Midwest States 100

"Why are you in Wisconsin?" Dalton asked me this about 20 miles into this race, and I told him that a free race entry (thank you, Sid), free flight (thank you points), and a free car ride (thank you, Mark) were reasons I found myself deep in the Chequamegon (pronounced sha-won-again) - Nicolet National Forest running the Midwest States 100.

This race was also special in the sense that completing it would be my 20th, 100-mile finish. That's 2,000 miles of racing. Kind of insane the more I think about that and let it settle in. 

Because of the free factors listed above, it made it an easy choice. For those that have followed me for the past couple of months, they know that I was doing a lot of trail running up and down the West Coast (Mt. Langley/Whitney, Yosemite, Mammoth Lakes, Lassen, Crater Lake, Bend, North Cascades, Leavenworth, Seattle, Portland, the Lost Coast, Redwoods, San Francisco, and Sequioia). Admittedly, the runs that I did at these spots was complete opposite of what the Midwest States 100 was.

The total climbing at the race was between 6,000-7,000 feet. Everything I was doing during the summer was usually at elevation and with a lot more aggressive climbing. I always joke with people that I'm not really a runner but more of an experienced aggressive mountain hiker, but the portfolio of this course would force my climbing legs into more of a marathon runner. 

As the old adage goes - "looks can be deceiving" - was very relevant for this course. With the smallest amount of climbing of any race I've done prior, I candidly thought I could break 17 hours on this course (which also would be a major milestone for me). However, the roots and the rain that ensued was not something that made this feasible. More on that later. For most, I told them that I was shooting for 20 hours which was more than feasible. Seeing the course record was 22:57, I was admittedly a little confused as to why it wasn't faster. But then when I got out there, it became very obvious...

So fast forward to the start. My friend Mark was incredibly gracious to pick me up and support me all day (and night) for this one. Leading up to it, I just used my summer adventure runs and then when I got back home decided that I would register for this (about 3 weeks to the start of the race). I chose to do one solid week where I got about 70-80 miles in, but all of them being mountain miles. How I trained and what this course was were not exactly compatible. But, I also think what I did was more than sufficient.

The day was calling for morning showers. The forecast leading up to it showed that it would be sunny. Because it's the Midwest, I knew that all of that could change in an instant. And it did. That's also why I brought jackets and even asked Mark if I should bring mittens (sorta jokingly, but not). Since I don't usually sleep well the night before these things, I decided to have a little vodka tonic. That actually worked and I'll be doing that moving forward.

The race started at 6 AM. As usual, I found myself in line at the porta potties after chugging coffee to the start of the race. I knew that my GI was still on Pacific time so I was trying to get that cleared as best I could. 

My race strategy this time was to resurrect my old Orange Mud pack (which uses water bottles instead of bladders) and use Tailwind and fluctuate between Orange and Lemon all day long. I briefed Mark the day before how I was anticipating it going, and he took notes and carried the clipboard around all day.

Once the gun went off, I found myself in a train of runners. They started the 100 milers and 100k folks together. I'm usually quite shy in pushing myself to the front of the start, but I do get annoyed with myself at times because I find that I get stuck behind people going at a pace that I would not have chosen. This course also is largely single track (including the very beginning), so it was difficult to get around some of these people early on. 

I was following a guy who was doing his first 100 miler and going a bit slower up the hill than I would have preferred. We chatted a bit and I wished him luck, but when the first opportunity presented itself, I asked if I could get around him which he kindly allowed me to.

Photo Cred: Jennifer Horsen

The first aid station was just over 6 miles in. When I got there there was no one at the aid station, just some water so I filled up one bag of Tailwind with the water and pressed on. At this point, I got in a group of about 5 guys. One of whom has been running 100-milers back to back over the past few weeks. How his body manages to recover is beyond me. Although I found it incredibly impressive of what he was doing and how his body adapted, I also think that he's wreaking havoc on his body. Clearly we have different goals of what the day would look like, but I know I definitely prefer to take a good rest after completing a 100 mile run.

Going around him, I then got into a group with a guy named Dalton and Joe. We ran and chatted for a bit and got to the next aid station which was about 12-13 miles. This was called Wausau. I had to make a quick pitstop to the porta potty but got back on the trail pretty quickly. Mark got my bottles ready and I saw that Dalton was wanting to run with me. Joe had taken off but Dalton admitted to creeping on me prior to the race and wanted to run with me for a bit. He definitely made me feel like a juggernaut coming into this.

He was joking that people from California or Cottonwood Springs, CO don't just come to Wisconsin for any reason and was very curious why I was there. After explaining the economics behind it all, he totally got it. Dalton was also a solid runner. He too had won Black Hills 100 back in the day and placed 4th at Superior 100, which is a very challenging course in Minnesota that runs along Lake Superior. 

As we pressed on together, I could tell that he was going to be a chatterbox. It's not often that I get to run with people, and, being so early in the race, I decided "why not?" We talked about goals for the day and we both were a bit baffled by the current course record. We both had goals to hit 20 hours, so I also think that is why he decided to run with me so we both can keep pace. 

As most people are, he was a bit perplexed that I didn't have a Garmin watch or track any of my metrics/data. I told him that I'd get lost in the details and feel bad, especially when I have a slower day and the watch is telling me what a lazy and slow pig I am for that workout. Although I can see the power and value of having the details, I just find that listening to my body and going with what it needs is most impactful for me. It hasn't let me down yet.

We got to Lily at 19. Mark was there and gave me my Orange Tailwind. Dalton and I headed back out together. I didn't want to spend too long at the aid stations, and Mark did a phenomenal job of having everything ready when I got in. It was also an encouragement to see a face that I knew. He handed me a bag of Tailwind that I prepared beforehand as the next aid station I wouldn't see Mark. It wouldn't be until P-Town at mile 31.

Dalton and I pressed on. It was about this time that the rain started to fall. I could hear it in the trees and and in the wind. What a great sound it made. I was also hoping it wouldn't rain too hard as that would wreak havoc on the trails. It gave me flashbacks to Mohican when it literally rained the entire day. It was a mud hole. Hopefully this wouldn't be a repeat of that. 

As we pressed on, this section as a bit more beat up. It was tall grass and flowy trails. Then we hit a first climb. Dalton let me take the lead at this section and I aggressively climbed up the hill. We both agreed that having climbing breaks is really nice (up to this point we have been running for most of it). We then continued on down to another lake and there was a guy walking and said the aid station was only a mile ahead. We then ran into a guy named Isaac who was running the 100k. 

He now lives in Chicago but is originally from Arkansas, so it was fun that he knew the small college I went to. He said there was one guy up ahead and that that guy admitted that he was going out hard. It was fun to have the idea of someone to chase.

When we pressed on, we all got to the next aid station - called Inn at the Woods. Clever name. I just refilled my tailwind and headed out. At this point, Dalton and I left Isaac behind and pressed on. I could tell that Dalton was starting to lag a little bit. He told me that he did 50 miles as his biggest training week due to work and other obligations (which in normal circumstances I totally understand), but I also knew that I likely came in with better training (not to mention the abuse my legs got on the mountains I ran all summer long). It is those miles that will make a big difference later in the race when your body is completely wiped and depends on the deep reserves you get from tumultous training.

Pressing on, the rain was really starting to come down now. It dumped us on a road and this seemed to last forever. The rain was making the dirt roads super slippery and muddy. I couldn't really see Dalton anymore. This gave me some motivation. When I pass someone, I usually don't like for them to pass me again. Although I understand a runner can easily hit a high and move quickly, I think not getting passed shows that I am controlling my pace and am comfortable. That happened to be the case in this race. Once I left Dalton, I never saw him for the rest of the day (other than passing each other on the out-and-backs).

At this point my liquids were almost completely dry. Most of the aid stations were 6-7 miles apart. This one felt longer. I kept going and the rain kept coming down and my clothes were completely soaked. After going over a few more windy roads, I ran into a plant that gave me these brown balls that stuck to my shorts. I was plucking those off and laughing as I could see the aid station up ahead. I got in and Mark gave me the Lemon Tailwind (switched out the Orange). I was just over 5 hours in and had done 31 miles. 

After getting my stuff, it was time to head back (the course goes 31 miles out, then 31 back. Then you have to do 19 miles out and then 19 miles back on the same course). This was great news. I was now done with the long out. Moving on from here, it was more muddy dirt roads. I could hear cheering in the back so I knew that Dalton had made it in. This is when I popped my first Tylenol and put my earbuds in.

Getting to listen to music for the first time was a huge pick-me-up. Although I sincerely appreciated Dalton's company, I was excited to stay in my own world and see what I can do from this point forward. Pressing on, this section was very short. Maybe 3 miles. I found that I was already back at Inn at the Woods. This also was a huge motivation.

I was now seeing a lot more runners coming in from that way. I went, checked in, and then headed out. I would not see this aid station for the duration of the race. As I headed out, some runners were yelling at me so I took my earbuds out and they said I was going the wrong way. I explained to them that I already went out and was now going back and they were shocked and felt bad for stopping me. They met well and it made me laugh.

