Race Report: 2011 Equinox 50 Mile

Short Version:

Equinox Check: Pass
Big thanks to all the volunteers, especially the ones who refilled my sweaty pack again and again.
Vermont, here we come!

Long Version:

Let me start by describing the Equinox, for those who aren't familiar.  The Bucks County RoadRunners puts on a series of 10 or 12 races each year, through the winter (the Winter Series).  Some idio-...  bright person got the idea to string all the courses back to back to make a 50 mile race.  They all take place at Tyler Park, which has a nice number of paved trails, but still not 50 miles worth.  So these races, ranging in distance from 5K to a half marathon, are each made up of one or more loops, ranging from 2.7 to 5.3 miles.  Further, there's a creek running down the middle of the park, and most of the loops are on one side (the largely tree-covered "back"), while a few are on the other side (the largely open "front").  The boathouse is the staging area next to the creek, and all the loops start there (well, a couple hundred yards from there, anyway).  So for this race, you're running a lot of loops, some more than once, some including parts of others, etc.  It sounds complex, but it's very well marked as to the order of loops and the course for each one.  Plus, virtually all the runners are familiar with the courses from the Winter Series anyway.  The Equinox is self-timed, and you can run any distance you like, up to 50 miles (or what the heck, a few more if you just tack on some extra loops!)  There are two aid stations -- one in the middle of nearly all the back loops, and one at the boathouse (close to all, but not actually on any of the courses).  Now with that background, on to the report...

I was very curious to see how the Equinox would go this year.  Several factors were at play; I started CrossFit about two months ago, I have not been getting in the training miles I'm used to since that time (though I've been pretty religious about a weekly long trail run), and at the present time I feel chronically short of sleep.  It's a good day when I can nap with the kids.  So all in all, a lot of signs that my running times might suffer, and I might not be able to make the time I'd prefer to at the Vermont 100 (coming in three weeks).  But on the up side, I had a great race at 3 Days at the Fair not that long ago, with a boatload of PRs.  That was on pavement; this would be on pavement (though not as flat by a long shot).  Plus lots of CrossFit folk claim it can dramatically improve running/triathlon times without high-mileage training.  I was skeptical (maybe they're talking about beginners?), but hopeful.

So I figured 50 miles at the Equinox would be a good test, to show whether all of the above amounted to good or bad.  I started by looking up the course record.  Last year Steven Davis posted an 8:07 if you only count time on trails (not any layovers at aid stations), or otherwise it was Euihwa's 8:36 from the inaugural race in 2008. Well I definitely wanted to beat the 8:36, but I would be in the weird grey area if I didn't also beat the 8:07...  I figured, what the heck, as long as this is supposed to be a test, let's make my goal 8 hours.  I'd run under 8 at Bull Run Run (two years ago) and 3 Days at the Fair (this year), so it was at least conceivable, though I've not found the Equinox to be an easy course in the past -- between the weather, the pounding from pavement, and the Tyler hills.  My best on the course was an 8:42 two years ago (last year I didn't run 50 as it was in the middle of the Grand Slam).  I figured I'm generally in better shape than two years ago, but I was not sure it was that much better, especially given the factors above.  Well, I'd just have to see.

Now at 3 Days at the Fair I managed to run very even splits for 50 miles.  I mean, sure it got slower as I went, but I was still under 10 minute miles by 50, and averaging closer to 9.  That had worked very well for me, as long as it lasted, so I decided to lay out a pace chart with a totally even pace that came out to 8 hours.  I assumed I'd be a little fast at the start and a little slow at the end, but I'd aim for consistent, which is (to say the least) generally not how I race.  It would be subject to the reality of the Tyler hills, but hopefully each loop would be close to the average pace.  In retrospect, the thing I didn't include was the extra mileage from crossing the causeway over the creek several times "between courses", which was not counted in the total race mileage.  That was very nearly a problem!  Well, notes for next year...

Prep aside, on to the race.  Being a familiar commute from the Winter Series, I timed my arrival pretty well, getting there just as the side gate was being opened.  I had time to send my spare hydration pack with a car going to the back aid station, commune with my Vaseline and Body Glide, take a pre-race gel, and chat a little about Western States (the winners having finished the previous night!).  Then we had to head over to the start.

Race Director Chris Mortensen made a few brief announcements (pie plates as course markings and whatnot), took a start photo, and we were off!  I immediately dropped back from the front-most group (Pete L, Michael G, and other speedsters) and fell in with Harris and Chris P.  Then dropped back from them too.  I had to keep reminding myself this was supposed to be a comfortable pace.  It was hard to judge since the creek is at the bottom so it starts with a mile or more of uphill, and I was going to be breathing hard no matter what.  But I tried to keep it within reason.

We hit the back aid station after a couple miles, and I stopped to ask if they had my spare pack (they did) and if they could fill it up the for me before I came around again (they did).  It was a nice pause too, though a couple more folks passed.  I fell in behind Jeff V and Jim C, and we ran together for much of the rest of the loop.  We hit halfway in about 23 or 24 minutes, which was way too fast -- my goal was 51 minutes and this was the uphill section, so the second half would go faster.  Oops.  But I couldn't throttle back much on the downhills, so we just went with it.

Thanks Jim for mentioning that you like my race reports (here's one more for you!), and passing the time telling us about the running group you're setting up at work.  Very cool.  Though I eventually stopped to walk a little when we hit 40 minutes.  It was time for a gel and S-cap for me, and I figured since I was so far ahead of my goal pace, I might as well relax a bit.  Jeff and Jim pulled away while I walked.  Once I got going again, I passed Sharon and a few others going the opposite direction.

When I finished the first loop, there was a truck parked in front of the sign showing the order of the courses.  That was fine, though, as I knew the Polar Bear 8-mile was second.  (In fact, it is not.)  I did a U-turn and headed back for another 5.3 loop to start the Polar Bear, in the opposite direction this time.  I wondered why Jeff (ahead of me in the distance) had gone straight, but I didn't give it too much thought, as it wasn't unusual for people to fiddle the order of the courses.  (Guess the legs were drawing blood form the brain already!)  I saw Euihwa and others just behind as I reversed course for the second loop.  This one was satisfactorily slower, if more lonely, until I caught up with Sharon.  We ran together into the aid station, which was nice.  And there, my key discovery was that my hydration plan was going to work.

Not wanting to blow time in aid stations filling up my hydration pack, I brought two, so I could leave one at that back aid station at all times.  I just asked the volunteers to fill the one I wasn't using, and swapped when I came by.  It had worked so well at 3 Days at the Fair, I had to try again!  I worried a little that the mechanics of the pack closure would be confusing without any explanation, but I needn't have.  The pack was ready and waiting at 8.5 miles, or whatever it was partway through the second loop.

Meanwhile, I had discovered why Jeff went straight.  When I checked my pace plan, I found that Honest Abe was in fact the second loop, and I was doing the third loop second.  Aargh!  Well, there was nothing to do but do the second loop third.  I didn't want to get any further off than that!  So my Polar Bear 8 miler would be in two halves, and I wondered if this would affect my hydration plan (I had plotted the mileage between stops), but it seemed to all work out.

Upon finishing the second 5.3 I did another U-turn for the Honest Abe 4.6 loop.  Some folks fell in with me and asked about my plans for the day.  I told them that I was aiming for 8 hours, and upon further inquiry, admitted that my previous best for the race was 8:42.  I got a skeptical sounding "can you really improve that much?"  What can I say?  Hope so.  They pulled away before long.  That's the down side to running long when others aren't, I guess.

Anyway, I looked up a little later to find Chris Palladino coming toward me -- he was on his proper third loop (somewhat further along than me!), but said he'd be just as happy to run with me, so he turned around and we more or less stuck together from there (perhaps 12 miles?) to about 25.  It was great to have the company!  We ran into Jeff coming the other way (also seemingly ahead, based on where we passed him), and he asked if I had cut the course or what.  I tried to explain, but it was probably lost in the rush of passage.

Finishing Honest Abe, I was pretty happy.  The last two loops were just slightly ahead of my goal pace, so all in all I was almost 9 minutes up!  On the other hand, my legs were getting sore.  Not seriously yet, just enough to notice.  I remember this always happening in ultras, and always earlier than it should.  For crying out loud if I can finish 100 miles, why should it hurt after 15?!?  I just needed the numbness to kick in.

The next loop didn't help.  It was my first front loop of the day, getting sunny and warm.  The morning had been cool but humid, and I was sweating a lot, taking S-caps every 40 minutes.  As I felt little twinges, I shifted to every 30 minutes.  That seems to be fairly normal for me for races -- whether due to heat or humidity or just running fast.  But the looong slow uphill in the sun was no fun.  I really wish that loop went the other way, and featured a short, steep uphill and an eternal downhill instead of the reverse.  About the only highlight was seeing some friendly faces (like the Hollerbachs coming in toward the Boathouse).  I walked the steepest part before it comes out to the big park road, and the rest wasn't much faster.  Including crossing the causeway afterward, I had lost a minute out of my buffer.  Those darn causeway crossings!

I didn't want to fall off pace before 20 miles or my goal was gone. And next up was the Half Marathon course.  Well, that's been good to me before (it's my Half Marathon PR course, actually), so I hoped for the best.  The first loop was great, largely because Chris was pulling me to go a little faster.  The second loop was not as good, because I had a longer aid station stop and I was just flagging a bit, plus it had another dang causeway crossing (which I walked).  Between the two I held my 8 minute buffer.  Good enough, but next up were two front loops.  And the sun was out.  And Chris stopped running to volunteer. And I had already lost time on this loop.  All ominous signs.  I walked more on this loop -- the steep part coming off the creek, the stop sign section, even once at the bottom of the hill because I was talking another gel and frankly needed the break.  I think on one of these walks I passed Charlotte going the other way, but I was so preoccupied sucking water from my pack that I didn't manage to draw breath to say hi until she was gone.  But walks aside, I pushed myself on the flats, and managed to come in right on schedule.  Yes!

The second loop was similar, though I saw Glenn running the other way, and I had the pleasure of talking to George Hollerbach for a while.  I had passed George and Dale on the big hill, but George ran ahead to talk to me for a while before dropping back again.  Nice!  I didn't even notice the last half mile of hill, thanks to him!  He mentioned he had seen Harris and Jeff, which I assumed meant they were still ahead of me (and had passed him first).  At one point I saw one of them in the distance I thought, but never managed to close it.  I was pushing the pace again, and suffering in the sun.  Whether because it was too dry or still humid but now hot or what, I couldn't figure out.  It was just tough.  I worried a bit that I was pushing too hard to hit my 50K goal and keep my buffer, and I might pay for it later.  But that was for later.

I was seconds ahead of schedule on that loop, finishing the Half Marathon, and therefore 50K, in 4:49 -- about the same 8-minute buffer as before.  However, this was the one time I couldn't just do a pack swap -- two front loops and the covered bridge and more was just too far to go on one pack.  So I went the extra distance and stopped by the boathouse, where Bob C filled up the pack for me (thanks!).  I talked briefly to Harris, who had indeed finished 50K ahead of me.  Jeff was there too, so I assumed he had as well.  Didn't see Euihwa, so I guessed he was still behind me somewhere.

I headed out as fast as I could, though I walked to and across the causeway, needing the time to will my way back to a run again.  I started the Covered Bridge 5K, featuring an out-and-back on possibly the worst hill of all the races, and immediately had problems. Cramp-type problems.  Not an actual stop-me-dead type cramp, but serious threats and warning signs.  Thinking about it, I noticed I had spoken quietly and mumbled a lot at the aid station, another sign of problems (dehydration problems).  I walked a bit, and shifted to an S-cap every 20 minutes.  Plus one when the cramps seemed especially imminent.  I drank more, and more.  Twice as much as I had at the start.  I had no urge to pee, and hadn't for a while.  Alert!  Alert!

I made it down to the Covered Bridge, and started back up.  I planned to jog through the gravel section and walk up the steep hill.  It would throw a wrench in my goal time for the segment, but I needed enough of a walk that the cramp issue went away.  I didn't make it more than halfway through the gravel and I was walking.  Ugh.  Partway up the hill, Euihwa passed coming down -- so he was at most a mile behind. For some reason, I hadn't thought he was that close.  He said "pick it up!" and there was no way.  Even when it started to level out at the top, I was walking.  Harris passed going the other way.  WTF!?!  I thought he was done at 50K!  If he had put down a faster 50K and now was out for 50, and I was walking, that spelled trouble!  Could one of them have skipped some other courses and actually be further behind? (Answer: no)

I ran down the hill covering familiar ground from the start/end of the 5.3 loop, and it felt OK, except it was getting iffy by the bottom -- lots of little wiggles in my legs muscles.  I walked some on the way back up.  I was sure I could feel Euihwa and Harris just behind.  I finally finished the Covered Bridge, 4 minutes off my goal.  Plus I had blown 4 minutes on the aid station stop and causeway walk after 50K.  My buffer was now zero.  Technically, I was nearly a minute behind my overall goal up to this point!  And I still had the Tyler Challenge loop (several steep hills there!), the Cham-Pain (in the sun!), and the Terrible Tyler (so called due to the awful mile-long hill in the middle).  I was really worried that I was not going to be able to get back on pace.  I mean, once you're off, it's just an inevitable slide to slower, slower, slower.

