Bighorn 100 Race Report

One summer when I was 10 years old and living in upstate New York, my family went on a driving tour of Wyoming. The entire state. Disney World it was not. And that’s a good thing. I remember seeing Oregon Trail ruts, eating a chuck wagon dinner, going to a rodeo, and stopping over at towns where every single person was wearing a cowboy hat and open carrying a knife and/or gun on their hip. Sometimes two of each.

Cody in Wyoming Wildflowers

Earlier this year, the talk among my running buddies was about Bighorn 100 in Dayton, WY, and now that I live in Colorado, I knew I had to get back to that wild and rugged state. Plus I’d get to see the Bighorn Mountains for the first time. So I pulled the trigger and prepared for Bighorn.Special shout out to Hillary, who ran the 50 miler, smashed the course record, won the female race, and finished 3rd overall. Whoa.

Left to right: Hillary, me, Krol, Jon, Liz

I took a different training approach to this 100 than races I’ve done in the past. Usually I’ll race a couple 50 milers and 50ks to get prepared, but this year I just haven’t felt like racing much and work has gotten in the way, so I made a plan to train big mileage, big volume, big vert gain every week, with a few recovery weeks in between. I was consistent, motivated, and free of injury. I was ready to race this 100. That was a first.

Race week arrived. Wednesday after work we packed up the Element, turned it into a camper, and drove up to Glendo Reservoir, where we dirtbagged overnight and then finished driving to Sheridan the next morning.

In a parking lot near race registration, out of the back of the car, I obsessively packed and repacked the one drop bag that I’d be using for Footbridge aid station at miles 30 and 66.

Questions I ask myself while packing my drop bags:

1. Can too much Tylenol kill me? (answer: yes)
2. How many tubes of lube will my crotch need? (answer: 1)
3. Do I have enough salt stick tabs for heat? (answer: probably not)
4. Will too much Gas-X kill me? (answer: nobody knows)
5. Should I rearrange my iPod playlist again? (answer: dude, stop obsessing)

Race registration was in the basement of a consignment sports shop in downtown Sheridan, where all racers went through a brief medical check and weigh-in. Oh no, the dreaded weigh in. The past week I was feeling taper-fat, with droopy skin falling all over my jeans and neck fat I could see whenever I looked down at my bloated ankles. But when I stepped on the scale and saw a perfect race weight, the thought of wearing a muumuu to the race finally ebbed away.

After registration, I dropped off my newborn drop bag and went to the hotel to obsess over the race map and directions for amazing crew of one, Alaina. I annotated the elevation profile from the race website and wrote out aid station needs. Good thing my running pals, Krol, Liz, Adam, Hillary, and Jon wanted to meet up for dinner so I could take my mind off the details. Strong IPAs helped too.

The next day we drove up to Dayton for race morning. The race briefing was at Scott Park in Dayton, and the race start about 2.5 miles up a dirt road. At 11am, we were lined up on the road with canyon walls rising up on either side of us. Nervous chatter vibrated the air.

OGs

The RD started us off, and Jon, Krol, and I were running in a pack, reminding each other to let everyone go, to take it really easy – we had 100 miles to run and mountains to climb! Sure, it sounds easy to say, but 30+ runners were gunning it out front and not chasing them down was really hard. But I’d made that mistake at the Bear 100 and I told myself never again.

Left to right: Krol, Jon, me

The three of us took turns pacing at the front of our little gruppetto like a Tour de France echelon. I regaled Jon and Ryan with tales from the recent Criterium du Dauphine and the Giro, for which I presume they were most entertained.

We ran a lot of the gradual grades of the six mile climb, but we turned to a power hike for everything steep. Our spirits were high and the effort was very conservative, and the latter is rare for this group. Shoe adjustments ensued and aid stations were reached, with amazing volunteers working these very remote locations. This race has the best volunteers. Everyone asked what we needed and called out what they had. An aid station called Upper Sheep even had bacon!

Runners starting up the dirt road

Early on, water was pouring off my head, so I knew it was going to be a scorcher. I tucked my buff into the back of my hat so that it hung down to my shoulders to protect the back of my neck. Very Badwater-esque. Looking down at my one 22oz handheld, I had to be diligent to refill at the aid stations that were ~3-5 miles apart, which is a veritable luxury distance between aid at an ultra. Some other ultras spread them out 10+ miles apart. But even still, I was feeling dehydrated. I wasn't acclimated to this kind of exposed heat.

Buff in the back of my hat, a life saver

We missed one turn, which probably cost us 1 minute but we got back on trail quickly, with some help of fellow runners who yelled down to us. The trail running community is amazing this way. Overall, the course was marked brilliantly, probably the best I’ve ever seen for a 100. Even during the late night hours, when my pace was slow and my mind was failing, there was always a course marker to relieve me.

