Coming into the 3rd leg of
the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning, and into Denver International Airport
the Monday before the Leadville Trail 100, I was greeted by the
looming range of the Rocky Mountains. Two years ago, those mountains
beat me mercilessly and left Denver with my tail between my legs.
This year, I looked at those
mountains and said, “I'm back, 25 pounds lighter and much better at
climbing. I'm ready for you.”
The Leadville Trail 100 is
one of the most difficult races of the world, where only 40-59% of
the people who actually start the race finish. The thin air, coupled
with the tough mountainous terrain – you do have to go up over the
12,600 foot Hope Pass, twice – contributes to the overall carnage
of victims.
Two years ago, I didn't even
make it to the top of Hope Pass. I was timed out at the Hopeless Aid
Station at Mile 46. The race had its way with me, and tossed me aside
like a rag doll.
It woke something up in me.
In order to actually finish a race like this I was supposed to rise
to its demands and make myself the fittest I can be. And I was
supposed to have the supreme mental fortitude needed to battle the
course and its conditions and to get to that finish line.
The process f waking up was
to clean up my diet (I went Paleolithic), and to change my training
back to a more balanced triathlon approach, doing a little less
running but bumping up my swimming and cycling to balance out my
training.
Evidence that it worked was
shown in last year's Vermont 100, where I took 6.5 hours off my PR
and finished at 21;24:21. I knew I was on the right track then.
I was ready to go to
Leadville this year, just to see if my training has proven effective
against that course.
And of course the Grand Slam
of Ultrarunning happened. Of course this gives my Leadville a more
dramatic tone as I try to finish four of these 100 mile races in ten
weeks.
Of the 4 races (Western
States, Vermont, Leadville, and Wasatch), I always knew that
Leadville was THE race that had the best chance of kicking me out of
the Slam. I didn't want to say that in the beginning of the Slam
because I still had two tough races to get through first.
Western States I had blister
issues, but I muddled through in the last 30 miles to finish. Vermont
had humid conditions, but I finished that race in under 24 hours.
After Vermont, it was finally safe to talk about Leadville,
I can finally focus on a
little closure to this little chapter in my life by finishing
Leadville. I believed in my training methods and my new diet, and I
believed that those were the keys in getting me to the finish line.
Finally, I can go out there and prove it.
Pre-Race Strategy
The weather in Leadville leading up to the race was quite variable.
It was very cool at night, and sometimes rain would cover parts of
the area at times. The bottom line was that I had to be prepared for
everything. So, unlike the first two races where I only carried a
bottle carrier and a pouch for my food and salt, I was to carry a
Camelbak. In the mountains, one can easily get caught off guard, so I
carried my essential gear for the whole race, which included a long
sleeve running jacket good for the rain, an extra headlamp, gloves,
and a wool cap for cold weather. The large distance between the aid
stations called for carrying a lot of water also, so it was
appropriate to carry the Camelbak with a 2 liter water capacity.
Leadville Start –
4AM
The
Start to May Queen (13.5 miles)
The temperature the morning of the start was 45 degrees, cool but not
bone-chilling cold. It was the perfect temperature for the start. I
wore a short-sleeve shirt along with my gloves and wool cap and kept
the jacket in my Camelbak.
As the race started I settled into a casually easy pace. I didn't
want to get caught up with the faster people, so I settled back and
started talking to some of the other runners. Most of the runners
were first-timers, so I was content telling them about the course and
what to expect in the early miles.
The course was basically flat to slightly rolling hills as it wound
around the north edge of Turquoise Lake. This easy section can lull
the runners into a deceptively faster pace than they should, and I
think a lot of runners eventually had a lot of problems with that
faster pace, especially when they get to the first mountainous
section after May Queen and find that they are exhausted.
I arrived at May Queen feeling good, at 2:28.
May
Queen (13.5 miles) to Fish Hatchery (23.5 miles)
This section started the race off in earnest. Out of May Queen was
the first significant climb of the course; the climb up to the top of
Sugarloaf Mountain. It starts off with a rocky single-track trail
climb up to a dirt road with great views of Turquoise Lake. The dirt
road then takes a sharp left turn onto a rocky road and proceeds to
climb nearly to the top. Most of the time was spent walking up this
hill at a pretty comfortable pace. The uphill grades weren't too
ridiculous, but it can still add to the suffering later on if this
hill was pushed too hard.
