Another pair of legs, a review of the Leki Micro Vario Trekking Poles.

Without my Leki Micro Vario Ti Cor-Tec Trekking Poles, I don’t see how this flatlander from North Texas could’ve finished my latest Mountain excursion at the Kat’cina Mosa 100K in Utah.  By the end of the Kat’cina, my arms and shoulders were just as shot as my legs, requiring every last ounce of strength from my whole body to traverse the entire rocky 62 miles and 17K+ ft of elevation gain/loss, squeaking in at the last hour of the race.  I probably would’ve fallen too behind the cutoffs at mile 40 something on their tough climbs in the exposed mid-day heat without a pair of sticks to leverage myself up, or badly twisted an ankle on the rocks without the poles to balance myself when my legs were too fatigued to do so on their own.  I’m not always the most dedicated runner, I’m not out there doing tire pulls while wearing a 20 pound weight vest on a weekly basis, I get discouraged and lazy like a lot of runner’s do about training for difficult races, but the burning desire to experience incredible adventures in the High Country like Kat’cina has always driven me, or should I say guilt and cajoled me into my getting my butt out of bed at 5 in the morning to put in the Yeoman’s work to at least have a chance at completing these races; a chance isn’t good enough when it comes to these Mountain Ultras though, I needed an advantage in an extra pair of legs, and that’s what brought me to rely so heavily on trekking poles over the past few years.

Last year I had signed up and gotten in for the Wasatch Front 100, a legendary Mountain Hundred Mile in Utah, with 27K+ ft climbing and descending; living in North Texas where the hills barely crested 100ft, I naturally freaked out about this.  Not really knowing how to train for such a Monster of a race, I gambled it all on training almost exclusively with Trekking poles on those stump hills we have down here, and taking advantage of my strong suits of extreme stubbornness, and a love for mindless hiking up Mountains, it’s the closest I get to a State of Zen.  In the process, I broke two Black Diamond Ultra-light Trekking poles by abusing the ever loving crap out of them, thank god for REI’s return policy; afterwards a friend recommended I try out a pair of Leki’s, a pricey German import, and I’ve been trying to kill them ever since.  I got the heavier Aluminum version of the Leki Micro Vario just two weeks before Wasatch, because I was wary of Carbon Fiber’s reputation of shattering when struck laterally on it’s shaft (like how my Black Diamond Carbon broke when I fell on it against a rock); they felt sturdy and rock solid on my first few trial runs with them, but coming in at nearly twice the weight (18.5 ounce per pair) as my old Black Diamond Carbon’s, I was very concerned about carrying them for a Hundred miles over the punishing Wasatch Front Mountain range.

As you can read about that ignominious day at Wasatch on my Race Report, I DNF’d at Mile 61 after over 23 glorious hours of huffing it over those gorgeous Mountains.  I came away from that race knowing I had made a lot of mistakes in my approach and execution of the race, but mainly that my beat up shoulders and arms were just not use to the trekking poles; a few hard months of training wasn’t enough, maybe if I had another year to break my shoulders in, I figured.  Regardless of the DNF, I was impressed at how well the Leki’s performed on those rugged Mountains, they were so solid that I had absolutely no fear of placing down as much force as I could on the poles, as I climbed Mountains and endless ridgelines, practically pulling myself up thousands of feet at times with just my arms when my legs felt dead.  With the Leki’s, I felt no Mountain was high enough to climb, until my whole body fell apart anyway by Mile 50 something, but if I could just get use these poles, who knows what will be possible in the future.

A few months after the Wasatch Monster chewed me up and spitted me out, I started looking for redemption, and that’s when I remembered another Mountain race in the Wasatch Mountains further south down the range, the Kat’cina Mosa 100K Mountain Run, with practically the same distance, climbing, and extended 23 hour cutoff as I faced during the miles I covered at Wasatch Front 100; I figured I had a good chance at it, especially with another year’s worth of training.  Regularly training with the Leki Micro Vario’s now, I had my share of success during races in 2016, but also quite a bit of failures in close DNF’s (though not all attributable to the poles), my shoulder’s just wouldn’t stop aching while using them past 20-30 Miles.  A few weeks before Kat’cina, I was doing a self-supported hike up and down Pike’s Peak in Colorado with a friend as a training run, while carrying 70oz of water in my Hydration Vest with extra gear and food for the self supported trip, I had a “duh” moment when I finally realized I was carrying way too much weight on my shoulders during races that was killing me (I normally wear the same vest in races, but with less gear).  

For Kat’cina, I ditched my heavy 70oz Hydration Vest, in favor of my old Nathan Minimist 50oz racing vest, and wore an additional 20oz water belt and Fanny Pack (don’t laugh) to distribute as much weight as I could off my shoulders and onto my midsection.  For my shoulders during the race, it felt like I was taking off a heavy weight vest all this time, and for the first time after using the Leki’s for over a year, they finally felt like an extension of my arms; I had effectively grown another pair of legs over those Mountains.  For 62 incredible miles at Kat’cina, I was able to effortlessly (for the most part) climb up 17K+ ft of Mountains, and keep upright going down some treacherously steep, loose, and extremely technical down hills with the aid of my Leki’s; all without shoulder pain, making the Trekking poles so damn fun to use, while challenging myself to one gut busting Mountain climb after another.  I had gotten part of my revenge on the Wasatch Monster by slaying it’s little sibling Kat’cina, and now I have my sights once more on the 100 Miles of Heaven and Hell over the Wasatch Front Mountain range.  

At the finish of Kat'cina Mosa 100K, rocking my Wasatch shirt, Leki poles, and, err, a fanny pack...  Oh, if the RD is reading this, did buy the print before I screen-shotted the photo, fantastic race again, btw!

All during the 62 brutal miles of Kat’cina Mosa, I put the Leki Micro Vario’s through the ringer, as I pressed down on them with all my strength repeatedly to propel myself up Mountains, and fell on them hard against rocks several times, but the Leki’s survived unbowed, unbent, unbroken as they carried me across the finish line. The Leki’s resilience isn’t the only reason why I love these trekking poles, they’re a joy to use and manipulate on the fly, with three options to grip the poles depending on terrain; as the photo’s below show, you can grip them regularly for the majority of use, palm them going down steep hills (and be able to adjust the length of the poles quickly as well), or hold onto the textured black grip running down the handle for particularly steep hills or climbing over large obstacles like boulders.  Also, the handle themselves, Aergon COR-TEC, are wonderfully ergonomic and I have never blistered once while using them.  The only con I can see for the Leki Micro Vario is the weight, especially if you’re use to Ultra-lights, at 18.5oz per pair for the aluminums, but if you’re willing to spend more, they have a lighter Carbon model, and a newer version with shock absorbers; the latter of which I’m particularly interested in as a second pair strictly for use during races.  