I shuffled up the hill past the causeway, determined at least not to walk the very start of the 3.5-mile Tyler Challenge loop.  It lasted until the right turn -- no way I wasn't walking up that part.  I marveled that Harris and Euihwa hadn't passed already, and assumed they would be here.  The only good news was, it seemed I drank and salted and walked enough that the cramps backed off for the moment.  Not that it mattered on this climb.

I pushed to a decent run when the course finally flattened out, though I walked again up the steep hill to where it joins the other courses. Even for a few moments when it takes the right turn toward the craft center.  Then up to speed on the flat section there.  Somewhere in here I saw Sharon again, for perhaps the fourth time, coming the other way, and looking like she could run all day long.  She said she was on her last loop.  She was gone before I could mention how I looked forward to that!  But at least I'd shortly be hitting the back aid station again.

I swapped for a full hydration pack there and kept moving.  For sure I'd be walking the last steep uphill before the course turned down again, so I needed to move while I could.  In my haste, I left my pace chart in the pack I gave up, but it was OK,  I figured if I finished this in 6 hours, I had a half hour for Cham-Pain (5K), and 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler (15K).  Not easy, but it was my shot.  I pushed a little on the downhill, once I finally got there.  It must have worked, because including the causeway crossing over to the Cham-Pain (which I walked again), I was dead on target pace for the loop.  Still at 6:01 instead of 6 hours (believe me I begrudged that minute from my Cham-Pain plus yet another causeway crossing), but a great comeback from Covered Bridge!

Now the Cham-Pain 5K was no fun.  I was drinking a ton to keep ahead of the cramps, and worried that my water wouldn't make it through half of Tyler Challenge and then Cham-Pain and finally around most of the first 5.3 loop of Terrible Tyler to the back aid station again.  I wondered whether I'd have to stop at the Boathouse for a refill, wasting precious time going back and forth to the aid station that wasn't actually on the course!  Meanwhile, I walked the steep part coming off the creek as usual, and then emerged from the woods.  It was sunny and hot.  Once I made it to the part along the road, the air was completely still.  I suppose the wind was at my back, at just the perfect speed.  It was awful.  I felt like I was cooking, and was going to be cramping again shortly.  I drank more, but not *too* much more, trying to conserve yet not cook, and leaving still less in my pack.

However, I did hit the turnaround in good time (6:16), leaving 14 minutes for the largely downhill return trip.  I had a short walk on the slight uphill on entering the woods, and then a magical thing happened on the way down.  I spied a water fountain!  I drank deeply, figuring time standing still here beat time standing still at the boathouse (where I'd incur the trip there and back).  I knew there was another fountain where the first Terrible Tyler 5.3 loop hit the covered bridge trail, so the small amount left in my pack only had to make it that far.  I drank more from the fountain to be sure.

Then I charged downhill.  Only my leg was quivering when the road flattened near the creek.  Not having any water to spare, I did the only thing I could -- slowed down.  It had to be.  Still, I made it back and across the causeway seconds under my pace goal.  It was 6:31, leaving just under 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler.  But I was out of the sun!

I walked the slight rise between the causeway and the first turn in the 5.3 loop, and drank my pack dry there.  I'd have to make it to the fountain now.  I turned right and pressed on down the hill, riding the edge of cramps, and debated whether to just drink at the fountain or to put the water into my pack.  I figured I had more than a mile to go from the fountain to the aid station, still largely uphill, and I might want to drink again.  But messing with removing, opening, closing, and donning the pack wasted time, standing at the fountain and then slowing to drink later wasted time.  But cramping between the fountain and aid station would be devastating.

I shuffled up the hill, unwilling to lose time to walking until the very steepest part up to the fountain.  I had to make good time on these last two loops!  When the fountain came into sight, another fear was realized -- two people just ahead of me, walking to the fountain. Taking both positions.  I wondered whether it would be rude to say "I'm in a tight race against the clock here would you mind waiting while I just take over the fountain please?"  I walked purposefully toward them, hoping to maybe scare them away or something.  But magically, they cleared the fountain as I had perhaps three steps to go.  Yes!  I drank, and drank, and... drank some more.  At least twice as much as I would have taken from my pack, but I had to reach that station.  And then I left.

I pressed on through the rest of the uphill.  Chris Mortensen passed going the other way, and asked whether I was on the first or second Terrible Tyler loop.  Second loop?  As if!  I managed to hold up one finger, though I don't think I said a word.  Finally, the blessed downhill arrived.  My quads had been twinging but I charged down and hoped for the best.  Thankfully, they carried me to the station.  I had wanted to make it there with an hour to go, figuring it was about 44 miles.  I was just a hair over.  I grabbed the fresh pack with glee, and walked out sucking down a gel and the mangled wreckage of two S-caps.  I had left at 7:01:46.  18 minutes to get to the bottom, and 40 to make it around the last 4-mile loop, including the notorious Terrible Tyler hill.

The downhill went well, and I hit the end of the loop seconds under 7:20.  Jeff was there with camera, and I may have waved, but otherwise just pressed on.  I wanted to make it to the uphills before walking again.  I did (make it, and walk).  I tried to walk as little as possible on the terrible hill, which amounted to once around the Covered Bridge/Honest Abe turnoff, and once at the part that looks straight up.  I was calculating times frantically, and it looked promising.  At long last, I hit the top, and headed back down.  It seemed like I was going to make it.  I think I was grinning madly already.

When I passed the station George Hollerbach held out a full pack, but I declined.  He said it had ice cold water!  I said, I'll get it later, I only have two miles to go!  An innocent bystander walking the trail commented "only two miles?" as I was leaving.  I heard George, bless his heart, reply "Well, he's done 48 already..."  I didn't quite hear the reply, but my imagination filled in "Oh my God!"  Whether that last was true or not, the whole thing had me smiling even wider!

It still looked close, but like I was definitely going to make it.  I spared a moment to imagine getting caught up in a leash and crashing to the ground in my last stretch -- at one point earlier I had passed a trail-spanning mob with angry-looking dogs and T-shirts reading "Pit Bulls Are People Too", or some such.  Seriously?!?  But thankfully, they were not on this loop.  I charged down.

From past loops I knew I had about 6-6:30 from when I hit the Stop sign at the bottom of the long hill, and my legs would be dead, but that time included walking the short hill before it turned down again.  I got to the sign about 7:51, and I was smiling again.  I was careful to walk as little of the hill as I could get away with, and then blasted down the final stretch.  A last watch check and I was at 7:55 after passing the 5.3 turn-off.  Yes!

I'm sure I was grinning madly as I came down the final hill, to see Chris M and Jeff waiting at the bottom.  I crossed in 7:56:07, shaking fists, jumping, shouting, and the whole shebang.  I made my best-case goal, and I can put all that other crap behind me, because I'm ready for Vermont, baby!  So, apparently, are Gregg, Jeff, and Harris, having all scored stellar 50K finishes and/or PRs today!  Congrats guys!  I'm sorry I couldn't stay to see everyone else finish their long runs -- I knew Euihwa, Rob, and Breandan at least were still out there.

(Now speaking of the Vermont 100, I must confess that more than once during the race, I regretted ever thinking I wanted to run another hundred.  When Gregg mentioned afterward that I should sign up for Grindstone because the price was going to increase, I believe I just cursed at him.  But I'm sure tomorrow will be different.  :)

In closing, thanks to Chris Mortensen and all the volunteers who put this on -- including Diane, Bob C, Chris T, Fred, Jeff, Chris P, Mark Z, the Hollerbachs, and at least a dozen others I'm forgetting. Special thanks to everyone who refilled my sweaty packs -- as is probably clear if I had taken those six full stops to refill it myself, at a couple minutes apiece, that would have put me right past my goal.

What a day.

P.S. It still seems to be a little early to draw any conclusions about CrossFit, but I must admit that my two races since I started, 3 Days at the Fair and the Equinox, have gone startlingly well.

Race Report: 2011 3 Days at the Fair 24-hour

So this one was hard to predict going in.  I'd never done a timed race like a 24-hour before, and I'd never run more than about 32-33 miles on pavement.  Still, I had lofty goals.  Since I finished the Vermont 100 just under 20 hours (averaging 5 miles/hour), with an extra 4 hours, I should be able to put in another 20 miles, or 120+ total.  130 would be great!  Of course, that was not taking into account that my average pace at a 100-miler is made up of a fast start and a slow end -- I wasn't running 12-minute miles for the last few miles at Vermont, as Harris (my Vermont pacer) can attest to.  In fact, my goal for the last leg there was simply to not walk the entire thing.  And this race was made up of 0.86 mile loops, which would also be a new challenge -- in the past, I've found the 3 loops at HAT Run to be about the most I really care for.

Now add to that, the weather forecast for this one looked ominous -- 30% chance of rain at the start and through the day, going up to 50/60% overnight.  It did look like we'd finish shortly before the actual thunderstorms, but only by a pretty narrow margin.  So on the one hand, not a hot, sunny day.  But on the other hand, rain.  At least it turned out to be nice while my dad and I drove up to the start at the NJ State fairgrounds (perhaps 2 hours from the Philly area) -- cloudy and "just right" temperature-wise, with no rain yet.

We met up with Melissa (my crew for this one) at the race, checked in, and then found a spot to set up.  We brought a canopy to keep the rain off (though not one with sides like some other folks had -- jealous!), and a table and some chairs.  We weren't able to claim the most obvious spot -- as we tried they told us there were going to be catering trucks parked there for a party that evening -- but we found a nice place right around the corner, still along the course and not too far from the main start/finish area and aid station.

I took a moment to apply a liberal dose of vaseline and body glide.  I still haven't forgotten the chafing in the rain at Bear Mountain, a few years back.  (In hindsight, I could have done more -- maybe just bathed in the stuff!)  I went over everything with Melissa again, though she seemed to have it all down anyway, and then visited the start/finish area to see if they were giving out the bibs yet.  I got one with about 5 minutes to go, and just hung out near the start with the other 24-hour runners.  The occasional 48- or 72-hour runner went by, mainly walking.  I hoped to keep from walking substantially as long as possible, but who knows?

Looking around, I didn't really know anyone else in the 24-hour race.  I had tried looking folks up online, without a lot of success.  About the only one I could identify was Anna Piskorska, who was wearing a US (24-hour) National Team shirt, and looking like she was ready to tear up the course.  I heard a few more names as they handed the bibs out, but my thoughts were really elsewhere and none of them stuck.  And then, without much fanfare, there was a final 5-second countdown and we were off!

A few people exploded from the line, and I tried to hold back.  It's one thing if you need to beat a mob onto a tight stretch of single-track, but at this race, 24 hours on a course easily wide enough to accommodate 6 or 8 people side by side, there was really no excuse to go out too fast.

Still, within about a quarter mile, I ended up running with Anna, out ahead of everyone else.  We talked a bit, and it was nice to benefit from some of her experience, plus it kept my mind off just running in circles.  She said I should enjoy my first 24-hour, because after a few you pretty much know what your goal is and who you're competing against and you just have to focus on getting it done.  Well, I was enjoying it so much I would have missed a turn and run right on down the fairgrounds if she didn't stop me!  Oops.  She also pointed out that the course wasn't entirely flat (though it sure felt that way in the first loop) or pavement (there was one section where the shortest path was through the grass, and I took that route on each and every loop); I'd want to pay attention to that stuff later.  She also mentioned "the wall" that was out there waiting for each of us... somewhere.  In any case, Anna was aiming for 130 miles for the day, and I thought maybe I'd just to try to hang on to her coattails and see where that left me.

It didn't work.  After a couple laps, she stopped at her aid station, and didn't catch up again.  My dad and Melissa may have mentioned that I was going a little too fast, but it was like an 8:30 or 9 minute pace, which didn't seem unreasonable.  I can do that for a good long time.  So I found myself, at least temporarily, in the lead.

As the early race went on, I could tell that my crew strategy was paying off.  Other people were stopping at the main aid station, or at their own tents or tables along the course.  That meant time standing still.  Instead, when my water was up, I'd just hand my empty pack to Melissa, and she'd hand me back one with water, gels, clear of trash, and all.  It doesn't get any better than that!  I walked a bit to get the pack back on, but it was forward progress, not standing around.  I felt bad when I was picky and came around again asking her to take it back to get the air out of the bladder or loosen the straps or whatever, but she did it all and kept me right on track.