My hip flexors were being super babyish all day. From mile 10 they were in revolt. It's like they didn't want to work. I swear the body knows what it's about to endure and just rebels (something very similar happened at Pinhoti 100 years ago). However, I told them mentally to deal with it and press on. I was heading back to Lily. I was passing more runners and were high fiving and wishing each other well. It was motivating to see others out there, doing the same stupid thing that I was.

Getting into Lily I was feeling pretty good. Mark had my bottles ready and I got them and headed out. I was probably spending less than 2 minutes at every aid station at this point. Next step was Wausau. I was really beginning to notice just how much damage the rain had done to the trails and how muddy they were. There were also a good number of bridges between here and Wausau that were quite wet. It took me back to my days living in the Pacific Northwest and all of the bridges there. I was also admiring how many ferns were in the woods and how incredibly dark the forest was. I was half wondering if I would need a headlamp in the middle of the day the forest was so thick with trees and the sky grey from the rain.

Moving through this section I made it back to Wausau. This was now mile 49. Almost halfway. I got my stuff from Mark and headed out. I didn't see anyone on this section and I was completely alone as I was making my way to the next one. I learned that I was in the lead. I wasn't entirely sure what happened to the person in front of me, but I imagined something did (I later learned he twisted his ankle on a root). Speaking of roots, I was starting to realize just how many there were. 

This section reminded me a bit of a flat HURT course (which maybe is offensive to HURT). But the roots were incredibly thick. They're not like the ones at Mohican where they come a little off the ground, these ones are well above the ground which makes running over them incredibly challenging (plus, not to mention the rain had made the trails super wet and muddy at this point).

Pressing on, I got into Alumni. I got my stuff and now was heading to the 100k finish. I was super happy with myself that I was also in front of the 100k leader. Although this is more of a local race and doesn't draw super competitive folks, it was still a cool feeling knowing that I could have won the 100k here, too. This section starts on a road and then dumps you in the woods where you go over a section of deep roots and mud and then it turns into rolling hills. I pressed on and could see the lake which is where we started. I followed this for a while up and down the rolling hills and made it to the start/finish. 

Admittedly, I was a bit jealous of the 50k runners who had finished and were done for the night. I still had 38 miles to go. I could definitely feel my legs at this point. 

I saw Mark, got my Orange Tailwind and headed back to Alumni. By this point, I took the headlamp although I felt I could get there without it. About 20 minutes from leaving the aid station I saw Dalton and his pacer. I thought he looked pretty good here. We exchanged pleasantries and I pressed on. I probably had a 40-50 minute lead on him by this point. Getting closer to Alumni (mile 69), I passed the third place guy as well and we also said "hello." Getting to Alumni felt great. I popped another caffeine pill and pressed on after Mark gave me the bottles. 

These next few sections would prove to be the worst. My headlamp was on at this point and I was passing a lot of runners who were heading to the start/finish. The roots were really starting to play a tool on the body at this point too. Usually I remember landmarks or things, but because these woods were so thick and the roots so plentiful, I couldn't really remember anything about this. Even the wooden bridges I frequently had to go over I couldn't remember which section and how many there were. Some were falling apart or moving when you stepped on them or were tilted so you had to keep your balance so you wouldn't fall (which isn't always an easy thing when your legs are a bit fried). 

Popping another Tylenol I pressed on and eventually got into Wausau. The lady who worked this aid station was super nice. Mark gave me my Tailwinds and I was moving onto Lily (and the final turnaround). Mentally, for the last 38 miles, I was just thinking of 6 aid stations. So I was done with 2 and working towards aid station 3. It's so funny when it's daylight, the trails are dry, and your body isn't in shambles how different the experience feels when it's dark out, everything is a muddy mess, and you're exhausted. The hills on this section I definitely do not remember. But they were definitely there. I felt like I wasn't moving as well as I would have liked but just kept telling myself "one foot in front of the other."

Once I hit a bridge that was straight up, I was kinda laughing to myself because it felt like I was trying to walk on ice. Looking over at the mud, I was half debating if I should just jump in there and hike up (which is so self-defeating of the bridge). I opted not to and pressed on. This section felt like an eternity. Lots more runners were coming the other direction and we turned our heads away from each other so we didn't blind ourselves. Finally I could hear a generator in the distance and see some lights. At last!

I pressed on and got to Lily and the final aid station before I turned around. I saw Mark and told him that I was chaffing in the groin area. The rain from earlier in the day had likely worn off the Baby Bottom solution he gave me to put on at the beginning of the race. After stepping in the toilet and reapplying, I was gritting my teeth together as the sting was real. I walked out and told Mark that I am not drinking as much water now and to not fill that bottle up fully.

Leaving here, I knew I just had 3 more aid stations to go. I also knew this part would be mostly downhill. Since the 17 hour goal was out the window, I thought I was still on pace for a sub 20. I pressed on on this section and between the roots, rocks, and mud, that goal was evaporating faster than an ice cube in a blazing fire. About 45 minutes after leaving this aid station, I saw Dalton and his pacer. I was now probably an hour and a half or more in front of him. We exchanged pleasantries again and pressed on. 

I was jamming to the same tunes at this point (I learned about Cut Copy and am now a huge fan of theirs), and moving forward. When I got into the aid station, I was a bit livid. I told Mark that this section totally screwed me of my goal. He said that I was doing great and looked good, but I was angry. I felt like I practically walked that entire section as there weren't any opportunities to run it (at least for me). I told him the whole world likely caught up with me. He wasn't convinced of that. I told him I had just a half marathon to go and headed out. 

This section was just as brutal as the last. More roots. More mud. More walking. More frustration. My friend Jen in Washington told me to think of her if I drop an F bomb, and yes, I may have had a couple for her on this section. Consider that an homage to you, Jen. I also was passing a lot of runners at this point as they were heading out and I realized that I was quite a bit ahead of the field. I ran into Jeff (Mark's friend from Michigan), and was like "these roots are horrible!" He just kind of laughed as he let me around him. Other runners were like "you're so close, maybe half a mile." "That is not close!" is what I was thinking to myself. One person I said "I have never heard that before" and they promised that I was. 

I had to come back and remain calm. There was one bridge that I distinctly remembered from this section and I knew I was pretty close. When I got to this aid station I definitely let Mark know that I'm done with this course. He totally understand and said that I just have the finish to go. 

At least this section I knew I only had a couple of miles of bad roots and mud and then it turns into rolling hills (which thankfully not as much mud formed on those). I knew I'd be hiking most of it anyways but at least wouldn't be dodging all of the roots. Getting through the first couple of miles, I looked at my watch and figured I could get done in about 20.5 hours. 

Pressing on, I passed a few runners and hit the lake again. I knew that I only had a couple of more miles to go. The legs were done. Weirdly my quads weren't that bad, it was more my back from my pack and hip flexors that didn't want to cooperate anymore. I pressed up and down on these hills and was getting quite annoyed with how many ups and downs. I just asked the trail why it can't be flat or at least not make me go down just to go back up. I was over it. 

Moving on, I could see lights up ahead and the sound of people. The best sound you can hear after a LONG day in the woods. I jogged down the last hill and into the finish. I got through in 20:22, which was a new course record by over 2.5 hours.

I was relieved and proud of myself. Although I admittedly had more ambitious goals coming into this, I now totally understand how difficult this course was. I told Sid - one of the race directors - that this was one of the hardest easiest courses I had ever run.


A huge thank you and shout out to Mark for crewing me all day and night (and for chauffering me around Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan), Sid for the free race entry, all of the volunteers at the race, and those that followed along. As usual, the support of friends and family is all so very much appreciated.

s

As I reflect on finishing my 20th, 100 miler, I am a bit in awe that I have been able to go and see and explore so many incredible places on my own two feet. The fact my body has held up and performed so well over the years is not something that I take for granted. It really is a gift, and I'm so appreciative of it every single day. The people and places I've gotten to meet from my own two feet carrying me is so difficult to articulate of how meaningful that is to me.

In regards to "what's next?" - I'm not entirely sure. I'm going to let this one sink in for a minute....

San Diego 100

 

With a war going on in Iran and uncertainty looming in pratically every corner, I figure why not do something that feels like I have a tad bit more control on what happens? That was my thought process signing up for the San Diego 100. That, and the fact it's just a couple of hours away from where I live which requires no long airplanes, car and hotel logisitcs to solve, and no acclimitizing to a new time zone.

My friend Brad is a saint for agreeing to help crew me for this one. He also helped me at Oregon Cascades back in 2024. I also was looking forward to seeing some old trails when I used to live in San Diego. Despite being named "San Diego 100" it's a bit of a misnomer as it is about an hour east of the main city. Those who think this is largely running across the sandy beaches and is flat are wrongly mistaken.