Long legged beauties, they are..

Regular grip, molded perfectly to your hand.  They came with straps attached, but I cut them off, since I never used them, and they just got in the way.

Palming them for steep downhills.

Adjust shaft length on the fly.

This grip option was helpful on the extremely steep Manitou Incline at Pike's Peak.

Folds down compactly, fit's in your carry-on luggage.

I compare using Trekking poles as having four wheel drive on the trails, allowing you to unlock your upper-body strength to power up tough climbs, and provide better balance on the trails when needed. They also relieve a ton of stress from your quads, knees, and feet, and during long climbs (and steep downhills!), your legs can actually start to recover while you're working your arms more; the Leki Micro Vario's does this job well, without fear of breaking. Whichever Leki’s you use choose, you can’t go wrong, as their toughness and versatility will see you through whatever Mountains that stand in your way. With the Leki's in my hands, the Mountains no longer seem so intimidating to this flatlander.  


Bonus pics I took at the Kat'cina Mosa 100K course, enjoy!

Hiking Myself into a Coma towards Zion 100K

I was supposed to run the Cactus Rose 100 Mile Endurance Run in Bandera, Texas last October, I had signed up on a whim, seeking a bit of redemption for the year after falling short at the Wasatch 100 Mile; my legs still felt strong after my DNF at the Monster in Utah, and I didn’t want to waste a good opportunity to run a race I had also DNF’d on a few years ago and have been itching to go back ever since and come home with it’s coveted buckle, but then a Hurricane rudely interrupted my plans.  Hurricane Patricia hit the shores of Mexico just a day before Cactus Rose, there were multiple warning reports about potential road closures and for everyone to stay home if possible, a warning I heeded, but Ultra Runners are nuts, and the race was held anyway...amazingly, 26 hearty souls finished the 100 Miler while being rained on for most it, and running in ankle deep water and muddy trails, dunno if I’ll ever desire to take this sport to such extremes.  In the meantime, I had the day off from work, when I should have been driving to Bandera, and was able to finally pull the trigger on another coveted object I’ve been obsessing about, my new adventure-mobile, a 2015 Toyota Prius!

My previous car was a 15 yr old Honda Civic that I drove into the ground, it was a rather reliable beast of burden, but very uncomfortable on trips longer than an hour, and was so old I was constantly afraid of it breaking down.  This had the effect of limiting the races that I could do, either races within 200-300 mile radius, or I would have to fly (a very costly option) and blow up my racing budget for the year on just a couple of races.  Now with a more comfortable ride (and Cruise Control!!!), that gets incredible gas mileage, and allows me the convenience of car camping; suddenly driving to races 600-1000 Miles away on a whim doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, and my racing schedule for 2016 subsequently got more ambitious.

Quite comfortable, actually.

To Boldly Go...Exploring.

More on my new Car and travel plans later, not choosing to run Cactus Rose did have a downside effect in leaving my legs too rested and under-trained; after Wasatch, I didn’t run much, after taking off 2-3 weeks to recover, there was only 3 weeks left before Cactus Rose to get in some easy miles under my legs.  So when Cactus Rose didn’t happen for me, I lost my motivation to train with it...perhaps I needed the break anyway after a long summer training grind for Wasatch and the subsequent disappointment of falling short.  I couldn’t afford to rest too long though, I had already set my sights on my first race of 2016 at the Big Bend 50 Mile, and proceeded to pound my legs back into shape; first with an easy 50K at Rockledge Rumble in mid November, then following that up 3 weeks later with a 37 Miler at McKinney Roughs 12 Hr.  My legs responded, and recovered, well from those races, but I only had a good 3 weeks to get in some decent high Mileage training weeks, before tapering for Big Bend 50, and felt nervous for my first big test of the new year.

Big Bend 50 Mile at Big Bend Ranch State Park in Texas, has always been one of those races that I’ve been dying to run, a scenic desert run amongst the Cacti and Mesa’s down at the Southwestern border of Texas, and also a great excuse to visit the Big Bend National Park next door after the race; it’s a 600+ Mile drive from Dallas though, and wasn’t something I was willing to make in my old car, but this was one of the first races I considered after getting the Prius.  Big Bend 50 was also a good race to test out my legs, it’s mostly flat and smooth dirt trails for most of the race, punctuated by a steep, rocky, and cacti covered climb up and down a thousand and half ft Mesa in the middle of the race, providing for a fast, scenic, and varied racing experience.  I didn’t push myself too hard in this race, mostly because I had already signed up for a tough Mountain 50 Miler three weeks later, but also because I ran most of the race with a new friend, Janie.  The trail markings wasn’t the greatest (one 6 mile section was completely unmarked…), so we decided to stick together to not get lost, also while I was stronger on the climbs and downhills, she was faster on the flats, so we complemented each other well in pushing each other towards the finish.  Big Bend 50 turned out to be more like 53 and half miles, and I finished in around 14 and half hours, not great, but I was relieved my legs were back in 50 Mile shape after a long period of breaking them in again after Wasatch.  For a grandview tour of the State Park at Big Bend, this race can’t be beat, and afterwards, I absolutely loved climbing at Big Bend National Park; with Mountains and views so Magnificent, I hardly believed I was still in Texas.

With Janie

I'm just here for the pictures...

This one is of Emory Peak at Big Bend National Park...stunning.

My next race was nowhere near my radar in considering my racing schedule, but when a good friend ask if you want to bum along with him and a few other friends for a race on the Santa Monica Mountains in California, I immediately bought the plane tickets to join along without much consideration into exactly what I was getting into.  I haven’t been to California since I was a little kid, and have been wanting to make the trip out west for years to experience the trails and mountains over there, at first glance, Sean O’Brien 50 Mile sounded very difficult with around a 11K ft of climbing, but doable with mostly smooth dirt roads and with a 15 hour cutoff...none of us bothered to check out the details beyond that before making the trip though.  Days before the race, I finally gave those details a finer look, and my heart sank when reading it, I would have had to make the first 34 Miles in a blistering time of 8:45 hrs, that’s after climbing over 3,000ft in ten miles in the beating hot sun of mid-day…that cutoff was just unrealistic and in no way adjusted for a 15hr race, especially after such a huge climb in the heat.  I knew there was no way I could’ve accomplished such a feat and intended to drop to the 50K, but my friends talked me back into the 50 Miler, I just wished I hadn’t left my trekking poles at home when I was still intending to drop to the lower distance.  Out of the four of us that went, only one of us finished, Ace Gallegos in around 12 hours, felt really bad for his girlfriend Julie, a Gazelle of a runner, that got caught in that mile 34 cutoff trap, even though she was on pace to finish in 12 and half hours; as for me, I had to drop at Mile 30 in around 8 and half hours, a time that I was quite proud of, and if the cutoffs were adjusted right, I may have been able to squeak in under 15 hours...oh well.  This gorgeous race on the Santa Monica Mountains, touring multi-million dollar hillside estates, and over-looking the Pacific Ocean, seemed like such a quintessential “California” race to me, would have loved to been able to finish it...for what it’s worth, when questioned by my friend, the RD was apologetic and assured us the cutoffs will be adjusted correctly for next year...so tempted to give it another shot.

