2012 Pony Express 100 Race Report

The Pony Express 100 Mile Endurance Run has been on my list since meeting Davy Crockett and this year was the year. My wife and I awoke at 3:00AM and loaded the truck with all the necessary gear (as this is a self-supported event), and we headed towards Faust Utah. We arrived just in time to see the early start group heading out of the start chute, and I walked to the sign-in tent, picked up my race-bag, and headed back to the warmth of the truck. At 0550, Davy called out for the runners to report to the start, and the handful of us starting at 0600 formed a gaggle at the start chute and Davy briefed us on the last minute details, and then counted down for the start.

As I left the start I locked into my pace and held it despite the easy grade and classic "group enthusiasm" at the beginning of a race. My epic fail at the Wasatch 100 was fresh in my mind so I disciplined myself to stay within my planned envelope. One runner named Darren (running his first 100) hung with me until Government Creek where he pulled ahead. I learned later he DNF'd on this one, but I'm sure he'll be back to try again. The morning air was cool, but I soon warmed up and had to peel off my windbreaker. I kept the gloves and hat on until Simpson Springs (16.4 miles) where I peeled off all my cool-weather gear and headed out for the looooong trip across the valley to the next mountain range and "Dugway Pass".

As I passed through mile 25 I began to notice a previous injury in my right foot surfacing again, and by mile 30 it was back in full swing. Every step shot a stabbing pain up through my right leg, so I figured from this point on it was going to be all about pain management. I adjusted my gate, pace, stance, and whatever else I could figure out to adjust to try to mitigate the pain. By the time I started the climb up to Dugway Pass (mile 37.5), I was already falling behind my planned pace, and a variety of muscles in my right leg and lower back were feeling the effects of my adjustments to compensate for the foot pain. I arrived at the pass, checked in and took a minute to sit on the tail-gate of the truck to eat and drink.

The long downhill after the pass proved quite painful, but at least I made better time than on the climb up so I felt more optimistic about things simply because of the progress. During this section, I leap-frogged with a runner named Suzanne who also was running her first 100. Her step-dad was crewing her and was easily stopping two to three times as often as I was. I couldn't help but wonder how far ahead of me she'd be if she only stopped as often as I did... The other thing that gave me some significant optimism during this portion of the course was that I'd had no stomach problems and had stayed pretty much perfect on my nutrition and hydration. I honestly felt great other than the leg pain... and as long as the pain was just pain (and not weakness, and the potential of injury), it was manageable.

I reached Blackrock station feeling a little hammered, but still mentally good so I took advantage of the facilities and the free grilled goodies (the chicken was super-good). I headed out again and within a half-mile, Suzanne had caught up with me. She asked if she could hang with me until her because her knee was starting to hurt. I talked her through the pain management concept, and told her to adjust her pace as needed to accommodate the pain. Her husband and a friend traded out crew duties with her step-dad, and so she had someone to hang with and I pulled ahead. As I got closer to Fish Springs (Mile 58.2), I was getting better at pulling inside my head and letting the pain just flow through so I started making decent time again. I left Fish Springs after a quick bite of food and started the return trip to Blackrock station. Suzanne was headed into Fish Springs as I headed out, but that was the last I saw of her, as she also DNF'd. Sad to see a first-timer DNF on a 100, but hopefully she'll be back to try again. I made good time on the return, and very much enjoyed the cooler air of the night. I rolled into Blackrock (mile 67.9), again availed myself of the facilities, ate some soup, and some Argentinian sausage and then changed socks. I headed out into the night, ready to finish of the last 50K of the course. I actually felt good (other than the pain), and so kept the pressure on to keep my pace within my original envelope. As the night wore on, I struggled to keep the pace up just due to fatigue, but fortunately this is precisely when my pacer, Dan Eastman arrived. Dan has paced me several times in the past, and has just the right amount of ridicule in his voice to make sure I don't wimp out. As soon as he arrived, my pace picked up and we made great time despite my body's protests. We crested Dugway Pass (mile 78.9) and headed down the other side to the return trip across the loooooong, straight, uphill road to the next mountain range. It was along this road that the magic of GI issues crept up. Fortunately, it was not the upper GI issues that trashed me at Wasatch, but it was the lower GI issues that made me extremely glad we'd brought along the "Porta-Loo". Yeah, Ultra-running is sooooo glamorous! Just prior to Dawn, my wife picked up my pacer and drove him back to his vehicle, and I was on my own to reel in the last nine miles. At this point, my right foot had become partially numb, but the ankle was now feeling the effects of nearly 70 miles of adjusted gait, and so it was on fire. Still, no "malfunction" was happening, so I kept pressing; running for 1/2 mile, walking for a 1/10 mile, and repeating over and over. By the time my wife met back up with me, I had just over two miles remaining. I started the 1.2 mile climb up the foothills with enthusiasm in running mode, and quickly reverted to survival mode and power hiked the steeper sections, only running when the grade lessened. As I approached the last 1/4 mile to the turn down to the finish, Ken Maughan, who had started at 5AM and just finished drove past me and cheered me on, so I decided I could somehow run the remainder. I ran to the turn-off to the corral, and looking down the rocky road I could see the finish so I sucked it up and ran hard.