It takes place at Cuyamaca Rancho State Park, Indian Trails, Noble Canyon, Mount Laguna, and my beloved PCT. It has about 13,000 feet of climbing and its completely exposed as you navigate the rocky trails. One redeeming factor is it got moved up a month from June to May. I remember pacing a friend here years ago for the last 25 miles and he said the temps got to mid 90s. Totally brutal on a course that gets little to no shade.

However, that wasn't my reality. We had a perfect mid 70 degree day. Still hot, but better than 90+. I was quite happy with the training that I had done leading up to it - I did about 45-60 mins twice a day Monday-Friday and then a long Saturday run for 3 weeks straight. I believe this provided a solid base for me. Nutrition-wise I was keen to stick to Orange and Dauwatermelon tailwind. More on that later.

Getting ready for the aid stations, I got all my drop bags ready. The work I had done a week earlier doing so was done in vain, as I wrote down the wrong aid stations. I guess AI isn't always accurate. That created a little chaos the day before as I was then redoing all of the drop bags and figuring out when I would see Brad. However, this got resolved. One strategy change was I traditionally have worn two tailwind bladders up front and a heavier water bladder on my back. As I was hoping to reduce the water weight, I opted to do just one bladder of each in the front and improvise later if that didn't work. One risk was I was going to try Maurten's - similar to Gu - as they are supposed to settle the stomach. I had never got to use them in training as they never arrived on time. More on that later. 

The race starts at 6 AM at Lake Cuyamca. It is a "lake" in Eastern San Diego County. Relative to pretty much anywhere else that isn't a desert, "lake" is used liberally along with "waterfall" in Southern California. Think of "lakes" as large ponds and "waterfalls" as a clash of decent sized boulders with a stream splashing onto them. Nonethless, it's a tranquil place to start and finish the race.

As anxiety runs rampant at the start, this was no exception of a year. The monstrous idea of running 100 miles really never settles in fully until you are minutes away from starting and knowing you won't be done for a long, long time. All of that certainty that I thought I was taking with me was disippating as I realized pretty much anything can go wrong running 100 miles. But then again, it can also go right. 

The first aid station was 12.5 miles out. This area runs through a lush, green meadow (I truly forgot how many meadows are in the entire area as a whole). From here you then connect to Stonewall Peak trail (I used to run here a lot when I lived in San Diego) and then you go down and down into the first aid station. There were about five or so people in front of me at this point. 

Here I used the restroom, restocked on my water and tailwind and headed out. The aid station member gave me great advice in that I should blow into my bladders while putting them back in my pack. I've always found them incredibly annoying to shove back in once they're full, but that little trick did help! She said she learned that at her last one and found that it helped her, too. I aways appreciate trail advice like that.

Moving on from here, we started to head to Cuyamaca Peak which is mile 19. I knew this was the section when the climbing would begin. I put my Rabbit hoodie up as the sun was coming up and it was now starting to get a tad warmer. I hiked up a hill and then it started to go smoothly down. I ran that and continued through a meadow until we hit the bottom of Cuyamaca Peak. This trail was incredibly rocky. 

Hiking up this, I was feeling fairly decent. Admittedly, the hike was harder than I was anticipating. However, I was glad to do this because this was always on fire control when I had lived in San Diego and I never got to summit it. It was the highest point of the course at 6,500 ft. Continuing on, I found this to peak to have false summits. Whenever I thought I was at the top it somehow continued to meander around a corner and continue to go up. Pressing on, I eventually hit a road and I could see a tower out in the distance. I knew that was the top and continued to follow the road. 

Getting into the aid station, I restocked my water and Tailwind. I had also only one Maurten left (I ate two earlier) and was worried I would need more calories so I asked them which Gu was the least flavored they had. My options were syrup (yuck), salted carmel (double yuck), raspberry lemonade (are you kidding me?). Syrup it was. Eating it reminded me of syrup in a bowl of water. Liquid glucose vomit. But I managed to get it down.

From here, it was back down the way we came and then you make a sharp turn. I was following a guy in front of me who was going at a good pace. I chose to follow him. Running downhill is one of my strongsuits but this guy was going faster, so I didn't see a need to push the pace. This section was incredibly annoying. Although we were going down, we entered this bushy forest with limbs that went straight for the eyeballs, and if that didn't work, they ensured your foreheed at least got banged up. "Midget Downhill" is what I'll call it because if you're under 4'10 you would have thrived on this trail. I didn't and had a couple of select words for the shrubs when I finally exited their forest.

I could see the guy in front of me and he was slowing down a bit. I caught up to him and learned that his name was Jamaal. He had run this course before in the summer and was telling me how much cooler it is this year, though he did admit that it still won't be easy. This part of the day was starting to heat up. We caught another runner and all came into Green Valley together. This was mile 29.

This was the first location I could see Brad. I changed out of my long sleeve shirt into a short sleeve, grabbed my giant hat and sunglasses, and got my fuel for the next aid station. I was really appreciating how much lighter my pack was from previous races.

From here it is seven or miles to the next aid station. It is just a water aid station with no aid. This was an area that I excelled on. The other runners got out before me but I could tell that I was going to be a stronger hiker. I started to catch up to the one and he pulled over as he tied his shoe. I never really saw him the rest of the race. I also continued on and could see Jamaal up in the distance. I passed him and really caught a wind. I did pop a Tylenol around this section and continued on.

It was a lot of rolling hills with fantastic views and then you go down into this ravine. This trail was very narrow with lots of foxtail that brushes up against you. Foxtail has an incredible propensity to stick to anything they can get their needles on. They were quite successful on this trail. My socks and shoes were littered with foxtail. Here is also where you cross a stream. There was no way you couldn't get your feet wet so I went ahead and just dunked mine in.

From here, it was up a slight hill and then down another and then up and over the corner was the aid station. Here was manned by the Ice Brothers. There were two of them with very upbeat personalities. I could tell they wanted to bro it up as they filled up my water and tailwind bladders. It felt like if they had their way they would have pulled up a chair and poured me a cup of coffee and talked my ear off. Super friendly. They did however ask if I wanted to put ice in my big hat. Shockingly, I have never done this before. It was late morning at this point and I figured that sounded quite nice. They put probaby 10-15 cubes and I left the Ice Brothers feeling very chill and cool. Literally. 

The next aid station was Sweetwater at 41 and another place I would see Brad. This section was marred with a fairly decent climb where I encountered a gopher snake and really started to feel the heat of the day. Although 75 isn't particularly hot, above 5,000 feet with no shade does take more out of you than maybe initially expected. At least it did for me. Coming through here, I then crossed a road and followed a trail that was a slight uphill - my favorite type of terrain. I did more hiking here than I would have preferred, but I did eventually make it into the aid station and saw Brad.

The heat was starting to get to me a little bit. Shortly thereafter I could hear others come in, too. I got more ice for my hat, refilled my things, and headed out. I wasn't loving how I was feeling but I was hoping it would get better as I pressed on. 

The next 24 miles would prove to be the worst. Not only wouldn't I see Brad until 64, but these were the longest, hottest, and most brutal sections. Leaving Sweetwater, I ran through a meadow that was a slight uphill. Nothing crazy. Then it started to go a little more up, descend into this ravine, and then it was up, up, up. I pride myself on being a somewhat decent climber but the lack of shade and incessant beating of the sun wrecked me. Most of my training had been done in 40-60s as it's not been as warm where I lived, so I was also not acclimitized to running in the heat either. I was quite lightheaded and even wondered if I was going to pass out from it. 

Continuing on, this section I felt like a slug. I got to the top and, not surprisingly, I could see someone behind me. "Great" I thought. Of course it made me ponder how many others were behind this guy? Pressing on, I did quite a bit of hiking. I was getting extremely low on fluids and I knew I had a bit of a ways to go. For some reason the guy who caught up to me disappeared. Strange, considering that I was walking most of this. However, he eventually caught up and told me that he is from San Francisco and not used to the elevation. He asked how I was and I told him that I was out of fluids. He very kindly offered some water to me as we were still a mile from the next aid station. I uncomfortably took some after he insisted numerous times that I should as "we are in this together." Michael was his name (which I had actually got earlier). 

He told me that this was his redemption run as he got to mile 70 a few years ago and didn't finish. He wanted to get to the end this time. Almost immediately after telling me this he projectile vomited off on the side. Like three times. I was like "do I stay here and babysit or go on?" Feeling a tad horrible, I continued on as there isn't much I could have done. At least for myself, I want to be alone if I'm puking my guts out, not explain to someone why I'm puking. Never will I forget the wonderful wisdom I received from a runner's pacer a few years ago that was like "it's really important to keep food down" as I puked my guts out. That was probably the smartest thing I have ever heard.

It didn't matter much for him though. He seemed to bounce back like the Energizer buddy and go past me. I admire his ability to quickly recover from that, and it makes me wonder if I'm just a total baby and put more of a mental hurdle in my brain when it happens to me. Something that I would get to test out a bit later on. 

Although I took his water, it tasted very off. Like, not good. But it is fluids and that's what I needed. I death marched into the aid station and Rich, one of the race directors was there. I refilled my water and was told the next one was only two miles away. Michael had already disappeared. I ran down the pavement for two miles straight and got into Hammer's Hideaway. 