I could get use to this...

One positive outcome that came from my DNF at Sean O’Brien, was that I recovered quickly from “just” a Mountainous 30 Miler, and had the legs for my third go around at a favorite race of mine, a jewel in Arkansas, the Run LOViT 100K.  Run LOViT is a challenging, fun, and beautifully scenic run on the Lake Ouachita Vista Trails, that has already inspired me to write two race reports on it (here and here). I especially love this race, because I consider it to be a good “indicator” race to gauge my fitness early in the year to take on more difficult Mountain races later on, and since it’s the closest to the Mountains that you’re gonna get from Dallas in a reasonable drive of just over 300 Miles.  After finishing the race in 18:20 hours (and my first ever DFL!), I came away from it feeling a bit mixed about the shape of my fitness, but confident I could take on my first big challenge of the year, the Zion 100 Mile race in Southern Utah, 7 weeks later.  My two big take-aways from Run LOViT 100K was, that while my running legs have gotten quite weak and slow after not focusing so much on that part of my training for such a long time, my Hiking legs were still strong and could go on seemingly forever. It was nice to know that the endless power-hiking drills for Wasatch last summer was still paying off, and while I fret a little about my much reduced running speed, Zion has a pretty generous cut-off of 34 hours, maybe I could grind out this finish I thought to myself...unfortunately, much like Sean O’Brien, I didn’t much check out the details before signing up for the race.

The early morning views of Lake Ouachita on top of Hickory Nut Mountain never gets old...

When it came to the Zion 100 Mile run, I didn’t care much for details, save for the “doable” elevation profile of just 10K ft worth of climbing, my main reason for signing up was to travel back up to Southern Utah and explore more, particularly the National Park next door to the race.  Much like I did with Big Bend 50, it was a good opportunity to explore the more local trails in and around the town of Virgin, Utah just a spitting distance away from Zion, and afterwards I could spend all weekend hiking the trails at the majestic National Park; it’s a great way to pack in as much miles and sights as you possibly can in a few short days.  I was all ready to give the 100 Mile a go, when suddenly the Race Director of Zion started sending frantic emails warning of rain during the race, and how badly the course’s mostly dirt clay roads and trails can turn into unrunnable and slippery pig slop.  The RD gave us the option to drop completely and be credited for a future race with his organization at Ultra Adventures, something I considered briefly, especially remembering how impossibly horrible muddy clay can be to run on at a local North Texas race that I did last year (Big Cedar), but it looked like rains were projected to fall mostly overnight and into the next day, leaving the first day of the race with spectacularly cool and cloudy weather; so instead of dropping completely, I changed my registration to the 100K, been looking forward to this trip for too long to turn back now. 

Traveling long distances solo can suck, especially when you’re going to be stuck in a car for two days by yourself just getting to the destination, but I got plenty of Podcast, music, and other audio programs to keep me occupied, and sorta look forward to making these long road trips to work down my Podcast queue; there’s something about the driving experience that makes listening to an audio story that much more engrossing.  Also, I was originally going to fly, but it’s vastly less expensive to drive and camp out in my car when possible; I didn’t exactly buy a Prius to “go green”, I mainly bought it to support my traveling and racing habit, and will most likely end up driving twice as far as my previous car yearly!  On my way to Zion, I had a couple hours to spare to finally see the big ditch in Arizona for the first time in my life, and it was every bit as Grand as it’s namesake implies; someday I’ll be back to the Grand Canyon National Park for a R2R2R attempt.  Finally making to the race site, where I got to camp about a hundred feet from the starting line, I was curious about the number of people who dropped due to all the dire warnings of a potential apocalyptic mud-bath, in total, from the 100 Miler, three people dropped down the 100K (including me) and only ONE person dropped completely…yeah, Ultra Runners are nuts.

Yeah...it's quite Grand.

The beginning 13 miles on the first big climb of the day up and down a +1,500ft Mesa (not quite so sure on the terminology between Mesa and Plateau, but says Mesa on topography maps) to the Dalton Walsh Aid Station went smoothly; the morning was cool and my legs felt strong on the steep and rocky climb, and the dirt roads and trails up on the Mesa was rather smooth and runnable, this leg of the race went by quickly in 3 and half hours and I felt good about my prospects for the rest of the day...oh how quickly things can go downhill in an Ultra.  It was starting to heat up, cool temps, cloud cover, and some rain wouldn’t arrive till mid-way into the race, and the 5 miles of hard-packed dirt roads, going up hill to the next aid station, felt like concrete to run; I found it difficult to run much and was doing too much walking during this stretch; my weak running legs became all too plain to see.  Once I muddled my way to the Guacamole Aid Station at mile 18, hoping for some smoother single track trails and some shade cover, I found neither as the next nearly 8 miles were ran on rough and uneven “rock domes” that was confusing to navigate and tore up my feet some more.  This uniquely frustrating section, as best as I can describe it, could be rather fun navigating your way over the wavy rock domes, going from cairn to cairn, but I was slowed down significantly making my way through this section; all told, it took me over 2 and half hours just to make it back to Guacamole aid station.

The View from up top the Mesa

It can get quite rocky and treacherous going down the Mesa at breakneck speed...

Some quite scenic stretches on this dirt road to Guacamole A/S

Beginning of the blasted rock domes...

Try not to think dirty thoughts...I dare you.

If more of trails up ahead were like those rock domes, I knew making the 16 hour cutoff at mile 48 would be dicey, as I was averaging 20 min/miles trying to navigate them.  The downhill trip from Guacamole to Dalton Walsh Aid Station went by smoothly, as cloud cover and cool temps started blowing in, and it felt great to actually be able to run again.  Shortly after leaving Dalton Walsh though, it started getting hot again, and the next 3 and half miles were hard-packed dirt roads that were unforgiving on my 30+ mile legs at that point.  All along this long and straight dirt road you can see the Gooseberry Mesa looming ahead of you ever larger and more dreadful; good thing I had my trekking poles with me to make this shockingly steep climb that required ropes in certain sections.  All while I was dragging myself, inch by inch up this thousand ft climb, I couldn’t help but to be blown away by the views down below, this climb by far has the best views of the race, with multi-layered Mesa’s of different colors, shapes, and sizes stretching across the cloudy horizon; one tends to forget their struggles of the day, however so briefly, at the sight of such grand marvels.