Going through 20 miles, there were a few surprises.  I had run into various aches and pains, which always seems to happen earlier than it should.  I mean, if you're in shape to run 50 or 100 miles, why are you getting sore after 15 or 20?  It's not right!  But I sort of remember that happening at every long race, so I just hoped none of the individual problems were going to get worse.

I had also passed another runner a few times who appeared to be in the 48-hour and still going, and when she ran, she was always way up on the front of her feet -- what that whole barefoot movement seems to be recommending.  It made me think a bit more about my own form.  I wasn't going to run 24 hours on my toes, but I shouldn't be doing it on my heels, either.

Another surprise was that Anna hadn't caught up -- and in fact, I was two laps ahead.  I never seemed to actually pass her, so I assume it happened while she was stopped for one reason or another.  But her crew and tent were right across from mine, so our "people" were keeps tabs on us.  I was sort of operating on the assumption that I'd crash later in the race and she'd blast on by, but I figured I'd hold onto the lead as long as I could.

And the "flat" course.  It wasn't very long before I started resenting the little bitty hill that went alongside the grounds building.  It was short, and not very steep, but noticeable.  It wasn't like it really took all that much out of me, but it was there.  Up until this point, I had been taking a walk break every half hour, just to give my legs a little rest.  But I decided to just walk that hill instead.  So every lap from there to the end, I walked that little hill.  Plus, it turned downhill immediately afterward, which made it easy to break the walk and start running again.  It was a nice break, and on the tough loops, I could just look forward to getting to the hill, and my walk break.

The marathon mark passed around 3:52 -- not a PR by any stretch, but I was running a lot more comfortably than at any marathon I recall (even the 3:45 ones!).  I was starting to worry about tedium in trying to run another 120 loops, and quickly decided to focus on shorter-term goals.  Marathon, 50K, 50 mile, 100K...  then a big gap to 100 miles.  Past that, hopefully the excitement of running further than ever before would carry me on.  But for now, 50K.

I got a little excited as the 50K mark approached and it looked to be a race PR.  (I think I went faster in training once, but it was on a 33-mile route just measured loosely with Google Maps.)  It was also about this time that I had my first hallucination of the race.  :)  My dad had told me at maybe 1:45 into the race that Erin and the kids were on the way over.  It was a two hour drive, and now past 4 hours in, so I kept wondering whether I'd see them next time I passed the crew tent, and they just weren't there.  So I round the corner leading to the last stretch before turning onto the finish line corridor -- and in the distance, I saw my sister!  I mean, maybe it could have been anyone, but she was clearly wearing a "Hope College" sweatshirt, which only my parents could have provided.  OK, maybe I could only make out the "HO" at the beginning, but really, what are the odds there would be someone else, the spitting image of my sister, wearing a sweatshirt just like what my parents would have?  Suddenly the delay was explained.  They had to go pick her up at the airport on the way!  Boy, what a dastardly little plan to surprise me!

Then about 50 yards later, it became clear that the woman in question was quite a bit older than my sister.  On a later lap, I was able to read the whole "HOLY" on her shirt (I never did catch HOLY what).  Oh, well.  I love you anyway, Cora, even if you didn't make it to the race.  :)

So I was pretty excited to officially pass the 50K mark in a PR -- about 4:38 (extrapolating a bit from the end of the 30.88-mile lap).  That was my first PR this year.  If you're wondering why there haven't been more race reports, it's because it's not all that motivating to talk on and on about how I ran the same race 10 minutes slower than last year.  :)  Anyway, I told Melissa and she asked if I wanted her to Facebook it.  I said sure!  And now I turned my thoughts to reaching 50 miles.

Surprisingly, one of the things that helped a little with the loop course was my dad and Melissa wandering around.  Sometimes they've be cheering me on from the finish line.  Other times they'd be at the tent.  Or one each.  Or Melissa would be scrupulously taking notes near the scoring table.  (Of what?  My splits?  She later said something about trying to learn the names of the other runners.)  Anyway, just the small variety in where they were made each lap a little different, and that helped, for whatever reason.  But wherever she was, Melissa was always totally on top of my gear.  If I needed a fresh pack or hat or whatever, she always had it ready.

Though I did hear about it occasionally.  At one point there was a little very light rain.  Not even enough to mess up my glasses, but just a hint of what was to come.  I asked for my Grindstone visor -- I wanted to have glasses protection available even before rounding a full lap, but didn't want to heat up my head with a full hat.  Then I just had the problem of what to do with it.  I could easily hang it from the front of my pack, but then it just bounces off my chest.  I could hang it from the back, but much less conveniently since it doesn't have a velcro closure like my hats tend to.  I could wear it, but somehow having the visor there was annoying -- it seemed to make me hotter somehow, and cut off my vision a little.  So I just put it on backwards.  Convenient if needed, not to bothersome in the mean time.  And what do I get from Melissa next time around?  "Nice visor!  Not sure exactly why you're wearing it backward -- it's not fashionable that way or anything..."  Sigh.  :)

By this point, I was pretty solidly into the 9+ minute pace range.  The days of 8:30 had gone, last seen at maybe 22 miles, not to be seen again.  But that was still great -- I wanted to keep around 10 minute miles as long as possible, and then under 12 minute miles as long as possible.  I hoped not to fall much further, but we'd have to see what developed.

Erin did show up, with my mom and the kids, and that was fun.  I got smiles and hugs from the guys, and they explored the fairgrounds with mom and grandma and their red wagon.   For a while there, I never know at what point of the course I'd hear a "Go Aaron!" from the sidelines!  Again, it helped break it up a bit.

Then there was the time I came around the turn toward the tent, and Sean (1yo) bolted directly toward me.  I had to stop short so I wouldn't bowl him over, and he hugged my leg, and I ruffled his hair before carrying on.  Then as I leave the area, behind me, I hear: "Sean!  Sean, you can't go with daddy!  Sean!  Come back here!  Sean!  Someone get him!"  They sounded more and more desperate as they went on.  I got a big old smile, imaging Sean doing a lap behind me.

I don't think they had all planned to stay that long, but it was quickly becoming obvious that I was on track to a 50-mile PR as well.  Close, but definitely possible.  As everybody hung around lap after lap, I thought maybe they were waiting to see it.  Sure enough, the laps rolled in, and I came through 50 at about 7:41, definitely under my Bull Run Run PR of 7:52.  Woo-hoo!  It was starting to look like a PR kind of day, and Melissa stopped asking about Facebook each time.  :)

Well, I enjoyed the cheers and attention, but not surprisingly, the family departed shortly thereafter.  Since Melissa had agreed to stick it out all night for me, I didn't need them there for aid, and we had agreed it made more sense for them all to have a more normal day and get some sleep and then come back for the finish.

The bad news was, I stopped at the bathrooms here and there, and every time, standing still and then getting moving again, my head swam a bit.  Not unusual, but I had hoped to hit that at 80 miles not at 50 miles.  It really made me think my biggest problem at Western States was standing still while talking to the doc, instead of sitting down when it became clear he wasn't going to let me off easy.  C'est la vie.

The good news was, it was a pretty short gap from 50 miles to 100K.  My 100K PR was close to 11 hours, so I had plenty of time.  In fact, I was able to keep up the 10-minute pace, and came through 62 in about 9:39.  Awesome!  It was nice, someone had scribbled "you're doing great!" in chalk near the last turn, and every time I passed it, I thought to myself, yeah, I really am doing great!  I think I may have had a similar conversation with Melissa, too.

Now we came to the long stretch between 62 and 100 miles.  This part had a whole variety of challenges.  Nightfall.  Rain.  And more.  There were some nice parts too.  I had identified John Price one time when he crossed the finish line just ahead of me (there was a screen that printed out each runner's name, time, and distance as they crossed).  This is the John Price who had just run across the country and then come straight to 3 Days at the Fair to do that too!  We walked and talked for a bit.  Given the state of my feet post-race, I still can't really fathom multi-day efforts, much less running an ultra every day for months!  Plus I met a few more ultra-listers in person, or at least matched up some faces with names.

I also talked to Phil McCarthy a bit.  Not knowing who he was, I thought he was a 24-hour runner (as he was moving pretty well compared to the other multi-day racers).  I felt like I was running a little faster than he was, though whenever I took a longer walk break he seemed to motor on by.  But he let me know he was in the 48-hour, had completed 135 miles already the first day, and was over 200 total.  Wow!  That blew my mind.  I told him how amazed I was at 200 miles already, and he said something like "thanks, but I've got my eye on greater things today."  I didn't understand what he meant at the time.  But even in the short time we talked he was really encouraging.

Still, I was breaking this down into 1-hour increments at this point.  I had hit 65 in about 10:10, so I wanted to hit at least 70 by 11:10, and 71 would be better.  It would tell me whether I was still on the 10-minute pace or slipping to 12.  I think my legs were getting more blood flow than my brain -- I feel like I ran about 3 laps chanting "70 or 71 in 11:10" in my head.  Maybe I should really look at an iPod.  (But hey, I did hit 71 in 11:09!)

Now another problem that came up was that Anna had really turned on the jets, starting at maybe 10 hours.  Every time I saw her it seemed she was going faster, and pulling away rather than falling back.  Occasionally I'd catch up a bit (I assumed, due to an aid stop), and then she'd start pulling away again.  What could I do?  I didn't want her catching up while I was still feeling decent.  So I ran faster too.  I'm sure that helped me make those 10 minute miles.  But I was a little worried.  Did she just start feeling better all of a sudden?  I was happy with my day, but not feeling better in a way that would make me spontaneously speed up like that.  If she kept it up, her victory was inevitable.  All I could do was wait and see.

Meanwhile, Melissa announced that she had managed to sneak into the 12-hour race, so she'd be able to run with me starting at 9 PM -- for the last 12 hours of the race.  I hadn't even known she'd brought running clothes!  This race had a no-pacer policy, and I wondered whether it would really be an asterisk-kind of performance if I did really well but basically had a pacer for half the race.  But heck, if I really felt like I needed a pacer I could have paid for someone to enter the whole 24 hour race with me.  I thought about telling her no, or trying to put some kind of conditions on how many laps she'd do, but then I thought what the heck.  We'd probably both feel better running together than having her sit and wait, and she was going to be a paying 12-hour entrant...  So go with it.

Meanwhile, would I keep up 6 miles per hour?  I hit 76.3 miles in 12:02, so I was still on track.  That set a pretty decent 12-hour mark, too!  (I've never done a timed race of any kind, but I know the winner of the Labor Pain last year didn't go that far.  Of course that was a trail race, but everything I'm comparing this to is a trail race.  If I could make these times on trails I'd really be on fire!)

Also, Anna seemed to crash at 12 hours.  Next time we talked, she said she made her goal of 70 miles in 12 hours.  Now I thought I understood -- she pushed really hard to hit that goal, and was suffering a bit afterward.  Bummer.  But I'm sorry to say, I didn't complain at gaining another lap or two over the next hour.

And it was nice to run with Melissa.  It was a little intermittent -- she'd take a lap or two off when I needed a fresh pack, and sometimes I felt like I was only going 4 or 5 laps between switching.  But she kept my mind off the monotony, and the weather, and so on.  The party also helped.

Oh, did I fail to mention the party?  It was in a barn right alongside the course.  I didn't actually look in much, but I saw the folks outside walking in, staggering out, or sitting and smoking just outside.  It was described to me a hoedown for all the hillbillies within 30 miles.  Early on, it sounded like square dance music.  Later, an auction.   Something went for $3500!  I wondered what.  Still later, it turned to more pop-style dance music.  The last time I'd see it before they shut down, there was a crapload of empty tables, a DJ, and about 10 kids bopping around the dance floor.  But for now the place was hopping, and it kept the night alive, rain or no rain.

Speaking of weather, we got hit with at least one brief downpour.  I put my jacket on, and then the rain largely backed down to "drizzle".  I saw others take their jackets off again, but I didn't feel like bothering -- it had cooled a bit since sundown, and I wasn't too hot with the jacket, so whatever.  I was still running well -- on track for an amazing sub-15 hour 100 miler!  Well, until I suddenly realized that 12 hours plus 4 hours wasn't 14 hours at all.  I can only plead blood to legs, not brain.  When I realized the error, Melissa said "yeah, I thought that sounded a little off..." But she graciously had kept her mouth shut.  :)

Math aside, the first real problem of the race came at 92 miles.  I finished a lap, and suddenly couldn't run another step.  Well, you know, whatever, I figured I'd walk 10 minutes and see if I felt better.  (This happens to me moderately often in a 100-miler.)  I didn't.  I walked the whole lap.  Rick (the race director) at the timing table asked what happened -- I expect observing my split suddenly going from 9 or 10 minute laps to 16+.  I told him "well, I found the wall!"  He sounded surprised, and assured me I was still doing plenty well.

