What I Learned Running 100 Miles - Parts 8 & 9
Running 100 miles is hard. Really hard!
I think enough time passes in between each effort that I forget how much it hurts, and thus I find my way back year after year. In the past, people would ask me why I do them, and I honestly didn't have an answer. Now, I do: I need them.
Every time I run 100-miles, I learn something new about myself; I'm confronted with new and difficult challenges, and I'm slowly becoming a better person, husband, father, friend, and human as a result.
I'm even learning lessons from NOT running 100 miles, as you’ll recall from last year’s blog.
The Double: Wasatch 100 + Bear 100
Unlike 2020, I did NOT have any unexpected health or life emergencies the day before my scheduled races this year.?I say “races” because I recently ran the Wasatch 100 (100 #8) and Bear 100 (100 #9) just 14 days apart in what the trail running community here in Utah affectionately calls “The Double.”?Very few runners successfully complete the Double, which is usually spaced out by 21 days, so I knew going into this year that a 14-Day Double was going to test my limits to the max.
As I entered 2021, I had been on a very low-carb diet (quasi-Keto) for almost a full year. As my running coach loves to tell me, diet is arguably more important than being in great cardio shape. The idea behind this wasn’t to necessarily lose weight but to become “fat adapted,” so that my body could learn to burn fat more efficiently during races and not have to solely depend on all the typical race gels, bars, and drinks full of sugar. For races under 5 hours, this isn’t that big of a deal, but when you need your stomach to convert food into over 15,000 calories over a 24 hour + period, you can use any reduction in the gut workload you can get. In fact, one of the leading causes of people quitting longer races is stomach failure, where the stomach literally “goes on strike,” vomiting anything you eat and ceasing to deliver much-needed calories to the body. I know many of you who are reading this know exactly what I’m talking about!
The 2021 Training Plan
When people ask me what I do to prepare for such long races, the simple answer is, “I run other races.”?It’s hard to get out of bed, fill your backpack full of food and provisions, and run in the mountain for 6-18 hours on your own. When you sign up for an actual race, you have a fully catered long run just waiting for you – a long run that in many cases rewards you with a cool medal to add to your collection!
My race schedule for 2021 looked something like this:
As you can see, I like to mix in a few road marathons so I can experience the much faster pace and high turnover that it requires. As I’ve run many of those in the past, it’s also a great “benchmark workout” so that I can see where my times are relative to the “younger Patrick.”
Man, if there is anything I love more in life, it’s kicking “Younger Patrick’s” butt in everything. Sure, I like to be competitive against other runners. But it’s hard to know what their situation is, whether they’ve put in the work, and what their God-given ability looks like. When you compete against your prior self, it’s like you have this evil twin who is out to beat you – and even in my late 40's, I STILL can’t let that happen!
In fact, in each of the past five years, I’ve continually improved my times in almost every race I mentioned above.?I hoped to continue that momentum into 2021 by being as perfect as I could be on my diet and sleep routines while gradually INCREASING the number of miles and feet of vertical that I would run this year.
Buffalo Run
The first test was the Buffalo Run, where I ran all 50 miles on Antelope Island with my good friend Rick Stevens, who was training for his fifth Wasatch 100 attempt. We purposefully ran this race a little slower than we could have, mainly because the race was so early in the season, and I didn’t want to cause him (or me) any injuries during the first long outing of the year. All I know is that we had a lot of fun, we ran faster than last year, and after the race, I felt barely tired, which was a great sign.
Salt Lake City Marathon
The second test of the year was the Salt Lake Marathon, which decided to go virtual for the second year in a row. Like last year, I drove to the start line on April 18, 2021, and ran the exact marathon route myself. Rick Stevens drove his car and met me at several key locations to give me tiny “aid stations,” and I finished the race about 5 minutes faster than last year, again, feeling great.
Timpanogos Trail Marathon
The next race is one of my very favorites: the Timpanogos Trail Marathon.?This race is literally in my backyard, on the hills I train on every morning. Due to a major fire last Fall, the race was changed to include a little more climbing (and descending) and stayed in large-part close to my house! I ran this one at full throttle, had an amazing time, and did relatively well (23rd Overall).
