Standing in the post race grub line on Saturday afternoon waiting for some of Leland Barker’s fresh cooked trout, my buddy Phil Lowry asked “so when did you give up on a sub 24 hour finish?” I answered “At the start of the race.”
Going into the Bear 100, I knew I had a sub 24 hour run in me, in fact I thought I could, on a totally perfect day run around 23 hours. I knew I had the fitness and, with two hundred mile races complete, I wasn’t a veteran, but had a good idea how to get the job done and avoid mistakes. I knew sub 24 would require a good day and anything better would need to be exceptional.
Truth be told, I didn’t totally give up on a sub 24 at the start line, I just knew it wasn’t likely, and I wasn’t going to blow myself up trying to get more out of my body than it had to give. It started Friday night, as I tried to go to sleep my stomach was in knots, not nervous knots, but the crampy, kind of nauseous knots. I slept ok, but woke up several times feeling pretty ill. When my alarm went off, I got up and started my normal breakfast routine, which made things progressively worse. I sat back in the driver’s seat and tried to relax. I had no idea what was wrong. I had thoughts of not starting. A trip to the restroom helped. Three more helped greatly. I took two S-caps, and within 15 minutes, that seemed to mellow me out to the point I felt ok to start. The clock was ticking and I had to make one more trip to the throne. Coming out, it was one minute to start. I hadn’t checked in yet with all the personal issues, but I figured it’s the Bear 100, it’s a laid back race no big deal.
As I stood at the back of the huge crowd waiting for the go, I didn’t feel any of the excitement I typically feel on race morning. I felt flat. No nerves, no amp, too relaxed, like ready to crawl back in bed. I never heard a countdown or the word go, just saw the surge of people in front of me so I was off and racing.
The crowd I was around was walking, so I pulled out to the side and ran past a bunch of people, moving up to about mid pack or so. As we turned the corner I could see a huge crowd of runners up the road in front of me. Too many and too far out front to pass before we hit the single track, when there would be no passing for the length of the first climb. I thought about how many runners were up there in front of me, how many I would eventually have to pass if I were to get a respectable overall place, how I wanted to feel a spark, to gun it hard up the road and fall in with the front of the pack. There wasn’t the spark, there wasn’t the lift, I was feeling worked even maintaining the easy pace I was at. I was content to settle in and see what the day brought. Just then I ran up behind my buddy go fastie Jon, who was running his first hundred and we walked and ran together to the first aid station.
After the first aid station I started to feel a bit of a lift and ran the low grade climb up to the first descent. I cruised into the big drop and felt better this year than I remember feeling last year. I had a great time flying down the rocky road that eventually turned into some sweet single track. I managed to pass five or six people on the way down to Lethem Hollow aid and pulled in feeling very relaxed and much better, said hi to the guy running the aid, Cody who I would see 50 miles later as he paced me the last 25 miles. He asked how I was feeling, I said better, I knew I was still way back in the pack and I could sense from the tone of the question Cody was concerned that I was not on my game and not feeling well. I was about 10 minutes behind my time to this point from last year, and much further back in the field.
I ran the road up to Richard’s Hollow, passing a couple more runners here, filled up at the aid, getting passed by a couple of folks in the process and was off up the beautiful section of single track that made up the next 6 miles or so. I walked up the initial section and started running. I ran almost all of the next several miles up the shallow climb with a few steeper sections mixed in. Passed a couple more runners here, and I caught up to two women who had passed me in the aid station and we ran together up to the last steep climb before dropping down to Cowley aid.
I knew the next 16 miles or so would be blazing hot. I knew I was a little behind on my hydration. I knew I had to pee, sort of. So what did I do? Cruised up to the aid table, handed off my bottles to get filled, shoved down some watermelon and left in a panicky hurry. Stupid. I stopped 30 yards out to water the bushes and managed to trickle out a dark yellow/brown stream. Stupid. Instead of going 30 yards back and tanking down some water, I had the brilliant idea that I would just drain my bottles on the short, steep climb and cruise the downhill to the next aid while my body absorbed the water. Stupid.
I downed my bottles in the first 15 minutes, which left me with an hour or more to go, in the heat, with no water, already dehydrated. On the hot, long downhill into Right Hand fork I could feel my mouth go totally dry, my body got hotter and hotter and I knew I was in trouble. I sucked every last drop out of my bottles. I slowed down to lower my heart rate and stop sweating so much. I was totally ticked at myself.
Luckily as I pulled into to aid I heard the familiar whistle of Cory Johnson. He had come up to pace Matt and was at the aid. He asked how I was feeling; I told him I was bone dry and hot. He went to work, getting me 8 consecutive cups of water, filling both of my water bottles and making me down both full of ice water. He then filled my bottles again, shoved them in my waist pack, stuffed two huge slices of watermelon in my hands and kicked me out. I still felt horrible. I walked slowly out of the aid up the hill past a good crowd and on to the next hot section of trail.
