One of the most lovely, brutal, hopeful and agonizing days of my life.
And definitely the longest.
I signed up for the Tushar 93k because it looked like an amazing challenge in a stunning place. It would be my ‘A’ race for the season. The more I studied the course, the more I was excited and scared of what it would be. It promised huge vertical, technical trails, remote mountains, and spectacular views.
It met all of my outlandish expectations.
We headed down on Thursday because my friend Chuck had been planning on running the 100 miler and booked a condo at the resort in January. When the 100 was cancelled, we decided to all head down early anyway and make a long weekend of it.
Chuck and I were excited to go and see the course and get a look at everything, so Thursday afternoon we hiked the first 2.5 miles from the start, and then drove out the road from Big John’s Flat to the aid stations.
As we drove past Bullion Pasture, we knew it was about 3 miles of downhill on the road to the next aid station. As we were following the course markings, we just drove. And drove. And drove. This was going to be the longest 3 miles. Ever. I was getting a really sick feeling in my stomach. Eventually we saw a 4-wheeler coming towards us on the road, and it was the course marshall. I asked him if this segment was really only 3 miles. He abashedly told us that he had mis-marked it. My stomach suddenly started to feel better.
Apparently when they were out doing a course tour, Matt had skipped showing this part of the course so they could hike Belknap Peak instead.
I think that statement embodies the feel of the Grand Circle races. Matt (and his compadres) are in love with the beauty of where they are doing the races. They’re doing the races to share their passion and love of these wild, beautiful and rugged places.
“It’s not that long, you should go hike it.”
That sounded like a really bad idea. And sometimes I really like really bad ideas. Taper? Rest? Why not go scramble a peak 2 days before the hardest race I’ve ever contemplated?
An hour later, we had crawled up through the scree to the summit of Belknap. Maybe not good for my race, but good for my soul.
Heading up the ridge towards Belknap
Belknap summit, with Baldy in the background.
Why are we in these places anyway? I’m not winning a race. I’m there because I love the mountains, and skipping the chance to summit one just to finish a few minutes faster doesn’t make sense.
Our wives had hoped that we’d gotten distracted summiting a peak (rather than say, having the car break) when we didn’t get back to the condo until almost sunset. They had saved us leftovers.
Matt’s pre-race speech was slightly scattered, but made me love him all the more. He gushed about how beautiful the region is, and encouraged us to not let a focus on the race cause us to miss the scenery, “because nobody is going to be very fast.” “Um, the trails are pretty technical and overgrown.”
At the end of the speech, someone asked if he could say something encouraging…
It was going to be hard.
At 5 am the next morning, Matt yelled, “go” and 78 racers took off down the rock-strewn road to start the race. 45 of them would cross the finish line.
The course quickly turns and after passing an old cabin, switches to single-track ‘trail’. Some of the trail is defined, other parts were just grass with flaging through it. This would be a theme for much of the day. We climbed to the top of the first ridge, then bombed through some wooded single-track switchbacks down the hillside. It was beautiful, fast, and soul-feeding.
The moon setting over the ridgeline
After dropping about 500′, we crossed a meadow and started another climb up a ridge. The sun had started to come up and everyone was getting out their cameras. Then the trail did another drop through very steep, very loose scree.
After crossing the third ridge, the first aid station was in sight. I rolled in about 1:49, which matched up with the 17 hour column on my pace chart. I glanced at my watch to remember key numbers for the end of the day: 2200′ ascent, 1700′ descent, 7.25 miles. I wanted exact numbers for when I was doing this backward at the end of the day.
After eating a slice of bacon and some other little home-made-probably-potato-but-who-knows thing, I started up the climb to the ridge. After cresting the ridge, the trail drops quickly into the Bullion Valley, which is a barely-traveled part of the wilderness with old mining remains scattered everywhere. The trail was overgrown at times, but it was magnificently beautiful and good running.
After a few minutes, the trail begins to climb to the east side of Delano Peak . The trail markings were a little sparse through here, as was any form of a ‘trail’ in sections. A group of us conferenced around my map and tried to make sure we were going the right way. Convinced we were, we continued up and finally saw flagging a few minutes later.
The climb up Delano was steep, and there was not much of a trail for most of it. Just pink flags running through alpine grass. At about 11,200′ a giant heard of mountain goats came into view in the distance, and the summit was visible. I crested the summit and stopped to enjoy the view. At 12,100′, this was the high point in the course. We were 12 miles into the race and had done about 4000′ of climbing.
Following Nate Younger up the trail towards Delano
The run down from Delano reminded me of the run off of Mt Gilbert 3 weeks ago: I imagined hearing bagpipes playing as I ran across grass-covered-rocks, with no discernable trail for much of it.
Looking back over my shoulder after summiting Delano
I wasn’t moving real fast, as I was trying to conserve my legs.
That and I needed to use the bathroom. Badly.
After descending from Delano, the course follows the road up to the Mud Lake aid station. It is a gentle upward (10%ish) grade, and I walked pretty much all of it. Getting to Mud Lake, I beelined for the bathroom.