Looking good so far. Of course I'm only 15 miles into the race.
At this point I took the time consuming the last of my Pop Tarts,
hoping that this will put a good starting jolt to my day at the
beginning of the race. They did go down easily, so I was content that
I was all fueled up for this stretch until we got to Fish Hatchery.
At the top of Sugarloaf, the road bends around to the decent down the
rugged Power Line hill. The hill can be pretty rough on the quads, so
I made sure I kept my steps easy and sure down the whole way. As I
made my way towards Fish Hatchery, I was really feeling quite good.
Fish
Hatchery (23.5 miles) to Outward Bound Aid Station (30.1 miles)
At Fish Hatchery, I tried my hand with several foods. My stomach
started to complain, so I had to cut it short and start the 6.5 mile
run toward Outward Bound. I hoped it was enough.
This section begins with the first 4 miles slightly uphill on a hard
asphalt road. I remember this section very well 2 years ago because I
was already gassed and tired after going up and back down Sugarloaf.
This year, it was a bit different. I felt good, and I let it be known
to people around me. “Yes, I'm still coherent!”, I joked as I
left the Fish Hatchery Aid Station. I was still running at that
point, and I was quickly making strides that I didn't do two years
ago. Maybe I wasn't going to flirt with the cutoffs after all?
Wishful thinking, but with the race already feeling different, maybe
it was the time to think boldly.
Still, this was the same place where the thin air made itself known,
and it dropped on me like an anvil. I couldn't run full speed like I
did in lower altitude, but thankfully to my better fitness, my speed
was significanly increased compared to 2 years ago. This thin air let
itself be known to me the rest of the race my manifesting itself in a
variety of ways later on.
After about 4 miles, the course goes off the road, and back onto
trail leading to Half Pipe, where the crews would help their runners.
This was different this year; in previous years, they turned us onto
Half Moon Road (more asphalt, yuck) to get us to Half Pipe. This
trail was definitely a better option. After Half Pipe, the trail
starts to climb a bit before it finally reaches the Outward Bound Aid
Station. I arrived here a bit tired, so I knew I had to stay a bit
and get some food and drink in me.
Outward
Bound Aid Station (30.1 miles) to Twin Lakes Aid Station (39.0 miles)
At Outward Bound, I started seeing telltale signs of trouble lurking.
I started to take in a bit of food but discovered the my body was not
holding it very well. I also wasn't urinating as much as I wanted to,
and I discovered that my urine was starting to get a bit darker,
which is not a good thing. I upped my water intake and took some more
salt tabs as a way to counter some of those signs. I was still
feeling strong enough, but if I couldn't solve these signs, I
definitely was looking at a bleak future as I would weaken in the
future.
The section between Outward Bound and Twin Lakes was a mix of wide
trail and single-track, heading generally uphill towards the Mt.
Ebert trail head. Once past the Mt. Elbert trail, the course hits a
fluid-only station, then takes a sharp turn down a very rocky and
unforgiving hill down to the Twin Lakes Aid Station. The initial
uphill section from Outward Bound did provide some flatter sections
for running, but most of the time was done walking some of the uphill
sections. I was still feeling OK here and starting to anticipate the
eventual trip up Hope Pass, where my race died last year. Although I
found that the thin air was severely limiting my performance at this
point, I was still quite methodical with my approach, walking briskly
up the hills, and running the flats. Hitting the Mount Elbert trail
and the Fluid Station staged there, I knew I was going to hit Twin
Lakes much faster than I did 2 years ago, two hours before the cutoff
time...
...which is plenty of time to climb up Hope Pass.
Twin
Lakes Aid Station (39.0) to Hope Pass Aid Station (45.0 miles)
At this point, I had to now switch from running mode to hiking mode.
This section is the signature section of Leadville, and if one is not
ready for this pass, it can very well mean disaster. So I spent more
time than usual here trying to fuel up before venturing out and
tackling the Pass.
