Back in the 1970s and 1980s marathons were the big thing. Then 100 milers sprung up until there were 115+ in the United States alone. Suddenly 200 milers have exploded onto the scene, with the Grand Slam of 200s having its inaugural year in 2015. I'm going to run all of them that I possibly can in 2015, attempting to set the world record for most 200+ mile races in a year.
This weekend I intend to set a personal record for the 200 mile distance. If I don't, it will join the other 3 times I tried to make it that far in a race and came home with nothing to adorn my belt. The cutoff at Tom Bunk 200 is only 60 hours. Although I came close to that at Pigtails 200 this year, Ken Michal and I finished together with some extra minutes tacked onto the 60 hour mark.
With such a task before me, I reflect on what happened the 3 times I failed to make it to the 200 mile mark in a race. Hopefully I can learn from my mistakes.
The first time I tried to make it 200 miles was Across-the-Years 72-hour (2013/14). My whole family drove to Phoenix in a rented RV, but my wife (Tawnya) had to drive the whole way because I couldn't open my eyes without throwing up. A minor cold had left a viral infection on my vestibular nerve, causing an episode of vertigo that took about 2 months to heal.
In the days before the race, I couldn't move. I stayed in bed all day, muscles atrophying, eyes closed and unable to eat or drink. I got a little better each day. By the day before the race, I was finally able to walk around and went on a test jog with Tawnya and her sister Priscilla. So I made the decision to go for it.
Aunt Marti reaches to support me as I start to fall over
My first shoe change happened at mile 5. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was the fact that I couldn't run in a straight line. Second shoe change at mile 15. As I was changing my shoes a third time at mile 25, I realized it wasn't the shoes. I was simply too wobbly from the vertigo. I was getting blisters from constantly leaning back and forth.
We jumped back in the RV and went camping at White Tanks with the kids. They had a great time, except when that jumping cholla got Kevin. Yikes!
I did come back for day 3 of the event and made it to 100 miles to get the buckle, but it was ugly. I did something that night that I had never done before and hope to never do again. I still can't believe the human stomach can hold that much.
Solution: Don't get a virus. You might be tempted at some point, but resist it.
My second DNF almost happened at Across the Years 2014/15. At mile 170, I pulled a muscle in the lower right shin when I stepped in a hole while grabbing something out of the car at night. Suddenly I couldn't bend my foot up or down. It was cold, and snowed briefly at one point. I pulled my hoodie over my head so nobody could see me crying as I limped around the 1-mile loop. I wasn't going to quit. Not with only 30 miles left. Eventually I figured out a way to jog without really bending my right foot and made it to 200. Make that 207. I had to go a little farther than Geoffrey and Cory who had finished 1 and 2 days prior. Deano, I'm going after that 230 this year!
Razorback course option 1 is a 2-mile loop around
the flat field at the bottom of this photo.
Failure #2 happened at the end of February at Razorback, which is just half an hour from our home in San Jose. I had run a second 200 in January at Icarus Florida UltraFest Spring, which was all paved. ATY is not exactly paved, but the surface is very hard. After 400+ miles of hard surfaces in January, I developed an overuse injury called Sesamoiditis in my left foot. It feels like a bruise inside your big toe pad. But instead of resting, I kept training and even ran Sean O'Brien 100k on February 7.
The second course option at Razorback is to do a 6-mile
loop up in the hills, with tons of climbing and descending.
Here are my kids doing a course preview.
When it came time for Razorback 3 weeks later, I felt fine. Unfortunately, by mile 100 every step of my left foot felt horrible. At the time I didn't know what was wrong. I thought something was cutting off my circulation. Retrospectively, I should have skipped Sean O'Brien and should have powered through the pain anyway. But ... my wife was there in a warm cozy sleeping bag in a tent and once I joined her, it was over. They say "beware the chair". I say "beware cuddling up with your wife at mile 100 of a 200". Solution: No wives or girlfriends (or husbands or boyfriends) allowed in cozy tents next to a loop course. Also, don't ignore Ed Ettinghausen when he tells you to skip the 100k and rest your darn foot. Third, it's going to hurt when you run 200 miles. Deal with it! Failure #3 is the one that breaks my heart. I already signed up for Bigfoot 200 in 2016 to redeem myself. It hurt the most because it means I didn't get to finish the first "Grand Slam of 200s", as Race Director Candice Burt was calling it at the time. I did everything wrong at Bigfoot. The time between Colorado 200 and Bigfoot 200 was less than 3 weeks, so I decided not to run at all between the two. Oh how I wish I had tested my gear after Colorado ... Twenty-five miles in at Bigfoot, I started getting a heel blister. My shoes felt very tight. I had some other shoes in drop bags but they were even tighter. I had the blister popped, cleaned, and taped. But it was back at the next aid station, so I had to do it all again. Every aid station was the same story. No shoes fit and the blister kept coming back. One solitary blister was ruining my weekend. Despite that, I still had fun getting lost in some brush with Tina Ure, as shown in this video:
Somewhere around mile 70 or 80, I did something incredibly stupid. I got a scissor and cut the blister wide open. I clipped away all the dead skin and smiled. How could the accursed thing come back again after that? Ha!
