Dipping Below, The Bear 100 Race Report

Driving down I-15 through the foothills of the continental divide, I was almost out of gas.  Monida is one of those towns that incorporates two states’ names just because it’s on the border, and Idahontana doesn’t quite sound the same.  It’s also one of those towns that has no services.  I had ten miles to go to Spencer, and let off the gas on the downhills, just trying to conserve and make it.  It was kind of a thrill seeing the marker dip below the red line.  The area between the red line and empty is a mental game, with what ifs? coming about each millimeter that the bar dips below.  I was entirely ready to run 20 miles, ten of them carrying a gallon of expensive, middle of nowhere gas.

                We finally made it to the pump, one of those 1950’s lift-the-bar up and pay inside pumps, at a gas station selling opals but no food.  Adriana Mckenzie was copilot, and was about to attempt her first hundred miler.  I had run the course before, but a hundred miles is always daunting.  I knew what I was getting myself into, but felt ill prepared from a lack of sleep (school related).  Adriana didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and knew it.  Her only training had been through prolific racing, sometimes twice in one weekend, and volleyball. 

                At the prerace meeting, I found a kitten.  Or, the kitten found me.  Sometimes events can be rendered into signs, and I wasn’t sure what the world was trying to tell me.  Be cuddly?  Land on all fours?  It probably didn’t mean anything, but it sure felt offnote with the rest of the race.  It didn’t make me feel like I was going to traverse 100 miles of mountains the next day. 

                I met up with former Montanan, defector to Colorado, John Fitzgerald, and we secured a camping spot in an RV park next to some folks whom I presume were homeless.  Mark McCrackin’ was his name, or something like that, and he wanted to know if we knew anyone who makes stained glass.  We let him on to our race tomorrow, and throughout the night he kept asking, “Ya nervous?”  Yes, hell yes I was nervous.  100 miles still hasn’t entered my mind as something I’m capable of.  It’s something I’ve done, but it’s not something that I could say I’ll be able to do anytime, anywhere.  Mark McCrackin’ was not making me feel any better.

                Come the start of the race, I immediately felt that we went out too fast.  Luke Nelson charged ahead, with a few others opting for the suicidal race pace, and I hung back somewhere in the teens with Jason Koop just ahead, Anna Frost just behind.  Some guy was chatting with Anna, and it seemed to be mostly him talking, but after a while it sounded like Anna finally got some breathing room from her admirer.  Silence behind, silence ahead.  I just focused on staying with Jason Koop, and we let a few guys fly past us on the first big descent around mile 15 or so.  There was still a long way to go, and a lot of time to make up ground.

                Around mile 28, Jason put some distance on me, and it was getting warm enough that I really felt like just surviving, not running.  I passed a few guys having issues on the way to Temple Fork, and caught glimpses of Anna behind every now and then, staying steady.  At every stream crossing, I stopped to wet my cotton shirt, but it seemed to only keep me cool for ten or so minutes before the heat crept back.  My splits from two years ago started to slowly gain time on my run, and I found myself passed by a spritely but serious Anna on the climb up to Tony Grove.  I was passing the red line already, unable to deal with the heat.

                Past Tony Grove, a strange thing happened for only the third time in my life--a nose bleed.  I tried pinching it and leaning back slightly, but this didn’t really work while running.  So, with no one else around to gross out, I let it gush.  It stopped after only a few minutes, but had me worried that something wasn’t right.  My shorts had gained some pretty awesome looking blood marks, though.  This happened once more at sunset, around mile 65 or so.  I have no idea what caused it, but it freaked me out a bit since I rarely get nose bleeds.  Accumulated stress, I’m guessing.  My last nose bleed prior to this happened while I was pulled over by a cop for a broken tail light.  I tend not to deal with stress, and every now and then it shows in some unexpected form.  The Bear was doing me in.

                A few hours into night, just after leaving the mile 88 aid station, my head lamp started to fade, quickly.  I decided to wait for the runner behind me, run with him and use his more powerful headlamp as a guide.  It was raining now, and I could see well enough with my dim headlamp to run, but not well enough that I felt confident about not missing a marker.  On the hill above Ranger Dip we encountered our first bit of the course falling apart.  Midstride running down a hill, the hill decided to run with me, and I started to slide until landing on my butt.  This was going to be a rough finish.  We started walking sections that were muddy, because running them would just result in a tumble.

                Ranger Dip saved what was left of my race with the spare batteries they had in stock.  I’ve never been so thankful for an aid station, or needed one so much.  I thought I would be walking until daybreak without a better light.  The last stretch was a bit muddy by now, but nothing compared to what the back of the pack saw.  Running in the middle of the ruts seemed to provide more traction, but it was still a little slow going since I really didn’t want to take a bad fall with only a few miles left.

                Somehow, I made it.  And really, my race went fairly well all things considered.  I didn’t puke or have any GI distress, or get lost, or blow up.  It was more of a slow fade into survival.  Don’t get another nose bleed, don’t fall again (one runner got a puncture wound from falling on a stick), don’t let your headlamp die.  Just make it in under a day.  And the finish line is exactly where the tank will hit empty.  Just conserve enough gas, take the downhills easy and the uphills easier, to get to the finish. 

                I have a huge amount of respect for those that had to deal with more of the mud and more of the rain.  My biggest adversary was the heat, but had I raced much longer rain would have trumped heat as a bigger rival.  This was my first experience dealing with difficult race conditions.  Things can get tough out there!  I feel that I learned more from this year’s race than from the 2012 Bear 100, run in benign weather.

A few take aways for my next 100:

Pack an extra headlamp battery if you’ll be in the dark for more than 6 hours!

If possible, use ice, rather than just cold water, in warm weather

Hokas are great, except in mud.  Bring mud shoes if mud is likely.

Have a nutrition plan and stick to it—my body doesn’t always know when best to eat or drink

Don’t carry what you won’t use (I had about 1,000 calories of unused food in my pack at the finish line)

Invest in a nice rain shell—wind jackets can only sustain so much heavy rain before it soaks through

Running with Dustin Simeons, circa mile 36

MUD!