I consider it a privilege to participate in the Wasatch 100. Long before I considered myself a runner, I had heard of this crazy race. It had the allure of something only non-humans could accomplish. The thing of story books. It was fascinating, and beyond far reaching. This is where the race has its roots for me. It wasn’t until I had completed 42 marathons, and had been running for 6 solid years, that I had built up the courage (or quite possibly, the stupidity) to put my name in to give it a try. It would be an opportunity to really put myself to the test of my limitations.
I began this year’s race where I left off last year at Lamb’s Canyon. After pulling out and therefore, failing to reach the finish line, I set forth a determination of redemption. Sure, I had finished in 2012 and 2013, but I did not want my last experience with the event to be one of non completion. What I truly learned about my dnf, is that if there are any physical or mental weaknesses, they will be exposed and magnified. I had worn myself down with some training runs, and had a final indicator of a poor marathon performance two weeks before.
The main scope of my training this year was running road marathons and a few low key runs on mountain trails, spanning no more than 15 miles. I participated in the Antelope Island Buffalo Run 50 Miler in March and the Skyline 50K in August as a way to dabble a little in ultra distance trail exposure. I had survived Wasatch before with comparable training, so I felt this is all I needed both physically and mentally.
My good friend, Layne Koldewyn, who had paced me through the last 25 miles of 2013’s race, decided to come back and participate in the full race in 2014. After he finished, he proclaimed that he didn’t enjoy a single minute of it, and would never do it again. I laughed, and knew he would have a change of heart as the pain subsided and the pride of accomplishment took over. And not surprisingly so, I found myself riding with him to the start of this year’s race.
We passed some time at the start with making our last preparations as we checked our gear, clothing, nutrition, took a few pictures, and checked ourselves in. As we lined up, Layne and I looked at one another, shook our heads, and asked each other what the hell we were thinking in taking on such a crazy event! There was certainly a nervous excitement in the air amongst the runners.
After a countdown, and enthusiastic send off from the race director, John Grobben, we shuffled on to the trail. It’s tight and narrow, and bottle necks in many places. No one really cares, and it serves as a means to head out slowly and get warmed up. Layne and I chatted off and on for the first couple of miles. Mostly just small talk, but it helped in getting going, and to settle in for what the time would bring. The climbing in the early miles are the most drastic and long lasting of the race. It is a blessing when daylight draws in, and we crest the mountainside aptly named “Chinscraper.” I paused at the top and watched Layne climb up. This would be the last time I would see him during the race.
After a couple more miles of single track trails, our path opened up to a rocky service road. It gives runners a chance to pass one another, and to really spread out for the first time. At the half marathon distance, a low key aid station provided some water to top off our bottles and packs. Very shortly thereafter, we summitted Francis Peak. I turned my IPod on for the first time, and ran as the road conditions allowed. I made my way downward to the Francis Peak Maintenance Sheds Aid Station, at mile 18.4. On the way there, I observed a police vehicle on the side of the road, and down a hillside, a red pickup truck had rolled. I saw no one inside or near it. An officer on foot was descending to investigate the scene. I never did find out if someone had died or the nature of the crash.
I had my first drop bag waiting for me with a couple bottles of Ensure, S-Caps, and some clean socks. I sparingly ate some of the food they had to offer, watered a bush, and headed out. I spent only 8 minutes there. Getting too comfortable at aid stations can really add time to the race.
On the way to the next aid station, Bountiful B, there are some climbs that had really challenged me last year. I remember breathing hard and feeling drained at what should have been a comfortable pace. With that in mind, I took it really easy and just put one foot in front of the other. A group of roughly 8 of us grinded out the ascents together. I recognized one as Kelly Agnew. I had never met him, but had read a few of his online blog entries about racing experiences. I took the opportunity to ask him about the Comrades Ultramarathon he participated in Africa. It is the world’s oldest ultramarathon, and seems somewhat intriguing to me. I never know if I’ll have the chance to make it there, but I would do so if the opportunity presented itself.
I arrived at Bountiful B, took in a few bites of food, topped off my bottles, and headed out. It was an even quicker stop at only 4 minutes. In the overall mindset of the event, I break down the distance in increments between aid stations. It really helps to digest it in the smaller pieces. The next aid station was to be less than 5 miles away. Sessions Aid Station is where a friend, Todd Galbraith always volunteers. I had minimal needs to address, but I did take advantage of a Popsicle that was refreshing and tasted great. After 5 minutes, I was on my way again.
Some more climbing went on, and I felt decent as the mileage progressed. I found myself with a woman from San Diego with a thick southern accent, (she was not originally from San Diego) strong language, and clearly defined opinions about how ultramarathon organizers should manage their races. I mostly just listened to her thoughts, and shuffled behind Darrel Phippen, one of the managers of the Sandy Wasatch Running Center. I felt as though he may have been annoyed at us nipping at his heels for a period of time, and he asked if we wanted to pass. I caught up with a couple ladies shortly before the next aid station. They were friendly and we engaged in small talk to pass the time.
