“I believe that if you set out on an adventure and you’re absolutely convinced you are going to be successful, why bother starting?”

The temperature was in the mid-40s at the start of the 2009 Leadville Trail 100 run.  I was one among more than 500 fidgety runners trying to stay loose while thinking about the big race ahead.

Then at 4 AM, the shotgun was fired and we were off, heading downhill and out of town under beautiful starry skies.

The first five miles are mostly gravel roads, which are great to warm up on. Then there are a couple steep, rocky climbs before we start on 8 miles of rolling Turquoise Lake singletrack.

Somewhere along the trail, I get passed by a real quick woman wearing knee high white socks. I thought it was a hot fashion statement, but they’re compression socks. Many of the ultra-runners were wearing them. They apparently improve circulation and speed recovery.

The first aid station, Mayqueen is at mile 13.5 and I’m in 58th place. Not bad. I’m trying to start a little slower than in years past.

As planned, I don’t stop and continue on the Colorado Trail, climb Hagerman’s Pass, run down the very steep Powerline descent and eventually head into the Fish Hatchery aid station (mile 23.5). The temperature is really starting to warm up, so I remove my arm warmers. I also try eating a Balance bar for protein but it takes me forever to finish it off while running.

After 30 miles, I arrive at the Box Creek aid station. So far, it’s been an uneventful race. I don’t feel fast but I’m doing fine. The sun is really coming out in full force and making this a hot race — which I typically don’t do well in. Anticipating that, I’m starting to consume about 2 electrolyte (salt) tablets per hour.

During this section, some older, skinny gentleman catches up to me. He’s got a thin bead of snot between his nose and lip. As he passes me, he looks back at my crotch. Then again.  Then a third time.

“Dude, can I help you?”

He responds that he is just trying to read my race number. At Leadville, returning racers are assigned numbers based on their finish the previous year.

“I’m number 120.”

Fine, it was a suitable excuse for the look backs, but wipe your nose, runner.

At mile 37 the race became a whole lot more eventful. I turned my right ankle hard while stepping on some small boulders. I hear a few pops and nearly fall to the ground. I start limping along the trail and swearing (only as a means to relieve pain. Uh-huh.) Am I going to finish now? I was so convinced at the start. Damn it, Hillary!

My limp turns to a shuffle as I press on. While the trail is very narrow, my sprained ankle is on the upslope side of the trail, so there’s less chance of my rolling it again. On the descents I trying keeping my right foot angled outward, again to reduce the chance for more damage.

Eventually I hobble into Twin Lakes aid station at mile 39.5. I track down a race medic and get my ankle wrapped. She does a great job. It’s really tight but she assures me it’ll loosen up over the next 60 miles.

I’d started this race in running shoes because most of the early course sections include gravel roads, paved roads, and Jeep trails. In looking back, perhaps that wasn’t the best idea since road shoes can be less stable than trail shoes. No matter, I grab my trail shoes from my drop bag, pull them on, and head back out onto the race course.

During a big river crossing, I wash the salt residue from my face and reapplying sun screen. The cold water feels great.

Next up? A 3,600 foot climb up Hope Pass. Fortunately the wrapped ankle doesn’t feel too bad when heading upward.

However, the descent off of the mountain is another story. Going down super steep and rocky descents requires a lot of ankle strength. I stop often to let other runners pass.

Once off the mountain and into the Winfield aid station (mile 50), a spectator yells, “Keep your chin up!” I stop in my tracks and ask, “Really? Do I look that bad?”

Apparently, yes.

I’m overheating in the hot sun. The race volunteers have started measuring our weight at each stop to make sure we don’t get too dehydrated. I’ve lost 5 pounds in 10 miles, which doesn’t seem to phase them. I eat some warm watermelon and half a PB & J before starting the second half of the race.

I think the climb back over Hope Pass is perhaps the toughest part of the race. It’s a long, steep, hot struggle uphill. Then, just as you clear the tree line, you look up and see the tiny human ants still higher up on the Pass and realize you have a long ways to go.

I really thought about dropping out but I then I’d have to justify it on this blog and Facebook. And my long term goal is to get 10 run finishes. Dropping out only prolongs that and this race isn’t getting easier.

So I press on and make it up, over then back downhill into Twin Lakes. Here I see my friends Kevin and Shelby Bauman who happened to be nearby during the race. More warm watermelon, another half PB & J, and I’m off.

The sun is behind the mountains now and my headlamp is on low. For some reason, I’m feeling pretty good. Perhaps everyone else has just slowed down to my speed. I’m not running fast, but I’m consistent and passing other runners.