Joel Gat and Mika Thewes witnessed my mental collapse firsthand.
That day I learned that if you keep doing the same thing, the blister will come back. The delicate pink skin under the original blister bubbled up to become a much more painful blister. Approaching mile 100 during the long night, I entered a loop of negative thoughts. I just couldn't figure out a way to go another 100 miles when every single step felt like a red hot knife jabbing my heel. By mile 100, I had lost the game mentally. I had been trying to prevent my right heel from toughing the ground for an entire day, and could feel the imbalance in my leg muscles and joints. It was too late. I still wish I had just gone for it anyway. It's just pain and bloody socks, right? I dropped at mile 100.
This amazing view made the trip worthwhile despite the DNF.
Solution: Take care of your feet. Get rid of those huge calluses. Don't assume the gear you wore in the last race is going to be in the same condition at the next one, especially if your shoes have been through multiple cycles of wet and dry.
Going into Tahoe 200 I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to run any more 200s this year. I lost a 200 at Razorback in March because of Sesamoiditis pain. I lost a 200 at Bigfoot in August because of overconfidence and not checking my gear (shoes shrunk after Colorado 200). I lost a 200 at Potawatomi because my dad was in a medically induced coma (he's mostly fine now).
So going into Tahoe, I had 5 200s in the trailing year, but last year's Tahoe 200 dropped off the calendar so I was back down to just 4. Depressing! But Tahoe went so well. Running with Ace and Joel and Geoff and Rick was a ton of fun, and Rick and I ended up tying for 5th place overall, knocking off 8 hours from last year's time and coming close to hitting 3 days even (3 days, 0 hours, X minutes).
But all this travel and post-race exhaustion has taken a toll on my time with family, work, house projects, and have you seen a yard that hasn't even been looked at in a year? We have one. I wasn't going to do any more unless my wife and boss both said yes. Surprisingly, they did. So here we go again!
We start off with Tom Bunk 200, a 22-lap race in Wisconsin with a 60-hour cutoff. I've never made it 200 miles in 60 hours, but I could have at Pigtails and this race is very similar. Things will have to go well but I know it's within my abilities. A short week later, and it's off to Florida for Icarus. I chose the 6-day option so there's no pressure after tBunk. Also, maybe I can beat Joel Gat. ;)
There are only 10 entrants so far in the 200 at tBunk, but that's pretty normal for that race. Only 2 signed up for the Dec 28 start of the 72 hour at ATY, but that's also normal since most people want to run "Across the Year". I had to choose that one to prevent any overlap with my first 200 of the year, last year's Dec 31 start.
I hope to run 202 miles at tBunk (the actual distance), maybe 440 at Icarus, and about 240 at ATY. To hit all those, everything must go perfectly!
Eleven drop bags and 5 shoe changes: used them all
Finishing Colorado 200 wasn't about how fast you could run. It wasn't about how well you prepared for the race. It was about whether or not you could handle all the mindf**ks it threw at you. And they were as plentiful as the rocks, ruts, water crossings, and mud puddles.
The course meanders in the mountains east of Crested Butte.
Most of the race takes place over 9000 feet, with about a dozen climbs over 11000 and one or two over 12000.
Much of the C200 course is shared with motorcycles. It's a beautiful place to take your dirt bike deep into the mountains and see things most people don't ever get to see. Unfortunately, dirt bike tires leave ruts that are about the same width as running shoes. Imagine yourself trying to "run" in a curvy rut barely wider than your shoe. If you ever hit the sidewalls, your shoe torques sideways into the bottom of the rut and you start falling to that side. Now do this all day ... and night ... and day ... etc.
But that was only one of the terrain based challenges of this race. Mud was a huge factor as well. One segment had mud that would shear off the top layer when you touched it, behaving almost like ice. Your foot would slide out from underneath you even if the ground was flat and you were barely moving. Add roots and rocks and mud puddles you had to go around and do this for 20 miles straight. By the end you swear you'll murder something if you ever see another mud puddle.
Goeff Quick and Ace Ewing at the first major water crossing
Even though the mud and ruts were tough in themselves, there was something even worse: wet feet. The C200 course received a lot of rain and snowmelt in the months preceding the race. This resulted in the race having water crossings everywhere, many impossible to cross dryly without taking off your shoes. Hundreds and hundreds of them. One water crossing in particular stood out due the comical nature of the course markings.
Wyatt Yates didn't mention this river in the course briefing
At the time the ribbons were hung for this section, it was on a climb that went through a seasonal stream, but it was fairly dry. Between that time and the race, some heavy rain in the backcountry above that climb turned the trail into a river of icy cold water.