Tragedy Strikes Rick
Rick, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.?Around mile four he was forced to take evasive action by someone re-entering the race after peeing behind a bush! When he took evasive action, he stepped on a rock funny and rolled his left ankle. As he went down, he tried to save his fall and rolled the same ankle AGAIN! He used his trekking poles to crutch his way down the mountain and had to seek a ride from the paramedics back to his car. That injury would keep him down for the remainder of the season, where he would have just four weeks to train for Wasatch!?
Utah Valley Marathon (Boston Qualifier)
In early June, I ran in another one of my favorites: the Utah Valley Marathon.?It runs from just outside of Wallsburg, down to Deer Creek, down Provo Canyon, and ends at the LDS City Center Temple in Provo. The course is mostly downhill, with a few ups sprinkled in Provo Canyon for good measure. My previous best official time for this race was 3:21 (2019), and I ran an unofficial 3:07 last year during the virtual race. I felt prepared for this race and was running strong (low 7-minute miles) until mile 22 when I had to go into survivor mode.?I was on pace to repeat 3:07 until I hit the ‘mini wall’ but still ended up with a 3:12 – STILL a personal record (official) for this race and an easy Boston Marathon Qualifying Time by 13 minutes. I was excited to finish strong in the face of adversity and to give myself a chance to run another Boston in 2022! (Assuming they do the race in 2022!).
Squaw Peak 50
A few weeks later, I ran one of the most popular trail races here in Utah, the Squaw Peak 50. It includes 10,000+ feet of elevation gain, most of it coming after mile 30.
I started out ambitious, staying with some really fast runners until around mile 26 when the big climb started. I put in my headphones and started listening to music as I tried to focus on the sunny, hot, exposed climbing that was about to last for the next 3+ hours.?There was a fork just a few miles up the trail, and I couldn’t find the course ribbons to guide me onto the correct path. I looked where I saw a ton of footprints and decided that the right fork was probably the correct path to take.
One of my friends, Scott Mumford, was about 50 yards behind me, following behind. About 0.5 miles after the fork, he suspected that we were going the wrong way, and he yelled out to me, “Patrick, are you SURE this is the right way?”
With my music in, I couldn’t hear him.?Another 0.5 miles up the road, I also realized that I was in unfamiliar territory.?I took my headphones out, turned around, and said to Scott, “this doesn’t look right!”?
At that point, we were both doing well in the race, at or near our goal times. Realizing that we’d either have to backtrack to where we went wrong or bushwhack over the ridge to get back on the right trail, both of which carried significant “time penalties,” Scott began to let his frustration out. Of course, I felt horrible, as he was following me while I made a navigation error. I vowed to work to help him get back on track the best I could.
Once we found our way back to the right trail after a pretty nasty bushwhack, I calculated we were about 25 minutes delayed, based on the people we were re-passing. I worked hard, pacing him to around a 13-minute pace through some pretty rough terrain and helping him with extra water and assistance at the remaining aid stations - anything to help him shave some time off.
I finished in 11 hours flat, and he finished around five minutes ahead of me. He was still upset that he missed his goal of 10 hours, but we both learned some valuable lessons during Squaw that would come in very handy during the upcoming 100’s: bad decisions always trump fitness and effort level.
Speedgoat 50K
In July, it was time for the Speedgoat 50K, which is basically a three-time climb of Hidden Peak, the massive hill on which the Snowbird Ski Resort is situated. The terrain is so steep in some parts that you need to grab onto rocks or use poles to climb up. My goal was to take it easy and have a “fun training run,” but when the gun went off, I decided to give it all I had for the first eight miles on the first climb up to Hidden Peak.
Once I got to the top, I planned to step it way down. But, again, I felt great, so I just kept running at an aggressive pace, and soon, the race was half over! With the help of my poles and S-Caps salt tabs, I endured the last two major accents of the race and ended up finishing under 8 hours, a new personal record by over 30 minutes!?It was one of those rare races where everything goes according to plan. Take THAT, "Younger Patrick!"
Kat’china Mosa 100K
In August, I ran the Kat’china Mosa 100K - a run that is long, hot, and super hard. I’ve never run the Wasatch or Bear 100 without running both Speedgoat and Kat’china Mosa first. They are both great ‘dress rehearsals’ for the 100’s, as they test your ability to survive heat, stay hydrated, deal with technical climbs and descents, and, almost equally important; they force your stomach to cooperate for extended periods.
