IMnotTUF 100 ... er 70ish mile RR

Late afternoon Saturday

I registered for IMTUF 100 in April as a birthday gift of sorts to myself. Last year, I had such a good experience training and racing UTMB that I wanted to duplicate that season. Training went pretty well, but it's always hard to feel confident with your abilities running through July and August in Georgia. The heat and humidity never take a break. And between the multiple yellow jacket stings, falls, and bear sightings, I was feeling a bit broken towards the end.

Yellow jacket sting to the ankle

Greenway fall

Hike Inn fall

Hike Inn fall

Standing Indian Loop overgrowth

Yellow jacket sting to the arm

Also, I thought I'd turned the corner on some foot tendonitis mid-summer, but it came back again towards the end of training. It was never outright painful, just uncomfortable. More on that later though.

I had a few 30 mile efforts over the cycle, but wasn't putting up huge weeks and never got a chance to string together a big training weekend like I had wanted. It wasn't my first rodeo, but I wanted the confidence boost of something like that going into the race.

And well, life had been life-ing. Even in the best of times being a care partner can be exhausting and I found myself struggling more and more with it in this season of life. Balancing it all became even more tricky and though running often is good endorphin boost, it isn't a cure-all.

Anyway, all that to say that when I arrived to Idaho on Thursday afternoon, I was so excited to be there and felt reasonably confident that my training and experience was enough to get me to the finish line. I took myself out to a nice dinner and tried to get a good night's sleep as I knew I wouldn't get one the night before the race.

On the drive from Boise to Donnelly

View just outside the Airbnb

I found burrata

Bison lasagna

Sunset at the Airbnb

Local IPA makes me happy

 I did a 20 minute shake out run Friday morning and it felt pretty awful. I was super sluggish, my foot was achy, and I had zero oomph. I attributed it to the long day of travel and told myself I'd be great come race morning. But the landscape was so beautiful and it was in the 40s. How could I not be happy? 

As seen on my run

As seen on my run

As seen on my run

As seen on my run

I went to breakfast at a cute little bakery in town and got some huckleberry muffins, croissants, a maple bar, and some coffee. There isn't much that makes me happier than eating pastries in a puffy coat on a race weekend.

Maple bar and puffy jacket equals joy

On the patio of the bakery

On the patio of the bakery

I went on a short drive after breakfast to check out some of scenery nearby where I saw a ton of campgrounds along the lake and passed by Tamarack Resort, a fairly well-known ski resort. 

Lake Cascade

Lake Cascade

Lake Cascade

Lake Cascade

Lake Cascade - didn't expect to have my toes in the sand this trip

Megan arrived around 1pm and we caught up for a bit before heading to grab a snack, packet pickup, and then dinner. She is a wonderfully calm presence and I immediately felt better about the next day just having her around.

Carbing up with beer and pasta

We got our drop bags ready back at the house and then tried to get some sleep.

Flat runner

My alarm went off at 4am MST (6am EST) and I felt like I had slept for 30 minutes. Ugh. I ate the top of a giant muffin, had a cup of coffee, and got dressed. It was in the 30s so I wore shorts, a wool short-sleeve, wool long-sleeve, and my rain jacket. With gloves, I was reasonably comfortable for the short time I'd be standing at the start.

We drove to the start and then dropped our drop bags before deciding to sit in Megan's car until the last possible minute. At the start, we positioned ourselves towards the middle/back, not wanting to get trampled alá UTMB.

Then it was time to race!

I settled in behind Megan and was grateful there was climbing at the beginning so we didn't have to rush into running. For a few miles we were on single-track going up, up, up and just waiting for the sun to come out. Eventually, we were spit out onto a jeep road and while it was a runnable up, we mostly just power-hiked. I told Megan to ditch me if I was infringing on her race as I was more than happy to have company for as long as she'd let me.

Sunrise Saturday morning

Fall colors were already showing

Megan in the early miles

 The first aid station was allegedly at mile 11.75 which didn't seem too far except there was a fair amount of climbing (~3,000’+) and a lot of technical sections. The infamous boulder section in which you're required to walk is within this first section. It was so, so beautiful, but I was grandma stepping my way down at this point and lost Megan. I was already on my butt scooching down a rock when I started to slide a few feet. Nothing really happened since I was already glued to the rock, but everyone around me asked if I was ok. I was feeling very East Coast lame at this point.