Mesa porn...

Love this one...

In what seemed like forever, I finally made it on top of the Mesa to the Goosebump Aid Station at Mile 35.5, filled up on cheesy quesadillas with avocado (my new favorite trail food!), grabbed my rain shell and headlamp and made it out of there quickly.  I now had 4 and half hours to make the next 12 miles to Gooseberry Aid Station and back, to meet the 16 hr cutoff at mile 47.5; with a relatively flat terrain profile, normally I wouldn’t be sweating this, but I was worried about running into those infuriating rock domes again, especially with night approaching.  Sure enough, nearly the entire 12 mile trip was covered in these rock domes, and what made it even more of a confusing slog, was that there were no clearly flagged cairns to follow on this Mesa like the last dome section.  Instead you’re mostly relying on painted white dots that was not put there by the race organization, that if you're not careful, could lead you astray for a quarter mile before realizing it; I got lost several times this way, and it didn’t help that the flags became even more spread out in this stretch, forcing you to keep moving forward sometimes just hoping you’re going in the right direction.  All through the race, we got lucky, the rains up till now (around 12 and half hours in) had only came down in brief sprinkles and the clouds and cold breezes they brought in were much welcome relief, but a few miles out from finally reaching one of the signature defining features of this race, the Gooseberry Point Overlook, the rains came down in buckets.  Thankfully, the rains were brief, and by the time I reached Gooseberry Point Overlook, the clouds had cleared a bit for one last spectacular view up on top of the Mesa.

My most epic race shot is one with my back turned and not running...

Nighty night Mesa's...

Just before I reached the Gooseberry Point Overlook (and aid station), I caught up to a couple that I mostly did the previous rock dome section with between miles 18-26, they were moving slow and frequently gotten lost trying to follow those white dots; after a few miles, I finally had to run on ahead, there was still a slight chance I could meet the cutoff if I rushed.  Nightfall had finally arrived with about 5 miles left to go, and as I feared, navigating the rock domes became a nightmare in the dark, slowing you down to a crawl as you’re always on the lookout for white dots with your headlamps, that had a tendency to either vanish on you, or branch off in entirely different directions.  As I was frustratingly averaging 26-28 min/miles by this point, my hopes of making the cut-off vanished with it, and I ended up coming short by 15 minutes resulting in another disappointing DNF.  

I, quite frankly, didn’t think the Zion 100K course would be so difficult, it had a similar elevation profile to Run LOViT 100K, which I easily finished, and I assumed I could do the same here.  It’s just those minor details that I overlooked, like miles upon miles of never-ending miles of bewildering rock domes, that would have came in handy if I had known (like actually read a race report on Zion…); maybe I would have trained harder for this race instead of just trying to trudge my way through another Ultra.  Early spring races have always been difficult for me though, with the miserable Winter months of Texas making it difficult to train, and running so much Ultras back to back to back so early into this year didn’t help either; I didn’t have much time to train properly before I had to taper for the next race.  

The main couple of things that I’m painfully aware of through racing so much this year, is that I need to become a stronger runner again, while I was focusing so hard on power-hiking last year, my running speed has almost entirely vanished; on races with long stretches of flats like in Zion, it’s crucial to have the speed to be able to take advantage of them so you’re not too hurt by the slower climbs and highly technical terrain.  Another aspect that I need to focus harder on is nutrition and race preparation, when I was traveling with Ace and Julie, I marveled at how they’ve gotten their nutrition and race preparation down to a science.  As they were laying out all their bags of white powdered CarboPro drink mix and little baggies of anti-fatigue/energy/endurolytes/salt pills on the hotel bed, with every single mile accounted for in dosage, it was like they were running a highly efficient drug operation (surprised they got through TSA screening...), these guys were Pro’s, and their racing results proved it; while here I am not even bothering to pack gels and relying on what I can find at the aid stations, no doubt all the extra time I spent at the aid stations eating and taking down calories would have made up for those 15 minutes I went over the cutoff.  

Now that I’ve gotten these early Ultra’s out of the way, and most importantly, survived them injury free, I can start focusing more on training and getting my speed and mileage back up, and work on the other intangibles of racing.  It was partly my objective all along, to take things easier and to merely survive my early races till I get to this point, but it doesn’t exactly take the sting out of slow finish times and DNF’s any easier...if I’m ever to become better at Ultras, I have to stop making excuses and put in the work, no more relying on a strong power-hike as a crutch, there’s too many races I want to see and conquer; namely Kat'cina Mosa 100K in August and Run Rabbit Run 100 Mile in September.

Some pics from Zion National Park afterwards, climbing the Park's various iconic peaks after 48 miles at the race was kinda rough...but so worth it.

Beginning the climb towards Angel's Landing

Peak of Angel's Landing

Try not to look down when climbing it...

The climb up Observation Point

At Observation Point.

My favorite shot of the day.

Looking back at 2015

I felt like Icarus flying too close to the Sun this year, going after races that were on orders of magnitude much more difficult than anything I have ever attempted in the NUT 100K and Wasatch Front 100 Mile.  The climbing of these races never seemed to end, and the cut-off monster was breathing down my neck every step of the way; Ultras of moderate difficulty and with generous cutoffs can lead you to a false sense of surety in the belief of your abilities to “outlast” these races through stubborn force of will alone, until you run straight into an immovable Mountain that turns your legs into lead.  Outlasting is what I’ve been mainly focusing on for the past 4 years, as I first chased distances to the 100 Mile mark, then focused on races with a lot of climbing, all the way to my first Mountain Hundred at Bryce Canyon; speedwork was always an afterthought as I piled on the miles and vertical during training, but I could no longer simply outlast these difficult races, I had met my physical limit.  Now I have to ask myself, do I want to continue pursuing the most difficult races out there, and could I ever muster the will to put up with all the training that’s necessary to have a chance at the them?

I train hard to be in the mid to back of the pack at Ultras, but at the same time, I’ve never been as dedicated towards it as some people can be.  During peak training weeks, I normally put in 50+ miles of training, with spending long back to back weekends on the trails, it’s hard to see myself doing anymore; yet I see other runners doing the same, while dragging tires, or running in the afternoon heat instead of the morning, or putting in 60-70 Mile weeks, or regularly doing blistering speedwork, or do all manners of weight and cross training, or all of the above...and I just can’t picture myself ever being that dedicated, when it’s all that I can do just to keep up with my own rather modest training regiment.  Of course, those who are doing more advanced levels of training are aiming much higher than my pedestrian goals of merely finishing these tough races, but when it comes to a race like Wasatch, being an Ultra Pedestrian is no longer enough, I need to dial the intensity way up, and for a lot longer periods if I’ll ever have a chance at these races...whether I have the will to do so, is another story.

