Here is a link to Chris Boyak's video of the race, great shots and kinda tells the story of the course
http://thescenebegins.wordpress.com/2011/06/22/race-report-2011-big-horn-100/
First off, let me start out saying the Big Horn 100 is a sandbag. Well, at least to me it was a sandbag. I had always looked at it as an “easy” mountain 100 mile race. The elevation profile looked tame, a couple of steep sections most mostly rolling, mellow ups downs, the aid stations pretty close together, and it was an out-n-back, so you could get your head around the whole thing by getting it around half of it.
Others may not see it a s a sandbag. They may see the subtle fact that the climbs, while mostly mellow, go on for a long time, and the descents, while they are numerous, lack consistency of grade and steepness to really let you open it up with minimal work. To prove it wasn’t that bad I asked Tom at breakfast on our way to the race how Big Horn compared to the Bear 100, my first and only 100 miler. He hesitated, paused, and then said something I thought ridiculous “I’d say it’s about the same, maybe 10% easier at most. I thought, ya right, has he even seen the elevation profile? (Funny thing is he has run both races multiple times.) I thought he was sandbagging me.
With all that said, I did expect it to be difficult, just not as much as it ended up being. Challenges were dished out from the course in a big does and from I fought monsters in my body for most of the race.
Going into this, less than 2 weeks after finishing a very hard run Squaw Peak 50, I knew I was not recovered. My legs still felt tight and my muscles hot on most of my runs leading up to the race. My body and mind still felt sluggish and tired almost all the time. I’d been running easy miles and trying to sleep as much a s possible, and was looking forward to my last good night’s sleep on Wednesday night, 2 nights before the race. That’s when I got a text from Cory saying he’d pick me up at 4:00 AM. Who the hell gets up at 4:00 AM when they don’t have to? I was up till midnight packing and up again at 3:30 AM to get ready to leave.
Luckily the race had a 10:00 AM start on Friday, so both Cory and I were able to sleep in and take it easy all morning. Such a weird thing thought to just hang around all morning ready to race. And that is what we did, sat around the park in Dayton getting ready to run the fast, flat five miles up a dirt road and onto the trails into the hills and mountains.
After a beautiful rendition of the national anthem under the stars and stripes we were off up a long dirt road and into a stiff head wind. Tom, Cory and I settled in with a couple of others a few minutes behind the lead pack and a minute or two ahead of the main pack. This is pretty much how it stayed through the whole race, with the exception of the front of the pace getting smaller as people fell off the pace.
I knew I was in for a long day in the first ten steps off the line. My calf felt tight and my Achilles was sore right off the go and didn’t get better in the first few minutes as it usually does. My legs had the familiar tight feeling they had had since Squaw, my breathing felt hard for the pace. We cruised pretty solid up the road and managed a sub 8:00 pace up to the single track section.
As we hit the single track and started up the initial climb I thought things were coming around and felt great running hills and cruising along comfortably. I stayed behind Davey up through this section and he was moving great as well. We passed through an aid station after a bit and Davey said “this is where it gets steep”. I thought, steep? I didn’t think this race had any real steeps sections? Just as we plowed into a hill that had to be a 30% grade. On and on, up and up forever across and open hillside that allowed you to see the leaders way up front and way up the hill. I kept the pace up a bit, felt ok and slowly reeled in a few people in front of me.
The further we climbed, the worse I felt. My legs got worse, my stomach started to act up and by the time we hit the first aid after the climb I felt like I had already run 30 miles and my gut was so bad I almost up-chucked my cup of water. Leaving this aid it was a very beautiful and mellow climb up a green valley, through a bit of a muddy section or two and some snow. Soon enough we were descending a long dirt road into the Dry Fork Aid, a busy place that we would visit 4 times during the race.
I left Dry fork and cruised into the 7 mile out and back we would do once here at mile 17 or so, then again at mile 75 or so. I still felt like crap and just tried to maintain. There were a lot of runners around, in front and a bunch close behind. I was thinking how hard a pace I was having to run to maintain, just to stay with the herd. It was like everyone was at the start of a 50K not a hard 100 miler.