This is where the carnage began for some of the runners. I can
understand how they felt. A lot of runners tend to expend so much
energy in the early parts of the course that they don't have anything
left for the signature climb of the course, the massive 3500 foot
climb up to Hope Pass. Although I still couldn't eat as much as I
would like and still couldn't pee as I would like, I knew I was well
enough to tackle the Pass at this point.
The water crossing before the initial climb up Hope Pass
And it was hard and relentless, just as I remembered 2 years ago. I
was in better shape though, so even though I felt like I struggled in
some sections, the main defference was that I didn't have to stop
frequently to catch my breath. Towards the upper reaches of the Pass,
we finally started to encounter the leaders coming back from
Winfield. It is quite amazing that they have already crested the Pass
twice, unbelievable mountain goats they were. The climb still took
forever, but I finally got to the tree line and saw the Hope Pass aid
station.
Two years ago, I didn't make the cutoffs here. This year, I made it in
plenty of time.
They had chicken broth and Raman soups to warm up the soul here as
well as all sorts of drinks. They were all carried up by the llamas
that were sitting around at the other side of the aid station. It was
great to see the llamas up close again. Instead of heading back down
due to missing a cutoff, I had plenty of time, so I continued the
last 0.8 miles to the top of Hope Pass.
I crested Hope Pass in 12.5 hours.
Top of Hope Pass, the first time. I had to climb this again?
Hope
Pass (45.0 miles) to Winfield Aid Station (50.0 miles)
Not really wanting to wait, I immediately started to descend the
opposite side of the Pass and get to Winfield in good time. The
descent was pretty harrowing and very steep. Some of the switchbacks
were pretty dangerous, and I almost lept off of one before finally
getting control back and getting back on the trail without getting
hurt.
Initial descent from Hope Pass
One of my complaints, and is probably a common one, is that since
this is an out-and-back-course, the runners who were coming back
really started to get thick and heavy, and on a single-track trail,
was awfully hard to maneuver around. It was extremely hard stopping
on a steep hill to allow a runner to pass me going the other way. To
add insult to injury, the runners coming back had pacers too, so
there were even more people on this section as usual. With 1000
people going back and forth on single-track trail, the constant
disruption to my running was not good at all (I made a complaint
about this to Lifetime Fitness in their survey soon after the run; my
opinion is that pacers should be picked up at Twin Lakes going back
towards the finish line and Hope Pass should be left for runners
only). As I finally came down to the bottom of the pass and onto the
trail that lead to Winfield, the traffic was awful. I wasn't feeling
too good at this point either, which added to the misery. I still
wasn't urinating very well, and felt very hollowed out due to food
issues.
I finally got to Winfield, the 50 mile turnaround point, in 12:20.
They immediately placed me on a scale, and discovered that I had lost
9 pounds. Not good. I felt like crap; and now I face the daunting
task of climbing Hope Pass AGAIN? If I couldn't get any good, solid
food in me, I was in big trouble.
So I ate, and sat.
I was fortunate to sit next to two fellow Slammers, Dennis Ahern and
Iris Priebe. Iris didn't look too good either, and on top of that she
was choking on the dust made from cars on the dirt road leading to
Winfield. I mentioned to Dennis that I was in big trouble, and he
basically says to just keep the faith and keep moving.
But first, I needed to solve this issue of eating. So I ate a good
amount of food, including some turkey sandwiches, and sat there to
allow the body to actually digest the food. The time was ticking
towards 13 hours at this point, and I remembered that after 13 hours,
the chances of people finishing start to go down dramatically.
What was actually happening was that even though I felt like I was
going at an easy pace, the body has to work harder in the thin air.
Normally, at sea level, the easy effort would enable the body to
shunt some blood over to the stomach to aid in digesting essential
foods to keep it going. At altitude, it was not happening, and so I
wasn't able to keep any food down for the first 50 miles. The only
way that digestion was going to happen, with this race, was to eat
first, wait for at least 10 minutes to enable digestion to occur,
then start running. It was against my policy of “no more than 3
minutes at an aid station”, but sometimes policy has to change to
suit the race.