As I ran through the finish

I was welcomed by my awesome wife who'd stayed awake to crew me, as well as Dennis Ahern

(he'd finished about 40 minutes earlier and stayed around to welcome me in), and of course Davy Crockett was there to hand me my official belt buckle!

Every 100 is a tough challenge, each with it’s own character and appeal. I loved the stark landscapes, the contrasts between alkali desert and waterfowl refuge, and the cool fall weather. The Pony Express 100 is definitely a classic, and will remain on my list of repeaters.

Wasatch 100 Epic Fail

Well, at some point in running 100s it is inevitable (at least I'm hoping it's not just me) to have that epic fail, where it wasn't even close, where the mileage was scarcely an approximation of the intended goal. Where the body and mind both conspired for failure and the race was over before it even got into the meat. So it was with my first attempt at the Wasatch 100. It took me three years to draw out for this one, and somehow I managed only to get 53 miles in before complete self-destruction occurred. In reality, the self-destruction occurred around mile 45, and the last 8 miles were a simple matter of putting the last nails in the coffin. It didn't have to be this way. Looking back, I had several opportunities to salvage this event and pull out a finish. But by mile 53 I'd linked enough bad decisions to make it impossible. Here's how it came down: First off, let me say that I married off both of my daughters in the 36 days prior to the Wasatch, so needless to say neither my nutrition, nor my training had been optimal. On race day, I arrived at the start feeling reasonable, and as we headed down the funnel onto the increasingly narrow trail that runs the foothills of Layton, UT, I fell in with a few guys in what felt like a comfortable pace. Not once did I look at my GPS and determine what pace I was really running (turns out it was 2 minutes per mile faster than what I'd planned). By the time I reached the part of the course where it turned uphill, I was already feeling a little fatigued. Had I listened to my body at that point, I'd have slowed WAY down, walked very slowly up the steep climb letting lots of other runners pass me while I focused on mellowing out and eating some carbs to replenish my early-burn. Instead I set my sights on the group ahead of me and started making slow gains on them. When I reached the turn back south, I managed to pass that group, and then I focused on putting distance between them and me. I did manage to put down half a Cliff bar and a few Shot Bloks, but it was not even close to what I should have been consuming at that pace and distance. The brutal climb up Chin-Scraper likewise prompted an unreasonable desire to "hammer" it, and I put everything I had into the climb.

Topping out, I was breathing like a sprinter, not an ultra-runner, and I still pressed as I moved out along the ridge-line to head up towards the radar domes. Oddly, I still wasn't feeling the full impact of my impetuous approach to one of the hardest 100s in the country. Once I arrived at the Francis Peak aid station at mile 18.7, I was starting to realize my stomach had shut down.

