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.