Leadville 100 recap
It took a while to fully process the experience. I suffered from some post-race depression. I wasn’t sure what to think. I told myself that i was about 50/50 disappointed and proud. But I think it felt more like 80/20. But I think that was just the depression talking. Yeah, I had performance goals going into the race. And at no point did I ever consider “finishing” to be good enough, even if I tried to convince myself that it was. But an amazing amount of life happens in the course of 30 hours on your feet in the thin air of the Colorado Sawatch Mountain Range. And as I’ve thought about it, talked to my wife/crew chief/final pacer, as well as other friends who were either there or have ultra experience themselves, I think I’ve finally managed to full understand the experience and what it meant to me.
image: 3:30 am Saturday morning. Heading to the start line.
Let me start with the week leading up to the race. It was pretty rough. I had a burning anxiety that I just couldn’t get under control. Part of it may have been the taper. It seemed to do its job because I had a ton of energy. But I was also constantly visualizing the race, constantly thinking and rethinking the logistics of aid stations and what I needed to bring. I also had stomach problems the entire week leading into the race - another likely byproduct of the anxiety. I was mostly super excited to do the race. There wasn’t any fear like last time I attempted Leadville. It was absolutely a positive stress. But it was exhausting. And there was still, in the back of my mind, a pressure to finish after DNFing my last attempt.
I attributed my previous DNF to dehydration. And I still think that was a big part of it. But the reality was probably closer to altitude sickness, made more pronounced by dehydration. So I was extra focused on hydration and nutrition going into race day. Probably overly focused. But I was convinced that the only way I would fail is due to another crushing gastro-intestinal breakdown like last time. It doesn’t help that the thin, dry air of Leadville sucks the moisture from your body unlike anything I experience in Boulder. So I drank a ton of water the 36 or so hours prior to the race. An absolute ton. It seemed like the right thing to do.
I also get very anxious about sleeping. I never sleep well the night before a race. And I hit rock bottom last year the night before the Never Summer 100k by literally not sleeping at all. Instead just laying in my tent for hours stressing about not being able to sleep - making it impossible to relax and actually doze off. I’ve resorted to meds for sleep in races since then. Before Javelina last fall I intentionally overdosed a little on Benadryl and it worked out great. I did the same on Friday night, and actually slept a bit. Probably in the neighborhood of 4 good hours - which isn’t bad considering I had to wake up at 2:30. But I also felt... weird that night. I told myself it was the Benadryl. I wouldn’t say I was hallucinating, but I felt just mentally off. I’d been freaking out about getting sick all week and was convinced that it hit me the night before the race. Luckily I felt okay when I woke up. My legs felt strong. My stomach was mostly okay. No real aches or pains from chronic achilles and ankle injuries. I felt good and excited and ready to go.
I went out way too fast last time I ran this - doing the easy early section in the 7:00′s. Between that and bombing the final descent of Powerline my legs were shot by the marathon point of the race. I was determined to not let that happen this time. My barometer for success began with how well I ran from 25-35, an extended slightly uphill but more or less easy section. So I went out easy and ran the first 13 mile section in a bit over 2 hours. Probably within 5 minutes of whatever my goal would have been if I’d cared. But I knew that part didn’t really matter.
In the second section of the race - Mayqueen to Outward Bound, including the infamous Powerline - things started to get bleak. On the 1 mile easy dirt road section just past the single-track Colorado Trail section, my stomach was killing me. My entire nutrition plan had already fallen apart. In my training runs I’d eat a granola bar of some sort every 30 minutes. And I could go on for hours like that. In my 9 hour big training run for the race, I did that the entire time and my stomach was thrilled. This time my stomach was upset with solid food after the first hour.
I made the conscious decision to try to settle things with electrolytes so I ate some salt tablets and started relying much more on Gatorade than water, and 30 minutes or so later I started to feel a little better. But from that point on, every 30 minutes I’d have to force myself to eat and I was always unhappy about it.
image: Outward Bound Aid Station. Mile 24.
After leaving my crew at Outward Bound, things actually got a bit better. This was the first test section for me and it went great. Long, easy, semi-uphill miles. I even hit a high point around the top of the climb on the way to Twin Lakes and flew down the hill. I did that 15 mile section in a little less than 3 hours. And while I was steadily losing time to my 25 hour goal time, I felt pretty good. Then the logistical nightmare started.
Due to avalanches, the road to the halfway point, Winfield, was closed to crews and pacers. So they had to take a shuttle from Twin Lakes. So literally every crew, pacer, and spectator was parked at Twin Lakes. From what I was told, the line of cars along the highway reached 5 miles long. So when I got into the Twin Lakes Aid Station, I couldn’t find my crew... because they weren’t there. So I walked back and forth for 10-15 minutes looking for them and spotted the crew of a friend from work also running the race. I had shoes to change in to for the monster climb coming up and food/drinks... with my missing crew. So I scrounged up some Gatorade from a stranger and prepared myself to cross a river and hike over a 12,600′ pass in my road shoes. Then, right before getting back on the trail, I spotted my kids. My wife had dropped them off on the side of the road with my crew bags and told them to find me. They got there about 60 seconds before I left.
image: Hope Pass Llamas
So with proper food and trail shoes, I started the Hope Pass climb. It went fine. It’s a difficult, but beautiful and rewarding section of the race. The section near Winfield was harder than I remembered, but I finished the 12 mile section in a little under 4 hours, cruising into the half way point a bit under 12 hours.