As the race started at 3:00 AM on August 8, my confidence couldn’t be higher just coming off an amazing Speedgoat 50K.?The lead pack took off, but their paces weren’t all that fast, so I just hung in there with them. For the first 10 miles, I ran in either first or second place and felt great after the first climb. But that is where the ‘party fouls’ started.
As I came to mile 15, my headlamp started to really fade, making it almost impossible for me to see the rough dirt road very well.?I took it off and physically held it in my hand so that the light would be closer to the road and so that I could make out more rocks, etc.?Slowly but surely, the light continued to dim, and eventually, I missed one rock and took a fall. I rolled it with and suffered only a few scratches. I felt very fortunate not to have injured anything other than my pride.
When I came into the next aid station about 10 minutes later, I asked the aid station volunteer to top off my two bottles with water. But when I reached down to hand him my two bottles, I only had one in my race vest. Somehow the second one had come out in my fall, and I had lost it. But before I let myself have a panic attack – it’s impossible to complete this race with just one water bottle – I said, “okay, can you top off my one water bottle and let me have one of those full bottles of Dasani?”?The volunteer said, “sure, take it!”.
As I left the aid station, I again got flustered when I looked down at my Garmin Fenix 6x Solar and noticed that my activity was paused. Somehow during my fall, one of the buttons got pushed, and it paused the run! I hit “continue” and got the watch working again, but now my miles and time were all messed up.?I wasn’t sure how many miles it skipped over or what my ‘real’ time was, making it really hard to follow my race plan that was neatly tucked into my left sleeve, almost like a football quarterback’s play call wristband.
A few seconds later, I heard a loud yell, “Hey Patrick, come back! We have your second water bottle!”
I immediately turned around and headed back down the mountain to the aid station, and there was my second water bottle. Some good Samaritan had found my water bottle on the road and picked it up. When they handed it to the aid station volunteer, it just so happened to be the same person who saw the panic in my face for having lost it.?
I collected and filled up my second water bottle and once more headed out to start the climb over Lightning Ridge. Even with that drama, I was still in third place overall and feeling great, minus a few scratches that were oozing a little blood.
The last 40 miles of the race were relatively drama-free, but it was a lot of hard work in the hot sun. Temperatures that day were over 90 degrees, and I fought like crazy to prevent dehydration, my nemesis.
When I reached Mile 58, my friend Garrett Foster was waiting for me (I was only 1 minute off from the time I gave him!), and he did a masterful job pacing me the last six concrete miles, ensuring I ran a sub-14 hour PR (personal record).?We came across the finish line at 13:45, and I was over-the-moon happy that I could best “Younger Patrick” yet again this year.?My confidence was sky-high going into September, the month of the 100’s.
The Hay is in the Barn
I was relieved to reach the month of September in one piece. July and August were very difficult training months, and now it was time to taper and save up energy for the two 100's. The plan was to run the Wasatch 100 with as minimal effort possible to finish under 36 hours (to finish with Rick Stevens) and run the Bear 100 with everything I've got.
So, let's get this party started!
Wasatch 100
The plan for Wasatch was pretty basic: run with Rick Stevens from beginning to end in under 36 hours. That was Plan A, B, and C.?Although Rick was unable to get any training runs in over 15 miles, he worked super hard in the gym and what he could do in the mountains to get himself as ready as possible for Wasatch. After four DNF's, I wanted nothing more than to help him get that monkey off of his back!
When race day was upon us, Rick and I carpooled up to the start with my mom, Sharyl, for the 5:00 AM start. In the past, my dad would always drive up and then just head to work, driving a school bus on his way home. My mom Sharyl did a fantastic job picking up that baton and carrying on that tradition, which mentally helped me start the race in a great place.
The initial climb up Bair Canyon went well, and we made it to Mile 10 looking solid. Then we experienced a six-mile gradual descent that Rick’s ankle just wouldn’t let him run. We fast-hiked down the road and kept a brisk hiking pace of 15 minutes per mile. As we fast-walked those downhills, we were slowly bleeding off precious time that we would need later to finish the race, but at that point, I wasn’t overly concerned that we were going too slow to hit the time cutoffs.