The demanding physical nature of this course required more rest than usual. Attacking the climbs too hard could result in HAPE (high altitude pulmonary edema), which eventually leads to drowning in your own fluids and you start coughing blood. Heading back out into the night repeatedly without sleeping could result in severe exhaustion, confusion, and hallucinations. All of these things led to early exits from the race for some of the runners.
Ace makes a heel lift using course turn by turn directions
Making good adaptive choices is critical to get to the finish line of a challenge like this. But every day you're out there it gets harder and harder. Forgetting something important at an aid station was potentially hazardous in this race, but even more important was how your mind was able to deal with the mistakes you (or someone with you) made.
Some of the things I forgot to do at some point include looking for course markings (sorry about that missed turn on day 2, Will), applying sunscreen before heading out in the morning after a long night, bringing adequate layers at night after a hot day, bringing light layers in the morning after a cold night, taking proper care of my feet before heading back out, and refilling my toilet paper supply.
Joel Gat wore flip flops to go through areas of dense water crossings
Forgetting things is only part of the picture. I also made stupid choices like refusing to get out my emergency blanket because I didn't want to waste it. I also chose not to eat or drink for long periods of time even though I knew it was a bad idea. At one point on night 4 I sat down to rest. When I got up, I was hazy and wobbly and started going down the course the wrong direction. This has happened to my wife several times and I never understood how you could possibly go back the way you came. I get it now. Luckily I was with Bill Thompson at the time and he got me turned around.
Phil Wiley (left), pictured here with his crew after running Hard Rock 100 and before CO200, completed both races for 300+ mountain miles in under a week
So getting to the 200 mile mark was more than just training, endurance, and preparation. It was jumping hundreds of miles of hurdles while being pelted with nature bombs, all while your brain is slowly turning to mush. Eleven out of the 25 starters didn't make it. Every one of their stories is interesting, probably even more than that of the finishers.
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Let's go back to Sunday. Race director Wyatt Yates gave us a course briefing the day before the race, which started on Monday. There are a lot of things that should have been said at this point but were not. I'll chalk that up to this being their first time directing a race.
The pre-race dinner was nice, although the staff at Harmel's Ranch Resort (the host hotel), was overwhelmed. I stopped by Candice Burt's table. She's the RD for Bigfoot 200 and Tahoe 200, which many of us are running later this summer. We predicted around 10-11 finishers in C200 due to the warnings about cold weather, a wet course, and daily rains that were forecast. Days later one of her daughters shared a slice of pizza with me and it was easily my favorite food consumed in the race.
Just before starting, we were given GPS trackers so people could follow us online. This turned out to be a great thing, when it worked. Here's Cory Feign wearing his tracker over his signature tie-dye shirt. Four days later a failure of his GPS device caused something interesting to happen at the finish line. More on that later.
On the left is Ace Ewing and wife/crew Tiffany Ewing getting ready to head out. I stuck with Ace (a local running friend) most of the first 2 days, but he eventually pulled away and I never saw him again until a brief moment on the 4th day when his brain was totally fried. Ace and I deliberately took off from the start in last place to avoid getting caught up in a fast start.
We went too fast anyway. Go figure.
On the right is Goeff Quick, a fellow Tahoe 200 finisher and another (San Francisco) bay area running friend. Goeff is a tough Australian who was offered entry into Tahoe 200 in 2014 with just a few days warning and somehow slapped things together and pulled off a finish there.
Candice looked great at the start, and seemed to always look great no matter the mileage in the race. She started out slow with some pre-existing nausea and stomach issues but gradually moved up the field, catching many of us guys one at a time.
A few minutes after 8am on Monday July 13, we headed down the road toward the unknown trails and travails. We quickly ended up on some nice single track, which eventually became mud that stuck to your shoes.
We could feel the elevation before we even left the road since the race starts at over 8000 feet above sea level.
We passed the location where the first water stop was supposed to be. There was nothing there. Some mountain bikers joked to us that the finish line was just around the corner. Ace mis-heard and thought the water stop was just around the corner. It turned out to be located many miles later, almost at the first full aid station.
This was a sign of things to come...
Candice was smart enough to fill her water bottles whenever one of them ran out instead of waiting for water stops. This was probably one of the best decisions anyone made, given the same problem happened at almost every single water stop.
Ace and another runner trudge up the trail. We were still taking it pretty easy but started to pick up the pace. Not wise. Below, Rick Arikado hikes uphill early in the race.
Above, Geoff bombs down a hill just behind Ace. Right, that's me in the ridiculous colors, with Cory Feign. See how the trail slopes down toward the thin little track in the middle? That and water were the cause of many blisters on my feet.
The first water stop was so late in the course compared to the location shown in CalTopo that it was pointless. We used it, but a mile later we came upon the first full aid and nobody really needed water at that point. On the left, Joel Gat fills up while Filip Boelen moans about the mandatory gear list. Fortunately for Bigfoot 200 and Tahoe 200 there is no mandatory gear.