I ran out of water about a mile before the Swallow Rocks Aid Station. I hate being in that position, but I felt well hydrated and had a collapsible bottle to fill up in addition to the two in my pack. I consumed some watermelon, boiled potatoes with salt, and finished off a bottle of Ensure. As I headed out, I grabbed a Popsicle and chomped it down along the trail.
Just out of the aid station, I came across a woman I assume to be in her mid 40’s. She was not faring well, with dried blood surrounding her nose and she complained of being nauseated. I felt badly seeing her in a miserable state, but at the same time, I was pleased to be feeling good in my own right. The miles had been good to me, and I had come prepared to take on the challenge.
The next stretch led me to the Big Mountain Aid Station, where I would see Melissa, my parents, my sister, and my sister-in-law. It was the second drop bag location and I could make some minor gear changes and grab some nutrition. I didn’t have a pacer lined up, but in a twist of luck, my friend Larry Scott became available when a runner he was going to pace, dropped from the race. That meant I would have somebody with me for the remainder of my race. It was nice having the moral support of everyone, and I felt rejuvenated to continue onward.
Larry and I quickly caught up on conversation with each other and passed the miles. I was glad to have company. We passed through exposed sections with descents over loose rocks that threaten to roll the ankles or send participants tumbling to the ground. I found relief with having that completed, and to reach the next aid station, Alexander Ridge. We both had a little bit to eat and drink. I ate some watermelon and drank some Coke. I went over to race officials in charge of checking runners in and out, and asked if they could look up the status of my friend Layne. When I saw Melissa at Big Mountain, she told me Layne had called her to ask for our Physician’s phone number to ask him some questions. He had been passing blood in his urine since early on in the race and was concerned with what he needed to do. The officials had no information on him, except to say that he had not dropped out of the race, and was last checked in at Big Mountain.
Larry and I left Alexander Ridge after 9 minutes and made our way along a grassy service road. It follows power poles for several miles and heads eastward, which is opposite of the next aid station, Lambs Canyon. That’s somewhat discouraging to feel like you’re not making progress to the next stop. Larry began to feel some cramping and nausea shortly after we left Alexander Ridge. We had to stop every few minutes so he could gather himself. I gave him some crystallized ginger in hopes it would settle his stomach. Runners were passing us by at a constant rate. I was slightly discouraged in losing time and positions, but I was not going to leave my friend there, despite his insisting I do so.
We gradually made our way off the power line road, and onto single track as daylight quickly faded away. Larry started to feel better, but far from his usual self. I was glad to finally make some progress and although we had to stop a few more times for Larry to take a breather, we made it into the Lambs Canyon Aid Station. A couple hours had been lost, and I felt bad for everyone who waited for our arrival.
In an ultra event of this nature, I am convinced that my race was the work of many to make my finishing a reality. The support I received throughout the journey really helped alleviate the physical and mental discomfort that comes with it. I felt renewed and ready to tackle more miles and hours on my feet each time I saw Melissa and my family. It is enjoyable to have pacers to experience the journey with.
At Lambs Canyon, I changed some clothing to prepare for the night, and had a little bit to eat. Larry caught a ride with Melissa and my parents back to his car. I was glad for his sake that his journey had come to an end so he could go home and get feeling better. Dr. Mike Killpack, who is Melissa and my physician, and also a running friend, was my next Pacer.
Mike and I headed out and were together for the next 22 miles. I really enjoyed the night stretch with him. Although it is considered the most beautiful section of the course by many, you can’t see a majority of it beyond the beam of one’s headlamp. We took advantage of the cooler temperatures and made some decent time. I felt relatively strong and managed to pass many participants.
We arrived at the Upper Big Water Aid Station in Millcreek Canyon after shuffling up the pavement for about 3 miles. The time was around 11:30p.m. I had a drop bag there, but had neglected to pack some Body Glide. My feet had some hot spots, and I was also experiencing some minor chafing in areas of my compression shorts. A volunteer provided me with some Vaseline, which ultimately did the trick to reduce the friction. I downed a cup of chicken noodle soup, and finished off a bottle of Ensure. After about 21 minutes, we headed back out to the trails.
The mountains were serene and peaceful at night. I took in with deep breaths, the scents of the forest, and enjoyed the starry sky. I felt good enough to live in the moment, which is unfortunately, atypical for me. We climbed, descended, climbed, and descended. That’s the story of Wasatch! Our next stop was the Desolation Lake Aid Station, at 66 elapsed miles. The campfire that many former participants warn of looked inviting. The lore is that sitting down next to it, can be the beginning of the end of a race as it’s incredibly hard to get going again. I drank some Coke, ate a few slices of mango, watered a tree, and set out for the climb to Red Lover’s Ridge. Dr. Mike seemed to be enjoying being a part of the race, and we made some conversation here and there.
The climb was short, and we had some runnable single track trail ahead of us. That gave way to a dirt service road into the next aid station, called Scott’s Peak. I enjoyed another cup of chicken noodle soup, some coke, and possibly a GU Roctaine gel. Nutrition seemed to come easily for me. Many ultra runners consider it part of the event to vomit at least once. I have been really fortunate to have forgone that rite of passage!
