Bear 100

Well, I survived it.


Barely

That was the single hardest thing I've ever done physically. The amount of time I spent suffering last weekend was so far beyond anything I've ever done before that it's not even in the same realm. I know how to run 50 miles - 100 miles is unreal. I couldn't believe that the final 50 could take that freaking long. But you know what? It was worth it, because I finished.

We started the race at 6:00 am on Friday morning. The first 20 miles climbed over a big pass and descended all the way back to the bottom of the planet. This section I took really easy to figure out how my legs were going to feel and just to make sure I saved plenty of energy for later. At the beginning of the second 20 miles my legs were warmed up and feeling really good, so I began picking people off the front. In retrospect this is where I went too fast. This surge should have happened 60 miles later, but instead I sped up under the pretense of "experience" and doubtless tired myself out unnecessarily. I've paced enough hundreds and run enough 50's that I thought I possessed the "experience" necessary to judge for myself. This was not the case. Nobody has adequate experience to gauge a 100 mile race until they've done one. That was lesson #1 from the race.



The third 20 miles began with my running with the eventual winner, Mr. Mike Foote, who is awesome. We met this summer at Hardrock and I have a ton of respect for what he is capable of, which he showed without a doubt on Saturday. We were moving well and came into the mile 45 aid station together. He seemed to think I was going to kick his ass and asked me to tow him along as long as possible. I thought he was joking. Then he accused me of sandbagging. Well Mike, I think that you may have been the sandbagger in this situation. In all seriousness, however, he ran a better race than anybody ever has on that course, and to top everything off when I finished about four hours after him he was standing there cheering us on. That's true sportsmanship, which leads us to lesson #2: hang out with Mike Foote more.

From mile 45-51 is a gigantic climb and I started feeling bad and let Mike get ahead of me. The following ten mile section to 61 is mostly downhill and still I felt terrible. Those miles were the beginning of a long downhill section for my energy level which never got better at all. Aren't people supposed to be able to climb back out of low patches by eating a lot and just suffering through? That's what I thought, but to no avail. At about mile 61 my competitive instinct limped off into the bushes to die and left me somewhat more lighthearted, but being lighthearted is difficult when you feel terrible and have 39 miles yet to run. Through the night. Alone. Lesson #3: think in terms of aid stations.

The fourth 20 miles was the section where I transitioned fully from running to merely surviving. Just keep moving moving moving and trying to think about eating and just getting to the next aid station. The enthusiasm I'd had for the race the day before seemed an incredibly alien concept - who could possibly have that much excitement about this much pain? I wasn't sure. But the interesting thing about the pain was that it wasn't pain in a normal sense. Nothing specific was hurting. All I could tell was that EVERYTHING hurt, all at once and therefore dulled the pain somewhat by comparison. I just wanted to stop moving, but I knew that I had the ability to finish and what would be the point of dropping? Dropping would only be a way to let myself down by backing out of something difficult, and as much as I hated being out there towards the end I knew that the only way I could stop was if I passed out involuntarily or just finished. So I kept moving.

This is me at about mile 82

At the mile 85 aid station Scott Jaime and pacer Josh Brimhall caught up with me and allowed me to run with them for the rest of the race. Without them I doubtless would still be out there crawling toward Bear Lake. With these guys to talk to and Josh's infrequent but consistent pushes for one minute bouts of shuffling, we managed to get all the way to the finish without being passed. Major kudos to Josh here for being so patient during such an ordeal; I know how painful that can be. We talked the whole time and I complained way too much, but they put up with me all the way to the end. From mile 92 the course goes up a short but majorly steep climb and then features an outrageously long, steep and painful descent into the valley. Once on the road we picked up the pace and shuffled into the finish side-by-side in 22:15. Done.

Long way to go still. 51.8 miles. Stole this photo directly from Scott's blog without asking. Thanks whoever took this picture.

The conclusion is that running 100 miles is really, really hard. I am glad I did it, but I'm also not keen on entering any more hundreds until at least next year. Doubtless the next time won't be as painfully long and drawn out, and I'll hopefully be better prepared both physically and mentally, but the truth is that running 100 miles will still be REALLY FREAKING HARD. Then again, that's a large part of why we do these races - for the challenge. Anyway, I can tell I'm already beginning to forget how miserable those last 25 were and the thought of another one gets less and less heinous every day. But for the rest of this year at least I'll be content with 50 miles, because that's at least a reasonable distance right?