I believe Willpower is a finite resource, for most of the year I’m in the 30s Mile/Week fitness and sanity maintenance mode, to bump that any higher would require more dedication, and more dedication usually means making more 5am wake-up calls throughout the week, and that’s just not something I can easily maintain for long stretches, unless there’s a huge race ominously around the corner that forces me out of bed.  From four years of pursuing Ultras, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s only a short several months window where I have the will and drive to really dedicate myself to high level training, and hit those 50+ mileage weeks consistently before a big race.  Afterwards, my training and dedication crashes for months, either due to injuries or burnout, and it’s always a struggle to start up again.  2015 has been a particularly challenging year due to the huge come down I experienced after completing Bryce 100 Mile the previous year, and especially after spending nearly half a year trying to overcome a groin injury that kept me to limited miles; the struggles (including the absolutely horrible weather in the beginning of the year) were just too much to overcome to take on an even more difficult challenge in Wasatch…I couldn’t find the motivation to push myself extra hard to train for that race before it was too late.

Looking back at 2015, I sorta wished I had never gotten into the lottery for Wasatch, I clearly could’ve used a down year after chasing ever longer and higher Ultras so intensely for 3 years prior, but at the same time, even with all the DNFs, I’m glad I got to experience the races that I did.  If I hadn’t gotten into Wasatch, I most likely wouldn’t have entered the highly difficult NUT 100K as a way to challenge myself, and wouldn’t have had that out of body experience of having your mind, body, and soul being absorbed into the moss and fern covered towering old growth forests running alongside the North Umpqua River; also I wouldn’t have had the excuse to drive all over Oregon for a few days and visit the awe-inspiring Crater Lake as well. If I hadn't gotten into Wasatch, I wouldn't have experienced the majesty of the Wasatch Mountain range, climbing them was the highlight of my year by far, and it's kinda hard to say being able to spend 61 glorious miles on those Mountains was a disappointment. Finally, if I hadn't gotten into Wasatch, I wouldn't have tested my limits like never before, and subsequently know it's no longer enough...it has to be raised significantly if I'm ever going to return to Wasatch for another attempt.

I’m still undecided on what to really do for 2016, a huge part of me wants to take a step back from chasing Mountain Hundreds (not quite ready to jump back into that meat grinder...), and focus on having fun and exploring other more moderately difficult races in the 50 Mile to 100K distances that I’ve always had my eyes on.  So far I’m already signed up for Big Bend 50 Mile in January and the Sean O’Brien 50 Mile February, training runs for another go at a Hundred Mile at the beautiful Zion 100 in April.  I still desire a race in the Mountains though, and if not a 100 Miler, a 100K at Kat’cina Mosa or the Tushars 93K (both races are pretty much shorter versions of Wasatch) in August sounds great too, at least I know I’m capable of handling the climbing at those distances.  Whatever I end up doing for 2016, I know I have to focus on continual improvement (speedwork, seeking more training partners and groups to hold myself accountable, or maybe even a coach...), because once you’ve experienced the races that I’ve participated in this year, you’ll never want to stop chasing them.

2015 Wasatch Front 100 Mile Race Report

This all started around mile 90 something at Bryce Canyon 100 Mile last year, as I was climbing up the final thousand foot ascent to finish that race, I found it remarkable that my legs could keep going up, even after 19K ft of climbing and no longer being able to run many miles ago; so that’s where the bright idea that I could potentially finish one of the hardest and oldest Mountain Hundred races in the world popped into my head.  For the past 3-4 years, the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run has been this mythical beast of a race that always seemed so impossible for me to even consider (the name “Wasatch” sounds like some legend to me now…); I just remembered stumbling across its website one day and being instantly hooked with its tagline “100 Miles of Heaven and Hell”, and then being both awed and dismayed by photo’s of its majestic Mountain course and the sheer difficulty of it’s description that promises to “test out the endurance of any runner”.  I mostly shoved all thoughts of Wasatch back into the recesses of my mind afterwards, shunting it into the category of races that are “Possibly 5 years down the road…”, while I worked my way up through the Ultra racing world and trying to build a solid foundation from which I can make a successful attempt someday at all those legendary Hundred Milers I’ve dreamt about.  As the years went by, I found myself being more drawn to Wasatch, and other Mountain races like Hardrock, to the point that they served as a sort of “North Star”, where every race I entered was a stepping stone towards those races; Hardrock is still in my “Impossibly Hard” category of races, but the possibility of Wasatch was getting closer every year, and after completing Bryce, I knew I had to give the race a shot.

As the lottery entry date for Wasatch grew closer, I still didn’t entirely believe I had a good chance of completing Wasatch, that I still had a ways to go before I felt I had the experience to handle such an immense challenge; so partly to work through my doubts, I wrote a huge piece on my whole thought process in signing up for the race, “A Pessimist dreams of the Wasatch Mountains”.  Afterwards, I would accept whatever fate the Wasatch lottery Gods decides for me, threw my hat into the race, and got picked for entry a month later...I was mortified.  I had over 7 months to train for Wasatch after being picked for the lottery, the same amount of time I spent training specifically for Bryce Canyon, more than enough time to get ready for the race if I played my cards right, I figured.  Having managed to finish a tough Arkansas race, the Run LOViT 100K earlier this year in February, uninjured, I was finally convinced that my long festering injuries from Bryce Canyon was behind me, and was looking forward to ramping up my training in two phases.  Phase 1 was to rebuild my speed and endurance in order to tackle an Oregon race, The NUT 100K in June, that had very aggressive cutoffs to meet, afterwards, phase 2 would mostly be power-hiking repeats in order to survive the endless climbs of Wasatch; nature wasn’t quite agreeing with my first plans however.

On my NUT 100K race report, I wrote about how North Texas (where I live), and most of the State, received historic amounts of rain and flooding throughout the spring months, leaving practically no trails to train on for months on end.  My reluctance to run on pavement, during lightning storms and torrential downpours mind you, exacerbated the problem and resulted in a DNF at the NUT 100K.  Woefully under-trained by the summer, it almost seemed hopeless with only around 3 months to get ready for Wasatch, but I had one glimmer of hope left heading into Wasatch, and I would take to it with abandon.