I started feeling a bit better and managed to run a good bit of the climb up to mud flat, passing a few more runners along the way. I drank all of my water on the way up, knowing there would be a water station at the top of the climb. I filled up here, drank one bottle and took another with me. I had plowed down 140 oz of water in the last hour and a half and still had no urge to pee at all, which is odd for me, usually water goes right through me.
The run down to Temple Fork was rough. My legs felt horribly stiff and sore. My energy was really low, and I had no pep at all. I just plodded along at a ridiculously slow pace. My hip/top of quad area had been nagging a little all race and it was really starting to flare up coming down the dirt road. Pre race plan was to be at Temple Fork before 3 PM, which would put me at Tony Grove, a little over half way, before 5 PM, or under 11 hours, which would have given me a good cushion in the last half to go sub 24. I was already after 3 and I was still a ways out from Temple. This only added to the low I was in. I pulled into Temple Fork aid at 3:30 or so and was way behind my last year’s split and way off my goal times. I tried to remind myself that it was ok, that I was here to give it what I had on the day, and felt like I was doing that to this point.
Just as my positive self talk started to take hold, I looked up from the water table and there was Cory again and my friend Brian. Brian said, “you look really hot, are you feeling ok?, you had better sit down.” Cory said “you look like hell, worse than last time, are you drinking?” I said yes, and thought, I feel rough, but not as bad as they seem to think I look. Cory filled up my bottles and said something about not getting so caught up chasing a sub 24 that I don’t finish the race….. did I really look that bad? He walked along with me as I stumbled through the parking lot, headed out of the aid and toward the second longest climb on the course, a nice 2500 plus footer that would take me from the Hwy 89 to above Tony Grove, then a short downhill to the aid station. Cory handed me two 12 oz water bottles to drink in addition to my regular two I was carrying. Again, he asked if I was alright, I think I grunted something and crossed the highway to the authoritative commands of the Utah Highway Patrol.
I walked the walk of the dead up the first 30 feet. Feeling absolutely horrible, my gut hurt, my legs felt like led, my head was spinning, my breathing was wheezy and it seemed I coughed with every breath. A bit up the hill I saw my friend BJ’s mom, who is ultra running’s #1. She had been out on course all day taking pictures and she held up the camera to take mine at that moment. I said no pictures now. I hope I didn’t snap or come off rude. I just didn’t want the low I was in documented in any way.
I quit ultra running four times on that climb up to Tony Grove. I DNF’d at least twice, I swore off hundred mile races forever, I wanted to get in a car, get a chocolate shake, plop down in front of a tv and never move until I had gained 50 pounds. I wanted to go home. I wanted to play with my kids. I wanted more than anything not to be on that climb, walking up that damn hill, getting passed by runners, trying to eat slimey gel and drink warm water. I knew it was a long climb. I knew it would take one-hour-and-forty-five minutes of hard work before I would see the top. I knew it, and even though I was only an hour in, every false summit I thought for sure was the top. I thought every turn was the one that would drop me into the pines and down to the aid where I could quit, go home and eat a whole pizza. I sipped on the water Cory gave me, I went through my pockets, I found the mini flashlight I had started with, yet didn’t need and forgot to put in a drop bag at an aid station as I hurried through. I considered how that thoughtless hurry had put me in the state I was is in. I chucked the flashlight in the bushes. I had quit, I was done forever. I was way behind where I wanted to be and losing ground by the minute.
It was the thought of quitting and going home to my family that actually pulled me back, that made me decide that I could finish, that I had to get out of the funk and move forward. I couldn’t stand the thought of telling my 11 year old that I quit because it was hard. Or all the questions my 3 year old would have about why didn’t have a metal. More water, more gel and I wound the pace up a little more. I started to push just a little and soon caught up to a runner who had passed me. We crossed the top and started the short descent into Tony Grove.
As I pulled up the aid station I noticed it was full of friendly faces. Jon’s crew was there, as they had been at every stop all race. A good friend from Ogden was there to pace. Brian was there and told me I looked 110% better than the last time he saw me. That helped. Within a minute I was seated in a chair being crewed 6 people. One got a drop bag, someone filled my bottles and brought over a plate of fruit. I asked if they had pretzels and was told no. Next thing I know, my friend Ryan had a full bag parked next to me. Someone brought me Coke and water cups, someone got my towel wet so I could clean my feet as I changed shoes. Someone refilled my fruit plate and Coke cups. Someone repacked my drop bag. I realized I hadn’t put enough gel in my drop bag and BJ from Jon’s crew pulled out a huge bin and asked how many I needed and what flavor. Unbelievable! I had no crew, yet was being taken care of like I was an elite runner with a professional pit crew. Inexpressible gratitude for all the help, thanks fellas.
