On Thursday, September 4^th 2008, I flew from Austin, TX to Salt Lake City, UT for the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run. Training started 7 months earlier and included a combination of weight training, hill repeats, long runs, cross training, and shorter weekday runs. I knew training was going to be tiring and long, particularly through a Texas summer, but I was dedicated and excited to run the race I crewed and paced four years earlier.

In the days leading up to the race, I felt nervous and scared, mostly because Wasatch would be my toughest challenge in running to date. The flight was uneventful, and Doug and I were upgraded to a minivan when we checked in at Enterprise. We stayed at the Courtyard Marriot in Salt Lake City, which was very nice and 100% non-smoking. Thursday afternoon and evening we ran errands, buying water, Starbucks Double Shots, and cans of Red Bull for drop bags. Later that evening we met Dmitry Rozinsky for dinner at Olive Garden. After dinner, I finished loading my drop bags at the hotel, and was in bed by 11:00 p.m.

Friday morning Doug and I went to mass at The Cathedral of the Madeleine. We were told it was built in 1909, and that the majority of the exterior was the original work, and that only the interior had been renovated.

After mass, we went to JB’s for a breakfast buffet. Knowing I was going to have to weigh in at the pre-race meeting a few hours later, I elected to not take full advantage of the buffet. Doug, on the other hand, ate his $6.99 worth several times over. We had a few more errands to run, and then went to Starbucks to sit and relax before the meeting.

Sugarhouse Park was the location for the pre-race meeting and check in. Runners, pacers, friends, family, and race officials were moving about. Doug and I placed our drop bags in the appropriate piles, and then found a seat where the meeting would take place. We found Dmitry, and were introduced to his friend, Will Jorgenson, from Tennessee. The meeting was low key as we listened to R.D. John Grobben give course and race instructions.

Following the meeting, I spoke with Mr. Grobben and expressed my concerns about trying to run the race without a pacer. Mr. Grobben patted me on the shoulder and said, “You can do it…I can tell.” It was as if someone had just given me the key to a safe. I kept repeating his encouraging words, which allowed me to worry less and less about doing it alone.

Saturday morning wake up came at 3:00 a.m. in order to catch a shuttle bus to the start by 4:00 a.m. After a very comfortable and relaxing 30 minute ride to the start on a bus with a bathroom, we departed the bus and walked toward the start. After a quick pre-race picture, we were off into the dark on a narrow, single track trail. The trail wound up the side of the mountain. Down below, the lights of Salt

Lake City were easily. It really was a beautiful view. I met several runners from various parts of the country, and one from Canada, during the first several miles as we hiked up. Doug was ahead of me, and we reconnected and were together in the miles leading to the Chinscraper climb. The name of the climb speaks for itself, and we were using all four limbs to climb.

After Chinscraper, we just kept climbing, and the views were beautiful.

Together, Doug and I made our way to Grobbens Corner at mile 13.4. Grobbens Corner was where R.D. John Grobben and some other folks parked their trucks and handed out water to the runners. That was the first opportunity for runners to refill with water, and the excitement of seeing his truck was like finding a $100 bill on the ground.

From Grobbens, we ran 5 miles on a Jeep road that led us to the Francis Peak aid station (18 miles). The pounding on the hard road was aggravating Doug’s leg, and he told me to go on and run according to how I felt. That was the first time I felt emotional. We trained for 5-6 months together preparing for the race, and even though we didn’t plan on running together, I found it difficult to separate from him. I knew he was right, though, so I ran ahead. The climbing in the first 18 miles was much more difficult than I had anticipated, and I was relieved to reach Francis Peak to access my first drop bag and refuel. The transition was relatively quick, and I cheered Doug into the aid station as I was making my final preparations to leave.

The section to the Bountiful B aid station (mile 24) was scenic, and not too taxing initially. There was a lot of brush to run through, and I was careful not to trip over vines and roots. The climb into the aid station was steep and extended for about a mile. Once I reached the Bountiful B aid station, a volunteer handed me an ice cold, damp washcloth. Feeling very refreshed, I reloaded fuel in one of my bottles, and left the aid station.

I met up with Rob from California, and we ran together for several miles. He had run a good portion of Leadville several weeks prior to Wasatch, and ran Vermont in July. During our journey through part of the course, his sunglasses broke while we were descending a rocky hill. I offered him some duct tape for a temporary fix, but he declined saying he’d get it at the next stop. When he came into the Sessions aid station (mile 28) Rob found me, but seemed more interested in using the duct tape for blisters that developed on his heel rather than for his sunglasses.

