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.

Red Hot 55k Race Report - 2/15/14

I wasn’t looking forward to Red Hot 55k. But by the time I crossed the finish line, it was one of my favorite races.

In the months leading up to this race in Moab, UT, I kept wishing I was going on a backcountry skiing trip instead. Ever since signing up in Nov, I’d spent almost every weekend skiing -- skinning up my favorite high altitude skin tracks and bombing down powder pockets at Berthoud Pass, Wolf Creek Pass, Loveland Pass, and Caribou. I should’ve been hitting 20+ mile runs to get the long miles into the legs, but Colorado was getting great snow! I wanted to be in the high country.

The race came around and my longest run was 17 miles. Not a recipe for success. My cardio fitness was sharp, but my run legs were soft. I formed a game plan. Start very slow. Let everyone go. Run my own race. Recognize that the training is not there for a prime performance. It’s early season man, let it go! After all we have a house in Moab for Team Ultraparty: Jon, Hillary, Andrew, Alaina, and myself. That took the edge off.

So here we were race morning at the race parking area. We walked 1 mile on a gravel road to the start line, where it was a veritible who’s who of ultrarunning. To name drop, Geoff Roes, Jenn Shelton, Karl Meltzer, Anton Krupicka, Darcy Africa, Mike Foote, Anita Ortiz, Zeke Tiernan, Kerry Bruxvoort, Alex Nichols, Joe Grant, etc, it’s ridiculous. There were two Western States 100 winners within a stone’s throw.

We lined up and the RD said "Go!" and a lead pack of 40 or so runners took OFF. It was insane. I was running 7m/m downhill and the leaders must’ve been running 5m/m. The course pitched uphill over some slightly technical rock and no one blinked. The group effort quickened. I held back until the next downhill at mile 2 and then let the legs fly to catch back up with Jon and Andrew. Then we reached a flat, hard packed sand/rock section. The pack I was in hit 6:30/mi and that was it for me. We were only 3 miles in and I didn’t want to kill my race by going out too hard.

I met up with good company, Ben and Travis, as we ran up a few 200'-300' hills until the first aid station at mile 5. I burned through the AS, settling into my pace and watching Jon and Andrew take off further uphill. I chatted with Travis about the American Triple-T triathlon and some ultras until the next aid station at mile 10ish, and along the way we passed Darcy Africa, at which point I turned the effort up a bit at the hills so that I could get some alone time and pee-run for a bit unnoticed. I didn't see either of them again.

I caught up to Andrew who was running near Kerry Bruxvoort (eventual 2nd place female), and Andrew and I commiserated about how hard it is to be ready to race these long distances in February, aka winter. And all of a sudden I looked to the right and we were running along a 1000 foot cliff and then the trail pitched downhill, so I launched over the rocks until the next aid station at 12.7. I got my bottle filled and ran on until I saw Jon around mile 13. He glanced back and said, “I thought I heard a sandbagger back there!”

Ok, so I may have mentioned how undertrained I felt a few times before the race. Yes, I’m a sandbagger, but I really didn't feel ready to race! Jon and I talked about how the course hadn’t been too technical and the hills were manageable so far, but we'd both heard that the second half was much harder. Our aid station refills were quick, and we went back to work. We marveled at the La Sal mountains and how much we loved being in Moab. I remember saying, 'Damn I LOVE running!' along the way, and I meant it.

At mile 19, I saw Alaina in the distance! With the Cody pup! Alaina was snapping some shots before releasing a quivering Cody to greet us with her waggling Aussie nub and wide open face. I gave her a quick squeeze and kept moving. A photographer was just ahead and got a great shot of me and Jon running with Cody in the frame. It’s one of my all time favorite pics.I told Cody to 'Go find Mommy!' and she went back with a few barks at the photographer.