At around 12:50 into the race, I decided to leave and tackle the pass
the second time. My fellow Slammers were several minutes behind me.
Winfield
(50.0 miles) to Hope Pass Aid Station (55.0 miles)
Coming in towards the beginning of the climb, I saw fellow NYC
ultrarunner Julie White. We basically said a passing hello. She later
told me that I looked like crap . I told her that I felt like crap at
the point also.
The Winfield part of Hope Pass was a lot steeper, and I intended to
take several breaks before getting up there. On the first break, I
noticed Dennis pass by and he told me to keep it going. Iris was a
few people behind Dennis and she told me to get in behind her. So I
did, and we walked up the Pass in silence, concentrating on our
efforts to get through this ordeal.
Near Winfield. I'm a hurting man.
The 2nd time up the pass was agony, but I kept behind
Iris, and followed her steps up the Pass. My muscles burned at the
effort, and it felt like forever, but we finally made the tree line
and, with the top in sight, knew that we were finally close to making
it to the top for the second time.
I crested Hope Pass for the second time at 14:51, much to my relief.
Hope
Pass Aid Station (55.0 miles) to Twin Lakes Aid Station (61.0 miles)
We got to the Hope Pass Station soon afterwards and found that there
was not much left in terms of food. Just water. That's another
complaint that I had for the folks at the race. Luckily the next aid
station was mostly downhill. With the water they had left, I filled
up my Camelbak and continued on down the 3500 feet hill towards Twin
Lakes. The daylight started to wane and it was a question of whether
I was going to make it to Twin Lakes with or without my headlamp (it
was in my Camelbak but didn't really want to take it out before Twin
Lakes).
So down, down, down I went. I finally reached the bottom, and the
river crossing at exactly 8PM (16 hours into the race). A couple more
miles in the swampy area and finally I made it to Twin Lakes, with
enough daylight left to finish this stretch without my headlamp.
At Twin Lakes, Dennis, Iris, and I were together again, and I decided
to take about 15 minutes to slam down some food and make sure it
digested. While we were digesting, we got ready for night running. I
got into my long sleeve shirt, got the jacket, gloves, and wool cap
from out of my pack, and put them on. It promised to be a very cold
night, so I left nothing to chance. If I was to warm up too much, I
can always take off parts of my clothes if I wanted to.
With Hope Pass done, I finally got the idea that I have a good chance
at finishing this thing. I just have to keep moving.
Finally ready with my clothes and food, I set out into the new night
towards uncertainty.
Twin
Lakes Aid Station (61.0 miles) to Outward Bound (69.9 miles)
We got out of Twin Lakes and painfully started up the hill towards
the fliud station at Mt. Elbert. It really wasn't as bad as I thought.
I guess tackling Hope Pass makes the other hills a bit easier. I
tried to keep drinking going up the hill.
When I arrived at Mt. Elbert, my 2 liter bladder of water was empty.
Still, when I urinate, the urine was a dark brown and it stung.
That wasn't good.
I still honestly don't know if it was utter dehydration or I actually
had blood in the urine. I knew I was pushing, pushing, pushing at my
limits to this race, and I was definitely looking at some damage. I
didn't really know what to do, so I made it my business to ask one of
the medical people at Outward Bound, the next station, their view on
this.
Since the course between Mt. Elbert and Outward Bound was gently
downhill, I still felt strong enough to set a good pace towards
Outward Bound, no matter what type of issue I had with urination. It
felt like I took a long time, but I finally got to the aid station
and immediately asked one of the medical crew about my condition.
He asked me if I took ibuprofin (nope, never do). He asked me if I
ever fell in the race (nope, not once). Then he asked me if it was
blood in the urine or was it just a dark yellow? I responded I don't
know. He asked me if it stung, and I said yes. He winced at that
answer. I asked him if maybe it was because of the altitude that I'm
started to see my body break down, he says probably not.
Then he told me something that probably made sense. I was taking salt
capsules, but was washing it down with a lot of water. Even though I
was taking in salt, the amount of water I was taking was far
exceeding the salt I was taking in, so I might still have a salt
imbalance. He said instead of taking just water, I should take a lot
more of the Rocktaine electrolyte fluid and see if that balances out.