I ran about 2/3’s of the climb out of Tony Grove and ran pretty solid all the way into Franklin Basin, where many of the same people again crewed me like I was a rock star. Cody was there, finishing up the last bit of work he was doing for the race. He walked me out of the aid and I told him I would see him in about 3 hours at Beaver Mountain. Lights on and off into the new dark night with no one in sight in front or behind. I felt like I moved well through the next section. Catching and passing several runners with pacers. At one point I could see a ways behind me and caught a glimpse of two lights moving fast and closing in. I knew it had to be Tom and his pacer Kasey. They are both good friends and I was excited to maybe run with them, but knew if Tom caught me, he would be gone. The guy can close out a hundred better than just about anyone.
The trail from Franklin Basin to the next aid at Logan River is a bit tedious. Starts with a pretty solid climb, then rolls up and down for a few miles. The night was dark, with no moon, and I kept mistaking stars near the horizon for runner’s lights in front of me and thinking I still had a lot of climb ahead. Soon enough though I rounded a corner and found myself on the familiar rough dirt road that leads down to the aid station. In years past, the aid has been right at the bottom of the road, set back in the trees with tons of Christmas lights, tiki torches, roaring fire, the whole deal. Not this year, they moved it down the road to more easily handle the number of runner’s crew that would be on course. It was kinda creepy to run past that spot and find it so dark and quite. On the half mile road down to the Logan River crossing and location of the new, much colder, aid station I passed Jeff, walking slowly and shivering badly. I stopped for a minute to see if he needed anything, he was ok, but most likely done with the race. I tried to encourage him to sleep it off for a bit and finish.
I rolled into the Logan River aid right with Tom’s dog, Gator, who usually paces him through the previous section. He was full of energy and sporting a nice LED light attached to his collar. I knew Tom was right behind me at that point. I grabbed a few things at the aid, said hi to Tom and his wife and left to cross cold river right behind two other runners. As soon as we crossed, I looked back and saw Tom and Kasey just leaving the aid station. I asked if I could go around the two guys in front who were walking and as I did I found I could easily run the shallow incline of a trail. I ran most of the way up to the high point where the trail takes a steep, very rocky drop down to Beaver Mountain ski resort. I looked back at that point and even with the long sight distance, could see no runners behind. I started into the descent and my legs felt crumby, just couldn’t get them to turn over. I knew I was moving too slow, but just couldn’t get a solid run going. I noticed two lights in front of me and quickly passed a runner and pacer. It looked like the guy was pretty cooked, walking very slowly downhill.
That’s one thing about this course that seems to bite a lot of people. The downhill sections are almost all very long, very technical, and steep. Many runners cook their quads pretty fast at the Bear. Even some of the front runners found themselves walking the last descent as they just didn’t have anything left in their legs for the long downhill pound.
Eventually the nasty trail spills out onto the pavement and it’s a half mile or so from there up to Beaver Mountain lodge. As I started up the road I looked back and saw lights just coming out of the trees. I knew it was Tom and Kasey, so I turned off my lights, no sense giving them a target to chase. I couldn’t believe how dark it was out. With no moon, I could barely make out the white line on the road. Pretty quickly though I had to turn on the lights as the route made a sharp right onto a dirt road that climbed up to the lodge.
It’s strange to have been outside running through the heat, dark and cold all day and half the night, then come into the bright lights and warm building of Beaver. I can see how this place trapped me for 30-40 minutes last year. It’s easy to get in there and not want to leave. As I pulled in, Cody was there and ready to roll! I sat down on the bench, only second time I had been off my feet in 75 plus miles, and switched out some junk and was ready to go pretty quickly.
As Cody and I left the Lodge, it seems I remember wandering off in the wrong direction a couple of times and Cody pulling me back, telling me that I had a tour guide now and he would keep me going in the right direction. We made our way across the big open meadow and had three lights following close behind. One was Josh (JSH on the blog) the other two were Tom and Kasey, and I was about to get passed for the first and what would be the only time since mile 47 or so.
Tom came up behind me and I stopped dead and told him jokingly to get the hell out of there and get up the trail and go get his sub 24. He laughed, encouraged me on and was off. Cody navigated me to a much needed “star” stop at a hidden little outhouse just off the trail and Josh went by us at that point. As Cody and I got going again, he encouraged me to run the flat to mellow uphill grade of the road and we did, eventually catching up to, and encouraging Josh to come along. He said he was in a bad patch and needed to walk a bit. He eventually rallied and stayed pretty close to us the rest of the way up.
