging. When I got to the aid station at the trail head, Mk was waiting to pace me the last 5 miles to the finish. Although it was gravel road, and almost completely flat, I still walked most of it. I would jog some, then walk, and repeat. The sun felt oppressive and I was ready to be done. At one point I started jogging, and it felt pretty fast. I looked down at my legs and it looked like slow motion. I laughed out loud at my sorry condition. We rounded the final turn onto the road leading to the finish line, and a little surge of energy allowed me to "run" the last quarter mile to the finish. In numbers it was 27 hours 38 minutes for 30th place. I found out my friend Mike had an awesome race finishing in 7th with a 23:38 time. Sub 24 hours on that course is impressive.
I went through a lot of different emotions and thoughts during this race. One of the funnier ones was pondering why I was beating the crap out of myself in order to qualify for a race (Hardrock!) that would likely hurt even worse. Suddenly my "five year plan" of finishing Hardrock seemed really stupid. Honestly I still have not answered this question, and I probably never will. But after I crossed that finish line I was really proud of myself. It wasn't as fast as I would have liked. I didn't finish as strong as I would have liked. But I never gave up. I never wanted to stay at aid stations. I never really stopped. Sure, I had doubts, and thoughts of stopping, but they were always quiet voices. The loud voice was the one saying,"push, just keep going." I like that voice. That is the voice of the person I am striving to become. Physically, I am still not who I dream to be. Not by a long shot. Mentally, however, I am much closer to my goals.
This race confirmed how much I love ultra running and the community it brings together. What a bunch of freaks! I fit right in. Thanks to everyone I ran with over those miles. Special thanks to Daniel from Frisco, who drug me along at a great pace down to the river at mile 40. My biggest thanks are to Mike and MK. Mike got me hooked on this crazy sport, and is a great friend and inspiration to go faster. Words can't describe how good a support crew Mk is. She was great motivator for a grump like me.
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| The Colorado Crew. Durango in green, Olathe in white. |
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| Off into the wild green yonder-around mile 17 |
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| Nice morning light while running with MK. Around mile 79. |
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| 'Bout time |
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| Sweet campsite for the night after. That mornings coffee sure was good. |
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| The brochure said there would be moose... |