I determined it was worth a try and thanked him for his imput.
After talking to the doctor, I then went to fill up my Camelbak with
the Rocktaine energy drink, not water as I was doing up until then. I
was still to take salt capsules on top of the electrolyte drink.
Outward
Bound (69.9 miles) to Fish Hatchery (76.5 miles)
At
this point, I was very weak, my legs were in quite a bit of pain, and
my running mechanics were starting to fall apart, but I was still
forcing a 15 minutes per mile pace. It hurt keeping this pace. It
hurt very much. I know four of these miles were going to be on road,
and with the daunting Power Line Hill coming up after the Fish
Hatchery, I wanted to move through this section as fast as possible.
I was operating at a level that I knew really risked my health and
knew that the possibility that I was risking some pretty significant
damage to my body. I didn't know what was going on inside, but I knew
that I had to keep hustling to keep comfortably ahead of the 30 hour
cutoffs. I estimated that I was 75 minutes ahead of that schedule and
didn't want to risk getting closer to that cutoff, so I ignored the
weakness and the pain to forge ahead at a pretty aggressive pace. The
asphalt provided the means to go fast in this section and I was going
to take advantage of it.
It
was at this point, I seemed to have remembered the famous saying,
“damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.” And I started operating
this way. The ominous Power Line Hill was looming after the aid
station. I decided, in that last mile, I was not going to stay at
that aid station long at all. Just get a handful of food and some
Rocktaine and get out of there as soon as possible. I was going to
attack the Power Line, and the sooner the better.
I
wound up arriving at Fish Hatchery 5 minutes faster than scheduled. I
spent no more than 4 minutes at the aid station, and I got out of
there ready to tackle Power Line.
Fish
Hatchery (76.5 miles) to May Queen (86.5 miles)
About 1.5 miles of walking uphill on the road leading to Power Line
separated the aid station and the bottom of the Power Line Hill. I
tried to walk this section pretty fast too. Power Line was going to
be painfully slow, so I was hopefully using the roads to speed my
pace up to compensate for the hike up the looming hill.
After we turned left off the road, the Power Line started in earnest.
And it sucked. The first part of the section involved a couple of
sections so steep it rivaled the grade up Hope Pass. On top of that,
the light of my primary headlamp started to dim. I used the primary
headlamp for 2 hours in the beginning of the race, so it was
understandable that they were going to dim in the wee hours of the
second night. Luckily I had my second headlamp in my Camelbak, so I
stopped for a brief moment to get it out and pack the primary
headlamp back in the pack. I had new batteries in my drop bag at May
Queen, so I made a mental note to change the batteries in the primary
headlamp so that I had it for the rest of the race.
One of the important pieces of advice here is to ALWAYS have back-up
plans in case you expect the unexpected. For one, I always carry 2
headlamps on me, and for another, I carry extra batteries in all of
the drop bags that I will encounter at night to make sure I have a
“backup for my backup”. This turned out to be critically
important at this stage, because I would have had a major problem on
my hands if I had no backup plan when climbing Power Line. Luckily
for me, a little advance planning went a long way and a crisis was
quickly averted.
One of the worst things about Power Line is the number of “false
summits” the runners must face before encountering the true summit.
I must have counted at least 5 of these false summits before another
agonizing hill was encountered. My legs were practically burning
here. I was with a group of people at this point, and nobody was
talking at all. We were all in various states of pain, with one sole
purpose to keep moving. Such a single, yet powerful purpose,
overriding the pain and the desire to stop. One single powerful
purpose consuming all other thoughts. One step in front of the other;
just keep moving and eventually will get to the top. Power Line hurt
like no other, but the drive was overwhelming. Keep going, keep
going...
Nearly 2 hours after leaving Fish Hatchery we finally arrived at the
true summit at the top of Sugar Loaf and finally started the initial
descent into May Queen. I was extremely exhausted and my running
looked more like a shuffled walk, but I still wanted to maintain a
15-16 minute mile pace down the hill. The drive to get to May Queen
was stronger than ever, and even though I looked terrible, I was
still steadily making my way toward May Queen, and eventually the
finish line. The big hills were done, and I realized that.