This aid station was stacked with volunteers. I guess this was a "fun" aid station, but it was the total opposite for me. I was still recovering from the lack of liquids and trying to mentally get back into a good frame of mind. The volunteer approached me like someone riding the thrills of an amusement park as I felt like a mourner at a funeral. Not exactly a great energy combination. So much of effective volunteering -in my option - is reading the room and taking appropriate action. 

This guy told me that I looked a bit disheveled and asked if I was as salty on the inside as I was on the outside. I wonder how many dates this guy secures with these pick up lines. I guess this was his way of asking if I needed salt. The devil horns were now starting to poke through my hat. Admittedly I probably wasn't the kindest, but I don't think I was rude. I simply was having a low and didn't appreciate the lack of awareness that I'm not drinking beer and relaxing like the rest of them (though they did offer me a beer).  I told him the last segment was brutal and I just needed to restock my tailwind and water and press on. Another volunteer asked if I wanted a beer and I told them I don't think that was a good idea for the state that I was in. They then proceeded to tell me that this was the lowest point in the race. What a joyful aid station this was!

Leaving here, I could see Michael was sitting in a lawn chair here. I got in and out. The first part was exposed and rocky, but nothing wild. However, my calves started to cramp. Like hard. It was convulsing and freezing up when I put pressure on it. Very debilitating. I wasn't getting enough salt and electrolytes. I walked it off. This section was a 3500 foot climb up Noble Canyon. 

I could see Michael coming up from behind but I took a tylenol earlier and I could telll that was helping. I marched up and started the ascent. I never really saw Michael here. The good news is this climb at least had some shade from the trees and wasn't as brutally hot. I was moving better on this climb than the one before.

I continued up and eventually summitted the top. It was here that my stomach was really starting to feel it. The next thing I knew I puked on the side. This was the first time this has happened since three races ago. The issue is the sun took more out of me than I anticipated and I wasn't getting enough water. The tailwind was mixed too strongly and I couldn't stomach it. Basically it turned into another death march with no calories. I pressed on until I could hear loud sirens ahead. Penny Pines. The music was SO loud here I couldn't hear hardly anything. I took some broth at this location and popped a caffeine pill and marched out. I could see Michael coming in. I asked how he was and I think we both were in similar states of minds.

The next section was 5 miles to Meadows (mile 64). Thankfully the sun was going down and we were up at 6,000 feet again at Mount Laguna. I walked a bit as I ate some food. I forgot how stunning this part of the country is. Meadows everywhere. So wild to be in a desolate desert and then atop a climb are lush, green meadows. This trail took us on a very narrow one that felt a tad like bush-wacking. I didn't see a flag for a while and was now growing concerned that I somehow missed the trail (or worse, someone vandalized the flags which has happened in the past). I called Brad and he said that I was still on the course.

I should have been much faster on this part, but doubt was settling in. I chose to ignore it and press on and trust that I was going the right way. A group of women runners were coming and I asked them if this was the right trail and they said that it was. That boosted my confidence. I continued on and could tell that I was now entering the aid station. Seeing Brad was a huge uplift! This was definitely the worst section of the race. Hot, exposed, and lots of mental hurdles to get over but I had finally made it to 64. 

Brad got me my things and I grabbed some soup and some Oreos. I could see that Michael was also coming in. With the sun now almost completely down, I grabbed my headlamp and headed out. This area is so beautiful. I regret not capturing a pic, but there was a beautiful bridge that the Biker's Assocation put up. It felt like a bridge in heaven with the meadows and the way the sun was setting. Stunning.

The next aid station was just 6 miles up. I hit a huge high here. I think the caffeine pill was kicking in and with the sun going down it was getting a bit cooler. A cool draft blew and I was wondering if I should have put on my long sleeve, but I ultimately chose correctly to stay in the T-shirt. About halfway on this section I put on my headlamp. I could tell that I was gaining calories from the Oreos and the soup. I decided to try to take a Maurten and that resulted in immediate dry heaving. Clearly this was a contributing culprit to my puking earlier. I didn't finish it and shoved it back in my back.

From here I got to Red Tailed Aid Station which is mile 70. I saw Brad again and got my things and pressed on. This section I felt really strong on, too. It seems that maybe I'm turning into a night runner? It was fairly runnable. I never heard Michael coming into the other aid station so I could tell that I was putting some distance on him. My stomach was feeling weird, but I couldn't puke. It was just twisting.

I got to the next aid station and they had these really inviting lights in the woods. I told them that my stomach was acting up and they said to just please not vomit on their food on the table. I thought to myself that would be a fun way to eliminate competition - just destroy their calories as they come in defeated. I got some more soup and oreos and headed out. I basically stopped drinking the Tailwind at this point and was on life support calories.

The next aid station was back to Penny Pines at 80. Before getting there, I had to pull over to use the restroom. This was partly why my stomach was hurting, but it didn't fully get better. This downhill was cruel. We were now on the PCT and I knew exactly where this was at. It was rocky and it was a bit challenging to run it. The key at this point was to maintain and not get passed. I knew the leader was a way's ahead, so I just wanted to secure where I was at and I felt strong enough to at least do that. Not getting injured was top priority.

Getting back into Penny Pines they were quite welcoming. I could hear the runners get in Penny Pines 1 (they share an aid station) and I was SO glad that I was at 80 and not 55 like most of the ones going in there. They asked if I wanted to take a seat and I told them I won't get up if I do that. They then asked how the course was and I told them that I got a bit lost heading into Meadows, and they asked if I downloaded the course. I flashed my $30 Timex watch and that gave them all a great chuckle. Most runners are quite religious with their data and mileage and I've always been more of a listen to your body type. Although I like to time some things, I would get paralyzed with data and feel bad analyzing it as I know I would have run it faster at some point. I just need to know the time.

Leaving here, the next one was only 4 miles away. I pressed on and passed Garnet Peak. I remember my mom and I hiked this when I quit my job and packed my car to move to San Diego from Seattle with no job lined up. What a good time that was. This section was fairly flat and I popped my last caffeine pill for the night. The aid station folks said that I looked incredibly aware. I asked them if that is when they will pull me from the race. That gave them a chuckle. I asked how far back the third placer was and they said about 2.7 miles. That was perfect. I had really put some distance on Michael - or whoever was back there. 

Leaving here was an amazing section of the PCT. We had a full moon and this section overlooks the desert. A bit of a shame that we couldn't see anything as it was dark, but I could see headlamps flashing from behind. It's really cool to know that we are out here doing this very challenging thing and we can see visibility from miles away with our headlamps as there isn't tree coverage on this section.

After climbing a mile uphill it was practically downhill into the next aid station - and final one before the end. Here I saw Brad and the crew at 91. I got some more soup and Oreos and gave Brad some of my Tailwind bags as I was no longer using them. Pressing on from here, I got maybe three quarters of a mile and then my stomach struck again. I literally sharted. Awesome! Love that. Pulling over, I took care of that as best I could.

I guess the body is always fighting and figuring out how to take on the stress of 100 miles. The final section was rolling hills. All fairly runnable. I kept looking back and didn't see any headlamps. My back was really starting to tighten up a bit, too. However, I pressed on and told myself I was almost to the end. I could see lights out in the distance and I knew that the end was near. My goal coming into this race was arond 20 hours. Seeing my watch, I knew I could maybe duck under 21 hours. I ran as hard as I really could and finished in 20:54. Although I didn't fully hit my goal, I was very glad to still hit 20 hours. I knew that there were easily areas I lost a lot of time and that goal was achievable. Also grateful to be able to have the longevity in this sport. Finishing 2nd overall and being only one of 12 to finish under 24 hours felt like quite the feat.

Finishing this one was special in that I got to revisit a lot of the trails I used to train on regularly when I lived in San Diego. I also never had horrible mental battles as I have in the past. I think my preparation and training really paid off here. The nutrition is something I'll have to keep experimenting with, but I'm happy I tried something new and improvised - much of life when it throws curve balls at you, which seem to be quite regularly these days.

Thanks to those that followed along. Your support means a lot to me! Never do I feel alone when I'm out on the trails, though it is a very isolationist sport. The kindness of Brad to forfeit his entire day and night, Michael for showing true sporstmanship and kindness when we both were at lows, and the time the volunteers gave will be remembered from my times on the trail. Until the next one!

Happy Trails.

Grindstone 100

Grindstone 100 is an aptly named race. Nestled in the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia, this one featured everything I sought to get after for my selected hundred this year: gnarly climbs, stunning scenery, and countess jagged boulders you dare not fall on. 

Going into this one, my goal was under 24 hours. Unbeknownst to me when I registered, the race started at 6 PM on a Friday (who knew you can Google this stuff). Realizing after the fact, I then was doing Nick-logic in my brain - "so if I start at 6 PM, and it takes longer than 6 PM the next day, I will have to go two nights in the dark. I don't want that." So based on that logic, I decided I wanted to try to get under 24 hours. What complicates this goal - of course - is the course has 21,000+ feet of climbing and is VERY rocky. This doesn't even consider the fact that you're likely to be up an exorbitant amount of time and will be very tired.