Joel Gat shot off ahead down the road. Soon we would be facing dozens more water crossings, though most of them were passable without getting wet if you tried hard enough.
Ace and I caught up to Filip when he ran out of water and was trying to figure out his SteriPEN. Filip battled this device and the batteries for quite a while.
Below, an example of how dodging in and out of rocks often made the trails even longer than GPS tended to show.
Above, Ace avoiding getting his shoes wet. We both made it over 50 miles dry.
Left, Bill Thompson (in white) and Ace Ewing (blue) rolling along on day 1. We passed Bill here, but later he and I would run many miles together (I needed a replacement for Ace after he ditched me).
Below, nice fire roads like this were common early on, and later we longed for the easy running they offered.
Above, I stand in a creek somewhere around mile 100. Eventually I gave up trying to stay dry in this race and just walked through all the water crossings.
On the right, a runner takes a breath after finding out just how thin the air was when we were up high.
Below, Ace gets in some climbing late on day 1.
Left, the aid station we hit at miles 56 and 78 offered a great view of Taylor Park Reservoir. Some folks decided to take their first long rest here at mile 56 before venturing out for the night.
At this point Ace and I caught up to most of the front runners (except Avery Collins, the eventual winner). We left the aid station in a pack of 11 runners and pacers. I quickly fell behind after a bio break and never saw a single one of them again until mile 78. This 22 mile loop had 2 traps that caught everyone off guard.
Somewhere around mile 60, the trail was flooded. Like many other times, it looked like grass on either side you could use to go around. In the dark, nobody suspected they were about to step in water a foot deep where it looked like grass. This got almost everyone who passed that way. Oh well, 4 miles with dry shoes is better than zero.
Later in the loop, a mud puddle that looked 1 inch deep was actually 6-7 inches deep, flooding your socks and shoes with a thick brown goop. It was nearly impossible to avoid this puddle since the alternative involved holding branches to move along a steep slope on the side. And of course there were no water crossings to wash it off for miles after.
The sun came up as I finished this loop (and day one) at mile 78, around 7:30 am. This is WAY TOO FAST for a mountain 200. I hadn't slept a wink yet but I was refreshed by the new day and decided to move on after a long sitting and eating break. Ace and I took off, together once again.
The heat of the day and complete lack of sleep the first night quickly caught up with us, as did Douglas Long and (I think) Chris Wilde, seen on the right. Ace had to jury-rig a heel lift after his ankle started swelling from rubbing on the side of his Hokas.
During this section Ace and I had fun building bridges across streams to keep our feet dry. Not the fastest way to move but we reallywanted dry shoes.
A crazy steep climb to the top followed the hot fire road. The weather cooled off as we reached the peak elevation of that section.
Soon the cooler weather turned to rain. We barely beat the rain coming into the aid station at mile 98 in the late afternoon. I decided to take an attempt at my first nap and hopefully the rain would pass. Meanwhile, Ace pushed on.
I managed to sleep about 5 minutes while laying down for 90 total. As hoped, the rain passed while I was resting in Tiffany Ewing's vehicle (Ace's wife). The next section, which I ran alone in the dark, was a muddy mess. It was about 15 miles of the most slippery mud and trails full of puddles, rocks, and roots. At times it was like an episode of the 3 stooges, except 2 of the stooges were trees. Bang! Slap! Slide!
Joel Gat goes on hands and knees to climb the clay hill.
Photo courtesy of Cory Feign
A hilariously slippery clay hill (see right) near some old logging equipment made for some laughs as I vainly attempted to find traction in my Altra Olympus shoes, notorious for their weakness in that department. After 10 minutes of struggling up a 20 foot climb, I saw there was an easy trail going around it.
The segment was punctuated by a short descent onto a bridge near the next aid station, which had some of the most slippery mud of the entire race leading up to it. I lost traction and slid down onto the bridge.
By the time I reached this aid station around mile 113, wet shoes had caught up with me and the blisters were getting pretty bad. Luckily volunteer coordinator Justine Helminiak was there to lance and tape them by the firelight. Ace was still sleeping when I took off into the night with Will Fortin, revived by a shot of 5-Hour Energy.
Heading up the fire road, revved up on caffeine and the various B vitamins flooding my brain, I talked nonstop. Of course I missed a flag marking a turn off the road onto single track. One and a half miles later, we realized we hadn't seen course markings in a while and my Gaia app confirmed we missed the turn.
As we headed back down the hill with our heads sunk low, a car approached. It was race director Wyatt Yates, who saw our GPS beacons going off course and came to rescue us. He saved us from a mile of downhill heading back to the turn. In the pic above, you can see our bonus miles.
Shortly after we got back on course we passed Bill Thompson who was digging in his bag in the dark. We asked if he wanted company and he accepted readily. Bill informed us that Ace had passed by while Will and I were mulling around on the wrong path. I suspected Ace would power through this section, trying to catch back up with me. He ended up coming into the next aid station at least 2 hours before we did!