This was easy compared to the boulder section

The boulder section

 Luckily, I survived that section and headed on into the first aid station at Louie Lake (9:30 a.m.). With my drop bag still 10 miles away, I tried to be smart about filling up where I could. I grabbed a banana and refilled my flasks. It's hard to know exactly what to carry so you aren't overwhelmed with weight, but also being smart enough to not run out of food or water. I really should have carried an extra flask from this aid station, but I was not thinking about it the miles ahead.

In the next couple of miles after the aid station, I actually caught back up with Megan. The course was a little more runnable and I jogged when I could. There were moments in this next section that I was feeling pretty decent and while my foot was already giving me issues, I felt committed to getting it done. The views of the lakes and pine trees and huge expanses of valleys were a feast for the eyes. If for nothing less, I was happy that I got to see these places by traveling on my own 2 feet.

 
At the Lake Fork Aid station (12:13 p.m.), I grabbed my bag of nutrition to refill. I'd been pretty good about it so far and gels were actually the easiest thing for me to consume. I knew I'd need some real food though so I grabbed a few pancakes and bacon and chased it all down with Coke.

We power-hiked the next section of jeep trail. It was a fairly gentle grade, but it was exposed midday and our walk pace was the same as some of the people running. We both turned to look at each other when a female runner stood to the side of the road, pulled her brief liner away from her body, and proceeded to pee standing up. That was a new one. Eventually, we made our way to the trailhead in which we passed by Slickrock, a granite monolith. Had I been in a better mood, this would have been a fun section as there were lots of technical boulder sections mixed with some shady trail spots, but I was on a downward trend and feeling defeated this was happening so early.

As we made our way towards the next aid station, I realized my blunder of not filling my third flask. I had to ration for the last few very, very slow miles and knew that I'd really have to take care of myself when we got into aid. Rookie mistake. And my foot was really, really achy at this point. I usually can handle a pretty large amount of discomfort (my hobby is ultrarunning after all), but I was struggling with how off everything felt.

Trying to rally hard here

Views on views on views

At the South Crestline aid station (3:18 p.m.), I went to work to get myself out of the hole. I drank a bunch of water, had a cup of Coke, filled all 3 flasks I had, and sat down with a few wraps that I believe were turkey and hummus. I found some dogs to pet (and not eat... too soon? :P) and tried to ignore the signs that made it sound like we were headed to our demise in the next section.

Coming out of the aid station and for the next few miles were really low for me. Everything felt really hard and I had zero oomph even in the most runnable, beautiful places. Poor Megan had to listen to my whining for hours until I finally felt a smidge of hope as the sun started to wane.

There were a few smiles

 We went through the 45th parallel aid station (5:27 p.m.) which is really just a water stop as they have to hike everything in with goats. Apparently, they were all mostly friendly except for the one I managed to take a selfie with. I did take a gulp of Coke for the road and was trying my best to rally.

This was the mean goat

 The setting sun and golden hour started to breathe a bit of life back into me. Climbing up and over the Box Peak area was pretty fun. The trail was really just rocks at that point but not crazy steep and despite going off course briefly, I was loving the views. I signed up for this race for these kinds of moments; enjoying gorgeous scenery in a place I'd never been to with views far different from home.

Box Peak area

Not like home

As the sun started to drop completely, I was still holding out hope that I would be okay. Things were feeling a little more wobbly, but I was moving and eating and drinking. Once we finally came into the North Crestline aid (9:25 p.m.), I was craving real food. I grabbed some ramen and tried to get down as much as I could. I had a drop bag here and repacked as best I could for the night ahead.

I had extra shoes in my drop bag here, but other than my foot being in pain for other reasons, I had no hotspots or blisters. It wasn't particularly windy so I decided to forgo the weight of my puffy jacket. I did switch out my long-sleeve shirt for a dry one.

Into the next section, I don't remember too much. There was a lot of jeep road and I do remember being pissed that it was so runnable now and I had nothing left in me to run. We did stop at a group of trees along the road at one point to pee and put our rain pants on. This caused a bit of a giggle as we swished down the road. I was thanking the moon and stars that Megan was with me for so much of this because her presence was making this miserable day the slightest bit tolerable for me.

The mileage was off in my calculations again and whereas I thought we had 2 more miles to go, we actually had nearly 4 AND we were getting on single-track. I felt so defeated.

Eventually, we were spit back out on a road and I got the dry heaves which turned into a full on puke. I knew I would feel better if I got out whatever was not sitting well. Thankfully, I did feel a bit better for a few minutes after I relocated the gel to the side of the road. And in writing this recap, I do remember that I had eaten ramen at the prior aid station and was happy that at least I kept that down.