I was smiling to myself the entire way down, and got really choked up when I was met with cheers and the sound of a cowbell as I neared the aid station. I checked in, and before accessing my drop bag, I was required to weigh in. I jumped on the scale and was up 2 pounds. I told officials I was looking for a pacer to start at mile 53. Just before I left the station, a woman named Kristen offered to meet me at Lambs Canyon (mile 53) to pace. I finished going through my instructions, loaded up my camelback with enough water to last me 8 miles, and checked out. I covered a section on the way to the Alexander Ridge aid station (mile 47) where there was a beautiful view of a body of water off to my right. I believe I was looking at Little Del Reservoir. Alexander Ridge aid station was set up on a jeep road.

I had my bottles topped off with water, mixed a packet of Endurox in one of them, asked officials to check Doug’s location, and then I checked out. I was pleased to hear that Doug was moving well and had left Big Mountain 10 minutes prior.

Moving toward Lambs Canyon was enjoyable. I met up with Mike and his pacer, Wayne, from Salt Lake City. We were together for many miles, and then I ran ahead on a grassy jeep road that paralleled I-80 and led us up a hill into the aid station. I spotted Kristen, and told her to get ready for cold night running. I got my drop bag after weighing in (up another 2 pounds), went through my instructions, and made a pit stop before leaving the aid station.

The route out of Lambs Canyon took us up an asphalt road, and then up a 2000 foot climb. The ups and downs never stopped, and I began running less and power-walking more. The time was just after 8:00 p.m. and the sky was clear with stars shining brightly. The weather was absolutely perfect. We met up with Mike and Wayne once again, and followed them for many miles. The final ascent to the Upper Big Water aid station (mile 61) was 1000 feet on paved road. We were covering ground as best we could. It was getting cold and I knew the aid station would be even colder. I had a list of things to do, but had difficulty getting them done. My hands, wrists, and forearms were swollen to the point of me being concerned. Since I wasn’t having the clearest of thoughts at that particular time, I asked a few people at the aid station their opinion on the swelling. I was told not to be too concerned as altitude can often be the cause. I assumed I was taking in too much salt (S-Caps), so I stopped taking them altogether. I had a cup of coffee and sat by a heater for a few minutes, as I was shivering. I knew I’d be better once I left the station, but the warmth of the heater was truly magnetic. I allowed myself to be distracted, and I deviated from methodically going through my drop bag instruction list personally. Unfortunately, I left the aid station short of fuel as a result.

The next aid station, Desolation Lake (mile 67), was 5 miles away, and covered a very nice trail through the woods. I was somewhat concerned about falling while going downhill, as I started getting sleepy. This was also the section where my stomach started going south. I was in and out of the woods, and could not understand what brought it on. We kept moving forward despite the discomfort. When I arrived at Desolation, I learned that Doug dropped at Alexander Ridge. I was so impressed that he made it 47 miles given the sciatica he was experiencing for weeks leading up to the race.

We made our way to Scott’s Pass (mile 70), and had hot chicken broth and coffee inside a small tent. I also gathered paper towels to bring with me for the journey to the next stop.

There were no surprises on the way to Brighton Lodge (mile 75) where Kristen’s pacing duties would end. I spent a good portion of the 5 mile section mentally preparing myself for the rest of the night and following day alone. A long descent on pavement took us over the final miles leading into the aid station. I felt something flapping on my right foot on the downhill, and thought it was my pants slapping against my gaiter. I looked at the bottom of my shoe to see that 70+ miles had caused a portion of my sole to come loose. I ripped the piece off and assessed the shoe. I pondered briefly over whether or not I had a potential problem on my hands, but it was a small piece so I elected to ignore it. I had a strong suspicion that Doug would be at the Brighton aid station, and I hoped my suspicions were right. I was tired and in a lot of pain, and a hug from him would rejuvenate me. As we entered the parking lot of the ski lodge I could see Doug’s silhouette standing a short distance up the trail. I shook my green light to indicate to him that it was me, and he yelled “Come on in here, Texas!” I hugged him and almost immediately broke into tears. We entered the lodge, I weighed in again (up 4 pounds, mostly due to gear), and then sat down with my head dropped in my hands….and I cried. Doug had me lay down on the floor and he massaged my legs. He covered me with jackets, and told me I had 2 hours before I had to leave the aid station, and that I had time to sleep if I needed to. After 10-15 minutes of rest, I decided it was time to get on with it. I knew I would leave by myself, so I tried to get fueled up for the trip. Unfortunately the Ibuprofen I hoped would help decrease some of my pain went down, but came back up for the return trip into a Ziploc bag.

The route out of Brighton was a bugger! I headed uphill for a long distance into the cold night, where I would eventually hit the highest point of elevation at Catherine’s Pass and Point Supreme at 10,400 feet. It took a little more thought and effort navigating myself to make sure I didn’t get lost. I bumped into a runner going back down towards the lodge saying that too many trips to the woods had taken its toll, and he was done. I gave him a handful of papaya enzymes, and told him they should help settle his stomach. I convinced him to give it another go, as he and his pacer turned around and followed me. Before long, I lost sight of their flashlights and knew he went with his initial decision to drop.