Bill, Will, and I ventured up the mountain in the night. This section goes up to a mountain pass before bouncing around on the ridgeline and coming back down. We were coming up on the "witching hours" in an ultra, the hours in witch you witch you were in bed. Also the coldest part of the night. Unlike the first night, the second night had clear skies and became very cold. Just above freezing.
The trail led us into a river. We tried hard to avoid getting wet but it seemed impossible to get up the mountain without going in the water. Once our flashlights spotted the course markings in the river, we reluctantly waded in and followed it upstream. Below, Cory Feign captured this area in the daylight when he came by later.
Course marked in the river. Photo courtesy of Cory Feign.
Once we emerged from the stream, we all realized it was really frickin cold. Will immediately started doing push-ups to keep his core temp up. I took the video above of Will saying "freeze to death".
Will and Bill dove into their packs to get every bit of cold weather gear they had.
I really don't want to write about this next part because it's embarrassing, but oh well. It's part of the fun of getting through one of these things.
Just before I realized that I too was starting to get hypothermic (I wasn't firing on all cylinders with 5 minutes of sleep in 2 nights), my bowels screamed something along the lines of "you have 10 seconds to comply". I dove behind the nearest bush and yelled for Will and Bill "not to wait for me". But I was on a slope and my legs were wobbly and after I was done I smelled my hand and ... oh man I got some on there. Shit, shit, shit.
Photo from Google search for
"smelling fingers"
I figured I would just wash it in the next running water I found. I decided to wait to put on my hat and gloves until my hand was clean. I held it out like one touch would give me leprosy and hiked up the mountain after Will and Bill. But of course there was no clean water for a long time. I eventually gave in and washed it in a mud puddle. By the time I put on my hat, gloves, and spare poncho, I was frozen inside out.
Retrospectively, that would have been a great time to get out my waterproof pants and emergency blanket, but I was stubborn and didn't want to get the pants wet, nor to "waste" the blanket. What an idiot I was! Can I blame it on 5 minutes of sleep over 2 nights?
The three of us held a short conference on the mountain. To proceed, or not to proceed? It would be even colder up top. We all felt it was risky to go over the pass at 3am with wet socks and shoes. I mentioned that Ace was somewhere up on that mountain alone and if he ran into trouble, we could help. The treetops were not swaying so we might get lucky and have no wind at the pass. We decided to proceed. If it was windy up top, we'd be in serious trouble.
Photo lifted from DeviantArt
It was frigid and I was too cold to take off my gloves and get food. So I didn't eat anything. Since I didn't have any Tailwind at the prior water stop, I was drinking plain water. I ate one fruit leather the whole night, for a grand total of 80 calories. By the time I zombie-walked into the aid station just after the sky started to lighten, my insides were colder than a homeless Minnesotan in December.
I sat down by the fire but I couldn't feel it. In the back of my head I heard Ace say something and I was happy to know he made it, but I couldn't feel the fire. I leaned in closer and closer, and still could barely feel anything. The volunteer at that aid station, Michelle Halsne, took one look in my eyes and said "you're not going anywhere until you sleep and eat and then I'll re-evaluate you".
The fire wasn't going to work. I asked Ace's wife Tiffany if I could sit in her car with the heat on full blast. It took thirty minutes of that for me to finally feel warm. Afterwards it was time for my second attempt at a nap. Laying down for 90 minutes bought me about 10 more minutes of real sleep, for a grand total of 15 minutes in the first 2 nights.
Invigorated by rest, food, and warmth, I headed out on the out-and-back (with Michelle's approval). Before long I ran into Candice, who had caught and passed a lot of people and looked to be hot on my tail.
She made it clear she wanted to get to the aid station rather than socialize, and I totally understood. Off she went!
Next up was Joel Gat (left) and his pacer. Like Candice, Joel was moving up the ranks slowly but steadily. Both of them were running really smart races and I started to suspect they would pass me for good on day three.
Some old junk on the mountain helped give a sense of old purpose to the place.
Pretty soon we were heading up to 12,300 feet, the highest point on the course. It was beautiful out there! This part made it all worth it. We even got to see some snow there. On the right, you can see an out-and-back that was cut from the course at the last minute. I was very thankful since it looked gnarly.
I took a bunch of photos here because it was majestic and full of flowers of every color. Let's take a short break from this race report to look over some of those shots.
A pano from the top.
As a Californian, seeing snow made me happy
I built a couple of miniature snowmen to show my kids. I cried tears of joy thinking about my family
and how great the volunteers were and how happy I was to be somewhere so beautiful.
The camera was not tilted. This is level.
Welcome back to the ColdKent Repoire. After topping the mountain, we were treated to the longest, most runnable downhill of the entire course. Thirteen straight miles of it! The water stop was 3-5 miles later than expected, but that was expected.