Into the Upper Payette aid (12:11 a.m.), my goal was to eat again. Veggie soup sounded great and I did manage to get the brothy parts down. It tasted amazing, but I couldn't handle the large pieces of food.

I managed to stay with Megan for a couple of miles in the next section, but sleep was hitting me hard. I felt compelled to lie down and shut my eyes for a few minutes. I knew if I did this, I'd lose my buddy, but I was crumbling. So I told Megan to go on ahead and I was going to take a 10 minute nap. I wasn't ready to give up the ghost yet and was always hopeful I'd catch her leaving the next aid as I was coming in perhaps.

Instead, I found myself spending the next 6 hours deep in despair. I pulled over 2 more times to rest for 5ish minutes with only the final time giving me a little life. Each time I stopped, I grew extremely cold and was forced to jog a few steps just to warm up. But my pace was not enough for a power walk. I was cold and sad and felt so exhausted. My headlamp blinked at one point, signaling the batteries were dying so I stopped to change those, feeling mildly pleased with myself for handling this task without a mental breakdown.

And the worst part was that the terrain wasn't bad. I was bad. It was frustrating to be on something so runnable and barely able to muster a walk. How the hell did I run for 2 nights on far worse terrain at UTMB?

After what felt like 400 lifetimes, I finally got to the Duck Lake aid (4:41 a.m.). I used the latrine and topped off my bottles. The aid station was kind of dead and no one seemed to want to help. Eventually, I walked over to ask for some broth and was able to get that down. I overheard the bib check-in volunteers asking about how many runners were left.

Wait, what?

I knew I wasn't having the best day, but I really was not thinking I was that close to the back or to cut off times. I pulled out my phone to look at the times and found that I was less than 20 minutes away from being cut off.

If this story had a better ending, I would have found some sort of spark at that point to keep pushing through. However, I was only thinking about getting to the next aid station and seeing how I felt. The whole next section was one of the shortest and easiest sections, but I reached rock bottom mentally as I trudged.

Part of me wanted to not even try, to allow myself to time out before reaching the next point. But I was too cold and too fearful of letting myself go that way. So I walked on and told myself to just have a sit when I got there and evaluate how I felt. It was the longest 4.75 miles ever. I was so cold and so miserable.

I managed to get there shortly after 6 a.m. and the cutoff was 6:30 a.m. So I had time if I wanted to go on. I sat next to the fire on a cloth camp stool with my drop bag and pulled out my thickest gloves. As I sat, I heard a crew member tell their runner about what to expect in the next section. Lots of climbing, single-track, and the next aid wouldn't be for nearly 12 miles.

I felt really terrible about not trying, but I also was a little scared about going out in my condition. I had barely been moving on the downhill jeep road. It seemed really unsafe of me to continue. And I couldn't fathom going for 12 more hours in the state I was in. So I walked over and told the volunteers I was dropping. Being prudent is a pretty lame way to end a race, but putting myself and potentially others in a sticky situation is worse.

I guess I didn't do my homework, because when I asked where I should go to get a ride back, they told me I needed to find another person's crew member to help me out. I was about to burst into tears at that point, but luckily a crew member overheard them and told me that she might be able to help me when her runner came in. I was so grateful and went to go sit by the fire to wait. While I was sitting there, another crew person asked how I was and if I was pacing or crewing. I told her I had been racing and now was waiting for a ride back to my car. She said her runner was going to be coming in after the cutoff and would definitely bring me back to my car. Phew!

The ladies crew who took me back to my car were all incredibly positive and I just sat back and listened as the sun came up. Back at my car, I was definitely feeling pretty bummed as of course I started to feel a little bit better at that point. But I also knew I had no business continuing on in the state that I was in.

I was starving and wanted nothing to do with all the gross running snacks in my pack so I stopped at a gas station on my way back to the Airbnb to get something to eat. I then took a shower and climbed into bed to try to get some sleep. Everything hurt horribly and my throat was on fire. I was coughing like crazy and my sinuses started to feel like they were clogged. I assumed this was from the dust and cold combined with my mouth being open while running. Later, I'd realize I was sick/getting sick. It won't erase the DNF and I certainly will never know if it actually contributed to my demise, but it did make me feel slightly more justified in feeling that awful during the race. 

I tried to time going back to see Megan finish. I got a little concerned as she wasn't showing on the tracker through the last aid station, but in doing some math, I was able to take a guess as to what time she might be coming in. I grabbed some more food on my way back to the finish line and then parked my car reasonably close so I could just sit in the shade of the driver seat and watch runners come in.