After a short section on dirt road we hit Dry Fork AS at 13.5, the first crew access, where Alaina yelled to all three of us that she had our gear. In fact, she'd laid out my shoes, nutrition, and clothes options perfectly. She's the best crew! I dropped my bottle and grabbed my UD AK 2.0 vest with its two 17oz Salomon soft flasks of water with Carbopro, and I ditched my Salomon Softground shoes in favor of a pair of my trusty Pearl Izumi N2. Alaina gave me a kiss and I was on my way.

As I took off down a gradual descent, my legs were singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" in praise of all the cushion underfoot. But my stomach was starting to turn sour from being dehydrated. I started drinking more water, being sure to finish my bottles before each aid station and refilling fully, but during this section my stomach turned, along with my mood.

Around mile 20, I slipped running down a slick grassy section and screamed some obscenities. After that, I started slipping back from Krol and Jon. I needed some alone time and I wanted to make sure I took the early miles really easy.  I could feel our pace rising whenever there were runners ahead of us, and I couldn't afford to play rabbit games this early on with my stomach to shite, so I hung back and they ran out of view. I actually started feeling a bit better going my own pace and separating from the group.

I caught back up to them at mile 25 just before Bear Camp, when Krol stopped off to make like a bear in the woods. I ran with Jon down the ~20% grade to Footbridge AS. Along the way we caught one of the front women and wished her well. She was running alone and very strong.

At this point my hamstrings were already cramping and my quads were unusually tight. I think the dehydration was accelerating the damage to my muscles. I wasn't recovering well, though my stomach had settled considerably with all the water and salt stick tabs I was taking down in an attempt to recover from dehydration.

At Footbridge, Adam was quick to help me with my drop bag, refilling my gels and getting me an Ensure. I drank an entire bottle of water and a volunteer refilled it immediately. I took off uphill, starting up the 4,500' climb to Jaws aid station. I ran all the mellow grades and power hiked the rest. I thought for sure Jon and Krol would catch up to me at any time but they never appeared. I stopped briefly at the aid stations along the way, admiring the horses that carried in all their supplies. Bighorn is so rugged and remote that cars can't make it this far into the mountains.

I caught two or three runners along this 17 mile uphill section without putting too much damage on my legs, but I was worried about what the downhill would do to my quads. All worries subsided though because the views of the Bighorn mountains were spectacular in the approaching dusk. The sun had gone behind the ridges, so temps were much cooler. I was peeing regularly now and my stomach felt great. Mentally I stayed positive, I just kept moving at my own pace and feeling super.

Heading to mile 47, I ran up on another guy and looked farther up the trail where I saw a female moose just off the course. I yelled up to him and we gave her a wide berth, not wanting to start a Karl Meltzer type moose standoff, like the 2009 race when he got kicked!

I got to mile 46, Jaws AS, at dusk and once again Alaina was there with all my clothes ready. I changed into a long sleeve tech tee with my 6oz GoLite puffy and Mountain Hardware tights in my pack, along with the Brooks LSD jacket that almost never leaves my vest. That sumbeetch is mountain essential.

A mile later or so I saw Jon, with Krol shortly behind, heading toward Jaws, and I gave them encouragement. I was sure I'd be seeing them later down the trail.

Some snow lingered up top and the mud and water pits were harder to avoid on the way down, but I kept up a decent pace in the approaching dark. The descent is not steep, but it's long at 17 miles and the elevation loss is considerable: -4500'. And it's pretty constant. My quads were so tight that I could barely kick my legs back and hit my butt. I have no idea why they were so very tight so early. MOst likely it was the dehydration plus the rutted deer trail we'd been on for the first 20 miles. This is one rugged, wild, and scenic course! Maybe I should've stopped and stretched them out for a while. I don't know. They seemed destined for pain. That sounds like denial of my culpability.

Cody expresses how I wished I was running downhill

Soon two runners passed me and I passed one. I kept looking over my shoulder because I knew I wasn't moving that quickly downhill. I was a bit disappointed in my performance during this section. I was constantly glancing over my shoulder. I probably needed some tunes and podcasts to keep my company since I didn't have a pacer.

Finally I reached mile 66 and Footbridge Aid Station, where I saw Krol's pup, Honey Bear, but no Adam or Jason, so I got my drop bag and ditched my puffy and my tights because it was so warm, knowing I had my LSD jacket for the night. In hindsight, I should've changed my headlamp batteries here, about halfway through the night so that I wouldn't have to do it later. Small schtuff.

The volunteers kept trying to get me to sit down but I was all, 'No way!' I knew I'd never get up from the chair. I was only going to sit if I quit or if I finished. I stuffed more gels in my vest and got my bottles refilled and headed back quickly to face a very steep climb.