One advantage for me is that I live in a very hilly place and do a lot of hiking when I "run" anyway, so I was hopeful that would help. Building up to the race, I was doing two a days during the work week (trying to get in 45–60 mins on each jog), and then a long 3-6 hour jog on Saturday (resting Sunday). Doing this for about three weeks helped a lot. I ended training with an "almost" two peak summit of San Bernardino Peak (got caught in a lightning firestorm and never actually summited either time, but did manage to get 10,000 feet of climbing in in just 23 miles). That was a huge confidence boost as my woes weren't body related, but nature related.

When I got to the campsite at Natural Chimneys State Park - the main start of Grindstone - I had about five people as my neighbors. They were dispersed Midwesterners and Southerners from Indiana and North Carolina. Funny how random races in the middle of the woods brings together people from all over. In fact, this race had about 25 countries represented in the 200 registered entrants for the 100 mile course. This drew a crowd because Grindstone is a golden ticket race to UTMB in Europe (a 108-mile course that goes around Mont Blanc in Switzerland, Italy, and France). I knew that this would likely draw competition. Although I like to compete, I intentionally didn't look at the roster beforehand, as I wanted to really focus on my own race and day. 

To say I had a pit in my stomach before the start would be an understatement. Sometimes I think people assume I will finish with ease and often in a good place. Although I like to challenge myself physically and mentally, it does take a great deal of mental fortitude, despite being a "seasoned" 100 miler at this point. 100 miles is never easy, and I will never assume that it will be a walk in the park. Well, there will be lots and lots of walking in the park, but these races always have a way to humble me. It's such a long distance, but the arduousness of it provides a great deal of satisfaction and accomplishment. This is why the pit was in the stomach an hour before the race started - I knew lots of challenges awaited me. Something about the thrill of doing something extremely challenging fused with the unknown of what is to come is exhilarating - and frightening. Though from an outside perspective, self-torture and masochism are the "why" for the few that toe the line of these things, I've found that's generally not true for us less intelligent folk.

Before the race started, I had a callus break on my foot that I had to bandage up. Sorry if TMI on images. This definitely stung. Never have I had a callus break, so what unfortunate timing to get it literally hours before I had to run 100 miles.

But this is another reason I was very scared about this race. I knew it was notoriously known for the boulders, and the amount of pounding that was about to ensue would absolutely wreck my foot. Going in injured like this was deeply concerning. It was also frustrating knowing how much time and effort I put in leading up to this race. These are the things that can easily make or break. As running 100 miles is more bodily maintenance management than anything else, this was basically the worst way to start. A forced body issue that there is very little I can do. But I did the best with what I had and just put some moleskin on before the race started.

My nutrition plan was nothing but Tailwind. Logistics are always the most stressful part of these things. I had to consider where to put drop bags. Thankfully this is a course you hit the same aid station twice (so I had to pay 4 visits total), it made figuring out where to drop my bags of Tailwind much easier. Because I get sick easily (something I'm hoping to work on), I stick to an all liquid diet of Tailwind. This involves measuring out countless bags and delineating them with a "W" for Watermelon and "L" for lemon and ensuring I never put "W" plastic bags of white powder in "L" running bladders when I fill up as it will contaminate the flavors and leave me sick and keeled over on the trail someplace: an avoidable error.

So to the start. It is at a beautiful natural area called "the chimneys". They are these really cool geologic features seemingly in the middle of the woods. I knew that the next time I saw them I would be so glad to see them as the painful journey will be over. Little did I know at that point just how painful it would be. 

Once the gun went off, I just kind of took my time. I saw who unabashedly took the front and were openly competing for a golden ticket, but intentionally decided to stay back. Even though at checkout they gave me a 23 and the lady said "oh, you're a speedy one" I didn't give much merit to that comment. UTMB has a rating system, and based on that system, the more competitive they think you will be, the lower your number. Funny enough, I checked my score after, and I'm in the top 17,000ish+ globally (top 1% of all global trail runners - flattering, I must admit). Personally, I think most rating systems such as these are funny but it definitely created a mental seed in my brain that I suddenly was like "who has the lowest number?!"

The first 11 miles were fairly uneventful, minus my bandage coming off my callus. I restocked my tailwinds and giant bladder full of water on my back and took a seat at the aid station to see if the "medical tent" could help me with the callus. Maintenance on this early and often was my only hope to ensure it didn't become worse. The two women working were super friendly, fast, and knowledgeable on what to do. Although they were a bit more limited with supplies, they got me taped up and this lasted me the next 20 or so miles. They may as well have been medical surgeons so far as I was concerned.

After leaving this aid station, it was now dark, and my headlamp was on. The next 9ish miles were not fun. This is when the climbing really started. Although I welcomed the climbing, I did not welcome how much it would exhaust my water supply. I had a decent amount of tailwind left, but the humidity and level of sweating that I no longer live in was paying a toll differently. I also chose a horrible long sleeve to start the race and was overheating and didn't realize how hot it would remain in the night. So I think I was sweating more than I needed at this point and was running low. By the time I got to the aid station, my first crisis arrived - I was missing a bladder for my tailwind! Literally, 50% of my calories disappeared.

As another runner who passed me on this segment got in, I started to interrogate him like I was with the FBI: did you see a bladder? You did!? How far back? Are you sure? Why didn't you pick it up, you giant doofus!? This was basically my train of thought as I came to the realization I was going to have to then mix up the flavors here soon, as getting calories in is more important than taking a risk and hoping that mixing the bladders wouldn't make me sick. The only other dilemma is I was at mile 20 and my Lemon bladders I wouldn't pick up until 43. So after pleading my case at the station, a kind girl offered me a small gatorade bottle that fit in my Salomon pack. So that was the new strategy. 

Leaving here, I got about a quarter mile down the road and realized that I had forgotten my batteries. As I was taking out all the powder to mix in the bladders, I had to move other things around too: batteries, caffeine pills, and Tylenol. I unfortunately left my spare batteries which I would certainly need as the night was young, so I backtracked the way I came and retrieved the batteries and pressed on. 

The next 20 or so miles were fairly uneventful. Namely, just focusing on the ground and making sure I didn't stumble over any boulders. This part of the course was a bit flowy too. However, it was on this section that my stomach was REALLY rolling. This doesn't usually happen to me, but I had to pull over immediately. I'll spare the details, but let's just say that TP was my best friend. This was 100% Andy's Pizza fault. On the way to the race Friday morning, I had leftover pepperoni pizza in the car for lunch. That totally wrecked my stomach. Thankfully it was just a minor inconvenience and my body felt a lot better after.

Pressing on I got to mile 45 and Dowell. I sat down for a sec to get my hotspots on my feet situated. It was also here that I traded my gatorade bottle and bladder for the two Lemon ones and ensured I counted the right number of Tailwind powder bags to restock and take with me. I also changed out of my long sleeve shirt as I felt I was overheating the entire time. Being in the middle of the night, I wasn't sure how cold I would get but I was so grateful to have a short sleeve shirt packed here.

Here also I grabbed more batteries and headed out. There were a group of runners that were a bit clustered at this point. There were two guys that were running together and a bunch of isolated ones such as myself. Leaving here, I hit the small dirt road section before hitting a trail and then I heard a voice behind me. I could tell this person was very chatty. Mixed feelings on that. I'm not the world's most sociable in these events as I kind of get into a zone, but I could tell this guy was sincere. As we got to talking - I learned his name is Keith - and I also learned that he used to live in Redlands - about 45 minutes from me. He trained on the same trails that I did and we actually had a mutual connection! We talked about Riley's dogs, his rocks and geologic additction, and the work that he does with Esri. Small world! Little did I know then that he would be with me for basically the end of the race in a variety of capacities. 

Unforurtunately for him though, I just popped a Tylenol and a caffeine pill. He was about to meet the Energizer bunny riding tidal waves. And boy did those kick in. I could tell that I was feeling stronger at this point and I got some energy. Lots of it. It was around 1 AM. Keith oddly and surprisingly was lagging behind but keeping up. He was encouraging me and saying that I looked really good and that we were moving well. He was also very appreciative of riding my energy and using me as a pacer. Frustratingly enough, we weren't passing anyone. I knew that there were definitely people in front of us, but we both were a bit amazed that we didn't pass anyone. I kept asking him if we were moving nicely and then began to wonder if others were actually catching up to us! He said that we definitely were moving well and that he would be shocked if someone came from behind.

This also is whem my stomach struck a second time. The unfortuntate part is I ran out of TP the first go around. Keith saved the day and donated some wipes as he pressed on down the trail. He assured me I'd catch up. After the few minute detour, I continued on. After a few rolling miles I was catching up to him but he stayed in front of me. I could hear talking up ahead and then saw two headlamps. Keith had managed to pass them as I was following them slowly up in a hill into the next aid station. Seeing people - even strangers - at these events is always so welcome. It's further proof that we are social creatures and just want to see others, and how selfless of these people to be deep in the woods in the middle of the night to support us.