We reached the first aid station about 18 minutes behind what we were planning, but again, everything seemed to be going smooth except for walking the downhills – which for me forced me to use some different muscles in my anterior tibia than I was used to. Typically, when I run downhill, I feel it in my quads and hips, but this time I started feeling it in my left shin.
For most of the day, I really thought it would be a super special race for Rick. We had clouds, scattered rain showers to cool us off, and even a tiny breeze that felt amazing. The heat was the number one enemy in my estimation, and the more we could do to stay cool, stay hydrated, and stay salted, the better. It was as if our parents (his mom and my dad) called in a few favors with the angels who control the weather to give us an ideal day!
Everything was going well, except for our slow pace, until Mile 40, when Rick’s occasional burps turned into an all-out puke fest. The poor guy keeled over, and out came everything he’d been eating from the previous few hours.?He finished up, drank some water, and we continued thinking it would clear up now that whatever was pissing off his stomach was out.?Just a few minutes later, it happened again. I’ll never forget this look of “I can’t believe this crap is happening to me right now” that was on his face before, during, and after the convulsions.
“Hang in there, Rick, we’ll get this thing figured out,” I told him. I wasn’t that panicked because I’ve seen numerous runners suffer the same fate and still manage to finish ultras. I was certain this was a fluke thing and that we’d forget about it in the next few hours.
When we got to Lambs Canyon, the almost-Halfway Point of the race, Rick’s crew went to work trying to feed him apple sauce, chicken broth, and other easy-on-the-stomach food so that he could get his calorie engine pumping again.
We left Lambs with a ton of optimism, but as we climbed the next hill coming into Millcreek Canyon, his stomach again began to give him problems. By Mile 54, the puking recommenced, and it was taking a major toll on him.?His face became super pale, he started getting dizzy, and it was clear that he lacked the energy to continue. Add to that, we were really falling off our required pace to finish under the cut-off time, and the reality that he would be dropping out of the race started to hit both of us.
I did my best to console him and let him know how proud of him I was. I mean, the man just ran over 14 miles on an empty stomach after already having run 40 miles prior to that. It was ironic that it wasn’t his ankle that forced him out of the race; it was his stomach – something that had NEVER bothered him before in any race.
After he met with the Aid Station volunteers at Upper Big Water and was in good hands, I left and continued my journey.?My goal at that point was to avoid injury, get in a good training run for Bear, and to get my sixth Wasatch 100 finish – so that I could earn auto-qualification for life (no more having to be subject to the lottery for an entry to future Wasatch 100 events).
I started with a semi-aggressive uphill climb to Desolation Lake (Mile 60), where I got to catch up to many of our other friends who had passed us earlier. Soon I reached Scott’s Pass (Mile 64), and I felt super strong, not really having run much until that point.
Then, on the way down to the Brighton Ski Lodge, I started to feel this weird pain in my left anterior tibia (shin). It was very similar to the pain James Lawrence experienced on Day 13 of his 100-day quest to run 100 Iron-Distance triathlons in a row (Conquer 100).?As I ran down the concrete highway at a brisk 8-minute/mile pace, the pain got worse and worse. By the time I arrived at Brighton, I had told Garrett (my crew chief), and Jamie (Rick’s crew chief but now my second adopted crew chief), how concerned I was about that left shin getting injured just a few weeks before Bear.?They got me the food and refills I needed, and I headed out, intent on not hurting that shin any more than it already was.
Climbing up past Lake Catherine, it wasn’t bothering me too bad, and I had a really good climb, again, passing several runners in the process, albeit in slow motion. But by the time I descended the very rocky and tricky trail down to Ant Knolls, that shin was really tender. I slowed my pace way down and used my poles the best I could to shield that shin from bearing the full brunt of each forceful down-step. As I slowed my pace, I ended up behind another solo runner named Mark Christensen from Park City, Utah. He could tell I was hurting but also running at around the same pace he was. We started chatting, and at the Ant Knoll Aid Station asked me, “Hey Patrick, want to run the last 30 miles together?”
“I’d love some company!” I replied, thinking that having someone to talk to might help me take my mind off that angry shin of mine.
After a quick refill and sip of chicken broth, we headed out and made our way the last 30 miles together. During that time, we learned about each other’s families, jobs, and hobbies. He even waited for me when I had to go a little slower down some terrain than I would have liked, and we ran all the way through to the finish, crossing the line together.