I topped off in the river before coming across the lovely family on the right, who told me I was getting close to the actual water stop. These are the only 3 (non race related) humans I ever saw on the course who were not riding something with a motor. Also I hadn't seen another runner for 15 miles.
The next aid station came 3 miles early (an awesome surprise) because the flagger missed a turn and marked the road instead of the trail. I wasn't going to complain. I enjoyed the company of Garrett Froelich and Candice's daughters while downing as much food as I could. I was getting sick of quesadillas but the guys from the documentary (see below) made me an awesome breakfast burrito. Then I saw Candice's oldest walking out of the camper with a slice of (formerly) frozen pizza. I begged and cajoled until she forked it over with the promise of some candy in return. That little slice of pizza was awesome! Best thing I ate all 210 miles. The volunteers at this aid station were Turner Smith and Luke Peters, two documentary filmmakers working on Finding the Trail, a film about ultrarunning. After the race they interviewed some of the runners.
Joel Gat showed up at the aid station, having bombed down the 13-mile downhill at Ludicrous Speed. I took off just as Will Fortin was coming in. He informed me that he had taken a wrong turn at the ladder, pictured left. That made 3 straight days in a row of wrong turns for Will. I was only responsible for one of them.
I carried that paper plate in the photo down the road to the ladder so Will would be the last one to make the mistake of turning there.
The next section was a bit of a beast of climbing at first, but not too bad. I kept thinking Joel was going to pass me any minute. Pictured below are the fun switchbacks that descended down into the aid station at mile 149 (156 on my GPS with a little bonus on there). I arrived just before dark on day 3 to a very unpleasant surprise. I bet the suspense is just killing you. I'll never tell!
Pictured left: Looking back up the slope from the switchbacks, knowing Joel was up there, which he indeed was, as he popped into the aid station just minutes behind me.
So back to that surprise. Ace's wife Tiffany had been carrying forward a bag of supplies for me. Since Ace got too far ahead (3-4 hours by this point), I had given it to Chris Wilde's crew. But I forgot to look for it at the previous aid station and they had left it there for me.
Night 3 was coming and I wasn't about to get hypothermia again but that bag had all my extra layers!!!
I asked for my drop bag. They couldn't find it. I had been wearing my Brooks Addiction shoes to give my achilles a break from the zero drop Olympus, but they don't drain at all and I was getting horrible blisters. I had been looking forward to a shoe change for a LONG time.
So there I was. No shoes. No layers. The last light of day 3 fading away. Knowing what I know now, going out there with Joel's spare Injinji's and Will or Chris's extra long sleeve shirt would probably have meant my race was over at Cement Creek. But then Wayne Pells (not sure about the last name) volunteered to drive back to Brush Creek aid station and look for my bag. Thirty minutes later he showed up with my "carry forward" bag, my previous drop bag, and even my missing drop bag, which had been delivered to the previous aid station by accident! Below is a video I took so I would remember Wayne's name.
I took care of my own blisters with needles, Nu Skin, Trail Toes, and tape, then headed back out for the third night. The next section was 13 miles long so I filled my hydration reservoir all the way up with 70oz of Tailwind and water (400 calories). At this point I found out that my bay area friend (and fellow Tahoe 200 finisher) Geoff Quick had dropped at the previous aid station, chasing cutoffs.
Photo courtesy of Cory Feign
There were only 4 climbs left in the race, each going up to about 11,400 feet. This first one was almost 3000 feet up, and it was crazy hard. See the photo on the right for an example of the "trail". See that flag up there? You had to work your way up the steep slopes on all fours to avoid rolling over backwards.
I passed by Joel Gat, who was resting in his emergency blanket beside the trail with his pacer hanging out beside him. I pressed forward.
Once again I decided not to bother with eating anything other than the 400 calories in the tailwind, but I ran out of water just 10 miles into this section. Since I was told it was 13 miles, I figured it didn't matter. But those miles dragged on and eventually I drank directly from a stream and ate 3 pieces of Laffy Taffy candy, which has always been special to me since they used to make it in my home town of Bloomington, Illinois.
After some steep slippery descents and a few close calls (almost falling downhill onto rocks), I was getting close to the aid station. I was annoyed that I didn't get to see any hallucinations yet. Three nights with 15 total minutes of sleep should have put me in that state. But I was sort of there already, despite being annoyed at not being there.
I saw a witch down the trail around the corner. Immediately I knew it was just a stump. I got there and it looked sort of like a witch-shaped stump. Later I stopped and turned off my light and took in the amazing glory of our galaxy. But then something was right there next to my face and I couldn't figure out what it was in the dark. My heart rate shot up in fight/flight mode as I fumbled for my light. It was a flower.
Look 2 pictures up for those tall white flowers sticking up. Those things mess with you at night!
What happened next is probably the toughest, most disheartening challenge I've ever faced in any ultra. Harder than limping the last 26 miles of Way Too Cool 50k with IT band pain. More mentally draining than getting sued for libel by a cheating psychopath. Three of my friends did not make it past this point, for various reasons.