It was on this section that Keith had warned this "makes or breaks you." He had run this twice already, and one thousand percent these words were spoken into existence. It starts with a giant climb. I was behind a bit as I spent my longest time at this aid station getting my hot spots taken care of. As I left I could tell this was going to be gnarly. Thankfully, I still felt strong and could tell that I had an advantage with the climbs. After the first couple of miles of not seeing anyone and going straight uphill practictally, I saw a few headlamps up ahead. I knew that I was catching the people that left me at the aid station that got a decent headstart of me. However, it was worth it because basic foot maintenance can make a tremendous difference later in the race. This was probably a 3,500-4,000 ft climb. It was also getting later in the night, and I knew that the sun would be shining relatively soon.

I eventually caught up and passed the two runners and marched on. I could see that there were two more headlamps up ahead. The first two were the two guys that were constantly together. I crested the top and could see two more headlamps on a section that just started out relatively flat. I passed them and noticed it was a guy with his pacer. He looked a bit shot. I'm sure moving by him wasn't a boost of confidence, but I can certainly say I've been there before. In a bit of sick way, but it's almost like an exchange of energies when a pass happens - I feed on his weak and weary energy as I gain momentum and press on. 

At this point it was down, down, down. And that HURT. My quads were definitely feeling it at this point. This wasn't just a downhill, but basically straight down with rocks and boulders to dodge. The downhills were hurting more than the uphills, but I'm a fairly strong downhill runner and was able to make up more ground. Getting into that aid station I reloaded my bladders and saw another runner there. Some had left but I was making up some ground for sure.

Leaving here, I have to say this was the worst section of the whole thing. Although I gained momentum passing a couple of people, this would turn into boulder hell. I saw two more headlamps ahead and got welcomed with "it's fucking Nick." Keith. He had a pacer and I think was a tad annoyed I had caught him, though I did tell him earlier the second half is usually when I come alive. In good spirit, he moved aside. 

For some silly reason I told Keith it must be "lucky" that 11 years separate us: I'm 33 and he's 44. He was practically the worst luck charm ever, and that was evidenced by something bad happening every time he got near me. Earlier it was my stomach, but after I put a tenth of a mile or so on him this time, my nose was running like a faucet. Blood. A bloody nose. How awesome. Made even more awesome that I had no TP so I was using plastic wrappers, holding my finger against my nose hoping it would dry, and pretty much anything else to try to stop it. It wouldn't. I was not moving well. Between this and the 50,000 boulders between each step, Keith was catching back up. He did save the day again and gave me a wipe. He also told me this was it and a fair warning to control my deng body. It was like the hunger games of bodily issues - I never knew what was going to strike next.

Continuing on this section the light was coming up. A headlamp of someone I passed earlier was catching up here. The daylight started surging new life in me. I pressed on up this slight hill and then into the absolute worst part of the course. It was giant boulders downhill for like 2 miles. These are the type of boulders that you dare not fall on. These were jagged, sharp, and beyond unpleasant. I was following Keith and his pacer and I think all of us were just over it. If only I could morph into a hyrax and gracefully move over the boulders that would be awesome. Heck, I would have taken a fat marmot at this point.

After practically stumbling our way onto a somewhat reasonable trail, we winded our way into the aid station. We are all super relieved to have made it. We also lost the guy who was catching up to us on this segment. The boulders must not have been as friendly to him. 

After getting my stuff, Keith had a pacer and I basically just left them. It was all downhill on national forest road. The contrast of this to where I just came from is dramatic to say the least. It felt like that warming feeling of that morning cup of coffee first thing in the morning to run on this road. I remember seeing a hunter with his dog and it being a stunning road. All downhill until it turned into a slight uphill. My least favorite grade too. Do you run it or walk it? Walking it was.

This also is when the stomach struck again. After walking an unreasonable amount on a perfect road going slightly uphill, Keith and another guy caught up. I told them to go ahead as I had to stop in the bushes again. Keith was like "I'm out of wipes," and he said it so unempathetically, so I know he was over the gradual uphill road. Or the fact he had to see me again. I bent the corner and the aid station was there!

Now I was at mile 64. Here I got what I needed and noticed a lot of runners were coming in. It was the 100 milers who got to mile 52. I did not envy what they had to go through soon (this part made a loop). For me though, it was back to Dowell. 

I was getting pretty sleepy at this point. Wishing I had my caffeine pill, I felt like I was sleepwalking a little bit. Just up a very steep hill. Lots more runners were going down the mountain and I was working my way up. Eventually summitting, now it was down, down, down. This part was actually fairly runnable, and it was the same one I had to do in the early morning hours. It was nice going downhilll on this. I knew Keith was ahead of me, and he seemed to be doing better at the climbs and downhills. 

After passing a number of courteous runners going uphill who got off the trail (after slowing down myself and offering right of way), I think they were gracious to have an excuse to stop for a second. Nearing the aid station I could hear cheers from afar - Keith had just gotten in. I pressed on and got in a few minutes behind, though Keith had already left.

Leaving here, this was another "runnable" section that was all about the short uphills. I was walking them at this point. Quite literally my least favorite terrain when it comes to the late part of races like this. However, I moved on. I was surprised to get to Keith and his pacer - Eric. I didn't think I was moving well, but they were much slower. 

Saying hello again, I passed them. Everyone talked about the "Magic Mushroom" aid station. Their advertising was fantastic: "warm food", quarter mile later "sausage", and quarter mile later "pancakes and syrup." Thanks to the tailwind, I'm pretty sure eating other foods and reading this would have made me lose my stomach. I got in and this was a very lively aid station. People were practically tossing pancakes at me and trying to shove sausage in my pack. I was a total joykill and told them I can't eat their delicious food. They seemed as perplexed as I was depressed that I couldn't eat their food. 

Leaving here quickly, it turned into a dirt road. I was moving super well but there were a handful of vehicles coming. Some - for some inhumane reason - drove super close and fast to kick dirt up. Others had Confederate flags, and I had to remember that I was in the South after all. There was a group of female bikers at a junction cheering me on. I joked I wish I had one of them and followed - what I thought - was the course (I made a right at the T instead of a left). A quarter of a mile and some change down the road, this lady in a car was like "you're going the wrong way." I told her I saw a pink ribbon and she was like "ok." Great. Anxiety. And lots of it.

I used my better judgment and turned around, just in case. Running back the same quarter mile+, I saw Ketih and his pacer again. Freaking of course. I'm not allowed to pass him. I also saw the pink thing I saw in the tree was a leaf changing color, fluttering in the wind. Fair to say that I was beginning to hallucinate a bit. The tiredness was getting worse. I followed Ketih and his pacer Eric on the dirt road. I was pretty demoralized after the turn, and walked a bit. More vehicles were coming. I let Keith get ahead as he was running. Now the 100k runners were also joining us at this part of the course and were moving much faster than us.

After practically walking into the aid station, I got the items that I needed and moved on. This was mile 82. Leaving here was probably the second worst section of them all. I asked how far to the next one and they said 9 miles. I more or less was arguing with them that this was true. I ran this section in the dark and remembered it being awful - it's the same segment I lost my bladder. My dislike was about to really surpass it this go around. Leaving here, it starts with a climb, and a very long one. 

I pressed on and kept going uphill, uphill, uphill. I was looking out at the other mountains for reference of how high this thing probably goes, and I knew there was a ways to go. A 100k runner passed me, but I just kept to my own. The trekking poles were rendered useless here because the trail is so narrow and the foliage so thick, they just catch on all of the vegetation, so I ended up fighting them more than they helped me. Continuing to walk up the hill, I would catch glimpses of Keith and Eric, but they would turn a bend and disappear. This happened so many times. I was also totally sleepwalking at this point. I could barely stay awake and was contemplating if just pulling over for just five minutes and napping would be worth it. Instead, I slapped my face and made weird grunting sounds: basically doing anything to not fall asleep walking uphill.

Finally reaching the crest, I did take in how beautiful it was. I could also see Keith and Eric going downhill. They were definitely feeling it, and so was I. In a way, being in so much pain on this downhill was a good thing because I felt the downhills so much more it actually helped keep me awake. What a great use case for pain! But the donwhill never ended. Down, down, down, then up, up, and up only to go down and up. This felt like a mental game. JUST GO DOWN! is all I could think. And maybe verbally communicated to myself. More rocks and boulders, more uphill - WHY?! - then down, down, down. At this point.I was beyond annoyed. A 100 mile runner did pass and although he acted equally as annoyed, he looked so fresh. That further diminished my spirits. 

My face says it all how I felt on this section:

After another 20 or so minutes, I FINALLY made it into the aid station. At last. That section was rough. Here, I got what I needed and intentionally headed out in case Keith caught me. 