Beyond Scott’s, the course drops down to a paved roadway for a couple miles. It is a nice change to run on asphalt after the many miles on trails. Smooth surfaces do not demand the constant concentration. The night seemed to pass by rather quickly, and just after 4:00 a.m., Mike and I came upon the Brighton Ski Lodge Aid Station just short of 75 miles.
Melissa, my sister Heather, sister-in-law Shelley, and next pacer, Stefan Wells were waiting for our arrival. This ended up being my longest stop throughout the race, at almost a half hour. I changed my socks, used the restroom and ate a little bit. I also restocked my pack with a couple bottles of Ensure, S-caps, water, and GU Brew. I found out that Layne had dropped out of the race. I felt badly for him, but I could also relate to not making it through.
The climb out of Brighton to Point Supreme at 10,467 feet was definitely more difficult than I remembered it being in previous years! It’s a gain of 1,702 feet in 2.71 miles. Stefan was an asset to have with me, as he is one of the most optimistic and supportive persons I’ve ever known. He really eased my mind and gave me some distraction through some slow miles.
After the climb to the highest elevation of the race, we had to drop back down almost the full elevation we had just gained coming from Brighton. The trail is steep, windy, and covered with loose fist-sized rocks. It was torturous. At the bottom we had the Ant Knolls Aid Station to reward us. We arrived in the last moments of predawn darkness. The volunteers set up what appeared to be a huge metal sphere, covered in army netting and strands of lights. The entrance had a red carpet laid out for us to walk upon. It was literally red carpet treatment! They had lots of breakfast items to choose from, of which Stefan and I enthusiastically partook of.
After 8 minutes, we headed out and climbed once again. This stretch of climbing has been named “The Grunt,” and it was easy to see why! Although it was challenging, I would take that over the descent on loose rocks we had just completed. Daylight was coming upon us, and the sun had started to rise as we made our way to the top. This was a short stretch of just over 3 miles between aid stations.
Our next stop was at the Pole Line Pass Aid Station. I had a drop bag waiting with some stuff for my pack, and a change of shirts. We spent about 12 minutes there getting prepared for more trails ahead. My feet were in better shape than they have been that late in the race. I attribute that to using gaiters this time, which kept a lot of dust and loose rocks out of my shoes and socks. Any means of which friction can be lessened, the better.
I can honestly say I had fun being in the mountains amongst the scenery and with a good friend. We spent a lot of the time talking and it felt more like an adventure than a tedious long distance journey. The only moment I had a worry about reaching the finish line occurred along a dirt road just beyond the old Pot Bottom Aid Station location. I had a sudden pain in the forefoot of my right foot, just behind my toes. I stopped for a moment, and pondered a solution. At that point, the only thing I could do was take a 650mg Tylenol. We then soldiered on.
We made our way along a dirt road, that I was familiar with, as I had ridden an atv there earlier in the summer. It seemed a short time, and once again we were at an aid station, this one called Staton North. Stefan took advantage of the cell coverage, and gave a mutual friend a call to announce our location on the course. It was less than a half marathon to the finish. I was however, beginning to get anxious to cross the finish line. After 3 minutes, we were on our way again.
There was a short climb, and the road leveled off. A runner with his pacer was at the top that Stefan quickly engaged in conversation. The four of us stayed together for a couple miles and exchanged running stories. They had met each other at Lambs Canyon. One guy wanted to pace, and the other, a participant out of Illinois, had no pacer.
I mentally and physically shifted gears when I realized that I had roughly ten miles left. My desire to finish grew stronger, as did my will to impact the length of time I would be into day 2. Stefan was unable to keep pace, but encouraged me to go for it, and leave him behind. I ran off the mountain and passed several runners as I went. I was grateful to be feeling considerably decent. I made my way down into the last aid station, Decker Canyon. I spent 3 minutes there eating some refreshing watermelon, and topped off my bottles.
It was time to bring the race to close, so I ran when I could and power hiked as necessary. A gravel trail around the east side of Deer Creek Reservoir seemed to go on and on and on. It started to get warm, which only fed my motivation to reach the finish line. After I passed the reservoir, there was a short stretch through some trees and on to pavement. I made a left turn towards Soldier Hollow and shortly thereafter, my sister and sister-in-law passed by in their car. They screamed out the windows and raced up to the finish line. Their timing couldn’t have been any tighter!
As I made a final curve in the road to the finish, Stefan appeared with a mutual friend, to cheer me on. It turned out that he had taken a ride at the last aid station to make it in time to see me finish. Melissa, my sister Holly, her family, Heather and Shelley watched me come across the finish. I enjoyed and appreciated their support and encouragement. They had all helped me to see through my redemption of not finishing last year.
Melissa brought some food, blankets and a change of clothes for me. She patiently waited for me to nap on the grass for a couple hours. We then went to the Homestead to get checked in and I showered off the accumulated filth I had from head to toe. As I washed up, Melissa set out some gifts in recognition of our anniversary. I felt some guilt for letting the race take center stage rather than the acknowledgement of our years together.
We went back to Soldier Hollow for dinner and the Awards ceremony. My official time was 30:48:57. I was happy to finish, but felt really good about being only 8 minutes slower than my best time, even after the time spent with Larry in his ill state.
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