I came in feeling really wobbly, and had a sharp pain in my stomach. I grabbed my drop bag, drank an Ensure, packed up my supplies, and as I walked past the table grabbed a couple bites of melon and a cookie. I tried to eat the cookie as I walked away from the aid station, but by this time my body was complaining loudly enough that I had to listen. From this point until about mile 35, I felt terrible. I literally forced myself to keep moving, and the sights of every upcoming climb made me want to lie down and sleep. Obviously, I could have stopped at Francis Peak, stayed there relaxing until my stomach came back, refueled and rehydrated, and then moved on at a more moderate pace. I even could have stopped and laid down like my body was screaming for as I approached Swallow Rocks aid station at 34.9 miles. However, at Swallow Rocks, I actually did sit down, and ate a Popsicle. Then I ate another. I drank some Coke on ice. I started to feel significantly better. I enjoyed the shade of the canopy there for about 15 minutes, and then got up and started off again. The short downhill after the aid station helped as well, and I actually thought I was back in business. What I actually was, was in a position to WALK all the way to Big Mountain, and take an even longer break there.

What I did do, was start running again. I came into Big Mountain having gained back a significant amount of lost time, and apparently was delusional enough to do a quick stop to make my planned sock change, eat a small amount of a boiled potato, and start off again running at a hard pace. That lasted for about a mile. Then it started deteriorating, and doing so quickly. I puked at mile 41, and then never got it back. Nausea continued to Alexander Springs aid station at mile 47.4, where I tried a piece of cantaloupe, which promptly tried to come right back up. I forced it to stay down, and headed off at a snail’s pace hoping not to lose that little bit of nutrition. The steep ups and downs of the climb up the canyon proved mind-bending, and with the darkness settling in, and only my backup headlamp with me (I'd planned on being at Lambs Canyon long before dark), I started stumbling in the dark. I somehow found the turn into the scrub-oak forest that would take me up over a ridge and into Parleys Canyon for my descent down to Lambs Canyon aid station, but as I headed up the single-track, my mental state began to match my physical state. I saw spiders on the trail (and I don't like spiders), so I tried to run which only made me trip and fall onto the trail where the spiders were (not sure if these were even real, but it was real to me at that time). I fell several times during the descent to Lambs Aid station at mile 53, and by mile 51 I was walking sideways to keep moving in a straight line. I was a mess. After the amazing medical folks there squared me away to where I was coherent and speaking full sentences, I tried to stand up. Nothing left there. It was over physically, and honestly I didn't have any fight left in me emotionally either. Despite still having 45 minutes before the cutoff, I withdrew and DNF'd. Disappointing? Yes. But surprisingly, I'm ok with it. I made those decisions, and I'll live with their consequences. But that said, I certainly don't have to make those same decisions again.

2012 Salt Flats 100 Race Director Report

The check-in and Pre-Race meeting began Thursday night at 5PM at the Wendover Community Center, in Wendover, UT. Wendover is a study in contrast, with economically challenged, small-town Utah sitting east of the state line, and to the west, the Casinos and Strip Clubs of West Wendover, NV. The mayor of Wendover, UT had offered up the Community Center and as we setup for the meeting the ever-present winds of the area showed no signs of abating... it looked like the National Weather Service’s promised storm was soon to arrive.

Runners showed up and gathered their race bags and visited the sponsors who had set up inside the center, and received the overview of the course markings, conditions, and last minute instructions. By 7PM the last of the runners had picked up their bags and went to get some sleep. At least that was the intention. Mother Nature, however had other ideas. The wind had been steadily increasing in intensity and by 8PM, 60 MPH gusts were slamming the area accompanied by a cold, driven rain. Driving out to the Start where I was to start marking the last of the course, I passed a 5th-wheel trailer laying on it’s side in the median, a casualty of the nuking winds. At the start area, all the Honey Bucket portable toilets had been blown over, Liz Bauer and Scott Brockmeier’s RV was parked next to assistant RD Ray Smith’s Motor Home, and all the folks who had intended to camp at the start had bailed and driven the 5 miles back to Wendover to get a hotel room. It was a very lonely looking start area. I climbed out of my truck and went in to talk to Ray about our options, and figure out how we were going to pull off this race. The BLM had required us to have a “rain route”, which would allow us to run the race if the Salt Flats was flooded, and as the rain continued we realized this might be a reality. We knew we’d be working through the night to get the course flagged either way, but running the rain route was not what people came out here to do. As if on cue, the rain ebbed, and then completely stopped. The wind continued to howl for another hour, and then it too backed off to the “normal” 15-20 MPH. We were going to be able to have a race after all. We shot out and started checking the flagging we’d placed earlier, and found most of it needed to be reset. By the time we’d set the flagging out to mile 30, it was time to head back and get the race started.