Coming back into Dry Fork, I was still with Tom and Cory and all three of us left the aid flying down a broad, long valley. Right behind us was a lady named Rhonda, who I recognized from the Bear, she had won and set the course record. Just in front was a lady from Seattle named Gwen. Soon Rhonda reeled us in and we caught up to Gwen, the four of us swapped leads and tried to cruise the rolling hills and slogged over and through several creeks and deep mud holes. From this point on I think my feet stayed wet for the rest of the race. Rhonda was really impressive, running all the hills and pulling away from us. At that point Cory and Tom went with her faster pace and I just couldn’t hang on as my stomach was still on the verge of projectile vomiting and my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Gwen had also fallen off the pace and was nowhere in sight behind me.
As they left me, I sank even deeper into the low and started to feel dizzy, and cold sweats. My heart was racing, even at a slow pace and I slowed more to try and get a handle on things. Usually I go through highs and lows in a race this long, I think we all do. But to this point, it had all been pretty much a huge low, other than a few miles on the initial hill. I had serious thoughts about pulling out at the Footbridge aid. I thought there is no way I could endure another 20 plus hours of this.
A few miles later Gwen came by fast, obviously feeling better. I tried to hang on and that seemed to pick me up a bit. I managed to keep her in sight and just kept telling myself to push and stay positive. By the time we reached Bear Camp aid I was right with her and as we pulled in, she asked if I was feeling better and I was a bit. Her next question was “how are you with technical downhills?” I said I love them, but not today. As we left the aid, she said “well we have a huge downhill coming, when you want to pass just ask.” Within a mile or so I felt ok and asked to go by. Things felt pretty good going down toward the huge Tongue River and Footbridge aid. At one point I could see the trail going up river on the other side far below and caught a glimpse of Cory making his way up canyon, having already been through the aid. This section was amazingly pretty, that river is huge and rough and the canyon it flows through lush, steep and green.
Feeling better I picked up my night gear, drank some coke, grabbed a couple of gels and was on the way out for the long 19 mile out and back that would take us 9 miles uphill and up river and then back down to the Footbridge. Gwen Left in front of me and I saw Rhonda just leaving as I pulled in, she said Tom and Cory were about 15-20 minutes up. Within a mile of leaving the aid the low came back with furry. Dizzy, stomach bad, legs wouldn’t work and all and my Achilles was on fire again as it had been most of the race . I thought, get through this out and back, if its still this bad, drop at footbridge. No way am I going through the whole night this sick.
I tried to maintain Gwen’s pace up the long climb. For a few minutes I would feel great, catch up and we would chat, then right back into the depths of hell and I’d fall back. The leader came by about here, many hours ahead of me and at least an hour ahead of second place. They guy was flying, totally unbelievable. The climb up went on forever! That was what made this race so hard. The climbs are not really that steep overall, but they go on for miles and miles. At the Bear, most of the climbs were short and steep, followed by a short and steep downhill on the other side. Here they go forever, then no downhill, just flat or rolling terrain so it is hard to maintain a fast pace. Gwen and I hit the turnaround not far apart and left together. She let me go in front knowing I would be quicker on the long very technical downhill.
Within a mile or so of the turnaround I looked up and saw a very angry looking moose charging head down across the trail about 50 yards in front of me. The hair on its back was standing up and it was running fast through the brush just to my right. I stopped and watch just as Gwen caught up. I pointed it out and she just missed seeing it, she said I was hallucinating. I wasn’t, kinda freaky.
I switched on my lights, put on some music and pushed the downhill as much as I could. It was a long, long way back to Footbridge and the very technical rocky trail and dark night made the going a little slower than I would have liked. I tried to give encouragement and good jobs to the runners still hiking up, and managed to pass a group of 3 guys that had been in front of me all day. I was feeling ok when I hit the Footbridge aid and tried to get in and out quickly. I grabbed my stuff from my drop bag, drank a delicious cup of warm chicken broth, asked for another and was brought a cup of thick beef broth that almost made me hurl as soon as it hit my mouth. There were still a lot of runners in the aid heading up and I felt for the long journey they still had ahead of them up the turn around and back. I had to use the restroom here and hoped that would help the stomach issues, as I came out and got on the trail 2 of the guys I had passed were just in front of me. I caught up and we chatted for a while it was nice to have some company heading into the long steep climb back to Bear Camp.