Having Mark by my side during the most painful miles of Wasatch helped me, as I had no plans for pacers. Running to the finish with Rick was the only plan I had, but meeting Mark was a fantastic result too! I was super happy about completing my sixth Wasatch and earning my permanent auto-qualifier status, but the excitement about a hard-earned finish was weighed down by the fear that I may have damaged my anterior tibia beyond repair just two weeks before Bear.?
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Ready, Go! Trying for a 13-Day Recovery
Immediately after the race, my whole focus was on getting that left shin healthy enough to run the Bear 100 at 100%. I iced it, wrapped it, elevated it, had it massaged by two different therapists, and had it in my leg compression machine every night.
After about five days, the pain was completely gone, and I gently layered in a few tune-up runs a few days before Bear. Everything felt great, for 1-2 hours. I knew deep down that I would probably have to deal with this again during the next long run, which was Bear. But the other half of me wanted to believe that I was in really good shape, that I had paid my dues, and that two weeks would be enough time for MY leg to heal, although that type of injury would take much longer in a “normal” person.?
The Bear 100
Soon the day for the Bear 100 was here, and boy was I nervous. Not only was it the one-year anniversary of my dad’s passing, but it was also my first Bear 100 in two years. I wanted to do so well, make him proud, and prove to myself that I was a legit ultra-runner. My goal was a sub-24 hour time, and I had planned each of the 18 segments down to the second to help me stay on pace.
The day before the race, I packed up all my drop bags (well, drop Tupperware), packed my overnight bag, and headed north to Logan, which was around 2 hours away. I checked in to the race, attended the pre-race briefing, dropped off my Tupperware, and headed to the hotel to get a good night’s rest.
Party Foul!
When I unpacked my bags and set everything out for the next day, I noticed I didn’t have my RACE BIB, and without that race bib, I was already disqualified!
I was panicked; I looked everywhere, my bags, my car, and nothing.?I had a suspicion that I left it on my computer desk at home, so I called my mom – who was attending my niece’s volleyball game at Utah Valley University – and asked her if she could go over to my house immediately.?She did. And she verified that I had, indeed, left my race bib on my computer desk.
Immediately she offered to drive it up to me, so we planned to meet almost halfway so that she could deliver it in the minimum possible time.?Each minute that went by was another minute of sleep that I wouldn’t be getting prior to the race, so expediency was crucial!?In just over an hour, my mom, probably averaging 90 mph, made it to the Brigham City McDonald’s parking lot, where she hugged me, wished me luck, and handed me my ticket to race: Bib number 154.
I quickly jumped back in my Honda CRV and made my way back to Logan, my bib in hand, and went right to bed – exactly at 9:15 PM, the time I was previously scheduled to go to bed. I still can’t believe how huge my mom was in helping me overcome the party fouls of all party fouls. Now the trick was to calm me down, focus on the actual race, and get some much-needed sleep.
4:00 AM can quickly, and I woke myself up, took a nice warm “warm-up” shower, and went through my typical pre-race routine of eating breakfast, lubing the toes (and other areas), putting my clothes and shoes on, and I headed over to the starting line for the 6:00 AM start.
My strategy was to put a little hot sauce on at the beginning, at least for the first 45 minutes or so, then to back it down, which is exactly what I did.?I was in the top 10 for the first 45 minutes as we climbed up towards Logan Peak. Although I knew many runners in the race, I didn’t talk to anyone for the first ten miles as I just wanted to be in my own zone, thinking about my dad, and just enjoying the journey that I had trained for, for so long.
As I approached the first aid station at Mile 10, my buddy Casey Robles slowly came up from behind. I spent a ton of time with him during the 100-day 100-Ironman effort of James Lawrence, the Iron Cowboy. Casey was the wingman-in-charge of the swim and marathon portions of the effort each day, and I worked closely with Casey to ensure the 8 ice chests I had positioned out on the course stayed stocked full of water, Gatorade, and other delicious snacks. ?We also did a few longer trail runs together in August, where we pushed each other pretty hard and got some great training done.?But the one thing you have to know about Casey is he has a heart of gold – he’ll give you the shirt off his back without you having to ask.