In and out of the Oak Creek aid station and I’m back on the road segments. My Nathan water pack had been leaking a little, but I wasn’t losing too much. But now the drink valve (aptly called the BiteMe™ valve) comes off and won’t go back on. Nice. I suffer for a few miles without water.

At the Fish Hatchery, I sit down and drink hot veggie soup with noodles and cold watermelon. Yes, it’s getting cold out, so I pull my arm warmers back on along with gloves. I’ve got 8 hours to finish, so unless the wheels fall off during the final marathon, I should finish before the 30 hour cutoff.

At this point I’d gone through my entire stash of electrolyte tablets, about 30. Not wanting to take chances, I successfully begged some tablets from a helpful crew.

Now the final mountian climb is before me — the Powerline. It’s not crazy steep, but it’s a total tease. There are many false peaks that make you think you’re done climbing when you’re not.

Near the top of one peak, I look back to admire the long bobbing line of lights climbing behind me.

Perhaps it’s the heat and everyone drinking more, but there seems to be more urine and vomit along the trail this year. The former is from the talented runners who can “go” as they continue walking. They leave a long damp streak on the trail. At one point I comment to a nearby runner about the length of one streak. The urinator must have had an ultra-bladder. Impressive.

Once over the peak, it’s a quick downhill run to the Colorado Trail. Last year my headlamp batteries died here. This year I’m using two lights, one on my head and one in my hand. I’ve brought spare batteries just in case, too.

My Princeton Tec LED headlamp has a bright mode which really lights up the trail. It’s pretty amazing for such a light piece of hardware. But, the problen with headlamps is there are no shadows. Without shadows, the human brain has a more difficult time determining the trail surface irregularities. For that reason I’m carrying a very bright SureFire G2 LED flashlight. The combo works great as I pass other runners on the toughest part of the trail as if it were daylight.

The final aid station is Mayqueen and I don’t stay here long with just 13.5 miles to go.

Actual post-race footage

At this point my foot pain is really starting to increase. Stuffing that ankle bandaging and swollen foot into my running shoe isn’t good. I’ve got 4.5 hours to finish, so I mostly hike the trail.

The sun soon rise over Turquoise Lake and there’s a single scull rowing across the relatively smooth lake. And no, it wasn’t a hallucination — not this year.

With four miles to go, Charlie from Boulder starts running with me. He’s not in the race, but is thinking about 2010. He’s asking me a bunch of questions about the run, training, etc. He talks about his job where they produce material flow sensors that among other things can accurately determine the amount a fuel loaded into large navy vessels. The things you learn at mile 98…

Off the boulevard, a left, a right, one hill, and there it is. The finish line. One can’t help choking up a little. There are cheering spectators all along this final stretch. I pick it up to run across the finish line. Race promoter Merilee puts a finishing medal around my neck and  gives me a hug as I say “Your race kicked my butt.”

With just 23 minutes left before the cutoff, it was my slowest finish. I head to the medic tent and find the woman who wrapped my ankle 60 miles ago. She was very pleased if not surprised to see me there. I held up my medal and thanked her for helping me finish.

As I hobble towards my car, I cheer on the other runners still finishing. (275 runners finished in total.)

I drive a couple blocks (only stalling once!) to a gas station and buy a 20 pound of ice. I drive to the award ceremony building, lay the ice across my quads and fall asleep.

Two hours later, I wake up, walk over to the awards ceremony and pick up my buckle and custom sweatshirt.

My fourth finish is not pretty but it’s official and it’s over.

Just six more to go.

Related Posts

• 2008 Leadville Trail 100 Run
• I’m Dreaming of a White Leadville
• Leadville Weather Looks Sketchy

What caught my attention is the photo of her biking (right) looks very familiar.  It’s from the Leadville Trail 100 mountain bike race in Colorado.  She’s just finished the Boulevard and is about to turn onto Sixth Avenue for the finishing stretch.

And she finished just 9 minutes under 12 hour cutoff to earn a Leadville buckle.  That’s impressive, especially for an apparent first attempt.

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Peter and Jeff climb towards Vail Pass

I’m getting caught up on posting photos from this summer.  Here’s a series of photos from a ride a few of us did in Colorado.

Jeff, Peter, and I started in Frisco.  We headed out on the bike path towards Copper Mountain then up Vail Pass to the peak at the I-70 rest stop.  This really is a gentle mountain pass, at least in this direction.  It didn’t look like much fun for those riding from Vail.

At the peak, Jeff turned back while Peter and I coasted into Vail and then Minturn.

