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.