The climb to Gibson Basin seemed to go on forever. It’s the same vertical gain as the climb out of Brighton at Wasatch and it comes at about the same mileage. The difference is the grade is mellower so it goes on for miles and it is still steep and technical enough that it would be tough to run most of it. Getting into the aid station I noticed a runner or two sitting by the fire. Cody and I were pretty much in and out, grabbing some coke and warm soup broth. I pretty much ran the last 40 miles of the race on Coke, soup broth and a little fruit here and there. Once in a while Cody would remind me to eat and I would reluctantly gag down a mouthful of EFS Liquid Shot. At each aid station I would fill one bottle with Coke and drink it between stops.
I felt pretty good on the downhill into Beaver Creek, the second to last aid station. I put on my tunes for the descent and that seemed to give me a lift and get me moving. We moved pretty well I think (I’m sure it was dreadfully slow to a fresh and fast Cody) and caught up to Phil Lowry in the aid, he had passed us on the climb to Gibson after taking a long stop at Beaver Mountain to get his stomach back in working order. Funny, I had told Phil, who starts an hour early to check the course marking, the night before that if I saw him during the race he was having a really bad day or I was having a really good day. I guess he was having a bad day, because I wasn’t having a good day.
We left Beaver Creek before Phil, who passed us quickly, and started the long climb up toward Ranger Dip, the last aid station. I was so fortunate to have Cody with me here. I walked right past a critical turn and he caught it right away. If I would have been alone I am sure I would have wandered for hours out there. We made the turn onto the rough dirt road and climbed forever. Cody was a freaking machine, talking about all kinds of stuff, it was exactly what I needed as it kept my mind off the suffering.
We crested the hill and started the rolling descent toward the aid, catching up to a couple of runners on the way. One of them was walking painfully down every hill and I think Cody made a deal with the guy to sell him his quads. At this point a sub 24 was long gone, but Cody tried to rally me to a sub 25 at least. I thought it sounded good, but the way I was feeling, my heart just wasn’t in it. I motored along with what I had, which was mostly a walk to a slow shuffle.
The climb out of Ranger Dip was a steep and nasty as I remember it. Cody prowled around in the trees, eventually producing a couple of decent walking sticks that seemed to help haul my corpse up the hill. When we crested the top, I took off my warm clothes and put my tunes back on to prepare for the horrendous 3000ft straight down, rocky, loose, nasty drop that would land us 1.9 miles from the finish. Last year I went down this in the early morning light, this year it was dark. I remember thinking last year how bad it would suck to go down that hill in the dark, and yep, it sucked! My Ipod died 15 minutes in, so my stellar pacer used the speaker on his phone and played us some good tunes to get us out of there. We passed one more runner/pacer right at the bottom of the big nasty and grunted up over the last little climb and spit out on the gravel road that would take us to the finish line.
We were so close to a sub 25! Not that it mattered; there is no prize for sub 25. Cody did all he could to get me there. Coaxing me hard into running a faster pace, even begging for a sub 10 minute mile. I just wasn’t there, my hip was absolutely killing me, my energy was low and I didn’t have it. My goal had been sub 24, and the sub 25 just didn’t spark me. It was twilight, but the sun hadn’t come up yet, Cody said something about let’s see if we can beat the sunrise and that motivated to me a bit, I don’t know if I ran faster, but I wanted to beat the sun.
Coming down the last little stretch to finish banner, the sun was still below the horizon and no one was around. I heard a few cheers and my name and looked over to see one of my sisters, my dad and step mom at the finish. It was so good of them to come out in the cold early morning to cheer me in, meant a lot to me for them to be there. Such a strange thing though, to come into the finish, just Cody and I, my family, and a couple of old guys running the radios. We finished to no fan fare at all. I guess it’s fitting that the back of the packers get the loudest finishing cheers at these races, they work harder than anyone else out there.
I spent a good hour sitting my sister’s car with the heat on full blast and eating a yummy sausage and egg breakfast that my dad was nice enough to go pick up for us. I was excited to be done, but still felt flat and a little disappointed that it wasn’t an A game race. It’s still a hundred miles, and despite feeling off for a good part of it, I had still managed a good time, I got passed only once in the last 55 miles of the race, and took time off my last year’s finish, so I am calling it a success. I spent the next several hours in and out of cat naps in my sleeping bag and enjoying seeing other runners finish. I had several friends who were running their first 100. I had thought about them all through the race and was hoping all was going well and that they were on track to finish. I was going to stay at the finish until every one of them came in. Happy to say they all made it in, even Celeste who pulled the same thing as last year, sneaking in DFL with only minutes to spare to the cutoff.
I learned a lot out there again. I read somewhere that you learn more about yourself in one hundred miler than you could in 5 years of regular living. I don’t know that the ratio is correct, but there is a lot to be gained from doing more than seems possible, pushing through when you think you can’t and putting it out there to succeed or fail. That personal insight can be gained in many ways, but a hundred miles on the go seems to bring it into sharp , clear focus. | 