There were a couple tough road climbs between Minturn and Leadville, one of which was the Tennesee Pass.  It rain on us briefly, but we soldiered on to Leadville.

We briefly loaded up on water before heading back to Copper.  Going up and over Fremont Pass was a major pain.  The wind and occasional rain didn’t make it anymore pleasant.  But, once at the top it was basically a long coast into Copper and Frisco.

In the end we’d ridden 95 miles and climbed three Colorado mountain passes.  Not bad.

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Looking thrilled just minutes before the start

You know you’re going to be in a death march when bad weather prevents you from driving the posted speed limit on the way to a race start.

Running 100 miles at high elevation in the Rockies is tough as it is. Driving through freezing rain with the occasional lightning hitting the nearby mountaintops makes it surreal.

Fortunately there was only an occasional drizzle in Downtown Leadville prior to the 4 AM start. And unlike the Leadville bike race, there was no jockeying for a good starting position among the 466 runners. Everyone basically stands around nervously making small talk and waiting for Race Promoter Ken Chlouber to fire the shotgun.

Mile 0

I’m feeling great during the downhill start out of town, down the Boulevard, and over to Turquoise Lake. Here we jump on some excellent singletrack and make our way over to the first aid station.

Last year I tripped and fell hard on this section which left me sporting a bloody knee for the rest of the race. This year I’m staying upright and somehow up in the top-20.

The run continues up Hagerman’s pass towards Sugarloaf and that’s when the rain begins in earnest. The higher up the climb, the colder and windier it becomes. The rain then turns to sleet just before cresting the mountain pass and starting down the steep Powerline trail.

Running downhill is really tough on a flatlander’s legs and feet. Our bodies are not used to trying to slow down while running. We’re not used to the heavy pounding on our feet. Last year I tried the small steps and slower speed method. This year I trying the “just let it go” strategy. I’m not sure which is better, but fewer people are passing me this time.

Mile 24 (4 hours)

Once off the mountain, we arrive at the second aid station – the Fish Hatchery. We leave here and run a handful of miles on the road. Now the rains and wind are really picking up. I am running with my hood cinched tight and my head turned to the side to avoid being pelted in the face with rain.

I am also starting to play a “dropping out” scenario in my head. My big goal is to finish and get a third running belt buckle. Long term, I want to get the 1,000 mile buckles for finishing ten races.

Starting to look rough somewhere around the halfway mark

Somehow I can’t find Karen at the next aid station and that is real unfortunate. I had taken off my two-bottle waist pack since it was a short 7 mile road run between aid stations. I need to carry much more water for the upcoming 11-mile trail run, so I slam a couple bottles of Powerade at the rest stop, fill up my small water bottle, and carry a third Powerade bottle by hand. Getting dehydrated in this race isn’t pretty — I’ve been there.

Fortunately the rain has mostly stopped as I make my way to Twin Lakes. I started the race with a couple blisters on my heels from earlier training runs. The rain and the mileage aren’t helping those any.

Mile 40 (7.5 hours)

However, my feet do feel much better after a few frigid white water river crossings. The river is deep this year and my shorts get wet. In the pre-race meeting, Chlouber said the water was just up to his shorts. What I didn’t consider is he wears his short really high as anyone who’s done Leadville will attest.

The next mountain climb begins here. It’s so steep and the air’s so thin that it’s basically a power hike that climbs over 3,000 feet. There’s very little chance to run.

Of course the rain had to return during this climb. And as I continue climbing the rain increases before switching over to an outpouring of pearl-sized hail. It hurts. It hails enough that there is a half-inch accumulation on the now white, mushy trail.

But finally the precipitation lets up as I approach the Hopeless aid station just below Hope Pass and just above tree line. It’s cold enough that some of the llamas are wearing sweaters. Llamas? The trail is so steep and inaccessible that they’re used to transport supplies to the aid station.

After another 1,000 feet of exposed climbing and a 2,600 foot steep descent, I’m just down the road from the ghost town of Winfield, an aid station and the halfway mark.

Mile 50 (11 hours)

I feel pretty good but my feet are a mess. I’m getting trenchfoot. I change socks, but it’s just been very difficult to keep my feet dry in these conditions. Every foot step hurts.

Wearing the 1,000 mile buckle and holding the 2,000 mile buckle! Hmm....

Once out of Winfield, it’s time to retrace our steps. I’m slowly climbing back to Hope Pass, which is about a 1.5 miles higher than Denver. There are a lot of runners coming down the hill as we head up. Unfortunately many of them are getting pulled off the course for not meeting the aid station cut off times.