The night was black as pitch. A runner ahead of me stayed up there and didn't slow down on the 2,000 foot climb. I hiked as hard as I could but damn it was steep. No one that I could see was behind me. I fiddled with my iPod until I got it in my ears right and nobody came up on me. I kept moving forward. Relentless forward progress, that's the motto. I listened to Freakonomics podcasts in the windy woods, happy to have some audio company. I was wide awake, peeing constantly, stomach mostly ok for this distance, and at each aid station the volunteers put a big smile on my pained face.

Pretty trail in daylight. Terrible trail when I felt like death.

I reached the top of the steepness, and now came rolling trail in the woods. I saw eyes staring at me off in the woods. I tucked my chin into my chest and stared down, staying calm. Unfortunately, my quads were totally blown. I could tell every time the trail went downhill. Flats were fine, even uphills were totally runnable. But the end of this race was about to get fugly.

Just before dawn, I was listening to a podcast about why the US doesn't care about the World Cup and I was crossing the 4,532nd stream on the course. I jumped from rock to rock and my foot slipped, so I went down on my back into the creek, just a few meters from where I'd fallen downhill on the way out. I cursed the race, my legs, and the World Cup. I cursed puppies and rainbows and bacon and all things that bring joy to everyone. I was fucking done. And cold and wet.

Pic taken after the race. These shoes used to be orange

Coming into the next aid station, I changed my headlamp batteries with ones they had at the aid station, got some soup, bananas, gels, and comfort. Thank you volunteers. My soggy ass was so damn grateful. But as I left this aid, the sun was starting to show signs of light. There was hope! No matter how I terribly finished, I could complete this thing! Thank you sun!

The climb up to Dry Fork AS seemed 10x harder than I had anticipated on the way out. I was so slow. My quads were so blown that every step was torture. I made like a cat hole in the woods along the way here and felt a little better. I knew I could finish, but how many people would pass me?

This is Dry Fork AS the previous day. Very few people there the next day.

Slowly I pow hiked up to Dry Fork AS where Alaina was waiting for me. She was so encouraging I cannot thank her enough. I felt like shiteballs covered in dog vomit. Probably smelled worse. I dropped off my LSD jacket and took some Ensure. I picked up green apple Powerbar gels, since I couldn't stand anything sweet. I still had 17 miles to go. I wasn't going to quit, but mentally I felt so so low. 17 fucking miles. And that last section is such a steep downhill. That's going to destroy me.
I hiked up the smooth road heading out of the aid station. Pathetic. Run you fucker. So I ran. Piece of shit. I ran slower so that I could keep running. Plod plod plot. Nice view. Fuck this. Stupid nice view, making me feel better. Why don't you feel like me you stupid fields of wild flowers, cast in perfect dawn light? Oh and here comes some dude to crush my soul a little more. 'Hi man. Hi. Yeah my quads are blown. Good job, you rock man.' Oy, I suck.

Dark times, but they pass. Not yet, but they do.

I tried to run downhill. I was at mile 87. My mind should have kicked into heroin mode and allowed my legs to feel nothing. Nahhhh, my quads still screamed. I walked a few sections of downhill. Terrible. I yelled into the mountains "STOP GOING DOWNHILL!" in a really pathetic, self-pitying voice. For fucks sake man, why do this?! You suck at this shit you fucking asshole!

So I ran angry. Really angry. I turned green and ran hard downhill. I saw the raging river beside me and thought of diving in, off a 500' cliff. But eventually, my legs kinda sorta stopped hurting so bad. I aimed for a 13 minute/mile goal pace for the last 15 miles. As the slope mellowed out and there was tree cover, I was actually hitting my pace. I blew through the last aid station and saw 5 miles to go. Ok, no problem, 5 flat miles on smooth road. Think of holding that buckle man!

Sure, I ran for a while. Then I walked. I even had a shot at sub-22 hours if I ran 9m/m. Instead I settled for 12m/m. I was blown. It was blazing hot in my long sleeve black tech tee and my vest. My legs might turn to shrapnel if I run any more. Still, I kept going. Angry, done for, spent, pained. This section was the worst of the whole race. I went to dark places. With 3 miles to go, I could kill bunnies. I was mean.

But I made it.

I ran into the finish after 22 hours and 4 minutes, with tears on my face as I ran under the finish banner. I went sub-24 on a very hard mountain course and a difficult day. I finished my third 100 mile race, and this was the most painful of all of them.

I tried to sit in the river. I was too woozy and tired and ragged. I sat on my knees, bent over the grass for a long while until Alaina and Liz got me water. I couldn't stand up. For the rest of the afternoon, I laid down, napped occasionally in the shade and tried not to pass out and/or throw up. By dinner I was a bit better but man did this 100 fuck me up royally. I don't know if these things are healthy.

I finished 9th overall at 22:04 and made the Rusty Spurs club going sub-24 and I'm still looking forward to Wasatch 100 in September. I can put together a solid 100 miler in the mountains. There's a lot left to learn and races to run, but I don't have any regrets about my Bighorn 100.