As we walked uphill, I learned one guy was French Canadian and had a full French accent to go with it and the other was from Oregon. I was behind and they were maintaining a good pace on the steep ups, but walking the flat sections and short downhill rollers. After a few rounds of that I decided I would pass and went off into the night alone. I hadn’t seen Gwen since the moose incident and knew the next runners ahead were Tom and Cory, 30 minutes or so up and the guys behind were soon too far back to even see their lights. Just me, a beautiful full moon night and the trail, just the way I would want it.
Within a few miles my stomach was back on the ropes and I plodded along, unable to eat anything as it would almost come right back up (I refuse to puke in a race, I hate puking, I wont do it on the trail) My food all night was pretty much a Tums every half hour or so as it seemed to calm things down for a few minutes. The other thing I could get down ok was Coke, and at every aid I would drink 3-4 cups. The caffeine and sugar would give me a boost for about 45 minutes to an hour, then right back into to gunk again. I was having very real thoughts about dropping at Dry Fork as hours more of feeling this sick (the kind where if I were at home I would be in the bathroom laying on the floor waiting to puke my guts out) made my head spin. I was also getting very sleepy. As the Coke would wear off, my eyes would get heavy and I had to fight the urge to sit down and rest.
As I plodded along I was listening to Atlas Shrugged to keep my mind off the sick and make the time go by. I was sure I would drop, I was making terrible time I thought and just couldn’t imagine another 30 miles. I had hoped to go under 25 hours, a goal I set when I registered for the race, now I was just hoping to finish and maybe get in before 30. Then I remember something Jim had told me before Bear, he said “don’t drop in the night, when morning comes you will feel better.” So I set that as the goal. Get to the dawn!
The long climb up to Dry Fork was a bit of torture. You can see the aid like a beacon on the hill, all lit up and inviting for a long way off, and it is a long climb to get there. I was climbing with my lights off at this point, it wasn’t really light out, but the full moon and a little morning twilight made it easy enough to see the trail at my slow pace. As I walked into the aid I joked with the volunteers that they must have kept moving the aid back as I came up the hill. I looked back down the long valley and could see no runners behind.
I grabbed some Coke and headed out into a beautiful sunrise on the long 7 mile out and back. On the way out all I could manage was a walk up the long mellow climb. I kept looking at the time and trying to do the math. I had written off dropping with only 25 miles left and didn’t care if it tool all day to get in, but I did the math and thought I might be able to get in around 26 hours, which was my Bear 100 time. With this in mind I started to jog the downhill on the return, then picked it up a bit to a shuffle. I saw a few runners behind me, but way back, so I knew if I could maintain I wouldn’t lose any places, but I really wanted to finish as strong as I could and get in around 26 hours if possible. I did not see Davey in this section, and I was worried for him as he had been close at the last turn around, and I knew he was a strong finisher. I hoped he was ok.
Leaving Dry Fork for the last time I faced a long gradual climb. Getting up it and looking back a mile or so I saw no one behind and had seen no one in front since passing Tom and Cory on the out and back mile ago. It was at this point that the hallucinations started in full force. Every fence post in the distance I thought for sure was someone standing there next to the trail. Every big rock on the side of the trail looked like some sitting there. I thought I saw a bear, it was a huge stump. I thought I saw the aid station, was 100% certain I saw a tent and 3 people standing outside just at the top of the hill in front of me. It was a rock and two trees. On and on at every twist in the trail some new mind game. It got to be fun to see what my brain would dish out next. When I realized that what I thought for sure was real wasn’t I’d smile and say to myself, next.
