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