I didn't want to really switch to walking, so I forced myself to jog again.  It wasn't good -- 12 or 13 minute laps, so 14-15 minute miles.  I couldn't really go faster.  But by this point, I was close enough to 100 miles, I could drag myself in.  First I told Melissa I'd sit down for a while at 100 and see how I felt.  But then as I was able to at least keep up the slow jog, I decided that was dumb, and I'd just walk a lap and then see.  Maybe I'd walk-one-run-one or something.

As we got close to 17 hours, Melissa told me to speed it up if I wanted to squeak in under 17.  At that moment, it didn't seem worth it.  It wasn't like I'd be that much happier to get 16:59 than 17:01, and it would really hurt to push enough to save a few minutes.  Sure enough, I came around for 100.36 miles, and Rick called out "17:03:09!"  Good enough -- still a PR by more than 2.5 hours!  Maybe next year I'll chase the sub-17.  :)

I walked the next lap as planned, and then managed to get back up to my shuffle.  Not fast, but forward motion.  And no one-on-one-off, I managed to keep it up!  I didn't really have any concrete goal now.  I had hoped for 130 miles earlier, but with this drop-off, it seemed unlikely.  If I got a little further I could probably walk it in for 120, which would be nice.  Nothing in the middle there was really all that inspiring, and no one was really pushing me to do better at the moment.  Hmm.  Occasionally I walked a bit, and it wasn't always in a straight line.  People I had passed dozens of times were passing me now.  Anna's aid tent had been packed away and removed (?), though she was still out there plugging away.

The end came during the 106-107 mile lap.  My feet were pretty sore, and I decided to walk one again.  The problem was, that didn't make them feel any better.  While I suppose in truth I was sore all over, what really stuck out were whatever little tendons or muscles go up the outside of the bottom of your shin -- I think they pick your toes up off the ground each time or something.  And the ball of my right foot.  The shin thing, it was just pain, I could ignore it.  But the foot thing, that was trouble.  That was, I guessed, too much pounding the hard ground.  I was already walking, and it didn't help.  I tried adjusting my gait, and it didn't help.  I couldn't find a way to get around it.  The grassy section felt better, but I'd be adding a lot of distance to walk in the grass all the way around (since the inner edge of pavement was the certified route, the only fair way to walk the grass was way on the outside of the road).  Actually, there were some sections with no real grass option.  I was at a loss.

I decided to sit for a while and see if a rest helped my foot.  We crossed at 18:57:57 for 107.2 miles, and made our way around to the tent.  I sat down, and Melissa got me some blankets to keep warm.  It was raining harder by this point.  I saw Anna go around, and then again.  Melissa asked if I was ready to go back out, and I said not yet.  But eventually, I figured if it wasn't better, it wasn't going to be.  I dropped the blankets and headed out.  One step into the rain and I was cold.  Two and I was shivering.  Three and I could barely move my legs, and the shaking was starting to threaten my forward motion.  One more, and I gave up.  I chattered "I can't do this!" to Melissa, and she hustled me into her car and cranked up the heat.

I hated to stop with almost 5 hours left, but I didn't have a super-warm outfit along.  I needed tights, sweats, thicker shirts, and the whole works.  I mean, the car said 58 degrees, but the rain made it feel like 40.  Very shortly my dad called Melissa to say they were all on their way back over again, and I got on to explain that I was done and they might as well turn around.  But they said they'd come and help me out, so that was nice.  Eventually I migrated back to my car (parked a bit further away, off the course), and Melissa got me some hot food.  The rain continued, pretty bad at times.  I slept a little too, brief snatches.  Then my parents arrived a little after dawn.

By then I was as bundled as I could be with the supplies on hand, and I got out to go to the bathroom, help break down the aid station, and so on.  I stopped by the timing table to explain to Rick why I was leaving early.  Race time was about 21:30.  Anna had just passed 107.2 miles, so she was going to win the day.  Rick asked, wasn't I staying for the awards?  I replied, "haven't they passed me by now?"  To which he responded, "who, exactly?"  It turned out the awards were by gender, and Suzuki (next male) was about 15 laps down and walking (possible he could do it in 2.5 hours, but not by walking).  Jason was maybe another 5-10 laps back.  So it looked like (but was not certain that) no one else would catch up.  As I left, Rick was talking to someone about the participation.  "Well, it was the first year for the 72-hour, so there will be more next time.  Plus with Phil breaking the American Record here, that will help."  Whoa.  As I walked away, I was thinking about Phil, chasing greater things today.

So then, of course, we waited.  I checked back in at 23:00 in, in case Suzuki was making good time again.  I figured in an hour, I could stagger through another lap if I needed to.  (Not that it would be that attractive to record 108 miles in 24 hours instead of 107 in 19!)  But at 23:00, I was still clear.  Huzzah!

As a bonus, since we were all just sitting around waiting for the finish anyway, we got to cheer Phil in.  I had to go back and ask whether he had broken the record yet, and it turned out he still had 4 laps to go.  So we counted down each time he passed, and it was clear he was thrilled!  Well, hell, I was thrilled too!  What a race!  We gave Phil the extra big cheer on the record-breaking lap, and he may have paused for a moment, but then kept right on going.  "Not gonna make it so easy for the next guy, huh?"  That got a big smile too.  I could barely stagger in a straight line, and he was still logging 8 and 9 minute laps.  Wow!  He got a big crowd when he came through the last time, and at the award ceremony too.  But he still had a nice word for everyone.

So as I guess I had suspected early on, I crashed and Anna took first for the 24-hour.  Congrats to her!  And while I spent a lot of brainpower during the race comparing laps and speeds, at the end of the day, Anna was great to run with, to talk to here and there along the way, and afterward.  Now while I might have liked to log more miles (and I know Anna would have liked to as well), I can't really complain about my results for the 19 hours I was out there.  A boat load of PRs, and first place male to boot!  Next time I guess I need to avoid the crash-at-92-miles thing, the foot thing, the sitting thing, and the no warm enough clothes thing.  Just a few little notes!

But I had the crew thing nailed -- big thanks to Melissa, without whom this would have been a worse race in so many ways, from more stops to less company to more uncertainty and everything.  And to my family, for showing up to support me at yet another ultra, even getting out the door at like 3 AM to do it.

I only really have one gripe.  Anna wore a variety of "US National Team" and "Team USA" shirts, jackets, and etc. throughout the race.  And Erin, as some of you may know, is a closet jacket-o-phile.  So now it's looking like 130+ miles has to go solidly on the bucket list, along with a top 10 at Hellgate.  A couple weeks ago, I would have been pretty depressed about the whole thing.  What a difference one race makes!  Back to training, I guess.  :)

Race Report: 2010 Leadville Trail 100

Picnic at Twin Lakes

Leadville, perhaps most feared of the 100 milers.  I mean, no one takes on Hardrock or Barkley unless they're well prepared.  And there are harder races than Leadville, but they have more generous cutoffs.  Only Leadville has the combination of big climbs, high altitude throughout the race, and a tight 30-hour deadline.

Going in, the altitude was my main concern, but it's not like there's anything I could do about it in Philadelphia.  I might be able to do a little better than the 460' I reach training at Baldpate Mountain in NJ, but there's no way I'd get to 5,000 feet, much less the 10,200' of the start/finish or the 12,600' of Hope Pass.  All I could do is go out a little early, which we did, flying to Leadville on the Monday before the race.

The funny thing was, the altitude didn't seem to be a factor!  We got to Denver, the mile high city, no problem.  We drove to Leadville, the two mile high city, and sure our ears popped a little on the way, but it wasn't like we were getting headaches and vomiting or anything.

That is, until I carried a suitcase up a flight of stairs.  Wowsers!  Instantly lightheaded, heart racing, oh, dear.  Well, there's always tomorrow.

Descending from Hope

I should also say that the area is incredibly scenic.  Somehow going in, I had this impression that it was sort of a bleak and sterile landscape, and pretty uninviting.  But instead, there were beautiful mountains, streams, and lakes, lots of trees and greenery -- a very inviting outdoors.  I overheard someone in Leadville call it a valley which made no sense (isn't 10,200' practically the definition of "on top"?).  But it's true -- if you walk just a little out of town so the buildings aren't blocking the view, you can get a 360' panorama of mountains all around.  Not all close, but they're there.

Anyway, we failed to live up to the Hollerbach legacy of four 14ers in one week.  I did walk a few hilly miles of the Mineral Belt Trail with the double stroller on Tuesday, and I hiked up to Hope Pass from the South side and then jogged back down the same way on Wednesday.  That one was part of our scouting expedition, visiting the various aid station locations and so on.  (And a good thing we did, because the crew directions were atrocious!)  I made it up from the trailhead in 70 minutes, with a few pauses to admire the scenery.  Going back down, I practically had to jog, gravity was not going to let me get away with a casual stroll!  (Also, we had agreed to meet in two hours and I had taken a further 5 minutes on photos at the top…)  The problem was, my quads were complaining a little by the bottom -- ruh roh!  At Vermont and on a few training runs since then I've been like Mister Downhill -- and this was really like an easy jog -- why the heck was this a problem?!?

The Bubble Chamber

On Thursday, my quads were downright sore, which I wasn't happy about at all.  I resolved to eat more protein and take it easy until the race.  We spent the day at the Children's Museum in Denver, which turned out to be a great one (even for those who can only claim to be "children at heart").  The only problem there was when Caelan stepping into a pit of bubble solution, and even after about 5 minutes under the faucet his shoe was oozing bubbles for the rest of the day…

Friday brought the prerace meeting, which was mobbed.  Clearly they need to rethink either the race limit or the venues!  I sat on a staircase in the corner of the gym, but a lot of people were standing.  The meeting wasn't that helpful; it seemed to me to focus more on making introductions and encouraging people to finish than those trivial details like trail markings.  The medical lecture was perhaps the standout, being both entertaining and practical ("If you see someone sitting on the side of the trail with that thousand-mile stare, talk to them, help them up if they need it, get them to an aid station…  be there for each other.").  The subsequent crew meeting was likewise not that useful, talking about how to pack a car but specifically declining to discuss how to get from one aid station to another, even the station whose location was changed just before.  At least my legs were feeling better, though I still had to wonder how long it would take for them to totally recover.  In the evening I packed my crew bag and finish line bag, and tried to get to sleep at least a little early (not that it worked; I was awake until after everyone else went to bed anyway).

Pre-race meeting in the gym

Then my alarm went off!  We were only a few blocks from the start line, so the only reason I was up two hours ahead of time was to eat far enough in advance.  I killed some time on the Internet before my final prep and then woke Erin and my dad and headed over to the start.  I had waffled on attire for the race -- high 30s or 40 at the start, up to 70s or 80 during the day.  I thought short sleeves and tough it out, long sleeves and change, long over short and rip 'em off when it warmed up…  But then I had the fortune to run across my arm sleeves from the Western States schwag.  So in the end, I went with short sleeves, the WS100 arm sleeves, slightly thicker HAT Run hat, and gloves.

The start area was also mobbed, though thankfully there were multiple people with clipboards available to check runners in.  I gave them my number and then went over to one of the coffee shops that had opened early, trying to keep warm until the start.  I got a seat, gave my shoes the final double knot, and waited.  Everyone else cleared out early, but I didn't go over until 5 minutes before -- I mean, it was like 40 degrees, why just stand around?  But the time came, and I made my way through the crowd toward the front, only to discover that I was on the wrong side of the fence and had to go back and do it again.  Oh, well.  I didn't want to be in the front row (I saw Anton taking his place), but I figured toward the front was good…

There were a few short words, then a shotgun blast, and we were off!  The first mile or so just took streets out of the town of Leadville.  I tried to settle in to the pack behind the pack, but it didn't work.  Everyone seemed to be pushing to go faster, but Anton was having none of it -- he held to the pace he wanted, and no one was willing to pass him.  It was a pretty weird effect that the fastest guy there was slowing everyone down!  It was also weird that I was running like 20 yards behind him.

Then the altitude kicked in.  Adrenaline or no, I really wasn't going to be able to go out fast on this one.  I slowed a little until it felt right again.  But there were a lot of people in front of me!  Either they were all newbies lured in by the lack of qualifying requirements, or there were a lot of fast people here today!  Anyway, by the time we hit "the Boulevard" (a gravel road from Leadville down toward the nearby Turquoise Lake), everything had spread out a little.  There were still twice as many people here as any ultra I've ever done, and it would be another mile before I needed to turn on my headlamp, even in the 4 AM darkness.

It was a little weird that the first couple miles were all downhill, but then we turned onto another gravel road, and finally got to the first brief uphill -- a nasty rocky patch of "road".  But it was over quickly enough, and we headed onto a paved road for a little while before going onto a nice trail around the lake.  At one point I noticed that I hadn't seen any course markings -- I was just following the lemmings.  I hoped that wouldn't be a problem on the return (being an out and back, we'd be coming back the same way at the end).  This was especially concerning when we briefly broke out onto a parking lot, crossed it, and headed back onto trail -- all without a single marking that I noticed.  Well, whatever.