As he ran up beside me I broke my silence and started to chat with my dear friend. He was having a great day and looked as fresh as a spring chicken. We got caught up with family news and he told me about the crazy-hard triathlon he and James Lawrence had directed a few weeks prior. Soon we pulled into the second aid station, Leatham Hollow (Mile 19.7), grabbed some food from our drop bags, and we headed out.
As we left Leatham Hollow, I checked my “wrist band” with all the time checks on it to see how I was doing.?The plan was to leave Leatham at 3:59 (elapsed time), and I looked down at my Garmin 6x Solar and saw “3:58”.?Man, I was so excited!?I felt great, was with one of my best friends, and the trees were right in the middle of changing colors. It was amazing.
A few miles up the road, Casey was feeling great, and I told him to leave me and do his thing, which he did. I kept him in view, along with several top 10 finishers, for the next few hours, until I got to Cowey Canyon at Mile 30, where my left shin, the same one that flared up at Wasatch just 14 days earlier, started to become extremely painful.
Turning Up the Pain
This was the point in the race when my morale went from a 10 to a 1, in just seconds. I still had over 70 miles left, and I was betting EVERYTHING on THIS race.
70 miles!?
I was able to manage that same injury for 30, slow, Wasatch 100 miles.?But 70?
Right then and there I knew my dream of a sub-24 wasn’t going to happen. I desperately needed to find another reason to fight on, to continue to give a crap, to stay motivated to keep at it.
Funny thing, I couldn’t come up a good reason to keep going;?I just knew that quitting wasn't an option. I had to come up with a Plan B and quick.?
“Just hike fast up to the top of the next hill.?Let’s just jog until we get to that tree up there.” I tried to drown out to feelings of throwing in the towel by thinking of smaller, attainable goals that I could muster.
Soon I made it to Right Hand Fork, Mile 37.?I saw Mike Bettilyon, my crew chief, for the first time. Usually, I’m still looking good and feeling fresh by Mile 37, but this time was different. Mike could tell by the look on my face that something was up.?
“Mike, my left shin is killing me. See if you can make some calls between now and some of the next stops to see if you can locate a compression sock/sleeve for me” I pleaded.?“I’m on it Patrick. You just focus on what you’re doing and, hey, you’re not very far behind your 24-hour pace. In fact, you’re still well within reach of it!”
Wait, what?!
I checked my magic spreadsheet and, he was right.?I was only 10 minutes off my pace, even with me babying that shin. Talk about a morale boost!?While my shin was still killing me with every step, I at least got my mind right knowing that “all wasn’t lost”. I started to believe, right then and there, that not only was I going to finish, I was going to finish at or near my 24-hour goal.
The next 8 miles were brutally hot. Most of the run was along exposed trails and dirt roads that drained what little water I still had in my body. I drank and drank the best I could, but I could just feel my body losing the hydration tug of war.
At Mile 44, there was a volunteer sitting alongside the road with his tailgate out, offering runners some water and ice refills.?The runner immediately ahead of me just ran by the guy like he wasn’t even there.?Although I didn’t think I was low on fluids, I stopped anyway and ended up drinking 2 liters of water and topping off the bottles in my front pockets.
That quick water guzzle really hit the spot and helped me regain control over my hydration situation.?Just 3 miles later, coming into Temple Fork, I passed the runner in front of me for good. I knew he was about out of water and was clearly rationing.?I offered him some and he politely declined, saying he could manage it.?I thought to myself “bro – NEVER turn down a man with water and ice in the middle of the hottest segment of a 100-mile race!”
Help is on the Way! Pacer Help Arrives
Soon I came into Temple Fork, where I saw Mike and his wife Kris again. ?They helped me refill everything and I headed out with their new son-in-law, Daniel Bishop.?This young man is an amazing runner. He finished second overall at the Big Cottonwood Canyon Marathon just two weeks prior and was still a little sore from the 2:39 effort. Not only is he a great runner, he is very smart; he’s in the middle of his residency to become an OBGYN!
Like a good pacer, Daniel continuously encouraged me, told me how well I was doing, and did everything he could to help me not think about my shin. I knew that I just had to make it until the sun went down and then my problems would reduce from 2 (dehydration and shin pain) to just one (shin pain).
The best thing Daniel did for me was to run up the trail when we hadn’t seen any pink race ribbons for a while. When he’d find the next one, he’d yell back “found it! Keep coming Patrick, you’re on the right path!”