My entire plan for Wasatch depended on conditioning my arms and shoulders over the summer months to utilize my trekking poles more effectively over longer distances, because after the NUT 100K, where I only had one brief training run prior with the poles, I realized just how much of an advantage they were in surviving long climbs…but they were murder on your shoulders and arms if you’re not properly trained with them, as I found out in just 20 miles of that race in Oregon.  Also, since I couldn’t train for speed and endurance much during the beginning of the year due to all the floods, I figured my only hope was to double down on power-hiking repeats over the summer in order to survive the long climbs and grind it out to the finish.  Starting in mid June, I gradually brought up the amount of weekly climbing I could handle from around 5K ft of gain/loss, all the way up to 12K ft of gain/loss by late August, and hitting just about the same gain/loss for Hardrock 100, around 34,000ft gain/loss, for that month; all while suffering in the miserably hot and humid Summer months of Texas…it was good training for a potentially hot race in Wasatch I told myself, while I was trudging up the same handful of what passes as hills here in North Texas, at Cedar Ridge Preserve, for 7+ hours in the heat each weekend.

I was responding well to the poles, and felt like I could keep climbing forever with them, no matter how fatigued my arms and shoulders felt.  There were a couple things that worried me going in to Wasatch though, first was a minor ankle sprain that I incurred during the second to last peak training week, four weeks out from the race, which forced me to completely shut down all running during the taper period in order to fully heal the ankle.  I prefer a gradual ramp down in mileage during the taper period, heading in almost completely cold (I did do some long hiking trips during those weeks), was not something I’m use to.  Also, I had gone through two Black Diamond Distance Z (first the Carbon fiber, than the Aluminum) trekking poles during those heavy training months, they just couldn’t survive the abuse of the Texas heat and humidity, I suppose.  I loved how ultralight those Black Diamond poles were, I absolutely could not risk having one break down on me again during the middle of Wasatch though, so I sprung for a pair of Leki Micro Vario Ti Core-Tek Aluminum-Copper poles, a brand known for their rock solid reliability, but at 18.5 ounces per pair, they were nearly half a pound heavier than the Black Diamond’s were, and during the later stages of Wasatch, I felt every one of those extra ounces.

Arriving at Salt Lake City the day before Wasatch for the pre-race meeting and placing drop bags, I was out exploring the local park the gathering was being held at, Sugar House Park, which had a magnificent view of the Wasatch Mountain range in the distance.  While there I ended up losing track of time while trying to get a better unobstructed view of the Mountains, and had to sprint about a quarter mile in order to catch the last half of the pre-race meeting; bad idea it turns out, to sprint (which is something I almost never do) on cold legs that had been tapering for the past 3 weeks…  The morning of the race (a friend whom I was staying with drove me to the race), inexplicably, that little sprint left my legs already feeling sore before I had ever step foot on the Wasatch course!  The first four and half miles of Wasatch was one of few flatter and runnable sections of the whole course, I was planning to warm up my legs here, but fretted the whole time that I started out the race with a huge deficit after my dumb mistake with the sprint the day before.  Soon though, the huge 4-5K ft climb up to Chinscraper at mile 9 and half was coming up, and hopefully that long 5 mile long slog up the Mountain will stamp out the initial soreness.

Foreboding Mountains in the distance...

The night-time and early morning views of Salt Lake City under neath were fantastic.

The moment I had been training for all summer had finally arrived, I was particularly fearing this first monster climb of Wasatch, and is one of the main reasons (the other being the climb up to Brighton…) why I had been power-hiking with the trekking poles all summer like a Madman.  Not only is there NOTHING like this in the flatlands of North Texas, you also only have 7 hours to make it to the Francis Peak aid station at mile 18 and half, which doesn’t sound like anything to worry about, but I later learned after the race that there was a record amount of DNFs this year from people missing that first cutoff!  With cool morning temps in the Mountains, and strong and rested arms, I broke out the poles and went to work; my objective was to make it to Chinscraper in 3 and half hours, and with the early traffic jam during the first couple miles of the race with 300+ runners crowding onto the single track trails, I was already running quite behind.  The whole time up, I felt like a machine built for this specific task, as I was averaging a steady and brisk pace in the low to mid-twenties for the 5 mile trip up, and started to pass many other poor souls without trekking poles (I did feel like cheating a bit…but whatever) for the first time in the race.  I met my initial goal for the race just under my target of 3 and half hours, right after crawling up the 45+ degree angle cliffs to make it up to Chinscraper; after enjoying some views of the Mountain Valley below, I pressed on.  

On the way up to Chinscraper...

...there were many spectacular views to be had.

Looking down from Chinscraper.

For the next 5 miles, I was already starting to sweat the cutoffs (a recurring theme for the rest of the day), as I was making the up and down climbs on top of the Mountain ridgelines at just over 9K ft altitude, where I was getting a taste of what’s to come; the trifecta of tough climbs, high altitude, and the ever increasing heat under the exposed sun.  My heart was exploding inside my chest trying to keep a steady 20+ minute pace on these tough climbs, while I was practically hyperventilating trying to suck down enough oxygen up there to feed it.  I was finally able to relax upon reaching the 4 mile smooth dirt road downhill to Francis Peak Aid Station at mile 18 and half, and with my legs feeling better with the initial soreness at the start of the day stamped out, I cruised down to make that first cutoff with an hour to spare.  

Starting to see the Great Salt Lake in the distance.

Stopped for my only self photo of the race.

Still more climbing to do...

One of the Francis Peak Radar Domes overlooking the Great Salt Lake

My jaw was constantly dropping from these amazing views of the Wasatch Mountain range extending on to the horizon...

On the dirt road down to Francis Peak Aid Station

The trip to Bountiful B aid station at Mile 24 was pretty uneventful, but it was approaching noon when I left Francis Peak, and after a few more hours I found that I just couldn’t run much anymore.  All the flat dirt roads were entirely exposed, and most of the time, a brisk power-walk was all that I can manage to keep my heart-rate under control.  More of the climbs on this section, and on towards Grand Peak Trail junction at mile 31, were thankfully under tall Spruce, Fir, and Aspen trees, and there were even some creeks along the way that I could cool off in, but that didn’t make the climbs any easier, as I was huffing and puffing away, like the Little Engine that could, in peak afternoon temps in the low 90s.  I wish I could have taken more pictures along this pleasant wooded stretch (a nice break from all those magnificent Mountain views...), but once I started on the many frequent climbs here, I had to keep the momentum going till I reached the top of a hill, and didn’t want to stop and pull out the camera for a photo.

This section was a good mix of flat open dirt roads...

...pleasant forest covered sections...

...and tough climbs.