The first time I'd see my excellent crew (Erin, my dad, and the kids) was the Tabor Boat Ramp, an informal stop about halfway to the first real aid station.  We were circling Turquoise Lake on the trail, and I thought we'd get to the boat ramp pretty quickly, but the first hour of the race came and went with no sight of it.  The trail weaved inland and then out toward the lake again, and finally I heard voices ahead.  Suddenly at about 70 minutes, we broke out onto what I was sure was the parking lot, because the world lit up with a solid corridor walled by people, maybe 6 feet wide and 100 yards long, all screaming encouragement for the racers.  Wow!  (Incidentally, I was mighty confused on the way back when we didn't go into the parking lot -- I guess all those people were lined up in the woods!)  Halfway through I heard Erin calling my name, and had to briefly double back to say hi.  I didn't really need anything yet -- it was too cold to be drinking at a high rate -- so I just checked in and headed out.  I confessed that I was feeling a little slower than expected, and she pointed back and said "Look, you're still way in the front!"  Indeed, there was a line of headlamps all the way back and around the end of the lake -- it was beautiful, really.

Toward the very end of the line I felt the concrete as we crossed the actual boat ramp, and then we were off into the woods again.  The next few miles was a more proper trail -- more up and down and in and out with some rocky bits and some sandy bits and more differentiation between trail and foliage and so on.  It highlighted how the previous trail had really just been a totally flat tour through the woods.  There were still quite a number of people on the trail, and it was a little awkward -- I took the downhills faster than the mob in front of me, so I always wanted to take the uphills slower to let them get a little ahead, but then I felt like I was holding back the mob behind me.  It was really too crowded to pass much -- even if you could have gotten around the occasional person, there were just 10 more after that.  But I thought back to running with Nikki Kimball at Bear Mountain, where she said "see, what we're doing here is great, talking to each other and keeping each other from going too fast early in the race."  Now that was a joke in two different ways -- we were a good distance into the race, and I was stretching my pace to reach her "holding back."  But still, I figured it wasn't a problem to run a little slower here, before we had even gotten to the first aid station.  I'd have plenty of time to stretch later in the race.

I also remember a runner right around me saying "Now ain't this the life!" talking about the nice trail.  Yeah, it was nice, I had to admit, except we couldn't see the lake!  "Well, use your imagination!"  I mean, I saw it driving by the other day and it was spectacular, but now, it's just a big hole in the night.  And the thing of it is, I wouldn't be seeing it during the daylight on the way back, either.  (It didn't occur to me then that I wouldn't have to miss my goal by much to be seeing it during the daylight -- probably 26 hours would do it.)  I also forgot (or almost forgot?  Now I've forgotten.) to dump my trash (gel wrappers) with the crew at the Boat Ramp, so I was determined to remember what I needed to do at the next station -- I made a little chant of T-S-V, which is to say, Trash, Sunscreen, Visor.  I needed to clear out my trash pocket, and I wanted to tell my excellent crew to get out the sunscreen and my visor for the following station, when it would be starting to warm up.

Feeling good at Mayqueen

And, almost before I knew it, we hit the Mayqueen Campground aid station.  Again there were loads of people, and I passed Erin, the kids, and my dad on the way in.  Erin asked what I needed and I mentioned the sunscreen and visor for next time.  She fell in behind with the stroller, following me toward the buffet, and some volunteer told her to get out of the way.  Out of the way?!?  She was just bringing my bag!  Sheesh!  Another volunteer told me "Right if you want the tent, left otherwise."  I couldn't think of anything I needed a tent for, so I headed left.  But then noticed there was nothing there.  "Where's the water?"  "In the tent!"  Aw, come on, they couldn't have said "Right if you want food" or something?!?  I doubled back to the tent, also remembering to hand my headlamp over to Erin, who had been trying to direct me into the tent as well.  I finally made it to the tent and was hit by a wall of hot air -- whatever heating system they had going there was sure working!  They helped top off my hydration pack and I headed out again with another wave for the family.  It had been just over two hours for 13.5 miles, which was a pretty good clip, altitude or no!

It was a slow departure, uphill on a road, but fortunately that didn't last long.  We turned and quickly headed onto a trail.  It was, if anything, slightly more technical than the previous part, which had been more technical than the part before the boat ramp -- I started to wonder where the logical conclusion of this pattern would fall…  But it was an enjoyable trail, and the pack was spreading out enough that you had company but not obstacles, and could pass as warranted.  Seemingly very quickly, the trail turned dramatically uphill, and the Sugarloaf ascent had begun.  After walking a tough climb on the trail, we broke out onto a dirt road that was only slightly uphill, and that part I could jog.  Then it took a sharp left and got steeper.  I jogged what I could, which I think was 3 or 4 minutes at a time, with walk breaks to rest in between.  As we headed up to the pass just over 11,000', I recalled a race report saying "Even the frontrunners walk 3 times -- up Hope Pass both times, and up Powerline on the return."  (Powerline being the other side of the climb I was presently engaged in.)  Notably absent was up Sugarloaf outbound (or, as I would discover later, up from Twin Lakes on the return).  I told myself that run/walking wasn't just walking, but the reality was, I wasn't a frontrunner.  I estimated 100 people ahead of me, which is further back than I'm used to being in an ultra, but with 650 people, darn if this wasn't a big race!

But then, without any fanfare, the road leveled out, and even began a slight descent.  Was this it?  Were we done?  I saw power lines, a promising sign, and then the downhill got steeper.  Within minutes, I was convinced we were done with one of the 4 major climbs in the race.  (Again, only because I somehow missed that there were actually 5.)  The road down went quickly.  It was the same dirt road, with the same occasional rocky bits and potholes, but all the irregularities came at you a lot faster on the way down!  I enjoyed the few brief moments when it leveled out or turned up, as I got a break from the pounding of the downhill -- and then apparently promptly forgot about them because I was expecting one solid climb on the return.  Sigh.

Coming in to Fish Hatchery

After winding around a bit we hit the real steep slope down toward the next Fish Hatchery aid station.  On this one, I actually stopped on the downhill to take walk breaks, because it was so long and so steep and I wanted to save my quads a bit for later.  Had this been broken up just a little more I would have hammered it, and I debated because I know I do well on downhills, but I just didn't want to take any chances early in the race, so I held back.  It still passed quickly, and we came out on the road at the base where there were a bunch of cheering spectators.  Apparently some crews meet here rather than at the Fish Hatchery, and it was pretty lively!  But I took the turn onto the road, enjoying the brief respite of an uphill, before it turned down for the remaining mile or so to the station.  I saw the cars first -- large fields full of them, and then the buildings, and then the hordes of crews and spectators calling out and cheering for all the runners.  I followed the path up to a large barn, and saw runners coming right back at me -- I was briefly bitter that they'd put in a stupid out and back section at an aid station (especially since you had to go uphill into the station), but whatever.  This section had taken about two hours for 10 miles, which was still a pretty respectable pace in a 100.  Erin and my dad were waiting again, and got me squared away with another hydration refill and my visor.  It was still a little cool, so I decided to keep the arm sleeves and told them I'd get the sunscreen next time.  I was about 10 minutes behind my desired schedule for a 24-hour finish, but that didn't seem so bad at this point.

Here be asphalt

Heading out, I realized this was likely to be my least favorite section -- we were heading down a long road, to a turn onto another road.  Eventually we'd fork onto a dirt road, but still!  What's with all this road in the middle of a trail race?!?  Anyway, I headed down the road from the Fish Hatchery.  The interesting thing was, there were at least three powered gliders (OK, that can't be the right name, but you get the idea) circling above the roads we were running in this section.  Certainly a unique vantage point for spectators!  That kept me going until the first turn.  Rounding the corner one of the guys near me headed off to run on the shoulder, but I didn't figure that was any better.  I struggled down the road, knowing it's not my strong point in the race and just hoping to get past it.  I felt a blister coming already, not great for less than 30 miles in.  Eventually we hit the fork onto what seemed almost like a sand (not dirt) road.  That lasted a couple hundred yards and then came out on pavement again, but then eventually the pavement turned back to dirt.  It was all a little surreal.  I was taking walk breaks on the uphill parts, but finally we turned a corner and hit a downhill on some proper dirt.

Along the Pipeline parking area

It quickly led to a short side trail around a large barrier, and up a slight hill to the Pipeline crew area.  This was another one of the informal ones -- just a huge parking area.  It was supposed to be about three miles before the next station, or I guess three or four from the last one.  It took me about 45 minutes to get there, which wasn't great for a basically flat section, but whatever.  I got my visit and my sunscreen and headed out another dirt road, which went from flat to slightly uphill.  Before too long, I saw a sign for "Ski Patrol ahead", and took that as a good sign.  Probably the ski patrol was manning the aid station and it was just ahead.

Then I went on for quite a while, and saw another ski patrol sign.  And another quite a while for another sign.  By this point, I was starting to feel like I was in a space warp.  We came right around a corner and I was sure the station would be there -- but all I was treated to was a view of the road curving gently to the left again.  Aargh!

Main accomplishment at Pipeline

Finally I hit the Halfmoon II (or Box Creek) station, about 90 minutes from leaving Fish Hatchery for what was supposed to be 7 miles.  In truth I have no idea on the distance, since they moved both the Pipeline and Halfmoon stations recently, and I don't know how accurate the numbers are.  It sure didn't feel like 3 flat and 4 pretty flat miles.  So I found this section frustrating on the terrain and frustrating on the time and distance, and basically it just left a big bad taste in my mouth.

To top it off, I had a long aid station stop, since I had a drop bag with my next supply of gels there.  I had to repack three pockets on my hydration pack to fit them all.  The volunteers were great, topping off my water and having my drop bag ready by the time I sat down in the tent.  Though they did say it was 7 miles to the next station, which didn't match my memory of the pre-race info at all (looking afterward, it says 9 miles).  But maybe they were right and it was closer to 9 from Fish Hatchery and 7 to Twin Lakes?  Also, I was now 20 minutes behind the 24-hour finish time splits, and this was only a third of the way into the race -- which seemed to mean my buckle hopes were actually in danger?  I got out as quickly as I could, but all this crap was swirling in my head and I felt terrible. It was right back onto the gently uphill gravel road, and I just started walking.  I wasn't feeling any better, so I quickly decided I'd walk for ten minutes and then try to pick it up again.  Sometimes I set out to do that and feel a little better and take off sooner, but this time, it was close to ten minutes before the road leveled out and that worked out just fine.

So then I started jogging, and it wasn't long before we took a right off the road onto a steep trail and I was walking again.  But the trail turned out to be rolling, and this saved my spirits.  I rocked the downhills, passing a number of people.  We'd hit an uphill again and I'd walk, sure someone was going to pass me again, but no one ever did.  I did have one more frustrating point, when the trail ended in a T with no course markings whatsoever.  I was sure I had been on the right trail, but now to go right or left?  I looked closely.  Nothing.  More closely.  Finally I found a streamer tied high to a bush on the right -- but there was only the knot.  The long dangling part of the streamer was gone.  It was very nearly invisible.  I checked the trail behind me and headed to the right.  Someone was just catching up.  I couldn't decide whether to begrudge them that they'd just be able to follow me, or feel good that I spared them the search.  I ran on.

It was great to see those Twin Lakes

Someone had said there was a big descent into Twin Lakes, and I kept looking for it.  I mean, we'd hit a steep down, but then there would be a climb again.  I could never quite place when we were at the top and the "big descent" was starting.  But then, I saw the twin lakes of Twin Lakes through the woods!  Beautiful.  And not that far, and not that far below me.  That put a new spring in my step and I took off.  There was more downhill, and I passed more people.  There was some tricky footing on the trails, and some parts where it was almost too steep to be really runnable, but I did my best to charge on through.  I was feeling good again, and enjoying it.  The only problem was, we kept seeing Twin Lakes, and it always looked just as far away and below.  So it took a lot longer than I had anticipated to actually get there.

There's that little hill in the on the right

Finally we broke out onto a gravel road, which was a real steep downhill toward the aid station.  In contrast to the Powerline hill, I took this one with all the speed I could summon.  Finally it ended in a little climb with cheering spectators scattered on the hill.  I walked that one, only to find a super-steep descent on the other side, ending in a parking lot, a swarm of spectators, and the aid station barn.  Twin Lakes at last!  I met Erin and my dad, topped off, stuffed a jacked onto the back of my hydration pack, and left for the dreaded middle of the race.  I had seen the check-in sheet which showed me in about 118th place or so -- again, well worse than what I'm used to.  Still about 20-25 minutes behind my target splits for 24 hours, but at least that part hadn't really gotten any worse.