At 6:55, I formed up the runners out on the “Salt”, gave last minute instructions, and at 7:00AM sent them out into the white plain of salt. As the sun rose into the gray morning sky, the clouds broke up and the runners were able to experience the mirror-like reflection of the salt. Because the salt surface is perfectly flat, the curvature of the earth makes it so you cannot see another person on the surface more than a few miles out, so the runners were guided along the salt by 4’ rebar hammered into the hard salt and bright orange streamers flapping in the wind. As they passed one of these, another would come into view.

Very quickly, the favorite to win, Jay Aldous had taken the lead and by the time he hit the first aid station at mile 10, no one could be seen behind him.

Pete Lindgren, Daryl Hultquist and several other possible “second placers” were working hard to keep Jay reasonably close as they followed several minutes back.

The weather was cool and windy, but made for great running conditions and the runners set a quick pace so I needed to get out and finish flagging the course. I took a friend and training partner, Dan Eastman out to the tip of Crater Island and dropped him off to flag the west side of the island by foot while I headed back to keep flagging the remainder of the course, checking in with the “Sheep Camp” Aid Station crew (Aid 6) on the way.

Only 1 mile from Sheep Camp, I passed a very strong-looking Jay Aldous, now easily 1 hr ahead of the next runner. He was putting down a blistering run, and I needed to get moving to ensure the course was flagged ahead of him.

I was literally putting down the course markings two aid stations ahead of him .

The weather kept improving, and by mid-afternoon the temperatures were in the low 60’s with mostly sunny skies.

Even our K-9 competitor “Elvis” with 100 mile first-timer DeeAnna Croasman seemed to be enjoying the weather. I finished flagging the course by 7PM, and started setting up the finish. About this time I received a call from Ray, who had gone out to pull the Honey Buckets from Aid 1 and Aid 2 so they could be moved over to a couple other Aid Stations.

He had driven off of the hard salt surface into the “salt mud”, and was now mired down. He started digging out while I completed setting up the finish, and thanks to some random 2x4’s in his pickup bed he called and said he was out shortly after I was done setting up the finish, but the trailer and Honey Buckets were stuck until we could get a winch or better vehicle out there. As Ray drove back towards the finish, the deceptive illusions of the night desert took over, and he turned to what he thought were the lights of the finish, and again drove off the hard salt surface getting stuck once again. At least this time he had some experience on how to dig himself out. At 9:45 PM, we saw a headlight way down the approach to the finish. Jay was headed in. The approach to the finish is 3.5 miles of perfectly flat road, and the lights of the finish are visible almost the entire way. Just like the Salt Flats themselves, the deceptive nature of distance in this environment adds a unique challenge to this last section.

The agonizing nature of the finish was reflected in Jay’s face as he came through the finish at 10:04PM, a blazingly fast 15:04:45.

Liz Bauer led the ladies the entire race, and finished with a 24:44:01. From the Race Director perspective, the race was a great success. 49 runners started, 43 finished.

Most of the “first timers” also finished, including DeeAnna Croasman and Elvis,

and 18-year-old Tyler Bodily. Only one runner experienced a significant “lost” episode after missing a pivotal turn. No significant injuries, no damaged vehicles, and almost universally enjoyable experiences by all runners, volunteers, and staff. As is always the case, there is much room for improvement and the runners and volunteers have offered outstanding suggestions we will incorporate into next year’s event. The Salt Flats 100 exposes the runner to truly other-worldly terrain, deceptive distances, and mental challenges unlike any other 100. This year’s event confirmed that unique status as virtually every competitor commented on the unique and challenging nature of the race. As we grow the event, I’m sure the experience will be even better year after year.