Then we hit the meat of the course. The slickrock was unseasonably dry, but that meant it was really hard: cambered, unforgiving as concrete, and relentlessly undulating. Your legs are always trying to stabilize. It’s deceptively tough running. We started seeing runners hiking the hills -- and Jon never hikes hills --  so I tucked my chin into my chest, stuck to his heels, and gutted it out, passing several other runners along the way. Then came a string of 5 or more runners along the next several miles who were evenly spaced out and starting to fade on the incessant climbs.

Each time Jon saw a runner ahead, I could feel him pick up the effort and steadily reel them in. When it came time to pass, he hammered. I held on. This went on mile after mile. Another runner ahead. Steady catch. Hit the gas. Don’t let them hear how hard you’re breathing. Sometimes there was a comment about the weather, like we were all out for a stroll.

Is this what they call tactics? I don’t know, but I was having fun. And suffering like hell. I loved it. And somehow, I was actually sticking with this very tough runner. I knew he wanted to drop me -- it’s a race after all -- but I’m annoying like that. I don’t like getting dropped. I’m a gnat, too small to swat. And I like to sing. Somewhere in here, I told Jon that I had this Biggie lyric in my head, so just after we passed a couple guys I recited lyrics, “Shit is real, when it’s time to eat a meal I rob and steal…” This is the fun stuffs.

However, navigating was hard. This isn't single track trail that you follow like a rope. The desert is wide open -- you can run basically everywhere and anywhere for hundreds of miles. It’s kind of intensely scary and amazing that way. Jon and I worked as a team looking for the pink/black ribbons that were up in trees, on the ground under rocks, or along bushes. You never quite knew where to look along the way. We saved each other a few errant miles at least a half dozen times.

We started seeing more 33k runners now and it was great sharing words of encouragement to each other with loads of smiles. What an awesome day to run!

Rumor has it that miles 19-34 are much steeper and more technical than 0-19, and this much is true. When we reached mile 29 -- the last aid station -- I’d already taken six gels, two S-caps, and four 20oz bottles of water. At the aid, I refilled my bottle, took two more gels and got ready for the last five miles. I took off before Jon from the aid station and put a bit of a gap on him up the hill. This was my last move to see what we were going to do for the finish. He caught up and passed me, but I stuck close enough, and we were basically down to 4 miles.

I told him that if he had anything left, he should go for it. I was at max effort. He said he was too. So we ran a mile to see what was to happen next. I ran behind him but not far back, maybe 20 feet. I knew this section of course from when I ran here last November, so I knew exactly what terrain was coming up. When the trail went downward a bit I caught up to him and felt ready for the finish. We were 3 miles away. It was time to decide.

I said to Jon that at this point I didn’t really care about beating him or if he beat me. I wanted to pick off a few more other runners if possible, but between us, it didn’t matter. I was having too much fun running with a good friend. He concurred. So we ran together, the competitive edge between us shrugged off. We reflected on how lucky we were to be in Moab, racing an ultra, in great shape, and enjoying the company. Then we saw a 55k guy ahead. It was Luke Nelson, a very very good ultrarunner. We were gaining. And then we were passing.

It was my turn to hit the gas, so I did until we were around a bend and out of view. I gave Jon the thumbs up, and then hammered downhill. We put a gap in. Enough. Both of us were cramping, so we found the right gear and finished the race, stride for stride over the mats.

It’s a race I’ll never forget. To run the last 20 miles of an ultra with a good friend and close competitor, find routes through the desert together, try to drop each other, push each other to cramping, and finish stride for stride together, passing people that you have so much respect for, that’s a great race experience.

I ended up finishing 15th male and Jon was 14th out of 300 finishers, with the same time of 4:33. We hung out by the La Sportiva tent with Team Ultraparty after the race and tried on some shoes, shared race stories, and stayed for the awards, with Hillary taking home hardware as 3rd place female! Afterwards we all enjoyed the hot tub and scotch + beer, and then the after party at Eddie McStiff's.

The next day Alaina and I hiked some new trails that will be part of the Behind The Rocks 50 miler, and then we made our way slowly back over the CO mountain passes back to Golden. In the end I keep coming back to the same thought: I need to go back next year to Red Hot 55k!