The descent was easy enough until we had to turn off the road onto a
final section before May Queen, very rocky single track that tests
one's patience. I was at the end of my patience, and didn't need a
steep rocky single-track section. After about 15 minutes of up and
down pain, I finally emerged out onto the road and arrived at May
Queen. It was 25 hours into the race.
Five hours to make 13.5 miles. That should be comfortable enough to
finish under 30 hours. The forced march worked.
May
Queen (86.5 miles) to the Finish (100.0 miles)
5AM in the morning, and it was cold at May Queen. I wanted to keep
moving towards the finish, but with a huge 13.5 miles, and no further
aid stations, separating me from the finish, I needed some sustanance
to carry me over the distance. So I sat for 5 minutes to eat a couple
of pieces of turkey sandwich and some potato chips. After filling up
with Rocktaine, I was off again.
Soon after May Queen, I finally had the urge to really pee, and so I
did. It was still dark, but was thankfully a lot lighter than it was
before. The Rocktaine might actually be working!
Most of the last stretch was some small ups and downs along Turquoise
Lake. The Tabor Boat Ramp was 6.5 miles along this stretch
and was considered the halfway point. I mentally broke the stretch up
to those two sections. The trail was a bit treacherous to begin with,
but with the dawn of a new day approaching, I didn't need the
headlamp anymore. I had better lighting with the dawn and was able to
progress eaiser on the rocky, unsteady trail.
I made my way to the boat ramp about 100 minutes after I left May
Queen. With 7 miles to go and about 3.5 hours to do it, it finally
dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I was going to finish this tough
race. I couldn't really run anymore as my legs were in all sorts of
pain. But the walking was still brisk; at least I had that for the
end.
The sun was shining brightly as I finally got away from the lake and
towards the edge of the town of Leadville. I quickly packed my
jacket, gloves, and hat into my Camelbak and walked briskly towards
the end. The end of a very tough leg in the Slam.
I was war weary, but was still standing in the end. With about 5
minutes remaining to the 29 hour mark, I finally saw the finish line
at the end of an uphill leg. I didn't want to go over 29 hours, so I
decided to put together a painful trot to make it to the finish line
under 29 hours. The effort was successful, and I finished the
gruelling feat in 28 hours and 57 minutes.
Reaching the finish line. Head slumped, looking at the ground. Yeah, it definitely hurt.
I was immediately escorted to the scales to be weighed. I was still 9
pounds underweight. How I pulled off the second half of this course
was beyond me. I had raised my level of pain tolerance to such a high
level in this race, just to make the finish line. They escorted me to
the medical tent. While I was finally left alone, I actually started
to cry a bit as the pain I was tolerating for a very long time was
finally released. I never had a race hurt that much. Not in any
Ironman triathons, not in any race that I did in my 23 year history.
The medical staff soon checked my vitals My pressure was way down (90
over 70), so the medical staff monitored that for a while while
giving me things to eat. As the 30 hour mark passed, a cannon blast
signalled the end of the race. All that mattered at that point was I
was safely finished and was moving on in the Grand Slam.
After another hour in the tent, my vitals were strong enough for them
to release me. I was weak, but I finally managed to get a smile out
to some friends that were hanging around the race. Leadville was
DONE. After a DNF two years ago, I manage to battle the course,
tolerate a greater amount of pain, and rise to the occasion to finish
this race.
The recovery from this race is a bit complicated for the week after
the finish, but I think I'll be OK for Wasatch. I had better be. This
is the last race of the Slam and an Eagle Trophy for this
accomplishment is waiting for me at that finish line.
A couple of days later, at the airport in Denver, I looked at those looming Rocky Mountains again, not with the eyes of a conqueror, but with the eyes of a survivor. Before entering the plane to leave the area. I secretly tipped my hat to those mountains with respect. They beat me two years ago, but I feel that I had a kindred connection with them now. I didn't conquer them this year, but now I felt that those mountains are a part of me now, and it's a great thing to have.
One more race, and then I can finally relax, with trophy in hand.
Wasatch Front 100, thankfully the last race in the Grand Slam, is next. Wish me luck.