The hail has melted and the trail is a slick muddy mess on the way back down the mountain. This downhill is absolutely brutal on my soft feet.

Mile 60 (15 hours)

Back at Twin Lakes, Karen provides great support and once again has all my stuff ready to go. Former Michiganders Kevin and Shelby Bauman are also here to cheer me on.

Unfortunately I need to take my lights. In 2002 I got one aid station further before needing lights. I won’t be setting any personal records this year.

I’m still running as the night falls. It gets lonely. Every now and then someone passes me and I pass someone else. Nothing is all that exciting until the lightning and thunder start with about 8 seconds between them.

Mile 70 (18 hours)

Soon the rain returns with some very cold temperatures. And just as I get into the Half Moon aid station, the rain becomes a downpour. I grab a couple cups of broth and take the last open chair around the propane heater. It’s a circle of rag tag runners, most with a dead stare fixated on the heater. The rain is slamming the tent as soaked and weary runners occasionally stumble in. The super supportive volunteers are trying to work magic and keep us in good spirits.

But as the rain becomes just a sprinkle, some of us break the circle, slowly stand up, leave the tent and head down the road.

I meet up with Karen again and put on some warmer clothes. Just as I sit in the passenger seat and start to rest, she kicks me out of the car. Tough love.

How to quickly wear in a pair of trail shoes

It’s more running on the road. Leadville is lit up but we’re not running directly there — that would be too easy. Instead we turn away from town to the Fish Hatchery aid station at mile 76. I eat more broth, potatoes, and Fritos then head out towards the Powerline climb.

I actually like this mountain climb, at least on foot rather than on a mountain bike. It seems to go by somewhat quickly, up and over Sugarloaf pass, then down towards Turquoise Lake. I love my iPod, too.

Just before jumping back on to the super rocky Colorado Trail, my headlamp flickers and threaten to go out. The batteries are nearly dead. Not good. I start running without a light. Fortunately the runner and his pacer behind me have four lights between them. They let me borrow a flashlight and I run between them on the trail.

Their quick pace pushes me to the point of nearly falling many times. It’s difficult to keep my head in the game as we hike quickly through the rocks, jumping streams, and dealing with more muddy conditions in the pitch black night.

Mile 87 (24.5 hours)

I’m now at the last aid station. Unless the bottom drops out, I should make it to Leadville before the 30 hour cutoff. I only have to run a half-marathon now!

Winners got whiskey that Chlouber says will make you feel like Jesus and talk like Jesse James

I slam more broth and hit the singletrack along the lake.

It’s becoming clear that I am starting to lose my mental wits. I’m starting to see things in the woods that just aren’t there: the large white tent that’s actually just a boulder, the boat in the lake that’s just a log. The worst comes as I run past some rocks and a small gray mouse pops his head out of a hole and stares at me. I’m absolutely amazed that this mouse isn’t scared and running away. I look up for other runners that might be coming behind me to point out this cute critter. But when I look back at the mouse, I see that it’s just a small pool of water with a couple pine needles. Whoa. It’s going to be tough shaking that off.

Another mental goof occurs when I decide to walk on some rocks to avoid the muddy trail. If I had 100% of my motor skills, this would be simple. But nearly drunk-like, I slip and fall, slamming my thigh into a rock. Not good. Maybe the bottom is falling out.

Moving forward again, the sun is starting to rise for a second time during the race and that helps to wake me up. And eventhough my feet are absolutely blistered, I’m close enough to keep pushing on. I’m running when I can, recovering, and repeating.

Eninem’s “Lose Yourself” comes on the iPod and I pick up the pace. I replay that song a half-dozen times and pass a mess of other runners.

The course makes its way up the Boulevard and eventually into town. My feet are screaming but my legs feel real decent and I muster a bit of a sprint to the red carpet and finish line.

Mile 100 (28 houts and 50 minutes)

It’s over. It’s my slowest finish in three tries, but I’ll take the buckle. Three down and just seven more finishes to go!

The story of the race was the weather. It has really taken its toll on the field this year as only 186 people ended up finishing (40%).

Of course I really couldn’t have done this without Karen and her support. She had a long, long day (and night and day) as well. Luckily she’s awake enough to drive us back to Frisco for a shower and long nap.

Compete Leadville run results

Related Posts

• Strains, Pains, and Belt Buckles
• I’m Dreaming of a White Leadville
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Some photos are posted below. Note that the Mountain Pine Beetle has been devastating pine trees throughout the County. I’m not sure how this area will look in a couple years as these trees start to fall, if not burn.

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