Leaving Twin Lakes

Now for all that Sugarloaf/Powerline and the descent into Twin Lakes were like 1000' slopes, we were about to head up to Hope Pass -- about 3400' of climb on this side, maybe 2500' on the other side, then a gentler but multi-mile climb to the Winfield aid station.  Then turn around and do it all in reverse, back to Twin Lakes.  I had heard stories of people devastated by the climb, by rain, lightning, and hail on top of the pass, people who sat down in Winfield and couldn't summon the will to ascend Hope Pass a second time, and more.  This was a major factor in hiking Hope Pass on Wednesday -- I wanted to get here and find familiar trail, stuff I knew I could do, and have something to measure my progress against.  I had also heard there were 6 ponds and a river to cross before even getting from Twin Lakes to the Hope Pass trailhead, but water doesn't bother me so much, so that was just one more thing to mark my progress.

Now with the jacket at the ready

Of course, setting off from Twin Lakes, I wasn't feeling super -- I mean, it was 40 miles into the race, after all.  I jogged through the town of Twin Lakes, followed other runners across an unmarked parking lot (how was I going to get that right on the return?), and into a trail across a field.  I walked bits but tried to jog as much as possible, given that I knew a slow climb was coming.  I'd be able to rest soon enough.  We eventually hit the ponds, and they were like giant puddles, fully spanning the trail and shrubs on either side, maybe 6 to 8 inches deep in the middle.  No way to avoid it, really.  I charged through at speed, while some other folks pussy-footed.  Why bother?  I'm afraid I splashed a few folks, but come on, what do you achieve by walking it?  I picked up a few places I guess.  I noticed some of the people I passed were carrying folded trekking poles.

Crew loved the dirt

After a number of similar ponds, we hit a little canal, followed by a sandy bank, and the actual river.  I thought they had said it was thigh-high in the briefing, but I never found a part over my knees.  It was nice and cold, though; I stopped midway to splash more of the cold water on my knees and thighs.  It felt great!  Another lesson from Western States -- use the streams!  As a result I took a bit longer on the crossing, but it was way worth it.  I got up on the far bank and while we had to navigate a short rocky part over to the trail again, I started jogging as soon as I cleared that.  I noticed others walking, but for my 2 cents jogging clears the water out of the shoes faster, and again, we had a nice big walk coming up.

It didn't take too long to hit the climb, and it was hard not to notice.  I started walking almost immediately, about a half hour since leaving Twin Lakes.  In the first ten minutes or so, I jogged the flatter sections, brief though they might be.  But I soon gave up on that.  Perhaps my biggest takeaway from Western States was Devil's Thumb.  I walked that hard, trying not to lose places, and while I felt fine going up, I was devastated at the top.  Now add the altitude, going from 9,200' at the river to 12,600' at the top.  Why bring that on myself?  Already I could tell my heart was going faster than I expected for the level of effort I was putting out, and trying to hike hard or jog just made it that much worse.  I figured I'd walk at a relaxed pace, and save myself for the downhill.  I did, and I was passed occasionally, and sometimes more than occasionally.  There was a nice sounding waterfall, and eventually I caught glimpses of the stream running down the mountain, which the trail sometimes paralleled and other times switchbacked toward and away from.  I passed a few people sitting by the side of the trail looking crushed, and happily I wasn't that bad.  Though, as I went up, I did start to feel pretty crappy.  I couldn't make a tight fist; my hands were swollen.  I figured I had been drinking too much water in the earlier, colder parts of the race.  Even now that it was warm, it wasn't hot like Vermont.  I cut back noticeably on the amount of water I took in, both with gels and in between.

Living Large in the Crewmobile

The longer I climbed, the lousier I felt.  I stopped occasionally to rest on a log and let my legs recharge.  People passed me, including a number with trekking poles, but that didn't really bother me.  We'd see what we'd see on the downhill.  If only my hands would unswell!  As we got into the second half of the climb there were more joggable sections, but I didn't have it in me.  I started really, really looking forward to the Hopeless aid station.  Never a good sign.  I wasn't having much luck eating -- not much was appetizing -- so I was probably getting a little short on calories.  Another not great sign.  Strangely, it didn't feel like the altitude or the climb getting to me, it felt strictly like a fluid/nutrition problem.  (But in truth, maybe the altitude was behind it?)  The leader Tony passed with his pacer going the other direction, just as we emerged into a slightly more open area -- he looked great.

Thanks Guys!  (Photo Credit: Sherpa John Lacroix)

Finally we came out of the trees to be greeted by a wonderful sight -- tents and llamas.  Hopeless aid station!  (It's so hard to get to, they use llamas to tote the water and Powerade up there!) I made it up to the tents, and immediately asked about a scale.  I was frustrated they hadn't had a weight check already, and I wanted to know if I was noticeably up.  No scale, so I asked to talk to the medical guys.  It took a minute to track them down, but they came over and we talked.  They seemed pretty unconcerned, noting that in a race like this weights go up and down and all over the place, and my hands didn't look that bad to them.  But they suggested I switch from water to Powerade in my pack ("it doesn't hang out in the tissue like that"), which I did, and hooked me up with some soup, though everyone looked a bit in askance when I added a number of shakes of salt to it ("you, know, it's already pretty salty!").  I didn't want to take any chances with a crash like Western States.  I felt like I had to apologize for dumping my water to load up with Powerade -- after all, they needed freakin' llamas to bring all the liquid up here and I was there dumping some out!  But I felt better that I'd have plenty of electrolytes, and at least if I took in too much water I'd be balancing it out, for sure.  Finally, I headed out, and the medical guys called out that I should check in with them on the way back, in a way that was basically just encouragement that they were sure I'd make it back.

View ahead from Hope Pass

It was a special sight leaving Hopeless.  There was a solid line of runners from there to the pass, and you could see them all, except where the folds of the mountain concealed the trail.  There was a clear chain of humanity pulling you along, just like the one on a bicycle.  No chance for any problems there.  It was cool outside the trees and windy nearing the top, though, so I put my jacket on.  Someone said a half hour to the top from Hopeless, though I made it in 20 minutes and felt great.  It had been just under 2 hours to Hopeless, and 20 more to the top, so perhaps 2:17 or 2:20 up from Twin Lakes.  Moments before we reached the actual summit, the second place runner passed.

The top was spectacular, as in my hike a few days earlier.  I took a quick look in both directions to appreciate it.  Then I headed down.

Heading down the mountain again

Immediately, I felt better.  First, it was familiar ground.  Second, I ran.  I must have done OK on the ascent, because as soon as it turned down, I was running again.  And passing people.  Lots of people.  Everyone I recognized from earlier in the race, and more.  Someone said "Boy I sure wish I could still run downhill!"  I felt pretty bad for them -- less than halfway and already quads were dying?  That must suck.  I thanked my quads of steel and carried on.  The great thing was, every time I came up on someone and asked "Can I pass when you get a chance?" they almost immediately let me.  And the runners coming up the hill made it easy on me too.  Sometimes I could dodge off to the side so we could both keep going, other times they just deferred, but passing people in both directions on the tight trail was way less of a problem than it might have been.  95% of what I said was "Can I pass when you get a chance?" but hey, is that really bad?

Hitting the treeline

I enjoyed the switchbacks, the curve through the first couple trees when you hit the tip top of the treeline, the rubbly downhills, the big bush that hides the trail but I knew from before can be safely run through at high speed, the rocky parts with a couple of steps, the switchback in the middle of a world of roots, the pair of streams hiding in tall bushes, the enormous rock field that looks like it might be the summit right there unless you know better, the tall skinny trees, the bushes with little red buds, the lone stream further down that runs underneath the trail, even the steep rocky part near the bottom, because it is, after all, near the bottom.  It was so so worth it to have hiked this earlier in the week!

One of those nice streams

And finally, I came out to the trailhead, then after the last little gasp of slight downhill, the road.  Maybe 35 minutes for the descent, after like 1:50 of climb.  Someone said 2.2 miles to Winfield, which seemed a little low (I thought the figure had been 3).  I took a moment to take my jacket off (way unnecessary by now), walk a minute to regroup, and then start the process of trying to jog as much as possible to the turnaround.  A few of the last people I passed on the descent passed me back straightaway, but that was totally OK with me, as I had just totally rocked that downhill.  There was a solid stream of runners going past in the other direction too.  Cars passed occasionally, kicking up dust, so I took small swigs of Powerade regularly.  I hadn't had much to eat on the downhill (hard while going that fast, plus I didn't feel like I was putting out as much effort), so I tried to at least make it up by drinking some calories, and taking a gel or two on the road.  That road section to Winfield was tedious, and again the station always seemed like it should be right around the next turn but never was, until finally we got there.  And still had to enter in kind of a roundabout way, but whatever.

The mountains at Winfield

Halfway!

I got in and Erin and my dad were waiting, as usual.  They had my drop bag, which was a big one, with all new gels plus enough S-caps for the rest of the race.  I went through the first weight check of the race and was like a pound down, so whether the puffy hands were a red herring or my intake reduction had worked, I was now totally in line.  My excellent crew got me refilled and I repacked and soon set off again -- now only 15-20 minutes behind my 24-hour split!  On the down side, I was one of the few lone runners -- most everyone seemed to be picking up a pacer.  So no one to motivate me, and after a slightly longer stay there I didn't feel much like running.  Soon enough, however, the road turned downhill and I cranked it up to a jog again.  I knew I had to get it in while I could, because the next climb was coming.  Strangely, I didn't fear the return over Hope Pass at all.  Again partly because the climb would be familiar, but also I think because my strategy had crystallized as take it real easy on the uphills, crush the downhills.  So I didn't fear the uphill, I just planned to take it at whatever (slow) pace felt decent.  And I did.

Couldn't this be the summit?

This involved a lot of slow walking, a number of breaks when I could find a suitable log (down low) or rock (higher up), and plenty of deferring to runners coming down the hill.  I was always happy to take a quick break to let someone go by, only getting a little impatient if they were in a group of 4 or 5, in which case I'd start edging up by the time the last one got by.  Sometimes the downward-bound runners stepped aside if there was a switchback or other likely spot, but mostly I think I let them go.  And not as many people passed me from behind as I expected from the first trip up -- I guess we were all a little beat now.  Mainly they passed when I sat for a bit.  The landmarks ticked off (though I didn't see the cabin hidden on the mountainside that I noticed from my original hike), and I made steady progress.  Toward the top, I figured I was seeing people coming down that had narrowly escaped the cutoff at Hopeless, and I made sure I always let them get by -- 5 minutes of stepping aside wasn't going to mean much to me, but it sure might to them!

Nice bit of single track

Though I knew a number of people at the race, the only one I recognized coming down at me was Sherpa John, a fellow slammer.  He said hi and I have no idea what I might have said -- but I fear it wasn't as friendly as I might have been had I seen him at the bottom of the climb.  At a certain point, I put my jacket back on, and my world narrowed to specific steps to get to the top.  I was once again having nutrition problems on the climb.  Nothing felt appetizing, and I just craved plain water, but all I had was Powerade.  I made do, but my mouth felt dry and sticky and was not happy with the situation.  It was great to pass the treeline, so I could see the line of runners marking the route ahead, and at least measure my time until I could put the climb (and Powerade) behind me.  As before, there were a lot of them, and the line still appeared to extend pretty high above me.  But I pressed on, passing the weird fork in the trail with the small wooden "<- Trail" sign, and heading on up the last few switchbacks to the top.  There at last!  The twin lakes looked spectacular once again, but it was the downward-facing trail that had my attention.  It had been about 90 minutes from bottom to top (compared to 70 when I hiked it the other day), plus the 30 to get out from Winfield.

Twin Lakes and Turquoise Lake from Hope Pass

I shot down the trail to Hopeless, immediately needing to begin my "Can I pass when you get a chance?" routine again.  Soon I wished I had a recording of it.  Such is life.  I made it to Hopeless in just over 10 minutes, once again dumping my pack, this time to refill with water.  I cheerfully checked in with the medical guys just to update them and note that I was feeling better again (duh, it was now the downhill).  And headed back down.  At first not supremely fast, but soon gravity kicked in and I again had a fantastic downhill, passing a huge number of people.  I saw some familiar switchbacks, nice dirt and rock trails, and eventually hit the loud waterfall, suggesting I was nearing the bottom.  A few slightly more level bits and a big rocky downhill, and I was there.  It took some effort to keep up a jog once things leveled out, and I wasn't totally successful, but I guess I did better than average and made it to the river.  A few folks were off to the side of the trail changing shoes or something.  I headed for the deepest part of the river and started coating my legs with splashes of lovely cold water.  It felt so good, I took off my hat and glasses and attacked my head too.  I rubbed my hands in the water until the last sticky remnants of gel were only a faint memory.  Oh my gosh, this felt good!  I guess the shoe-changer-guys probably thought I was as dumb as I thought they were, so to each his own, but man, I would take 10 more rivers like this on the course!

One of those switchbacks down the mountain

The down side was, coming out I could tell I had some grit in my shoe.  I had my fancy gaiters, but I was wearing an older pair of Wildcats with a big rip in the side, and apparently some crud found its way in.  I paused to try to clear it our, ripping more in the process, and had only moderate success.  I could tell I had blisters, and this wasn't going to make it any better, but I gave up and pressed on.  It bothered me off and on for probably the next 20 miles, but I mostly successfully tuned it out.