Now, I’d been a little wary of the “self composting toilets” up to this point, but as I crammed myself into the tent to use it, I found it to be a rather pleasant experience as far as these things go…
After taking care of business, I looked for something to eat. Nothing looked good. I ate a few slices of bananas, filled a bottle with Tailwind, and promised myself that I’d eat more gels. (Yeah right) I also had remembered that I had forgotten to pre-treat with my inhaler (something new I’m trying to see if it helps with breathing issues during ultras) and did a couple of hits off of it.
From Mud Lake, you climb (sensing a theme yet?) before a long descent to Blue Lake. The trail was beautiful single-track winding through woods, with every clearing giving a view of Mt. Baldy and Belknap standing as guards over Blue Lake. I fell in behind another guy who set a nice even pace as we dropped the 4 miles to the lake. After that, we started a several mile, 1200′ climb up to the Bullion Pasture aid station. I caught up with a girl named Toby, who is a fellow Wrangler, and we talked about races, kids and how annoyingly long this climb was.
Coming into Bullion Pasture, I saw my father-in-law Gene, my mother-in-law Marilyn, Alyssa, Kelly (Chuck’s wife) and all the kids all cheering for me. It was spectacular. Alyssa had grabbed my drop bag and filled a handheld for me. I had planned to drop my pack just to get a break. At the last moment, I decided to grab a second (empty) bottle to fill for the climb up Copper Belt Peak (it was an out-and-back), in case it was harder than I’d anticipated. That was one of my better decisions of the day.
Coming into Bullion Pasture
Toby and I ran the 3 miles to Copper Belt Peak aid station to be greeted by a friendly DJ and a feline-Emma. In the last 200 yards before the aid, we saw the leaders coming back out. Dominick Layfield, who would ultimately finish second came into the aid station. I asked him how the climb was. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it wasn’t very complimentary towards the mountain.
Toby and I left and started the climb. We crested a hill and saw a sorta-tired-looking Timothy Olson working his way up the other side. Hmm. This might be hard.
Toby dropped me during the climb, I felt like I was just losing energy. I had 1 gel and some Swedish Fish and a bottle of Tailwind with me. I’d had 2 gels and some pickles since Mud Lake. They say to aim for 200-300 calories per hour, I was averaging probably 100. I kicked myself and promised again to eat more when I hit an aid station again.
The climb up Copper Belt starts with 4-5 overgrown switchbacks, then jogs around the mountain to more switchbacks which are barely cut on a scree/shale mountainside. It just kept going. I hadn’t planned on this being a hard climb. It whooped my butt. And based on what I’ve heard from others, it whooped everyone’s butt. 2000′ of very slow climbing later, I finally reached the summit. I was moving very slow. I punched my bib, enjoyed the views, and started down.
I was too tired to run very well, but tried. I was remembering a fruit cup that Toby had while were at the aid station last time, and thought that sounded good. Lured by the thought of processed-fruit-in-a-cup, I willed myself to the aid station.
After downing some pickles, I had a fruit cup and a quarter of a grilled cheese sandwich. It was all I could stomach. Then I started the 3 mile, 1200′ climb back up to Bullion Pasture.
As I climbed, I started to feel slightly alive again. I didn’t want to run, but I could hike hard again. I caught back up to Toby, and we talked for a few before I pulled slightly ahead to get back to Bullion Pasture. As I crested the last hill, my kids came running towards me and I couldn’t help but grin. I love these guys.
I gave Alyssa my bottles, and ran for the bathroom again (stomach was still working a few things out). I sat down, had another fruit cup, used the inhaler again, and listened to Craig Lloyd discuss how brutal the race was.
“I have 9 hours to complete a marathon… and I’m actually worried” (Need a visual?)
We’d completed 36 miles and 10,000′ of elevation gain. We still had 22 miles and 6,000′ of elevation gain left, including the impending climb of death.
Amused and lifted by seeing so many friendly faces, I forced myself from the aid station after getting every gel I had in the drop bags: I was convinced that I needed to eat a LOT more still, and that I was behind on food.
I thought the 7 mile drop to Miners Park would be fast and runnable. It might be on fresh legs, but it was steep, loose, and rocky. I told myself to get moving, as this might be the end of the runnable terrain. Towards the bottom of the canyon I saw Bullion Falls to my right, and had my breath taken away. It was beautiful. An hour and a half after leaving Bullion Pasture I finally saw the aid station, and told the captain, “Boy am I glad to see you!” He replied, “I think you might be the only one.”
Miner’s Park is located at the lowest point of the course, just before what promised to be a very long, very challenging 3800′ climb. I had packed my poles, a battery charger for my watch, and a spare water bottle in a drop bag. I sat and tried to eat and mentally prepare for the climb. After eating a pickle and a few potato chips, I finally got up and started.
11 switchbacks, then a jog, then 5 switchbacks. I’d counted them before. The trail was on an old overgrown road, with 3′ tall grass and downed trees everywhere. Every switchback gained about 120′. I was crawling. I was breathing as hard as I could, and my body would. not. move. I forced myself to drink some Tailwind every switchback.