The descent from the peak of that long climb at just under 9K ft altitude on Mile 31, towards the Swallow Rocks aid station at mile 34 and half was a very frustrating one.  The trails were very overgrown, and it was hard to see where your foot was landing; many small rocks were hidden underneath all that overgrowth and that kept my pace short, choppy, and conservative in fear of exacerbating my earlier ankle sprain.  So, instead of hoping to extend my buffer from the cutoffs on the long downhills, I reached Swallow Rocks with only about an 1:45hr to make the next 4 and half miles to meet the hard cutoff at Big Mountain Pass at 14:30hrs.  Fortunately, the trails were a lot smoother along the way, and the 800 ft drop down into the Big Mountain Pass Aid Station in about a mile was mostly smooth switchbacks that was very fun to descend; I came in and out of the Aid Station (grabbed my headlamp and a pullover sweater from my drop bag) with about 26 minutes to spare, and hoping to extend that cutoff cushion with a big descent coming up in about 3 miles, but little did I know, I’ll be reaching what’s known as the armpit of Wasatch.

These sweeping views along this section never gets old...

After a couple of tough 300-400 ft climbs over a few miles that I thought would never end (kept thinking the descent was just around the corner...), I came out of forest cover and back onto the Mountain ridges with one last opportunity to take in the amazing views of the expansive Wasatch Front Mountain range during the sunset; the photo’s below perfectly captures the reasons why this flatlander from Texas pushes himself so hard to be in the Mountains, to experience the joy, awe, and majesty that one only can after traversing 40+ Rugged and Mountainous miles to earn those views.  Afterwards, nightfall quickly arrived, right on time to experience possibly the worse 3 miles of the entire course, where you descend steeply over a thousand feet across a minefield of baseball size rocks and loose dirt that will repeatedly put you on your ass.  I was using my trekking poles a lot on the downhills here to keep myself from slipping too much, and was so afraid to run over this extremely technical section in the dark and with fatigued legs, that I power-walked the entire three miles to the Alexander Ridge Aid Station, and promptly sat down thinking my race was over if I had to go through a brutal section of trail like that again.

Among the many imposing climbs along the ridgelines...

The joy, awe, and majesty of being on the Wasatch Mountains in one photo.

I had never done so much power-walking for a race in my life up until this point at Wasatch, I power-walked for large stretches in the brutal afternoon heat when running was no longer an option, and I power-walked some more through endless miles of overgrown technical trails that were too dangerous to run, and then I power-walked over even more dangerous and extremely rocky trails at night, guess what I never trained for when it came to Wasatch?  That’s right, power-walking, I trained endlessly for the climbs and a fair amount of running for this race, but never power-walking, and it was placing pressure on muscles and bones that normally don’t get activated much.  So when I sat down at the Alexander Ridge Aid Station, my legs started to fall apart from the crushing fatigue due to power-walking a good third of the race, possibly.  I took a little more time than usual to leave that aid station, after sitting for awhile eating hot broth with crackers trying to get some life back in my legs.  The Volunteers there assured me the next 5 and half miles to Lamb’s Canyon was pretty smooth compared to the previous three, so I got up with around 2:40hrs left in the clock, but still feared I may not make it to Lamb’s Canyon with any meaningful time cushion to rest before I had to get out of there to beat the midnight 19hr cutoff.

Boy was the the first two miles or so out of Alexander Ridge the most boring section of the course, and if you’re ever planning to do Wasatch, plan on doing this section at night, because there’s really not much to miss here; it’s just an extremely overgrown jeep road that’s used to service oil pipelines, and goes in a disconcertingly long straight line for two miles before you get back onto single track trails.  With flat trails and the temps dropping fast at night, I was running again at a brisk pace until the trails gradually started climbing again, and after really not using my poles much for the past six miles when it was mostly descents and flats, I started to notice just how fatigued and sore my arms and shoulders were beginning to feel, making very nervous about tackling the huge climbs past Lambs and onward to Brighton.  When I reached the 50 Mile mark, I was dismayed at my time of just under 17 and half hour, when I was initially hoping to hit Lambs, another 2 and half miles away, at under 17 hours total…I stumbled into Lamb’s Canyon Aid Station half ready to quit.

Lamb’s Canyon looked like a M.A.S.H unit filled with stricken faced runners, and their crew and pacers, all contemplating whether to press on or drop, all knowing of the demoralizing climbs ahead in the dead of night awaiting them while they try to keep one foot ahead of the cutoff monster.  When I came into Lamb’s, I knew that if my friend was going to be there, I would have dropped and asked for a ride back, because my quads were being hit with the onset of soreness on top of massive fatigue, and in my past experiences, my legs weren’t going to last much longer in those conditions; it was after 11pm though, way too late to have seen her while she was volunteering there earlier.  Instead, with amazingly 45 minutes left before the cutoff, I got my drop bag and sat down and bided for time by eating ramen, slowly putting on more layers, and chatting with the volunteers there; hoping a 20-30 minute rest will return some life back onto my legs to continue.  As the midnight cutoff was fast approaching, one by one, I saw runners, some who were previously looking half dead, resurrected from their death-chairs and marched off into the night, and while I still didn’t feel like my legs were adequately recovered, I got up myself and finally left Lamb’s 15 minutes before the cutoff.  Whether I was up to it or not, the Upper Big Water Aid Station was 8 and half miles away at mile 61, and if I couldn’t finish the Wasatch 100 Mile...well, the unofficial “Wasatch 100K” doesn’t sound so bad as a consolation prize...and not like I had a ride back anyway.

I felt like I had made a huge mistake the moment I left Lambs, the first two miles out was all pavement that felt extremely hard on my feet after over 52 and half miles of trails, and I sorely wished I had packed my pair of the maxxed cushioned Altra Olympus in my Lamb’s drop bag, instead of the one I had all the way at the Brighton Aid Station at mile 75.  With the cold wind blasting in my direction from being at the bottom of this canyon, so glad I packed those extra layers, I walked the entire two miles of pavement with another runner in his 60s with his pacers; periodically he would heave over and not sure if he could continue, I wanted to suggest he should turn back to Lamb's but held my tongue, and this continued on a few times when we finally got off the pavement and onto the big hump of a climb on the way to Upper Big Water.  On the climbs, I finally trudged on ahead of them, thinking I would never see him and his pacers again, but after a short while of struggling on the climbs with my shoulders starting to get achingly sore from using the poles so much, the 60 something year old surged ahead of me and I never saw him again; who was the old man now, I thought to myself, wanting to cry. 

I just experienced a complete meltdown the rest of the way through to Upper Big Water, with my entire body being hit with crushing fatigue and soreness, I couldn’t even manage a power-walk anymore and started to sit down for a few moments on every log I came across to recover my legs and question my sanity.  The steep trip down from this climb was laughably slow, as I had to use my trekking poles for balance and braking, taking me nearly an hour and half just to inch down the mile and half long descent!  Once I made it onto the hard pavement of the road, I was full on zombie mode to make the long and demoralizing 3 mile trip, and thousand foot climb, to UBW; nearly falling asleep on my feet many times along the way and wanting to hail a ride from the passing cars to the aid station.

