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.