Running 100 miles is hard, but it’s 100 times easier when you know that every step you take is “counting”. I’ve been off course during this race before and it was equal parts scary, demoralizing, and hard knowing you just put in work that you’re not getting “credit” for. Having a great pacer like Daniel eliminated that potential outcome and put my mind at ease.
People ask me all the time, “what’s the hardest part about running 100 miles?”?The answer is easily, the mind.?Think about it. You’re trying to run 100 miles and your brain, after about an hour, is receiving a constant chorus of “I can’t do this – abort mission!” messages from every part of your body.?To ignore those messages, while still paying attention to the important ones (hydration needs, caloric needs, feet status, etc.) takes an enormous amount of mental energy, and your brain gets tired just like any muscle.?Some people that end up DNF’ing this race do so just because “their mind wasn’t in it anymore”, which is a direct result of this mental fatigue of holding back the onslaught of negative thoughts. It’s very very real, and developing a resistance to this takes time, effort, and lots of small successes that teach your mind that it CAN do hard things.
After the sun went down, the temperature dropped fast into the 40’s, which is right inside my comfort zone. I tried to keep on my plan by pushing a little harder at night, which I did, but not without paying a price. By Franklin Trailhead (Mile 60), my left shin was sending 911 calls to my brain pleaded for me to shut it down.
Good thing for me, my crew was waiting for me and Daniel, armed with a compression sock from my friend Rick Stevens! After I got assistance from Mike, Kris, and some of my other trail runner friends who were volunteering at the aid station (Bill Hiatt, Garrett Foster), I pulled that compression sock on with all my might.?Once on, the pain immediately started to subside. I also broke my own rule of never taking an Advil during a race, but I did so only after it got cold, and my hydration situation stabilized.?I don’t need another bout with kidney failure like I did after my first Wasatch 100 in 2013!
Daniel and I headed out to start the next climb and within 30 minutes, I was feeling much better. Granted, the injury wasn’t getting any better but at least I couldn’t feel it, so I kept pushing as hard as my body would let me.
We pulled into Beaver Creek Lodge around 11:59 PM, about 49 minutes behind my 24-hour goal plan. I knew at that point that a sub-24 was gone, but I wasn’t going to phone it in just yet.
My next pacer was Michael Moody, a no bullshit experienced trail runner who is one of my favorite training partners. In fact, he had just finished the Ouray 100 three weeks prior – the race with over 40,000 feet of vertical (you read that right!).?Combine that with torrential rain (and snow) and you had a race where over half of the people who started ended up not finishing.
Not Michael Moody.
He ran in the rain, the snow, and nasty mud slides. He doesn’t quit when things get hard, and he didn’t let me quit either. In fact, he gave me nothing but tough love the last 25 miles.
“C’mon Patrick. I KNOW you can run this part. I’ve seen you do it 1,000 times!” he’d say when I wanted to walk and give my shin a rest. “I know it hurts, but you can heal later. Today is the day you’ve been working towards. Do this for your dad. Do this for everyone who looks up to you. Do this for YOURSELF!?C’mon. Let’s gooooo!”
I couldn’t have asked for a better motivational speaker, and again, it was just what I needed to hear so that I could tune out those pain signals coming in hot and heavy.
We crossed over into Idaho and arrived at Ranger Dip, Mile 92, about 50 minutes behind the 24-hour pace. I had somehow managed to shave off 9 minutes, injury and all. My estimated finish time was around 24:50 as we left Ranger Dip after just a 30 second stop to top off our fluids. There were several guys in blankets huddled by the fire, keeping them warm in the 38-degree Idaho night. “Don’t you go near that fire!” Michael barked at me. “Those are for the volunteers, not the runners!”
At Mile 93 we crested the last climb of the race and begun our descent to the finish. Michael is an amazing downhiller, and he was having to consistently hit the breaks to allow me time to catch up to him. He was willing me down that hill as I gave it everything I had. We passed two more runners in survivor mode before we came onto the paved road at Mile 98.?Just two more miles to the finish.?Just two. Miles.
At this point, all of the Advil had more than worn off. The paved road (shown above) was not kind to my shin, causing the pain level to ramp up even more. I knew this was my time. This was my moment. I was just minutes away from being done.