Officially, I arrived at Upper Big Water Aid Station at 23:04 hrs, 4 minutes over the cut off, and had no choice but to DNF...not that I wanted to continue anyway if I managed to squeak in just under it; mentally and physically, I was too broken to continue.  At UBW, there was a chair at the DNF drop circle waiting for me to heat up by the stove, a half dozen other runners were passing the time there waiting for the last shuttle to drop us off to wherever we needed to go.  Pretty much all of us wanted to drop at Lamb’s, but just had to make sure and remove all remaining doubt that there was any way we could’ve made the climb up to Brighton, otherwise known as the Morg, by death marching the incredibly long 8 and half miles to UBW; if you’re struggling mightily to make the big climbs here, there’s just no way you can fathom soldiering on to Brighton and beyond, making the DNF all the more justifiable.  Once the shuttles arrived, and dropped us off, one of the runners there gave me a ride back to my friend’s place; not the ending to Wasatch I was hoping for, to say the least.

I truly thought I had this one, I had never trained harder for a race, I felt like a man on a mission tackling hill repeats for 7+ hours each weekend in the godawful Texas summer for nearly 3 months straight; I wanted to fully experience and finish Wasatch so badly, that the suffering itself in training became oddly...enjoyable, as if it was my whole purpose in life to prove myself worthy enough to the Wasatch Mountains in order to transcend across it’s majestic range for a 100 miles.  In the end, either it wasn’t enough, or it was just too much, as the training I was putting myself through left me utterly exhausted by the time I tapered 3 weeks out from Wasatch, and also left me with a sprained ankle to mend.  Looking back now, at all the months of training leading up to Wasatch, I have so much areas of concern to mull over as I try to pinpoint what exactly went wrong, and how best to overcome those challenges if I’m ever going to make another run at Wasatch.  I realize now that it was a mistake to focus so much of my training on just the final 3 months before the race, I blame the horrible weather for much of the first half of the year for that, but in all honesty...there was laziness and denial on my part too, that I could keep pushing off the huge commitment I had gotten myself into till the weather was dry enough to train on the trails again, when I clearly knew I should have just sucked it up and join a gym for treadmill training that would’ve done much to improve my speed and endurance during the year; my DNF’s at the NUT 100K and earlier at Ouachita Trail 50 Mile made that point clear enough.  

Other little things, like using heavier hiking poles that I wasn’t use to before the race, when I should’ve heeded the oft-repeated warning to never try anything new during a race, never rang more true, when using the poles very late into the race sent piercing shockwaves to my shoulders everytime I striked the ground.  I shouldn’t have worn my Altra Lone Peaks 2.0 to start Wasatch, when past experiences always resulted in my legs breaking down past the 50 mile point due to less cushioning; I decided not to wear my Altra Olympus, which got me through Bryce Canyon 100 last year admirably, because of fears of exacerbating my prior ankle sprain due to the high stack height of the shoes on technical courses, but with all the power-walking I was doing, the huge cushioning would’ve helped tremendously in preserving my legs past Upper Big Water.  Which reminds me, I seriously need to put more emphases on the necessity of training for power-walking in Hundreds, you think I would’ve figured this out by now after 3 previous Hundred attempts (2 finishes, one DNF), but it’s just not something you ever consider, until you find yourself not being able to do nothing much other than power-walking in the middle of a tough Hundred Miler.  With so much of my focus on Power-hiking, and my newfound emphasis on Power-walking, I can’t keep forgetting to throw in good ‘ol speedwork into the mix either, especially to get my heart-rate going, as my heart wasn’t use to being so over-taxed while making those huge climbs at high altitude and heat.  

I should have researched Wasatch more, other than just looking at the elevation profile (I partly feared knowing too much would lead to paralysis...ignorance is bliss), I may have realized the necessity of all the points I laid out above if I had done so.  I also have to face the sober reality that maybe I just wasn’t cut out for Wasatch, that I had simply bitten off more than I could chew.  I knew from the start that Wasatch was a huge gamble before I ever entered the lottery, that it would’ve been a grinding war of attrition while battling cutoffs all day, and maybe that mindset was my first huge mistake.  A back of the pack strategy is a fool Man’s game, it leaves no room for error and terrible racing conditions, from the get-go I should have believed that under the best of conditions I could’ve finished the race in 32-33 hours, leaving enough of a buffer for the terrible conditions and bad luck should it come on race day; of course, I may not have entered Wasatch in the first place if I had that mindset, knowing that I was not physically capable of such a feat at the time, my impulsiveness of wanting to experience Wasatch clouded my judgment, and I ended up having no choice but to rely on such a risky gambit to finish.  

One last thing I realized that I desperately needed to finish was a Pacer, someone that I could’ve focused on, rather than on my doubts, and to prod me along whenever I wanted to sit down on a log and weep; in hindsight my legs were only part of the problem, mainly my will to continue just wasn’t there to push me through the most difficult spots in the race. I was awed by the older runner, with his pacers, pushing ahead me when it seemed like he couldn’t make it another mile just moments before, and after the race, I knew just how much of a miracle worker a good pacer can be, when a friend managed to gut through a finish just under the final cutoff, making Wasatch his first ever Hundred Mile finish, as amazing as that sounds.  I had asked a friend, who previously paced me before, kicking my ass all over an Arkansas race a couple years ago, but she couldn’t make it at the last moment; I thought of asking around for locals willing to pace me through the dreaded night portion (the friend who I was staying with at Utah, may have been able to pace me the final 25 miles if I had made it), but I have a stubborn go-it-alone independence streak when it comes to Ultras, and decided I could tough it out...a final costly mistake.  

The Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run has been a mythical creature that I’ve been chasing for nearly 4 years now, so not being able to finish this race has been a huge blow to my ego after training and hyping the race so much leading up to it.  As with all tough DNF’s, my experience at Wasatch, most especially, has been a valuable one; there is simply no way to take “shortcuts” with this sort of Beast, like I tried and failed to do with pushing all my heaviest training into just 3 short months, I needed to be 100% committed the moment I entered that lottery, and not accept any excuses along the way, any less effort would most likely lead to failure.  I vow to come back to Wasatch someday to finish this race, it may not happen next year, but when I feel I’m fully ready to make a successful run at it again, and I certainly have lots of mistakes and shortcomings to ruminate over before that happens.  As I wrote in the beginning of the year, in my “Pessimist dreams of the Wasatch Mountains” post, when I pictured what my ideal Mountain Hundred would be like, a brutally tough and just as gorgeous and majestic of a race, Wasatch had exactly fit that description to a T, and I heard the last 25 miles of the race was even more of an incredible experience...it’s something that’ll be dreaming about running some day for a long, long time.