After 13 miles in the dark, I popped out with the aid station in sight just across a river. From there, you had to turn left, cross a stream, and hike uphill 2 miles AWAY from the aid station, with scant markings to give you confidence about it.
Then cross 2 more streams, head uphill 2 more miles, and cross one more stream just before the aid station. Looking back, it was only 1 mile each way and not uphill on both sides of the river, but after 3 nights on the trails, the perceived effort distortion was off the charts. And it was below freezing there when I arrived at 4:30am.
When I got to the aid station, there was a small fire. Instantly I knew it would not be enough to warm me up, despite wearing 4 full layers and hat and gloves. I drank a cup of water and dove into a tent (at first they said there were no spots available but I insisted "I need to sleep, NOW" and they pushed Douglas Long to the side to make space for me). They brought my drop bag (tupperware), which was topped with a layer of ice. Here's the volunteer there talking about taking Joel Gat down the mountain.
At this point I got a good hour of real sleep in about 100 minutes in the tent. That made 75 minutes of sleep over 3 nights and 4h40m total of laying down. The light of the sun hit the tent as I gathered my wits. I took a little selfie video here which my friends later saw and insisted I post on Facebook. As of now it has over 5000 views (holy cow!!!)
If you watched the video above, you know that I was in a pretty bad place at this point. I didn't end up leaving that aid station until after 9am, over 4 hours after I got there. I don't know how so much time passed. I think I was simply stalling until I felt the sun hit me. During that time I found out Joel Gat had dropped with HAPE symptoms, coughing blood. Rick Arikado (who finished 3 minutes ahead of me at Tahoe 200) had also dropped at that aid station. He had tried to beat Colorado 200 without sleeping, like he did at Tahoe. It didn't work. In the video below, you can hear Garret Froelich talking about Rick Arikado, while Candice tackles the annoying extra mileage at Cement Creek aid station. When Rick arrived at Cement Creek, he was confused and thought he had already been there with Candice earlier.
Heading out on the 10.5 mile loop that brings you back to the same aid station a second time, I passed by my buddy Ace Ewing who was returning from the loop. He was clearly delirious and looked like shit and I should have walked him into the aid station and made them hold him for 4 hours. But I didn't.
Ace, shown on the right, had gotten lost in the night and huddled in his emergency blanket until some other runners passed by and led him back in. I never saw those other runners.
Ace didn't rest long enough at Cement Creek and ended up hallucinating badly in the next section, to the point where he could only see faces, not the trail. He pulled himself from the race at the next aid station, which was also the final one. 190 miles. No more California friends remained in the race. In the video below, you can tell Ace isn't all there.
The 10.5 mile loop was a breeze after so much rest. I tackled it in under 3 hours, which is "fast" for that point in the course (and climbing up from 9800 to 11300 feet). The depressing mile that felt like 10 during the night zipped by quickly. I really hate perceived effort distortion.
On the left, the sign that meant it was time to head back from the far point on the loop.
Pictured on the right is Candice Burt coming in on the nightmare uphill that takes you away from Cement Creek aid station. She came in at 1:20pm, 40 minutes ahead of the 2pm cutoff on day 4 of the race. I took 4 hours there to recover. Forty minutes was simply not enough, and Candice declared her race over.
Candice is the RD for the upcoming Bigfoot 200 and Tahoe 200. If this race report, full of bloody coughs, hypothermia, crapping in the woods, and dang those deer flies on that 10.5 mile loop, er ... what was I talking about?
Man, I don't think I'm caught up on sleep yet.
Anyway, if all this sounds fun, sign up for her races (and CO200 next year too).
Pictured left, the two 16-year-olds working at Cement Creek with their running coach were generous and kind hearted people, but when most of us got there we needed a full staff of physicians, massage therapists, foot care experts, pizza parlor, and a sauna.
The boy on the left even offered to drain my blisters. As he took the needle with hands shivering wildly in the cold, I told him I'd give it a shot myself. I loaned him my warm gloves while I took care of it.
Pictured right, Phil Nimmo came across the final river crossing into Cement Creek just as I was leaving the second time.
Phil Wiley, who also ran Hardrock 100 the day before CO200, was not far behind. Phil Wiley ended up being the superstar of the event for completing 300 mountainous Colorado miles in under 7 days, with something like 80,000 total feet of climbing.
Bill Thompson, who shared that frigid second night with Will and me, was heading out toward the final aid station at the same time as I was, so we decided that safety in numbers was the way to go.
I led the way as Bill was pretty wiped out. He kept apologizing for slowing me down and offering me the chance to ditch him. Heck no! I had only slept 75 minutes and I needed a friend with me. I had no crew or pacers in this race.
Day 4 was pretty relaxed. Both Bill and I are running Bigfoot 200 which was only 3 weeks out from the finish of CO200. We decided to just roll it in, easy going. Focus on the big picture, you know.