Eventually, I saw her red pack emerge from the woods and flailed from my car, leaving the door completely open as I hobbled through the field to try to capture a few photos. She did it!

Finisher!

In true Megan fashion, she was very humble about her finish, but I was very giddy for her and made her pose for a few photos. 

We then got her drop bags and headed back to the house. Our evening consisted of grabbing some underwhelming pizza and then sharing some beers before we faded off for the night.

I woke up feeling miserable, but again, didn't really realize how sick I was. I assumed it was just all attributed to running 70 miles. Driving back to the airport was just as scenic coming in, but once I was alone, I started feeling pretty bummed about the DNF. It didn't help that my body was incredibly wrecked with what felt like nothing to show for it. The what ifs weighed on me.

I allowed myself to feel bummed about it. I needed to just sit with it and feel what I felt. I have no regrets about going and trying. It was beautiful and amazing. And it was also hard and I wasn't my best self. I know I can do it and I think that's important to note on what makes a DNF like this hard. All these things can be true.

Cliché as it may be, I truly do feel lucky to have the confidence to go try these things. Not too many people can say they ran 70 miles in the wilderness and feel like they should have been able to do more. What a weight and a gift it is to have such high expectations.

In The Heat Of The Night 50k

I'm not quite sure when lining up to run a 50k as a training run became a thing in my life, but last night, I found myself doing just that. The IMTUF 100 miler is 6 weeks away. It is expected to be the 2nd longest race of my life, time-wise, assuming all goes as planned. It has less vert than UTMB, but the cutoff is 36 hours and it is a Hardrock qualifier. I'm pretty good at flat and fast, but my mountain fitness has yet to ever my match my enthusiasm. So I've been trying to duplicate much of last summer's training with long days on the trails and surviving weekday runs through the hottest summer I can remember in recent years.

I chose this race for a multitude of factors. It was a chance to do some night running which is good practice for running a 100 miler (in which only the Dauwalter's of the world don't need headlamps) and in theory, a break from sun exposure. The timing of it gives me chance to recover from the effort before the actual big race. Plus, the 6 p.m. start meant I could do a longer run on a Saturday without needing to put Max in his crate for a super long time. His potty-training has been great, but his mischievous behavior (re: destructive chewing) still needs some work.

Looking back, I can't decide if it was a pro or con that my work week was absolutely nuts. There's a part of me that was grateful for having it be so crazy that I was relieved to be running through the forest Saturday night with only running to worry about. But there's a part of me that wonders how much better I could have felt without all that extra cortisol stressing my body. I had multiple days of leaving my house at 6:45 a.m. and returning at 8:30 p.m., being "on" the entire time. I'm super lucky that Megan and Frank came to help with Adam and the dogs; they really are my lifesavers in so many ways. 

Two weekends ago, I ran at Brasstown and did the triple which was about 30 miles and 8,000' of gain. My coach and I decided to do a recovery week after that and coupled with the crazy workweek, I suppose I had a bit of a taper going into the week. I did manage about 20 miles this week squeezed into whatever pockets of time I could find, but all of them pretty easy miles given life and the heat.

I left my house around 3:30 p.m. EST to give myself enough buffer to get to eastern Alabama for the 6:00 p.m. CST start. There was a traffic jam on 285 that cause a bit of panic for me, but I arrived with just over an hour to the start and honestly, that was plenty. When I stepped out of my car, it was like an inferno outside. I had to park about 1/3 of a mile from the start and by the time I got to bib pickup, I was sweating profusely from just walking. 

Temps at the start

I went back to my car to get ready and sit in the A/C for a few more minutes. Eventually though, it was time to get the show on the road and practice working through feeling uncomfortable. I had no qualms about being given plenty of chances to feel uncomfortable!

There were 4 distances all starting at the same time - 5k, 25k, 50k, and 100k. I could glean from the interwebs that it was more gravel than single-track trail and that there was about 2,000' gain/descent per loop with the loops being 25k each. For all you math majors, that is 4,000' gain/descent for the 50k distance. This was half the vertical I ran at Brasstown, but I (correctly) assumed there was going to be a good amount of walking. 

When we started, I tried to position myself in the middle of the pack. I certainly didn't want to go out too fast and try to keep up with anyone running the 10k or 25k. Plus, I knew the first hour or two were going to be rough with the sun still out and the temperatures hovering around 90*. I was content to just get a lay of the land on the first loop and push it a bit if there was any sort of fight left in my legs after the sun when down on the second loop.