The rest of the trip to Twin Lakes passed, and that's about all I can say.  I maintained my place in the line after the ponds; good enough.  No problem getting across the parking lot -- someone was there shouting directions.  And I remembered the key turn in town, marked but nearly invisibly with the crowd around.  I hit the aid station just about 3:20 from Winfield -- 10 minutes faster than the outbound leg, and pulling still closer to my 24-hour goal split!  The only wrinkle was that my crew was not there, nor was my drop bag.  I stuck my head out and yelled, figuring they must be nearby with the bag, and two people with seats just on the exit side of the barn jumped up!  Not far then; we just hadn't noticed each other when I came in.  They got me my bag (with the all-important lights that I had to jam into the hydration pack), and topped off, I headed back out.

I was Happy to reach Twin Lakes again

Crossing the parking lot, I immediately came to the ridiculous rocky climb up that little hill.  My brain almost rebelled, even though I could see it was only 20 feet long.  "You can't be serious!" I grumbled, still heading toward it.  I could even see the runner in front of me climbing it with ease, and it didn't help.  I gave up and just moved into it, and in maybe 30 seconds I was past and heading down the other side.  That only got me to the long, steep ascent on the gravel road.  Not much to be done -- I headed up it, slowly.  I totally hadn't factored this climb out of Twin Lakes into my mental topo map of the race.  So it was the extra #5 climb, besides Sugarloaf/Powerline and Hope Pass twice.  Fortunately, the gravel road passed relatively quickly, and I made it onto the trail.  Unfortunately, there was still plenty of climb left on the trail.

They were happy to be there too

But there was a nice surprise waiting for me there.  I bumped into Chris McDougall on the trail, and as I didn't have a pacer, he graciously offered to run with me for a while.  Or maybe I should say "run" as I was still spending a lot of time walking up hills.  But we got going a little on the flatter sections, and it was great to have some folks to talk to and pass the time on the trail.  Actually, per the pacer rules at Leadville, he asked if he could carry my hydration pack for me, to which I rather incredulously replied, "uh... no?" I mean, they can encourage muling if they want to, but I don't buy it.  Regardless, it was nice company.  After some time he ran into someone else he knew and let me go, but that really helped get me over the hump a bit, and I headed on into the remaining hills.  I saw some familiar parts -- the view of Twin Lakes from far above, the T in the trail where I had searched for markings (much easier in this direction!), some hills I remembered flying down even as I trudged up.  Eventually, I couldn't help but count time to the Pipeline aid station.  I knew it was on a wide gravel road.  We were on what you might describe as a gravel road if you were feeling particularly generous -- it was two gravelly tire tracks with high grass in between.  I couldn't decide whether it would magically widen into the road I remembered or not.

Sean's diggin' this ultra thing

Then we hit a sign for the something or other trail, and immediately took it -- so not the same road, then.  It was more rolling by this point, ups, downs, flats.  I couldn't tell whether I had hit the "top" or not!  I really should have enjoyed this as it's the kind of terrain I generally dig, but unfortunately, by this time, I was in "where in the nine hells is the aid station?!?" mode and didn't give the trail the love I should have.  Finally, we came down a little hill and made a nearly 90 degree turn onto the big gravel road -- that was a milestone I remembered!  Now, I had walked 10 minutes uphill out of the station, so when I got to the part where I had stopped walking, I'd have maybe 5 downhill minutes to go.  But where was that?  I had been jogging when it turned onto trail, so not yet.  I passed a gate across the road, and remembered slowing down to go around that, so not yet.  I hit a flat section, and I didn't remember walking the flat, so not yet.  Then, downhill.  Yay!  I picked it up on the downhill, and cruised into Halfmoon II shortly thereafter.

But Caelan's maybe a little tired of it?

Now my goal splits for the remainder of the race from Twin Lakes were 2-2-3-3.  I had left Twin Lakes inbound at 14:07, so 2 hours to Halfmoon II, 2 hours to Fish Hatchery, 3 hours to Mayqueen, and 3 hours to the finish would be right about 24 hours.  That would be an extra 30 minutes (compared to outbound) on these two legs, and an extra hour each for the last two legs.  It seemed like a lot, but here I was at Halfmoon II just under 2 hours from Twin Lakes, so it looked like I should not second-guess the plan.  I did have a big drop bag and gel-refilling operation, but the volunteers were on top of everything and I got out about as quickly as I could have expected.  1:59:31, including the stop.

The next part was great, as it was basically a gentle downhill all the way to the crew stop at Pipeline.  OK, maybe some flat, but no uphills and a nice dirt/gravel road.  I took off and felt like I was making good time.  It was getting on toward dark, so I broke out the lights.  First I made it out of the woods, then I started seeing those Ski Patrol signs in reverse, then I saw car lights in the far distance!  Well, it was still a good couple miles before I closed the distance to the station, but the distant sounds and lights drew me on.  As the road flattened I spent a little time dodging the potholes and puddles in the dirt that I remembered from the outbound trip.  I kept an eye out for the "No LT100 Crew Vehicles Past This Point" sign, which had seemed to be a ways down from the actual parking, but when I finally hit it this time, it seemed like I was basically at the station by then.  I started passing cars and crews in the twilight, wondering whether I'd miss Erin and our minivan, when suddenly I heard her voice!

As it got dark it got cooler, and I had decided to switch into warmer nighttime gear -- I've been very heat-acclimated and at this point wanted much more to be too warm than too cold.  So when I pulled over, I asked for a winter shirt, gloves, and warmer hat, to which I added my jacket.  So I lost a little time to the change, but felt much cozier heading back out for the rest of the night.  I didn't need the gloves quite yet so I zipped them into my jacket pockets, but this was me prepared for the last 7 hours of the race.

How'd they get to the aid station with HIM driving?!?

I circled the lot back to the downhill to the huge pile blocking the road (nearly missing the cut around it -- if I hadn't remembered it I would have just climbed the mound because there were no decent markings).  As soon as I rounded it, there was an uphill back to the road.  That would have been irritating except there were a bunch of people at the top cheering on each runner, so that helped me up to the top to start the looooong road section back to Fish Hatchery.  There was a pair of runners in the distance ahead of me, and some others behind me, though they gradually fell back to the point where I never noticed them again.  We maybe passed a runner or two walking on the initial road section.  I remembered we needed to do the diagonal to the left on the sandy road, and kept looking for the turnoff.  The runners ahead of me did too -- I could see their headlamps scouring the left side of the road.  We kept running further, the cars at the intersection ahead kept looking closer, but still no turnoff.  I could swear we had missed it, but how could it not be adequately marked?  There were very occasional glow sticks on the side of the road, surely there would be a few at the turn?

Finally, I saw the lights ahead bobble around more than usual, then bear off to the left, accompanied by a couple glowsticks.  When I got up there, the turn seemed clear.  And the road seemed more solid and less sandy -- perhaps at night the solid part of the trail stood out a little more?  That section passed quickly and I was back on pavement -- but somehow I had lost the runners ahead.  I knew I was going the right way…  It was just a little weird out there in the dark night.  Now I just had to make it up this road to the left onto the Fish Hatchery road.

I spent the whole time watching cars.  A lot of cars were coming at me down the road I was on -- I could only guess they were taking a roundabout route from Twin Lakes toward Pipeline.  A lot of cars seemed to be coming and going from Fish Hatchery, or at least on the road perpendicular to this one.  I ran on, watching a mob of traffic at an intersection ahead, and then it all disappeared and I was alone in the dark.  Then another burst of traffic far ahead, and more close to me.  Why wasn't I getting there?  It couldn't have been more than a mile or two!  Why was I still on this road?!?  I had seen a single glowstick on the road, but that was ages ago.  I looked hard for more, and maybe saw something, but I was blinded by oncoming headlights.  They passed, and more came, and passed.  I looked again, nothing.  I looked far ahead -- an intersection, not at all close, no runners or headlamps or glowsticks.  Did I miss something?  I looked behind.  No runners or headlamps or glowsticks.  There was cross traffic back in the distance.  Closer than the intersection ahead?  I couldn't tell.  Had I run right through the Fish Hatchery intersection without even noticing it during a lull in the traffic?  There was just no indication either way.  I stopped.  A car was coming, and I waved madly.  They turned their lights down.  No, that wasn't it, I kept waving.  They seemed to be trying to dodge me, but eventually slowed to a stop and rolled down windows.  "Which way to the Fish Hatchery?"  Just keep going the way you're going, take the next left.  "Thanks."  It was just an eternal road, I guess.  I kept running.

Finally I saw a stop sign ahead, but it still took ages to reach.  I made the left.  I ran a long time, only to come up to the "Mile 1" sign.  Terrible.  I had seen "Mile 3" between Powerline and Fish Hatchery on the outbound, and I thought it was maybe closer to the Hatchery.  So 2 miles to go.  How could it be?  It was only like 4 miles to Pipeline, and I must have done at least that much already!  I struggled on.  I got into the long row of "no parking" signs on the side of the road -- they wouldn't have run those for miles out of the station, right?  I was feeling good that I must have missed the Mile 2 sign and be getting pretty close, when out of the dark of the night emerged "Mile 2".  Aaargh!

Fortunately, I quickly saw a parking turnoff, and knew I must be really close.  Then I saw a car turning in ahead on the left, and someone directing traffic.  Yes!  I finally made it to that person, and asked which way runners go (it was again, unmarked).  He told me to head across the grass.  There was a fence or something along the far drive.  Was I supposed to stay on the near side in the grass, or sneak out onto the pavement?  Why were there no markers?  I made my way onto the drive and ran for the barn.  There at last!

My dad was waiting just before the barn, and as I came up, he asked "would you like a pacer?".  Uh, yeah, of course!  "OK, I've got one!"  He indicated a woman standing next to a tent and did a brief introduction.  OK!  But we weren't at the station yet.  I carried on to the barn and my dad took my pack to refill it, while I found a bench and someone else came up to me.  He was a volunteer or spectator who works for Sun, and saw my crew bag (a JavaOne conference giveaway), and asked if I worked for Sun?  We talked a little about Sun, Oracle, and open source.  About the last thing I would have expected during an ultra.  We had a few minutes while my dad figured out how to close up the Nathan pack, and it was a nice change of pace.

More mountains ahead

Heading back out of the barn, the pacer was gone.  "Dad, do you know where that pacer went?"  She popped up again as we got to the tent -- they needed my name and number to register her to pace.  We stopped at the tent and got that taken care of, then headed out.  I had made pretty good time (vs. the plan) -- about 10 minutes under my 2-hour goal.  I was now on track for a real sub-24 finish!  We did the introductions again, and I was pretty foggy at the time, but I believe her name was Priscilla.  She works for Outward Bound in Colorado over the summers, and they were manning the Fish Hatchery aid station.  She doesn't run much (mostly a hiker), but some friends talked up the LT100 enough that she decided to stop by and offer to pace for at least the 10 miles from Fish Hatchery to Mayqueen.  I shared my preference for pacers (go ahead of me, find the trail markings, etc.), and explained that we'd be walking a ton up the Powerline hill.  She didn't seem to really believe me, and in fact had me jogging up the small hill on the road from Fish Hatchery.  I explained my 3 hour goal for the section, and she said she thought we'd beat that with ease, given how the beginning went.  But then we hit the real Powerline ascent, and all became clear.  Just like the previous ascents, I took it easy up the hill.  As it got steeper, she commented on how crazy it must have been to run down earlier.  Quite!

I held off a long time but eventually needed a sit break.  She seemed fine, and in fact could have climbed much faster than me at that point.  She told me she had just hiked Mt Elbert (the highest in Colorado), and after some of her mountain bushwhacking expeditions, this trail was actually only moderately steep.  Holy cow!  I got moving again.  Even when the steepest straight line portion passed, I continued to need the occasional sit break as we headed for the pass.  The occasional person or pair closed in or passed while I rested.  As we hit the summit, we ran into one guy who had gone off-course for nine miles near Halfmoon!  He said he turned when he should have gone straight, but saw course markings and followed them, nearly back to Twin Lakes!  Apparently they were markings for the bike race, and identical to the run.  That could have been done better!  He pulled ahead but I passed on the descent.

"Ready and Waiting" at Mayqueen

Then the trail turned steeply up again, and he passed me back.  WTF?  I must have missed the part about 3 false summits, and sure didn't remember anything but the gravity-induced rush on the outbound.  We weren't there yet.  So we climbed on.  More walking, more resting, more thinking we were there, and not actually being there.  Finally the road leveled out and started to look real familiar, and we were finally, finally there (about 100 minutes into the leg).  I had to keep walking for a minute just to sort myself out, and then started shifting gears.  First a slow jog, which quickly became a faster jog, and then pretty much a run.  Before long, we were passing people, as promised.  They may not have been as frequent as on Hope Pass, but we steadily reeled them in.  We'd see headlamps in the far distance and down below, and before you know it, we'd come up on another pair of runners (or walkers).  Priscilla said "Wow, you were right about passing people on the way down!"  I said "Yeah, their quads are all dead."  I told her about the guy saying he couldn't run down hills any more the first time down from Hope Pass.  And periodically we'd catch a glimpse of the Mayqueen aid station, all lit up in the distance.  Then the road got steeper and we sped up more.  Yes!