Leaving here, I didn't hear any cheering - a good thing - which means Keith wasn't in, and pressed on. It was another dirt road, relatively flat. Continuing on, I was following the markers and noticed a junction,and followed the uphill. Of course it was another uphill on a road, but at least it was steep and not gradual. My only concern this time was that usually you saw a marker every two tenths of a mile or so, but I noticed I wasn't seeing any. My lostdar was going off, and I had a feeing I wasn't on the right trail. I turned around about a half mile in and went all downhill again and ran into Keith. Of course I did!! Who else would I see at a bad decision? My exhausitive state had me following orange flags, not pink flags. Lo and behold, some loser bikers moved them as a game to us in a sleepy deprived state of mind. If hell is a place of a giant heated fire, I hope their Harley Davidson's are melting slowy in front of their eyes for this stunt.

After running into Keith and Eric AGAIN, I expressed my deep annoyance and frustration. "Fucking Nick" was my greeting. Another deep moment of annoyance and frustration. Literally not allowed to leave Keith. I swore I would NEVER run a UTMB race again. How could these people not keep tabs of their markers? Running the road with him, I told him I was going to press on. Unforutnately for me, it turned into the same undulating bike trail that goes up and down incessantly. At this point, Keith was stronger than me and I was exceptinally lazy with the upills. How foolish of me to communicate to Keith and Eric that I would see them at the finish: how could I when these undulating trails wouldn't allow me to make any difference between us?

After going through these ridiculosu trails and having Keith not far behind, we made it to the final aid station. Since Keith had done this course the past couple of years, he was bff's with the aid stations workers. They seemed to only care about him, but I was just beyond grateful that the next aid station was the finish. This was more of a get in and out aid station.

Leaving here, it was just 4.5 miles to the end. Unsure if Keith felt sympathy or not for me for following the bad markings, or the fact I kept running into issues, I was abe to get an early lead. I felt like Usaine Bolt on this segment. All road, with a -500 ft of climibing on this segment. I took advantage on my weary quads and made some distance between me and Keith. I just kept mentally telling myself "just let me have this, Keith. Dammit." Feeling lazy, I walked the one uphill and looked behind me and didn't seee him. Until I did.

The smell of chicken poop helped keep me awake. Summitting the hill and not seeing him I pressed on. I can't believe this was almost done. Looking behind me, I could see Keith and Eric. "GO AWAY" is all I could think. Why was he also running like Usaine!? He certainly kept me honest on the roads. Eventually I crossed a bridge and these - what I assume were high schoolers - were pointing at the way to go which showed just half a mile to the end. If felt fake. I wasn't allowed to finish this!

However, I followed the markers and passed mutliple "UTMB" markers every .20 miles or so. I saw the end and went through. It was over. 106 miles or so after so many minimal issues that mentally felt like Goliath's. 

21,000 feet of climbing in 24:45 and a 5th place finish. What a relief. This race taught me that despite my experience in running 100s, there is always room for improvement. I do want to figure out my nutrition more and see if I can reduce the weight on my pack. 2 bladders and a 1 liter back bladder of water weighs a LOT, and I'd love to course-correct this moving forward.

Another small moment: but getting off the podium at the end, I heard a "is that you Nick!?"Lo and behold, a coworker's husband who came from Colorado won the whole thing outright. What. A. Small World.

Thank you to those who sent words of encouragement. Thank you too, Keith for keeping me honest and making me laugh as you swore at me. You owe me for getting you your fastest time on this course. You're an awful luck charm, and I hope to never be near you in a race again, but I appreciated your commentary and your "kind" greetings.

Until the next bad decision...

Oregon Cascades 100

That time of year came again - when and which 100 do I do this year? Although I've scaled back quite a bit in running the centuries over the years, there is a magnetic pole that always brings me back to wondering "can I still do these?" Despite having run a handful in the past, they only get "easier" because you learn what not to do from the one before. This year, though, I had a burning desire to get back to the Pacific Northwest, and the decision was made far easier when my friend Brad from San Diego was quick to volunteer to crew me. He's an accomplished biker and triathlete himself so it was nice getting a recruit who gets these sports. Next thing I know, I was registered for the Oregon Cascades in Bend, OR - a point to point 100 in the beautiful trails surrounding Bend.

 

Leading up to the race, I did about 3 weeks of 2 a day trail runs. Run an hour before work and then about another hour in the middle of the day. Then I would do a 3-5 hour run on Saturday to cap off the week on my tired legs. Training in upper 80s to low 90s and being swarmed by bugs prepped me well for a worst case scenario in Bend, not to mention the altitude training. For nutrition, I wanted to stick with Tailwind the entire time, which really is sugar and water. I was to become a hummingbird all day on a liquid diet - and not even the good kind of liquid. I packed ziplock bags with what I thought I would need and told Brad to fill them up and switch packs with me when I saw him. I used about 2.5 scoops for each bag, a bit more than I had trained with but I thought you could never get enough calories in these things. 

The weather in Bend was a high of 62, unusually cold for the time of year with lows in the low 40s. Truly great running weather. There was also a little rain the day before so that put some moisture on the ground and made the trails far less dusty than they otherwise would have been. Basically I got pretty lucky with the cards dealt to me. 

Going into the race, I saw the course record was just over 18 hours. As the course has about 10,500 feet of climbing with 11,000 descent, I knew it had potential to be a fast day. Although I verbalized to most I wanted to be around 20 hours, deep down I was hoping and thinking I could go faster if everything went right. There were about 250+ registered for the race, and despite wanting to finish (always the primary goal), I really wanted to see what my legs had in them from all of the training and the two weeks off leading up to it.

When the race started at 6, everyone ran on a road for the first 2-3 miles. As usual, there was a group of poeple who took off immediately. I was probably in 20th at this point in the race, but that didn't really matter to me. I just wanted to find my pace early and stick with a consistent rhythm. I happened to find this girl with bright orange shorts who was going at a perfect pace. I chose to run with her once we got off the first road section that took us to a flat area with lots of manzanitas. About two miles following her, one of her bladders exploded and she was like "oh fudge sickles" or, at least the PG version of what she actually said. As there wasn't much I could do I just said "oh no, I hope you can get that resolved" and kept going. At this point I was a bit alone.

The first 10 miles were pretty smooth, nothing to report. I ran through the first aid station and pressed on to mile 16, the first place I would finish my two bladders full of Tailwind and replace them with two new ones. The first place I would see Brad was 26 miles at Dutchman. I carried a 2 liter pack of water the first 26 miles with the goal of finishing that entire bladder and essentially 4 with Tailwind. This worked pretty well. At this point, this is when a runner from Portland (Colin), orange shorts girl, and "Unknown Unknown" started to run with me. Unknown Unkonwn ended up being Kimberly, the future 2nd place overall runner and first time 100 mile finisher. She said she goes by Uknown as she doesn't believe the website should get the rights to take her name and use it as they want. She is a Director of Analytics with a flair who lives in the Marin Headlands of San Francisco. I was skeptical if her name was even Kimberly after she told me this. It could've been Matilda, Dolores, or Francoise for all I knew. Or a really famous person trying to stay under the radar. Regardless, we all ran together.

I noticed that Kimbelry ran all of the small hills which was really just a hiking pace for me. Having followed her and orange shirts girl for a while, I decided to pass them. Kimberly then said behind me "I hope you don't mind me using you as my guide" as she realized I was hiking as quickly as she was running. This all changed on the downhill though. I pride myself in being a solid downhill runner but Kimberly completely rocked it. She passed me with ease and floated over the trail. I was blown away. She also carried a single water bottle and I have no clue how she sustained herself. This was also the last I saw of Kimberly.

As we pressed on, we eventually got to Dutchman (mile 26). Here, I saw Brad who had my pack ready and we made an exchange. I told Brad who is a very analytical person being a CFO in his day job that I wanted to really stay on top of my nutrition and drink all of the calories and water. He also made sure that everything was ready when I got into the aid station which saved me a ton of time. We exchanged quick pleasantries and I headed out. I did notice and communicated that the 2.5 scoops in all of the plastic bags was too much. I could tell it was a bit chalky tasking and I even burped (in a bad way) that it was a little too overpowering. I requested he remove half a cup for when we see each other moving forward. The next one would be Swampy Lakes at 33.

This section I was only following the orange shorts girl. She continued with the perfect pace. I was following her down this national forest road trail that went down for a while. We saw a couple of people walking, otherewise it was pretty sparse. About halfway on this she turned around and said "are we on the right trail?" Nothing like seeds of confusion and doubt to start clouding the brain. At no point did I think we were, but as soon as she mentioned it then I thought to wonder if in fact we were off trail as we didn't see any orange flags. I said with confidence that it is right and we both kept on, hopeful that it was the right direction. The trail continued to meander until we got into Swampy Lakes. 