This time my crew was there and ready. They apparently spent almost 2 hours in line to get on a shuttle, so they hadn’t been there for long. But I got what I needed - a grilled cheese sandwich and a reload on gatorade and gus. My stomach still wasn’t happy and I was heading into the section that ruined me last time. So I had a definitely plan. I had 3.5 miles until the major climb started. So I gave myself 2.5 miles for my stomach to relax from what I ate at Winfield - then forced down a gu and a granola bar and resigned myself to not eating again until I got to the top of the pass. It didn’t feel good, but I didn’t puke - so it worked.
image: Hope Pass Part 2
The way down was fine. Not easy - 4 miles of 800 feet per mile of vertical drop 15 hours into a race is pretty rough on the quads - but it was fine. I had a great pacer for this section, who kept me super entertained with some great conversation. And the peak crossing once again took about 4 hours - better than I had mentally planned going into the race but I’d lost so much time at Aid Stations and on the first crossing, the 25 hour dream was dead.
image: River Crossing heading back to Twin Lakes
Twin Lakes Inbound was good. My crew was there and much more relaxed this time. My pacers were there. My wife brought me tacos. i changed my shoes and socks and grabbed some cold weather layers and started the night section of the race. That’s when things really started to grind. This was the second test section for myself. After a climb from 9,200 to 10,600 feet, I had a very long easy section. Mostly downhill, reasonably smooth. If I was going to have a good finish, this would be where it came from. But it didn’t happen. I told myself once it started going downhill I’d start running. But my feet were trashed from blisters and my stomach was still giving me problems. I felt like if I really pushed myself, I’d puke. So I kept giving myself more time. But more time didn’t help. And the more time I gave myself, the more accustomed I got to hiking easy terrain - to the point that I couldn’t find it in myself to really run anymore. So I’d shamble at 13:00′s on some sections, but actual running seemed to be over. And that’s when the despair kicked in.
Staring down 50k of walking in the dark is hard to deal with. I kept looking at my watch and thinking, “my god I have 10 hours left of this.” In the back of my mind I felt like I’d still hit some high points and be able to turn it around, but it never happened. I switched pacers again at Outward Bound, going into the last hard part of the race. It was only 11 miles until the next aid station, but I had a big climb. Once again I told myself that once I got to the top I’d dig deep and run down. But I couldn’t. My feet hurt so much that any rocks at all made things impossible. And even on the smooth sections I only managed to run 13:00-14:00 minute miles. My stomach still felt terrible. It just never got better.
On this section I started to realize some mistakes that I’d made. According to my pacer, I peed 8 times in this 11 mile section. And it dawned on me that I drank too much during the race and in the days coming in to the race. I’d always laughed off hyponatremia and the idea of drinking when thirsty, mostly because most of my races have been in hot weather. But it looks like it may have bit me, though luckily only mildly. Once I made this realization I ate the rest of my salt tablets and mostly stopped drinking except for the occasional sip of Gatorade. It was 4am and 37 degrees. I definitely wasn’t sweating.
I came into Mayqueen just before 5:00am, an hour under the cutoff. And once again lost my crew. After using the restroom I spent a good 10 minutes wandering back and forth looking for them - too tired to walk fast or yell anyone’s name. I finally found my wife, decked out in her pacer gear, ready to pull me through the final 13 miles.
She did her best to encourage me. “Run the easy sections. Stumble the downhills.” And I tried. But my feet hurt so much that if there were any rocks at all I just couldn’t do it. And the first 4 miles of the Turqoise Lake trail are pretty rocky. So I did the best I could. The finish still seemed impossibly far away, but I knew I’d get there at least. Once the trail smoothed out I started to slow jog it a bit. At this point, 27 hours into the race, my stomach finally started to feel normal. I was no longer nauseous and I actually started to feel hungry. But I couldn’t stomach gus at this point so I was surviving on a snack bag of trail mix and some gatorade. I couldn’t tell the difference between hunger and nausea so I was still afraid of throwing up. But I was getting close and needed a goal to keep myself from slumping my shoulders and walking it in. So I pushed to get under the 29 hour mark.
The sun came up, it started to get warm, and we pushed the long uphill back into Leadville. I power hiked the ups and jogged the downs. I passed at least a dozen people. We turned the corner at the high school and started up the final real uphill. I told my wife we’d start running once we got over the top. And once we reached the crest, I turned to her and told her: “let’s blow the doors off.” So we ran down the hill. The first real running I’d done in more than 10 hours. We were in the 7:00′s when the downhill turned back up into the final few blocks before the finish line. I started running faster and dropped my wife. I was in the 6:00′s going up the hill passing more people. Then my son jumped in at the last minute and ran across the line with me.
28 hours. 44 minutes. 101 miles. 15,000 feet of climbing. All mostly at or above 10,000 feet of elevation. This is a hard fucking race. And while I missed my stretch goal by several hours, it’s an honor to have finished it.
I first heard of the Leadville 100 when I read Born to Run back in 2009. It seemed mind-blowlingly impossible. Apparently it wasn’t.