I enjoyed it all the way down to the sharp turn onto the more level road.  Without the gravity assist, I slowed a bit.  I mentioned the turnoff onto the trail, and we kept an eye out for it, but it didn't seem to come.  I knew we'd be hitting downhill again on the trail, so I wanted to keep the speed up to bridge the gap, but it wasn't happening.  Oh, well.  Worse yet, we could see the Mayqueen aid station again, and we were running away from it!  Eventually I spied a concentration of glowsticks, and called out, thinking that must be it!  We rounded some woods and they were gone.  What?  But then around the next turn, there it was -- the left back onto the trail.  We started down, though as it was at least moderately rocky and technical, it didn't go as fast as the road.  And the downhill didn't seem to last all that long before it pretty much leveled out.  Still, we passed a few more people here and there.  Then it just turned into a long push to reach Mayqueen.

One last wrinkle awaited in this final stretch.  Priscilla had bio issues and couldn't run any more without taking a break.  So, sadly, we parted company before the intended end of her leg.  (She did come into Mayqueen just before I left, and confessed that she wasn't in shape to go farther anyway.)  I pressed on for the last couple miles, alone again, save for the runners I overtook here and there.  But then we came out onto a road, and I recognized the downhill into the station.  Yes!

I met my dad inside, as I had one last drop bag and set of gels to pack away, and I wanted to sit down for it.  It was fiercely hot in the tent, and that really bothered me, but what was I going to do?  I waited for my dad to close up the pack again so I could stuff in the gels, then I got that taken care of and headed back out.  I planned to walk a bit to get going, but I was immediately hit with such a fit of shivering that I had to jog!  Why oh why couldn't they have turned the furnace down in the tent?  Or set it up so the runner stuff was on the border with open air and we could have done everything without actually going in to the tent?  Well, I guess that's one way to make sure you get back up to speed upon leaving…  In any case, I had made my 3 hours; beat it by almost 10 minutes in fact.

And I really enjoyed the trail from there to the boat ramp.  The funniest thing happened on this stretch -- I was running along Turquoise Lake, maybe 30 or 40 feet above water level, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a spectacular Christmas tree lit up below!  I mean, it was what must have been an enormous pine tree, perfectly shaped, absolutely stuffed with glittering white lights.  I marveled at the time it would have taken to string all those lights, and thought how neat it was that someone went to the trouble, obviously just for this race (OK, maybe for the bike race too, but you know, outside the normal season for such things).  I did kind of wonder how anyone living there actually got to their residence (we hadn't crossed a driveway, that's for sure!), but whatever.  I was bummed not to take a real close look, but I needed my attention on the trail.

Except about 10 minutes later, it was there again, down and to the right.  What?  Had we circled around a lagoon or something so that I was facing back toward the same place as before?  It didn't feel like it.  But there couldn't have been two!  I put it out of my mind.

The third time, I just paused and looked at it straight on.  And you know what?  No tree.  It was the reflection of the moon on the water.  It made a perfect triangle toward me, and if at the moment the wind on the surface was causing it to be a little more coarse than the million scintillating points of light I had seen earlier, it was easy to believe it could have varied a little back then.  So bright, and so amazing!

When I wasn't admiring the light of the moon, it was the lights of Leadville and the Boat Ramp.  You could clearly see the town in the distance, so the end was in sight!  Kind of unfair actually that it was well in sight from 10 miles out, but hey.  And occasionally, I saw a fancy string of lights along the shore that I figured must be the boat ramp.  Nice that they'd set all that up at an unofficial station!  But then we'd turn back into the woods, and it would disappear from view.  It was so hard to judge distances in the night -- I'd see the boat ramp ahead, then gone.  Then out of nowhere we'd pass a lit-up house, and I'd wonder if it had all been that?  Then lights ahead.  Then gone.

At one point, I was really wondering where the heck it was, and why I couldn't see it coming up sooner, when I heard "Oh!  Aaron!" to my left.  I pulled up and looked, and I was on the boat ramp!  There was Erin and the kids, virtually alone, sitting there on the concrete in the dark.  I was stunned -- not only was it not lit up, there were only maybe 5 people there!  (Last time I came through it seemed like thousands!)  I just said hi and maybe dumped some gel wrappers, I didn't really need anything more at this point.  I heard "See you at the finish!" as I headed out.  Then I had to stop and ask where to go, because I thought we had headed through the parking lot before, but didn't see any obvious markings that way now.  "Just follow the trail, straight across!"  I did, feeling wrong about it.  But I hit a glowstick, and figured I was OK.  I had made great time to the boat ramp, and was feeling pretty good.

All my hard altitude training, starting to pay off!

That came to a crashing halt in the next few miles of trail.  I have a proposal for the 29th annual LT100: raise the price by one dollar per person, and put an additional 780 glow sticks out there.  I mean, I didn't actually go off course, but I can't tell you the number of times I had to stop and look around, even wait for someone walking behind me to catch up so we could look together.  Would it have been so hard to just hang each glow stick in sight of the last?  The streamers may have been there but they were completely invisible at night unless you just happened to point a light directly at it from close range.  The real problem was that the trail had changed.  Before the boat ramp, it was obvious, there were rocks or dirt walls or vegetation on either side of the trail, no real chance to lose it.  After the boat ramp, it was just huge wide spaces and tree trunks.  Sometimes it even went through large campgrounds, with no glow stick on the proper trail on the far side.  I began to hate this section, and was mentally begging to hit road again.  It seemed to go on forever, and there was the occasional clear trail or sequence of a couple close glow sticks, but it always opened up again and frustrated me.  We hit that parking lot and thank goodness someone was there to tell me where to go, but it just went back onto the confusing trail.  Aargh!

Finally, finally, we hit the paved road.  That went on longer than remembered, and had a problem of its own.  I came to a massive intersection, with no markings at all.  Come on!  I stood around in the pitch black and looked, blinded by the traffic going by, but even in between there were no visible glow sticks or markings.  A pair caught up and the pacer said "don't we go straight?" and the runner said "I don't know, I don't remember from the morning."  I didn't either.  We called out, and finally, someone on the other side said "come on across, go straight until the train tracks and then turn right!"  For crying out loud!  I left, but looking back, there were like 10 people lined up right behind me.  What?!?  Frustrating, as I had been running better than everyone I saw, and now they were all right there!

As I was nearing the tracks, a pair of runners blew by.  Aargh!  We turned onto that short nasty rocky descent, and past that onto the dirt road leading back toward the Boulevard.  I remembered some of the potholes and overgrowth on the sides.  Better yet, the runners ahead were walking.  I pushed, but never could quite catch up -- they'd start jogging again before I got too too close.  Well, I went on.  Then I saw the lights ahead bear left, and we were there -- the Boulevard.  I pushed hard and got at least close enough to call out -- "How far do we go on this?"  I thought maybe 3 miles, but couldn't remember.  "What?"  I had to push a little more, get a little closer.  "How far?"  "Oh.  One mile."  It was 23:10.  If there was a mile to go, we had a sub-24 in the bag!  It was uphill, and they were walking fast, so I shifted into power-hike for probably the first time all race.  There seemed to be a crowd around now, all walking.  I sure didn't want to fall further behind!  But once my arms were pumping I wasn't so comfortable at the walk, and besides, I didn't think a mile was right.  I began to jog.  It was for sure the first time I steadily jogged an uphill since Sugarloaf the first time!  But I managed to keep it up.  I wanted that sub-24 even if it was 3 miles!  I passed a driveway with two empty chairs -- the people sitting there on the outbound said they'd see us finish, but I guess only if we were a lot faster or slower.

I took a walk break to take a last gel, and in my glasses there was a reflection of a headlamp.  So.  I wasn't the only jogger.  Damn!  I picked it up again.  The Boulevard went on for a pretty long time!  I could see a bright light in the far distance.  Was it the end of the road?  Some car parked?  I passed another runner walking, and he said "half mile to go!"  To the end of the Boulevard?  Or to the finish?  It was too late to ask; I had left him behind.  That light wasn't getting much closer.  Eventually I closed in on it, and it was on the side of a house.   Not the end.  But close -- the road wiggled a bit and then we came out on pavement!  But I quickly got to an intersection with -- you guessed it -- no markings.  I could have screamed!  Someone was on the other side.  "Where?!"  Just go uphill to the finish.  That way!  And sub-24, baby!  I turned right, and uphill.  I heard the sub-24 cheer again only moments behind.  I saw a light ahead, and thought I might be catching someone, but shortly it resolved into someone coming down toward me.  Oh, well.

Finish Line!

Then footsteps, and I was overtaken again.  Damn!  It was a runner and pacer.  The runner said "You've been holding me off all this time, don't fail now!" I tried, but I didn't have much more in me for this uphill.  We talked a bit, or to tell you the truth, the pacer talked a lot.  I asked were there really no more turns?  They said "You're gonna finish this!"  That didn't help.  Then, "see that stop light?  It's the finish!"  I couldn't see lights or a banner or anything -- but I could see the stop light, and I ran for it.  We got within maybe two blocks, and the pacer called out "Final stretch, give it what you've got!"  I did, and managed to pick up the pace just an iota more.  I think that runner could have blown on by, but instead, he stayed just at my shoulder.  Up the hill, and we crossed the timing mat in 23:39:46.0 and 23:39:46.6.  But I didn't know whether to stop -- everything else was 20 yards past the mat!  I staggered on, slowing to a halt as we hit the red carpet and then the crowd.

With the finisher's medal

Erin and my dad were there to cheer me in, though after a quick hug and photo I just asked for someplace to sit.  We decided to make for the car, but before we could move, the race director showed up with a medal.  When I ducked my head for her to apply it, I started coughing, and she said I had to weigh in and visit medical -- for just that reason.  So I did.  My weight was down a couple pounds, and I asked if someone was looking at feet.  I knew I had some blister issues.  First they directed me to a runners tent with some chairs near a heater, and then a medical tent with cots.  That's for sure what I needed.  I collapsed on a cot, and immediately started shivering, as they applied blanket after blanket.  I just had to wait it out, though Erin came and parked the sleeping kids next to me and went for hot chocolate from the other tent.  My dad helped me get settled and wait out the shivers.  The hot chocolate was great, but it was still a while before my body settled down.  The medical folks looked at my feet and acknowledged the blisters, but they apparently didn't qualify as hamburger so no treatment was warranted.  It was fine, so long as they let me lay there under the blankets!

Found a cot!

Eventually I changed into dry clothes from my finish line bag (Erin having the great idea to prep them in front of the heater first!), and somewhat after that, we got ready to depart.  I needed help standing, but then made it over to the side of the road for her to pick me up.  My dad, poor guy, walked the kids the few blocks home in the cold, because we didn't have seating set up in the car for all of us!

And that's about my Leadville experience, from beginning to end.  I made it to the awards ceremony, and we even did the train ride around town that afternoon.  We all fell into bed about seven o'clock, though, and the bulk of the packing had to wait until morning.

Picking up my buckle

In any case, I was thrilled to finish under 24.  My most optimistic goal had been closer to 20, but comparing times from Vermont to Leadville and stuff like that, I had to admit it wasn't very realistic.  So 24 was really my main goal, and that looked pretty unlikely by a third of the way in.  Even the big buckle for 25 seemed in danger for a while!  But it came together nicely in the second half, and I started beating my goals again, which was great.  Couldn't have been happier to finish my first Leadville sub-24, especially in the middle of the Grand Slam!  (Not that I don't have a few ideas for how to pick up a little time on the next attempt…)

Parting shot of Hope Pass trail

The buckle is a wonder.  I mean, I thought Vermont was nice, and Grindstone was pretty cool, but then Western States set a whole new standard, and that was only for the bronze!  But Leadville, all I can say is, wow!  I think the next step up from that sucker is the World Wrestling Federation!  I do kind of feel like I should stand and hold it up over my head!

In any case, my takeaways are that Leadville (the area and the course) is actually wonderfully scenic, altitude acclimation matters and while 5 days is good, 5 months is probably better, and, well, my crew is the best!  Thank you thank you for being there at every stop, and coming up with everything, whether it was sunscreen or long sleeves or just a depot for my sticky gel wraps.  Thanks to Priscilla, queen of the mountain, for getting me over the Powerline and back to Mayqueen.  Thanks to all the volunteers for getting me in and out of those aid stations, getting my crew in and out of the parking, and everything.  I had a ball.