Brad again had my pack and we switched again. He lectured me a bit that I wasn't drinking all of my calories. I told him that that was OK as I was using the restroom often on the trail - a rarity for me. I headed out and this is when some of the climbing would occur. I wouldn't see him until Skyline at 48. I pressed on and passed orange shorts girl. I told her "I'm Nick" and she said "I'm Abby." After saying "hi Abby" she quickly corrected me that it was "ddy." I couldn't make out the name (though I thought I heard Addy" but wasn't about to correct myself into a second wrong answer). I pulled a Seinfeld and said "nice to meet you" having no clue what she actually said. I later learned it was Maddy. 

That was the last I saw of her. I presssed on, alone at this point and just going in and out of music. I did about an hour and a half of music and then turned it off for 2 hours and listened to the silence. This was a nice mix up and kept me motivated throughout the day. I go to the midway aid station and changed both of my Tailwind bladders. I moved out and pressed on, just another 5 miles until I saw Brad again. This is when the trail went down, down, down. I eventually caught up to Taylor running downhill. I continued on for another couple of miles and started to run into mountain bikers. Facial expressions speak volumes, and I could tell that they were getting annoyed with all of these trail runners. Unfortunately for them, the signs in the woods clearly show bikes yield to hikers who yield to horses. Why horses who take huge dumps all over the trails and are easily spooked get top priority will always remain a Bermuda Triangle mystery to me. But, they pulled over and I eventually got to Skyline at 48. Brad was again waiting there and had the bags ready. About halfway into the race, I was out of Skyline at 2:02 and finished 48 miles in just over 8 hours. Generally I was feeling great and was super happy with how the body was feeling. I did pop a Tylenol at this point and pressed on.

This is when the highest climb comes at the race. I was looking forward to the 2,000 foot climb as the course was fairly runnable up to this point. This is when I noticed that Taylor and his pacer were tracking me down hard. I didn't think I was going slow but they sure were making me feel that way. They caught up and I learned that they are both locals to Bend. Taylor was really kind and said "you look strong" out here. One observation I had was that Taylor was breathing a lot heavier than I was. I was going on a climb with purpose but I do think his pacer was pushing the pace a little too much and wasn't as aware of where Taylor was at at this point. 

We all pressed on together and it was at this point that they had slowed down quite a bit and I asked to pass them again. We also passed Jaclyn (the eventual 5th place overall and 2nd woman) and her pacer. I was again finding my groove as I continued drinking the Tailwind and marching on. We were at about 6800 feet high at this point and I could feel it was a tad cooler. The wind blew and gave me a slight chill. Nothing major at least. We all pressed on and got to the next aid station at 55.

I changed both bladders and pressed on. It was just another mile or two of slight uphill and then down from there. Taylor and I talked for a bit as his pacer was getting him supplies as he pressed on and he said that my tattoo reminded him of the Legend of Zelda. Of course I had to tell him that Ocarina of Time is still one of my favoritee games to date (not that I'm a gamer). I could tell that Taylor was fading a bit. This was his 3rd 100 but I had a bit more than he in the tank and left him and didn't see him for the rest of the day.

I pressed on to 63 which was an aid station off this national forest road. The landscape had also drastically changed. Now we were in a burnt down area that was totally exposed. I dumped out my remaining Tailwind to restock only to realize that I only had one extra bag of powder in my pack. I totally thought I had 6 but only 5 which means I basically trashed precious liquid and calories on the ground. I panicked slightly at my foolish mistake and the aid station volunteer offered to take some other form of calories, but I said that would trash my stomach and I'd take a risk - a costly mistake as the next aid station was 10 miles away at 73. 

I refilled and headed out. This was on a horse trail that wasn't too technical. At this point the 50 mile runners were on the same course and I was passing a handful of them which was great motivation. I was being a bit more conservative with my liquids as 10 miles was a ways to go. The good news is it was not hot out and my pack was lighter, so I was able to move with purpose. 

It was about halfway on this section that I ran into a lady who's name I regret not getting. It was one of 3 times I stopped to take a picture of the 3 Sisters. This lady pulled over on the side and had the most angelic smile I may have ever seen. She was totally out there loving life and taking in the entire scenery. There was an energy about her that seemed to go beyond normal life. I guess maybe it was being 60+ miles in at this point and being out here together with another person tackling a major physical and mental challenge that made the experience even better. I was glad to see her at the track later in the day, but that certainly picked up my spirits.

I continued on and on and on and on. This section just went forever. Although a lot of it was downhill, I was always getting my hopes up that I was getting close but it never actually came. Then on another descent I noticed that there were some photographers out there getting some really cool pics. One of the Sisters was directly behind me, and it was amazing.

I pressed on and got to the gravel road. I knew this would lead to 73 and the next aid station. I put the foot on the pedal hard at this point and flew into the aid station. I think Brad was pleasantly surprised at how good I felt. He had made friends with Colin's friends and everyone thought I looked pretty strong. I exchanged packs again and told him about my error 10 miles back but thankfully just scraped long enough to get to the aid station without bonking or running into any major issues.

I popped a second Tylenol and headed out. This next section was not my favorite. It was weaving horse trails between roads. The one cool part is there were some really huge and awesome volcanic rocks here that really caught my eye. I was passing some more 50 mile runners, too. As the sun was disappearing, I tripped and fell on a rock. I got pretty lucky in that I didn't land on anything hard. That was a relief! I pressed on, continued drinking my Tailwind and got to the aid station.

I restocked both bladders, turned on my headlamp, and headed out. This was all downhill and only 5 miles to the next one. I moved with haste here and passed a handful of people. This is also when I took my caffeine pill as it was dark out and I wanted to get a little awake so I didn't trip all of the time. I went down, down, down, connected to the national forest road, and ran on that 

I could see that the aid station was just up ahead. Brad admitted at this point (mile 85) that he had no clue where I was at as the GPS was faultering and they had very strict rules here (Wychus). He had to park on the road which was confusing for runners because it was a huge stream of cars and lights, but I don't actually recall ever seeing the aid station. We exchanged packs again and he said he would see me at 94. This was the worst 10 miles.

Basically it was uphill the entire time on a very gradual national forest road. Up. Up. Up. Slow. Slower. Slowerer. I was getting annoyed it wasn't just straight up. "Why can't I just climb straight up and run flats? Why does it have to be this slow uphill torture? Why did they do this?" It never ended. I would try to run parts and just say forget it. This was probably my slowest section and lowest I had on the day. Once I FINALLY got to the top I was excited that it was going to be downhill. That excitement got crushed.

The next 4 miles was on a rocky horse trail. As a reward for the uphilll and slow slog, I got to run down a messed up horse trail littered with small rocks and boulders. I was beyond annoyed. "All of that slow climbing for this!?" was all I could think of. I walked more of this section than I should have. I was just not having it and the compromise of trying to run and eat it just didn't seem worth it. I kept going on what seemed like a long time. I was also eyeing my watch as I told Brad that I wanted to get sub 18 hours. I lost lots of time on these two segments and was wondering if that was now going to be feasible thanks to this stupid horse trail.

I slogged on and could see lights in the distance. Amazing! I knew this was Cow Camp and the last aid station until the finish. I got in and there were a handful of people there, Brad included. The first thing I said was "that section sucked" and people laughed, though I think some were a little offended at my salty attitude. I consulted with Brad and asked for a new headlamp and that I wanted to get out asap as I just had an hour to get through 4.5 miles. That was a stretch it felt. Brad gave me his headlamp and one bladder and I was out in under 2 minutes probably.

This section was not bad at all. A small uphilll and then it was mostly flat and a slight downhill. I just kept looking at my watch and telling myself that I slaved all day and I wasn't going to get lazy at this point to just miss my goal of sub 18. I kept on ahead and also kept gandering at my watch. I could see some bright lights up in the distance and knew that I was getting to a road section which is like pure gold, especially when you know the next stop is the end of this.

I followed the lights and lost the way. The finish is on a school track at a middle school. Unfortunately I was following the wrong orange flags. I was following a school construction project and not the actual trail. Of all places I got lost, it wasn't on the trails but in the city. It's like running on trails and rarely falling but eating it hard on concrete. Like, how does this happen? I was desperately looking around with my headlamp going in every direction. I could see where I had to end but didn't know how to get there. I said forget it and ran onto the track from where the 110 meter hurdles start w/ the finish being at the the start of the 300 hurdles. 

I ran half a track and surprised everyone. Brad was disappointed as he was expecting me to come the same way as everyone else but I snuck up behind him and everyone else. He told me after that I was the only one who couldn't find the right ending. The race directors attempted to give me a 50 mile finish but I corrected them in that I did not finish 50 but a 100 and got the belt buckle. Although I could've been under 17:40, my little mishap cost me a couple of minutes, so I finished in 17:40 - certainly nothing to complian about.

I was totally delighted. I beat the old course record by more than 20 minutes and finished 4th overall - a testament to the talent that came out this year and the perfect conditions. This was my second fastest 100 ever and had I ran my fastest, I still would've ended 4th. 

Thank you to those that watched along all day. I was so pleasantly surprised how many texts I got from family members and friends at 3 in the morning (their time) and other friends who followed me along all day. The support means the world to me, and I'm so grateful that my two feet allow me to see such wonderful and amazing places. Truly I am blessed.