The pack spread out really quickly within the first 3 miles, but I had someone in view throughout the entire first loop. The terrain was all gravel and mostly well-packed except for the first half mile of the course. If it had been about 50* cooler, I would have really flown! There were really no flat sections at all. It was either up or down the entire loop. Which was actually kind of fun to run because I could gain back some time on the downs, but the ups gave me a chance to eat and get my heart rate down a bit. 

Good riddance to the big orange thing

There was one water-only station at mile 2.7, then aid at 5.3 and 10, water-only at 12.6, and the main aid station at 15.3. Rinse, repeat. 

I started to pass a few people here and there towards the middle of the first loop. I had started out conservatively enough that once I "warmed up", I settled into a comfortable rhythm. 

Miles and miles of this

At the 10 mile aid station, I pulled out my headlamp as it was starting to get dark. I bombed a few of the descents in the next section and was pleased that my legs were feeling so peppy. I'd been eating every 30 minutes or so and sipping both Skratch and water very consistently. It was hot and humid as bejesus though and I was drenched. 

When I was on the "demoralizing hill" (there was a sign letting us know that's what it was called), I opened up a pack of fruit snacks and dumped all of them in my mouth. Nothing weird, I do this all the time while running. But as I was trying to get any of them actually down my esophagus, I felt the dry heaves take over and immediately spit all of them out. The good news was that I didn't actually throw up, the bad news was that I was nauseous at mile 14. 

Coming into the aid station of the first loop complete, I grabbed a few more snacks from my drop bag and drank a bunch of water. I think even with my constant sipping, I was dehydrated. I needed to quite literally chill. So I walked out to start my second loop and tried to just relax for a few minutes, settle my stomach, and get myself in a better place. 

Fortunately, I was able to turn things around pretty quickly. I came upon a runner in that section who was bent over and massaging his legs, clearly cramping. I stopped to walk with him for a minute, basically forcing a packet of Skratch on him to use when he got to the water stop. He had no running vest or handheld on him and was just carrying a plastic cup from the aid station. Yikes! 

I filled up at the water-only stop, but the coolers were running really low so I went into hall monitor mode at the next aid station letting them know the water situation and to watch out for cramping runner. Food calories were feeling iffy at this point so I took a cup of what I think was store-brand Sprite and used it to drown a peanut butter cracker. This "short" race soon became an exercise in trying to practice eating for a longer race. Which is not really what I had intended, but I guess thanks for the gift, universe? 

Along the next section, I snacked on some more fruit snacks that actually made their way to my stomach instead of the ground. I was eating them a few at a time which seemed far more palatable than the entire package. 

I had committed myself to running at least 30 seconds up the bottom of each hill instead of just stopping to walk. 30 seconds seemed manageable and every little bit I was still running was getting me closer to the finish line. I had allowed myself the gift of music for the last 10 miles and let Drake and Diplo power me up and down the hills of the Talladega National Forest. 

The combination of snacks and jams made for an arguably fun last 10 miles. My legs were tired and I definitely was dreaming of sitting in my car with the air conditioner blasting, but there is always something that feels a little rebelliously fun about flying down a trail in the middle of the night at the age of 42. 

I knew that once I got to the particularly rough gravel in the final section that it was only about a half mile to go. I was highly motivated and feeling relatively good for mile 30 so I just emptied the tank as I came down the final stretch. The person handing out the finisher medals was just beyond the finish line and practically threw it at me as my momentum carried me well beyond the stopping point. 

Mission complete.

Driving towards Georgia, I realized the hour I gained was now an hour lost, but the silver lining was that if I was able to stay awake, I could watch the women's Olympic marathon when I got home. So like the crazy person I am, I immediately fired up the iPad when I walked in the door and carried it around as I got settled. I told Adam I would just keep it on closed captioning so he could keep sleeping, but I guess I've influenced him enough that he turned it on the TV and we stayed up to the see the finish. Let's just say I was sufficiently sleepy when I finally closed my eyes. What a night!

Spring Summer 2024

Did you spend your lunch running in the sunshine, wondering how the sky can be so blue and how your thoughts can be so dark? How you can be so happy and free and sad and loved and lonely all rolled into one big gulp? How you notice the yellow in the dandelions and the smell of gasoline mixed with freshly cut grass? How when your mind wanders away from the heat and niggles of pain that your stride picks up and all nuisances are forgotten?

That it seems like the perfect day for a cheery melody, but you cannot drag yourself away from diving into those feelings and swimming amongst the tears hidden by your sunglasses.