I kept climbing and navigating, and was excited to see the sky becoming lighter. I turned off my flashlight just in time to catch a glimpse of Point Supreme, and I almost couldn’t believe I was about to climb that beast.

I moved onward and upward, and then covered a very long and steep winding descent that led me into Ant Knolls aid station (mile 80). Funny how the aid station seemed so much closer when I paced Doug. Ant Knolls served breakfast, and the smell of pancakes and sausage was alluring. Typically I don’t eat solid food during an ultra, but I was having trouble taking in the fuel I had packed, and figured I’d take the gamble and try some real food. I struggled when trying to decide what to eat once I arrived, but finally settled on coffee and part of a poppy seed muffin. A man at the station told me we would climb up “The Grunt”, and then drop down “The Dive”. The Grunt? Why not cardiac arrest? Wasn’t Catherine’s Pass enough? The climb was grueling, and I felt as though I was climbing in slow motion. For the first time in a race, I paused on the uphill climbs and fought back tears. I began talking to myself and to God. I didn’t want to climb anymore and I was praying to God for inner strength. I was pooped and ran when I could. I spent many miles alone and often had to double check for markers. At one point I hollered for someone that could confirm my direction.

On my way to Pole Line, it started getting warm, and I pulled off of the trail to shed my jackets. With an overstuffed Camelback, I forced myself to keep shuffling forward and thought about what I’d do when I arrived at the aid station. I had a small drop bag there, so I left my pants and jacket tied to my bag at the station in order to lighten my load. I was no longer on my pre-race plan, and didn’t care. Before the race, I packed my drop bags thinking I would reach Pole Line much earlier in the morning, and wouldn’t have any need for a short sleeve shirt. Since I was 3 hours behind my plan, my only options to stay cool included trading in my stocking cap for a bandana, hiking up my sleeves, and intermittently pouring cold water over my head. I took some fuel with me, but didn’t feel like drinking any of it. I was able to drink part of a Red Bull, and made sure I took in plenty of water. The GI problems persisted, but I didn’t feel weak or dizzy and knew I would be okay if I could just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I moved onto Rock Springs and stayed long enough to have my water bottle topped off. I was anxious to get to the next stop where I had another drop bag, which was where I had a tank top packed. I had covered 87 miles and had 13 miles to go. While 13 miles doesn’t seem like much in such a long race, I could only think of it in 3-4 mile sections. The miles felt longer with each passing section. I finally reached Pot Bottom (mile 93) where I sat down in a chair to rest and think. I cried once more, then got up and got myself together for the final push. I drank my fuel, ate a handful of papaya enzymes, made a final trip to the woods, and slammed a Starbucks Double Shot before leaving the aid station.

A group of runners left the aid station together. We were told we had a 1.5 mile climb, which would then level off and begin to descent on an ATV trail. I remembered the final miles being runable from my pacing experience. I climbed as best I could with a newfound determination. I crossed a creek, and the cold water on my feet was like an ice bath. It felt terrific. Once the ascent was done, I began running. I ran until there was another short climb. Once up and over the hill, a runable 2 mile single track trail took us through the woods, gradually descending until it met the paved road.

The road was flat and led us nearly 1 mile into the finish where we turned right onto a grassy field that led us into the Homestead and to the finish line. I picked up speed, and couldn’t stop the smile from spreading widely across my face.

I saw Doug standing under the finish banner with his camera. I was so happy to see him, and relieved to be finished. When I crossed the finish line, I was greeted by R.D. John Grobben with an arm around my shoulder, and his traditional congratulatory handshake.

I have spent days thinking about and remembering the event. Although some things are fuzzy as the days pass since finishing, I still find myself sitting alone, quietly, reliving it. I dug deep to find a drive that forced me to keep going despite hurting and feeling defeated. I went to Wasatch with one concrete goal, and that was to finish no matter what the clock read when I crossed the finish line. Wasatch was, by far, the most physically and mentally challenging run I have ever done. Many of my “plans” changed or were altered over the course of the race, and I needed to adapt. I can say now that doing the final 25 miles alone was the way it was supposed to be, and is something I will remember for the rest of my life. Although seemingly dramatic, it meant overcoming my greatest fear of going through the night alone, getting lost, and not finishing as a result.

This sport is about so much more than simply finishing a race. With each ultra I run, I learn more about what I am able to withstand, and how I can overcome various challenges. Wasatch taught me that I don’t need to have my hand held when I’m facing something I perceive as being “too” difficult. I know now that I can do it alone, and I can do it without fear.

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