I'm glad we passed the carving shown on the right in the daytime. Bill later confessed to me that when he arrived at Cement Creek, he didn't know where he was or what he was doing there.
Bill stopped to treat some blisters on the high fire road. Smart guy. I usually just ignore them until an aid station.
It was a really nice day. We were nearing the end and it was a happy time. We both knew we would make it to the finish, but we also knew it would be dark when we got there.
The fourth night awaited us. At Tahoe 200 I only saw 3 nights. Perhaps I would get to see some hallucinations after all ...
On the switchbacks down to the final full aid station, we passed by Kent Ryhorchuk who was on his way back up. The awesome and perky volunteer, Michelle Halsne, lifted our spirits and generated a lot of positive energy for us runners.
She sprinted off ahead to place our orders at the aid station. Yes, to place our food orders!!!
Was this the upscale hotel aid station that I had been looking for?
Will Fortin, our buddy from night 2, also hiked up the switchbacks on the final segment.
We were treated like royalty at Deadman Gulch, mile 187, by a huge group of volunteers and ex-CO200-runners including Geoff Quick and Filip Boelen. It seemed liked every single aid station volunteer had moved forward to this spot just to see us off one last time. Justine Helminiak took care of my blisters (again) while Filip cooked some food and Geoff refilled my hydration reservoir and re-packed my gear, doing all the thinking for me so I didn't have to. It was heavenly!!! We were back on our way in no time, and it wasn't long before we saw Phil Nimmo, Phil Wiley, and Cory Feign (right) on their way down. Somehow after 4 days a bunch of us were all pretty close again. Cory was pretty wasted here and took a longer break than everyone else. Justine Helminiak appears in the video below.
Toward evening on day 4, Bill and I started seeing faces in everything. We were joking about it as every rock looked like a face. We were getting a taste of what Ace experienced before he pulled himself from the race. Pictured left is my special friend for the final climb. We saw so many faces in that rock.
It was dark when we came over the final peak, a pretty little mountain pass. This stone seat was the closest thing to a potty on the CO200 course. A communications glitch prevented the port-a-potties from making it. After cresting the pass, it was all downhill from there. Eight straight miles of downhill. Four nights. Seventy-five minutes of sleep. Finally, I started seeing animals everywhere. Bill and I joked and laughed about it. There's a squirrel! No, just a stick. A rabbit! Nope, just a stick. I think one of those animals was actually real. Just one. The final water stop was a mile or two later than expected, but (you get it now) of course that was expected. Once in a while Bill and I would sit down on a rock or fallen tree to rest our weary legs. One of these times, I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting into the abyss. I reluctantly stood up and starting walking up the trail ... the wrong way. Bill called out and woke me up from my delirium. This is why sticking together with someone can be race-saving. We came down what seemed like endless roads. First dirt, then packed gravel, then pavement. As we approached the finish line, a surprisingly large amount of clapping and cheering greeted us. It was past midnight but everyone had been following our GPS trackers and had been expecting us. As I heard those cheers, I cried.
Bill and I finished together. Looking at the results, 2 other pairs of runners did the same. That says something about the type of people who do these things. We stick together out there. The two Phils came in in the next 80 minutes after our finish. Everyone celebrated and had beers at the ranch's bar. There was no food - this was pretty low key. Then we hopped online and checked Cory's GPS tracker. It had stopped pinging hours before, right around the final water stop. He was the only one left. I got the keys to my cabin and then immediately locked them inside it. F**k, my brain doesn't work on 75 minutes of sleep over 4 nights. They had to call someone and wake them up to drive over to the ranch with another key. I didn't even bring the key inside this time - I just hid it under the garbage can outside. I showered and then caught up on Facebook while waiting for Cory. There came a point where his tracker hadn't pinged in 5 hours. I could no longer keep my head up. Waves of exhaustion took over, and I made a run for the cabin and passed out. Cory came in around 4am. His first ever 200 mile finish! But nobody saw. Not one person was there. Nothing. I'm crying as I type this. Everyone else was exhausted too. Charles, the co-RD, tried to stay awake for Cory but passed out in the fireplace. I think Wyatt feel asleep in a car outside by the finish line. Cory found an unlocked door and inside was this:
Cory seemed to take this in stride. It would have broken my heart. Luckily he's a really mellow guy and was able to laugh it off. Here's Cory and I on the airplane on the way to Denver. Adventure complete. Mountains conquered, inside and out.
Closing thought: Running a race like this crewless and pacerless is difficult. Around mile 125 I had a moment where I just felt so thankful to the volunteers and to Tiffany Ewing. Michelle Halsne had just got me out of the aid station safely after I was frozen. Justine Helminiak had taken care of my blisters in the night. Little did I know, I would come to rely on them again, and others as well. I can't express my thanks in words better than this video does.
Final thanks to Charles Johnston, Wyatt Yates, and Michelle Yates. Your dream became my epic journey.