________

They say that one of the benefits of travel is all the new things you encounter that create new pathways in your brain. As you navigate the unfamiliar, all these new experiences force you out of your comfort zone. Some are a little more painful than others as you hope you're standing in the correct line for passport control or the drysuit you're wearing is indeed zipped in all the correct places.

But if you keep your mind open to all the things that could be wonderful, it can lead to magical experiences. Some of it is trusting your gut, i.e. asking your private tour guide to go to lunch. Some of it is blind luck, i.e waking up early to a gorgeous sunrise. Some of it is fueled by fomo, i.e. choosing the last kayak spot because you were afraid to miss out. Some of it is just allowing yourself to believe everything is a gift - the scenery, the wildlife, the people, the food, the opportunity to be doing that exact thing at that exact time.

Was it perfect? Absolutely not. But perfect is not only unrealistic, but boring. Often the things that don't go as planned are the memories we hold onto. And the secret is to laugh through the thunderstorm because usually whatever is happening is beyond your control at that point anyway.

_________

Shorts with long-sleeve shirts. A perfectly ripe avocado. The sun streaming through stained glass. Waves lapping against a creaky dock. Submerging shoulders in a hot bath. An afternoon nap with the windows open. Icy lemonade in July. A song that feels like a time capsule. One more chapter in a page-turner. Warm banana bread just out of the oven. A kiss to the forehead. Hands running through your hair.

_________

As the mercury hangs high in the thermometer, I strangely find myself feeling the best I have in months running-wise. Something about the early part of the year left me feeling wiped. I think I expected to find vigor again in my body. But it languished for months. Slivers of me would show up from time to time, making me believe that maybe I'd turned the corner.

I was asking my body to do a lot. I wasn't truly recovered from UTMB when I went to the well a short time later for Stinger. And the icing on the cake was Rehoboth. I just felt tired. Not that I couldn't run, but that my body couldn't be asked to go as hard as I wanted to.

Certainly the efforts in the following months were physically a lot as well. And mentally, I was all over the place. Excited to go do a huge bucket list trip. Wrecked from the days Adam was in the hospital. Grandma. Being pulled in a million directions at work. The onus of caregiving. It's no wonder that nothing was feeling fluid during that time.

Which I think back now, removed from it for a couple of months, and wonder how I managed to put my body through the motions. When I think about how I ran a 3:25 on a razor-thin line of sanity and essentially no marathon-specific training, I am floored. I am floored that I had the audacity to go out at that pace and I am floored that I didn't end up on a curb crying somewhere in Newton.

It's hard to remember that you cannot just keep asking so much without something carrying the weight.

_________

I'm staring at a spider on the ceiling as the water cascades down my back. It's the time of year that even a cold shower is still warm, especially after a run. I watch the spider move slowly towards the corner and stop as though it knows it's being watched. Spiders don't bother me and I'm too short to reach it anyway.

There's a swollen lymph node on my neck and I wonder if it's the cause of my HRV plummeting in the past week. My body fighting some infection that isn't showing much in the way of symptoms. Running is a roller coaster right now and my sleep has been interrupted by early mornings. I wonder if it's the heat or age or anxiety or something else. Perhaps all the above or none of the above.

I find slivers of me hiding in my runs. Miles that tick off easily, lost in my thoughts or lost in conversations. But this is often the exception, rather than the rule and I cannot fathom those times that I'd rip 18 miles mid-morning at 7:45 pace. I know I can't be greedy and have it last forever, nor do I think I'm actually putting in that kind of work.

I love it for many of the same reasons and for different ones too. That crutch of holding some of my sanity for a few hours a week. An escape from the doldrums of everyday life where I get to be selfish for a short period of time. Sometimes it's the place that I go and think and sometimes it's the place to clear my mind.

It can be a bit maddening to feel like it's fighting me back. To see paces plummet and feel unable to find that fluidity that I crave. I hope that this is merely a fluke.

_____

And I wonder if it will strike you in the middle of the night, when the demons are circling your already failing mind?

Will it linger like perfume on your clothes, reminding you that you'll never outrun it?

Will you smile to yourself, knowing it'll just keep popping up?

Or will you thrash at it, angry that nowhere feels safe?

_________

I told myself to let myself feel the pain today. It was the last few minutes of the workout and things were getting hard. I dug into it, letting my lungs burn and my legs ache. I thought about how I need to scrape the barrel, just let myself feel hollow.

It had been pouring during the first 20 minutes, pelting me sideways. Thunder erupted in the sky and I should have stopped, seeking shelter for safety. But I kept looping anyway. Lightning flashed in the sky and I kept my eyes on the path, locked into getting it done.