The Buffalo 100 Mile Endurance Run

Time to catch up! I never realized how totally absorbing being the Race Director for an event was! Before I get into that, time to recap the Buffalo 100 Mile Endurance Run. First off, Jim Skaggs puts on a first-class event! Loved every minute of it! The start was at 12:00 Noon on Friday, and about 40 of us formed up for the start. Karl Meltzer was in attendance, and I knew I'd likely see him hammering back from his first 50 mile loop as I was heading out to the Ranch Aid Station.

The weather was cool and windy, so I was definitely feeling good and headed out at a good pace for the Elephant Head loop. Aid 1 (also Aid 2, 3, 12,13,and 14) came about 15 minutes ahead of schedule, but feeling good so I kept the pressure on for the loop out to the rock formation and after passing Aid 1 again, headed for the steep descent to the West shoreline of Antelope Island. The trail heads South parallel to the shoreline and then starts to climb back up to the summit via some very punishing switchbacks. I kept the pressure on, and by the time I hit Aid 1 again I was over an hour ahead of my goal pace. However, I was feeling like crap, and actually wasn't sure I'd be able to continue. That seems to be the cycle in a 100 miler for me. Run well, feel crappy, then feel good, then feel crappy, then feel good ;) Maybe that's what makes it so attractive?! I hit Aid 4 at Mile 22 and checked in, got some melon in me, and continued on to Aid 5. At this point I was starting to feel a little better as I'd backed off the pace a little. I was still 45 minutes ahead of schedule, but feeling good again so I decided to enjoy the run through the great single track on the east side of the island out to Aid 6 and 7. Aid 6 was managed by Black Diamond Equipment, so it was good to see a few folks I recognized in addition to my wife. I did the classic in/out at 6 and cooked it out to 7. By the time I hit 7, I was starting to "feel" it, partially because I'd been texting the executive staff I work for trying to help solve a breakdown in part of our reporting applications, and I was paying less attention to technique and more to the phone. Finally, on my way back from 7 I was able to call it "good" and put the phone away. Aid 8 (Black Diamond again) came with me maintaining that 45 minute ahead of pace time, and I grabbed my headlamp and headed out knowing nightfall was fast approaching and I'd need this for the "torn up" part of the course, and the rocky single track on the north loop. I love night running, and so I definitely enjoyed the next 15 miles. I came into the start/finish area for my 50 mile aid station, and picked up my first pacer.

Tim Shupe (on my left) would take me for the next 22 miles on the Elephant Head loop, and then Dan Eastman (on my right) would pick me up at this location for the last 28. Tim kept me on a good pace, despite a recurring "feel like crap, feeling good" cycle that continued most of the night. We arrived back at the start/finish aid station and I swapped out pacers and we headed into the pre-dawn light to finish out the last 28 miles. Dan kept me on a solid pace despite my whining and protesting, and we made good time out to the Ranch aid station. The return from ranch became less and less enjoyable as my left calf started to complain, at first quietly, but then loudly. By mile 89, I was in significant "hurt", and was doing my best "gimp hop" to move along.

At the Black Diamond aid station, a nurse from IHC did her best to release the muscle with some pressure point massage. The muscle would act like it was relaxing, but as soon as I stood up on it, it would tighten up worse than before. Dan convinced me to give it a shot, so we headed out at a snails pace. After another mile, I called it a day as I was basically hopping on my right leg to make progress. 91 miles in, I DNF'd rather than push it any further and risk a tear.

My feet were definitely ok with the idea of calling it a day too. I'd developed a few good blisters in in the process, so I need to re-think my shoes! The Buffalo is a fun run, with great support. The buffalo (Bison) do offer a unique element to the event, as they roam the island and in some cases get in the way of runners, requiring the runners to wait for them to pass, or even take WIDE detours. Bison are not known for beign fluffy and cuddly to runners getting too near them. Jim was very gracious when I came into the finish and told him I was a DNF at 91 miles, and he offered up a 50 mile finisher's mug as my consolation prize ;) I will display it proudly!