I went through the last real aid station, I knew it was real because the guy talked to me and gave me water and Coke. And made the steep short climb back up to the top of the high ridge where the course drops back down to the road and the last 5 miles to the finish. I still had the 26 hour goal alive and looking at my watch, thought, if I can get to the road with an hour and a half left I can make 26 hours. I remember Davey saying he runs this downhill hard, and I wanted to do that if I could. I took a big shot of gel, the first in many hours, knowing it would make me feel sick again, but not caring as I was almost done. A big breath, some harsh self talk to get me motivated and I plunged down the hill. Kinda rough and herky jerky at first, but soon I found a rhythm. I couldn’t belive it, I don’t know where it came from, but I was flying downhill!! Hoping rocks, bombing the straight sections, dancing over ruts and roots, blasting through deep mud holes. I past a few guys hiking up and they gave me huge cheers saying I was moving twice as fast as the several runners they had seen in front of me. That gave my encouragement and I ran even harder. I hit an aid station about 2/3 of the way down and knew that the road and those last five hellish miles were close. I looked at my watch and thought, if I flew I would hit the road at just over 24 hours and could possibly still make my goal! I was shocked at my pace.
The last bit before the road had some good rollers and, in searing pain, I would grit my teeth and blast up them as hard as I could. I flew into the last aid where the trail meets the road to huge cheers and encouragement about my pace. I said I felt weak, but was putting on a good show for them.
As I left the last aid and gave the lady checking us out my number, 1147, looked at my watch and saw I had 50 minutes to make my sub 25 goal! 5.1 miles in 50 minutes on a rolling dirt road at the end of a very tough 100 miles. I was going to give it every ounce I had!! I ran hard down the initial downhill, passing a runner who had been a head of me all day. I hit the flatter section and kept the hammer down. I was desperately flipping through songs on my Ipod to keep me going hard. The pain was unbelievable. I just kept telling myself, don’t quit, don’t walk, don’t give in, go like hell. On and on the road went, over a roller, gotta be getting close, then a car in the distance, discouragement, then don’t quit, don’t walk, don’t give in and I’d keep going hard to the next corner and the next roller. The short uphills were total pain and I’d give 110% to get over them as quick as I could. On a long straightaway a little girl road out into the road on a bike with popsicles in her basket on the front. She offered me one, sweet, but I said no thanks, she wanted to talk and I did for a minute, then I said sorry, but I gotta get this done, but can I borrow your bike? I asked how far to go, she said 3 miles, I had already been running down the road for over 20 minutes. That almost made me Quit. It was all I had to keep going. A few minutes later I could see a woman walking toward me. As I got nearer, she was clapping, cheering and jumping up and down screaming keep running! Keep running! That is what I needed! She ran next to me for a bit, I recognized her from the dry fork aid, she had been there helping out, and encouraged me, saying I was closing fast on two in front as they were walking. I was scared to ask, but I said how far. She said less than 2 miles. Oh thank you! closer than I thought.
Coming around a bend I saw traffic on the highway we would intersect with. I knew I was close. My watch said I had 11 minutes. I knew I had to push hard just in case I was off at all with the race clock. As the highway neared, more and more people were on the side of the road cheering like I was there son. I was so appreciative of it, it gave me a huge boost when I needed it most. I started slapping hands with them as I went by. Then a huge crowd and I saw the bridge I had to cross right before coming into the park. I slapped hands with all of them, crossed the bridge, then the highway and I was turning into the park with a few minutes to spare. I felt the emotions come on strong and wished I had sunglasses to hide the tears that flowed involuntarily. As I came into sight of the finish I could hear Tom and Cory whistling loudly. A few more strides, through the line, and it was over! I was under 25 hours, I had run the last 5 miles of a 100 mile race in just over an 8:50 pace. I was totally over come. I couldn’t believe I had even finished as rough as it was. With the exception of the last 8-9 miles and a few other short stretches here and there the whole race had been a painful low. I had been sick and weak and fought it the whole way. Next to Speedgoat in ’09, this was the hardest race physically and mentally of any. I think it was some Speedgoat advice I had read once that got me through it, he said running a 100 miles is really just about being stubborn. I think it was just a stubborn unwillingness to give in that got me through this one. As hard as it was, I think I feel this is one of my best races. I met my goal. Laid it all out and gave it 100% of what I had to give that day all the way through. I never let myself quit or give in and I finished stronger than I thought I had in me with a 110% effort. I learned more in this one than most of my other races combined. They say running a 100 miles changes you, well, maybe, maybe not, but I know I went through things out there in this race that will make me a better person and gave me a place of strength that I know I can draw from for the rest of my life. If you even are thinking about running a hundred miles someday, I encourage you to do it. There is a magic in that distance that you can’t find in many places.
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