R3 3.0: Beauty & the Beast

Two years ago, I crawled out of the Grand Canyon and was certain that this was a one and done experience for me. But as time marched forward, I slowly forgot about the pain and was curious if it would feel easier the second time. My experience of running rim to rim to rim last year was much better than the first time, but it was still really tough.

Well, because you're reading this, you know that I decided to go back for round #3. But this year was a bit different for a few reasons, some good, some less than ideal. I was far less fit than last year (re: undertrained). We decided to run a slightly different route (re: longer). And Jared joined us for the weekend (re: the more the merrier).

Jared and I flew to Phoenix on Friday night and Roger picked us up at the airport. It was nearly 2am at home so we were pretty exhausted by the time we were settled at Roger's place. Roger woke up at some ungodly hour to go do a short run (?) and thus, we found ourselves already sleep-deprived well before the adventure began.

The 3 of us went to breakfast, shopped for some last minute items (re: croissants, Payday, post-run chips/soda/sandwiches), and then loaded up the car to head north. 

Traffic was a crawl heading to Flagstaff, but we made it to Pizzicleta close to 1pm and snagged 3 seats at the bar for our final rerun meal. Pro-runner and R6 FKT holder (re: he has the fastest known time for going across the canyon twice in one effort) Jeff Browning was having lunch there so we figured it was a good sign.

Traffic was a bit of a snarl getting into the park, but we were still super early for our projected 6pm start time. We actually found a parking spot right next to the Bright Angel trailhead and decided to just go ahead and start early.

At 4:26pm, we began our rim to rim to rim adventure. Roger and I had previously run down Bright Angel to North Kaibab and back up Bright Angel. This time, we ran 5 miles along the Rim Trail before taking the South Kaibab Trail down. Once we hit Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the canyon, everything else was the same as prior years.

The Rim Trail is a paved path along the top of the canyon and offers great views and easy footing. The direction we were heading was a slow incline and added a bit of vert in addition to more miles on our legs. By the time we arrived at the top of Soutb Kaibab, we were just shy of an hour in and ready to get to the real thing.

 
South Kaibab at sunset was a feast for the eyes. We moved at a careful, but honest pace down. This was Jared's first trip to the Grand Canyon and my first time down SK so we were taking lots of pictures and goofing off while Roger forged ahead. As we got further and further down there were less and less people on the trail and it felt like we almost had the place to ourselves.

 I was feeling pretty okay in the first stretch, but I'd been dealing with some self-diagnosed tendinitis in my foot and the descent was making it angry. And I could tell early on that my lack of trail-specific training and overall fitness was going to make this a different experience than my 2023 one.

 But as we hit the bridge to cross the Colorado River with a bit of daylight left, I was in good spirits. It was a gorgeous evening in a ridiculously beautiful place and I was doing the thing I love - running and adventure with friends!

 We refilled our water at Phantom Ranch and got all of our night gear ready to head through the next stretch. Roger asked if we would be okay to just hike through “the box”, aka the 8 mile flattish section from the river to Manzanita, the next water stop. We were all agreeable to err on the side of easygoing and headed off into the night.

 Bats and moths flew in between us as our headlamps bobbed down the trail. There was lots of swatting and shrieking, but also plenty of laughs. It was really warm in this section and I swear it got warmer the closer we got to Manzanita. I remembered from my prior experiences that this section feels extra long because it's relatively boring in the night. But I also remembered to stop a few times and get us all to turn off our headlamps so we could stargaze. With the nearly full moon and clear skies, it was really special to stand at the bottom of the canyon and feel very, very tiny.

 Unfortunately, the closer we got to Manzanita, the worse I started to feel. I went to a really dark place and it was awful. We weren't even 20 miles in and I was spiraling. I couldn't believe how hard it felt and I couldn't pinpoint what exactly was wrong. My feet were achy, especially the one with tendinitis. My heart rate was really high. I felt extremely warm. I was thinking I should just cancel my 100 miler in September. I thought that I might need to turn around at Manzanita and bail out early. Nothing was wrong, but everything was wrong.

Roger asked as we neared Manzanita how I responded with, “terrible”. I said I needed some time when we got there to get myself together. I wasn't even sure what I needed at that point, but at the very least, I needed a short break.