I had planned on this section taking way longer, and had padded the time in my pacing chart. But I was moving so slowly my kids would have passed me. I promised myself when I it 10,000′ I could sit down and eat a Honey Stinger Waffle, and consult the map to get an exact target elevation.
11,600′ was the target. It had been an hour and a half and I’d only covered 1600′, and had another 1600′ to go. It felt hopeless.
I got up, and continued my ridiculously slow crawl up the mountain. Eventually we moved past all the switchbacks and approached treeline. The trail at this point left the road up a 3′ embankment, and went straight up the scree towards the ridge. I still had 1000′ to go.
Climbing the scree, I was slower, but happy to finally be getting the climbing over with. And it kept going, and going, and going. The last mile gained 1200′ in a single mile to the summit, which much to my dismay was at 11,800′ — when you’re this tired, 200′ makes a big difference. I could still barely breathe, and for the past 2.5 hours had been hearing chirping (or ‘wheezing’ as a non-moron-who-is-familiar-with-athsma-symptoms would call it) while I breathed, and felt like the engine was stuck with a 1500 RPM governer.
Relieved to see the aid station below, I naively assumed it would be a quick drop to get there.
Instead, the trail winds down, around, and generally takes the least-direct-path to the aid station, somehow sneaking in several hundred feet of additional climbing. I tried to run, but immediately started coughing uncontrollably and almost threw up. Every little climb slowed me to a crawl, as I’d need to breathe again and simply couldn’t.
I finally arrived at the aid station, and probably looked like a survivor of the Bataan Death March. I knew I needed food. I’d only eaten the waffle and a half a bottle of Tailwind and a single gel in the last 3 hours. That was good for about 400 calories.
Kyle, who I’d leaped-frogged a number of times on the climb who was dealing with stomach issues offered me his cup of broth. I greedily accepted, and then downed a half a turkey and cheese sandwich smothered in mustard and mayo.
It was as if God himself had created that sandwich. It was amazing in all of its overflowing-with-mustard goodness.
I wasn’t sure about my breathing problems. In the past, I’d always felt like I had a rubber-band around my chest after ~7 hours, which is what lead me to talk to the doctor and ultimately get the Albuterol inhaler. I didn’t feel that way, but I was wheezing. Unsure of what to do, I decided to try the inhaler again and see if it did anything.
Leaving the aid station, I suddenly found I could hike again. A tired, not-as-fast-as-normal hike, but I could climb with maybe 70% of normal speed, rather than 30%. My breathing felt better. I still could not get myself to run much, but the trail was pretty rough and we were losing daylight, and I can hike pretty darned fast if I can breathe. I passed another runner back up. The wheels were back on!
For about an hour.
Then, they came back off. I started hearing chirping again. I couldn’t climb. My 5 year old would have passed me on the trail. I kept stopping and bending over my poles. 1700′ I kept reminding myself. I had covered 1000′ of it while my lungs worked. The doc said every 4-6 hours on the Albuterol, so I couldn’t take more. (Apparently this isn’t true).
After taking an eternity crawling up the last 500′ ridge, I finally knew what was left. 2.5 miles of downhill, then the final 200 climb to the UPHILL finish. (If I could offer 1 course suggestion: let us finish running downhill…)
I hiked as fast as I could down the rocky, grass-covered ‘trail’. I reached the cabin, then the fire road. I tried to run but couldn’t breathe and had no energy. I’d run in 20′ segments, then settled into walking. HOW COULD A MILE BE SO LONG!??
I finally reached the turn and started up the final hill, which at this point felt like hiking west Grandeur.
I could see the lit-up finish. I heard my wife and Chuck cheering. I pushed. I hobbled. I may have done an ultra-shuffle.
I stumbled across the finish line into a handshake and hug from Turdl Miller in 17:59:40. The hardest 18 hours of my entire life. My entire family was there at 11:00 at night to congratulate me. It was amazing.
Stumbling across the finish line
The race beat up almost everyone who did it. One person commented, “Only 3 minutes from my 100 mile PR” — on a 58 mile race. Only 10 people had finished in less than 15 hours. 45 total people finished out of 78 starters. The most impressive of which to me is Austin Baird, who was doing his first 50 and had decided to drop at the last aid station (he had missed the cutoff). After there wasn’t room on the shuttle, he was told he could finish if he wanted. He battled through and finished at 3:12 am.
For me, I’d hoped this race would be where it would all come together — I’d have the nutrition, breathing issues and everything else dialed and I’d be able to put together a great race physically.
Well, I didn’t do that. I didn’t eat enough, and was suffocating for most of the last 15 miles.
But something else happened. I loved the entire race. I loved the ups, the downs, and everything in-between. The terrain, scenery, struggle, was all beautiful beyond expression, and created the deepest feeling of peace I’ve felt in a long time.
In the end, I realized that everything that mattered had come together perfectly.