Once we arrived, I went to the bathroom, filled my water, and then lied down on a bench and closed my eyes. I swear I fell fully asleep for 2 minutes while I lied there for probably 10ish minutes. I cajoled myself back upright and though I was saving my croissants and kidney killers (re: Aleve) for later if needed, I decided I needed to pull out all my tricks right then. So I stuffed half a croissant down, popped a couple of Aleve, loosened my shoelaces, and within minutes, I was feeling a million times better.

I tied my hoodie around my waist, knowing the temperature would drop as we climbed up towards the North Rim. And instead of turning back early, I clipped into my trekking poles and started marching forward. As we climbed, I continued to feel better and the colder air was a welcome relief. 

We saw scorpions, took more night sky photos, traversed sketchy rock sections, and came across a man wrapped in a space blanket on the side of the trail. He was fully coherent and not injured, but was waiting for a medic. We offered to stay with him until the medic arrived, but he said he was ok so we continued on. The medic was only about 2/10ths of a mile from him when we crossed paths so we felt better once we knew help was right there for him. Eventually, found ourselves standing on the North Rim.

A hiking group starting their rim to rim traverse was at the trailhead as we arrived and offered to take our photo after we refilled our water bottles. It was chilly at the top so we made it a quick stop.

The descent was much faster going than the ascent and everyone started to feel better after a couple miles. We stopped to have a snack and Jared realized that he and I had been using each other's trekking poles since likely the top of the North Rim. Oops.

As we neared Manzanita, I really needed to use the bathroom and started to gap the guys to get there faster. Roger prefers to lead and Jared likes to take photos from the back of any of our group runs so I was in the middle of our caravan most of the journey. However, in this case, I forged ahead out of my own necessity.

Down at Manzanita, I used the restroom, filled my bottles, and decided to lie down again while the guys got their gear ready for the next section. It was first light and we could now put our headlamps away finally.

We were all in a pretty good place as we went through the box a second time. The daylight brought us back to life and we were happy to be on the return trip back. Much like the whole run, there were periods of crazy laughter and chatter interspersed with stretches of quiet. Sometimes, we'd hike for a mile or two with barely a few words, checking on each other as we all worked to do this really hard thing. And sometimes, we'd be laughing so hard that tears would be running down our faces.

As we neared Phantom Ranch, we made checklists of what we needed for the climb up Bright Angel. Water, water, water. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. PR was busy, but we were able to find a place to sit and get organized before heading up.

 

All of us were happy that only the final stretch awaited us. It was going to be hard, but we were going to get it done. We crossed the Colorado again and then began the final ascent.

Even though it was still relatively early, the full sun felt brutal in the exposed sections. I dipped my hat, buff, and sleeves in the few early creeks to make sure I stayed cool. We climbed and climbed and eventually reached the last water stop at Havasu Gardens with 4.5 miles to go. 

Normally, there is also water at the 3 mile and 1.5 mile rest houses, but a pipe recently broke and this was now the last stop for water. I filled up with 2.5 liters just to be safe.

The final stretch was tough. Jared was feeling the way I did the first time, but I knew he was going to get it done. Roger was feeling good and kept gapping us. I stayed back with Jared, making sure he was within my sight as we snaked our way forward. We sat in the shade at intervals and broke up the climb as much as possible. Still, we were passing plenty of people making their way up as well.

There was a ranger standing at the 1.5 rest house checking people as they went down, making sure they knew water was turned off and asking them how much water they had in them. While we had plenty of water and were heading up, I was appreciative of the park service keeping people as safe as possible.

I was dreaming of my cold Sprite and lying down. Every muscle in my body was screaming to just sit down. The sun beat down on us relentlessly. I looked out into the beautiful beast of the canyon, happy to be inching myself out of it.

Roger stayed with us in the final climb and the 3 of us finally finished just before noon on Sunday.

A very nice person took our picture and we were then free to sit down. Finally.

Our hotel room was at the South Rim, but check-in wasn't until 4pm so we hung out sprawled across the parking lot for a bit. It felt nearly impossible to drink and eat as I was just exhausted. But eventually, I was able to finish a sandwich, a Sprite, and a sparkling water. Feeling slightly more energetic, I went to go check to see if our room was ready. Luckily, it was ready early and we could shower and take a well-earned nap.

We hobbled out for an very early dinner at the Bright Angel lodge, cheers-ing with a few beers and then promptly went back to our room to get a full night's worth of sleep.

The morning after one of these things is always a favorite feeling. Completely wrung out, body aching, hungry, dehydrated, and mind fuzzy. There is an odd satisfaction in doing something so hard on your own volition that everything in your body hurts. I exclaim never again as I limp towards breakfast, but really, I'm waiting for the chance to do it all over again.