“Let’s rock a few sub-8 minute miles Michael” I asked.
“I love it Patrick,” said Michael. “I’m so dang proud of you. Let’s do this!”
On we went at around an 8-minute mile, which felt like a 5-minute to me given my current situation. Soon we were down to just 1 mile to go, and just at that moment the sunrise started. It was as if my dad’s angelic glow was shining down on us both, and my soul filled with gratitude and an overwhelming sense of grief, all at the same time.
A few minutes later, at the dawn's early light, we crossed the finish line, filled with my family (Debbie and Grace) and my crew (Mike, Kris, Rick, and Daniel).?My overall time was 24:45. Michael had helped shave another 5 minutes off the expected time, and in the processed helping me set a personal record by almost an hour (my previous best time was 25:39).
After I gathered my wits, I walked over to my mom and gave her a big hug. Well, it started out as a hug and she ended up having to hold me up as my legs were starting to give way. After about 10 seconds, my eyes welled up with tears and I whispered into her ear “I just miss him so much”.?
“I know. We all do” she responded. “He would be so proud of you, just like I am.”
My mom’s sweet words combined with my physical pain to cause my tear ducts to open like a Hoover Dam spillway. After telling my brain for 70 miles and 20 hours to ignore the pain, I finally removed the restraints, and a good 2-minute cry was the result.
Eventually I sobered up and thanked my family and friends for coming and supporting me. There is no way I could have finished, especially in 24:45, without each and every one of them supporting me.
(My miracle workers, aka, pacers: Michael Moody and Daniel Bishop)
Rick responded with “uh, do you realize you’re just the 23rd finisher so far?”
“Are you serious?!” I responded.?Never have I ever cracked the top 30 at any 100-mile race. My heart was full, and still is to this day.?Now I feel like I can really, truly, let my dad go. I’ve done what I set out to do, I’ve given it my all, and now I can have peace.
Letting Him Go
My dad was my best friend. He left so unexpectedly that I was unable to process it, to come to grips with the finality of it all. It took me an entire year plus 3,000 miles of running, 400,000 vertical feet of climbing, and two 100-mile races spaced 14 days to help me finally come to terms with his departure. I like to think that these lessons are the ones he left for me to learn during my grief process.
All of us grieve in different ways, and this race, and this blog, are my gifts on the altar of his memory. It’s my prayer that Kent finds my sacrifice worthy of the Oborn name, and that we can all find peace after the loss of a loved one in our own unique way, as I did.
Lessons Learned:
Apart from "getting my life back", this experience taught me a number of lessons that I needed to learn. Here they are, in no particular order:
Failure only happens when you allow your brain to listen to the “requests to quit” coming from your body, friends, colleagues, or any other toxic influences in your life. If you believe in what you are doing, surround yourself with a great team who believe in you and keep fighting! Like I did, you too can deal with the pain after you’ve accomplished your goal in whatever form that takes.
Finally, when life offers you cold water and ice in the middle of a hot summer day, take the time and be humble enough to accept the help.?The team here at Telarus spends a great amount of time and energy supporting our sales partners and work tirelessly to make sure you have that ice water during the most difficult days trying to close new business.
Let us help YOU get through it.
If you have a story to tell of how someone helped you stay positive in your life or in your business, please share it with me in the comments below!
Managing Partner at X4 Advisors / Strategic Advisor
3 年I love you brother
Co-Founder @ DATAMOB - Global IT Sourcing and Solutions / Co-Founder @ terminal.ai
3 年Absolutely amazing Patrick! Truly motivational. Lost my Dad and haven’t ever fully recovered. Thank you so much for sharing this.
B2B SaaS Sales Leader | UCaaS | CCaaS | SD WAN | Technology Sales Expert
3 年Congratulations and job well done Patrick! I too am an ultra runner and love running here in our Colorado mountains. Ultra running truly teaches you so much about yourself as well as every aspect of life and improves your perception and clarity. I started running 1.5 years ago when my Wife and I experienced the tragic loss of her pregnancy, it truly saved my life by taking up ultra running.
National Channel Manager | Securely Enabling the Connected Enterprise through Trusted Technology Distributors
3 年You truly inspire me Patrick Oborn . I'll be riding my first road bike century ride this weekend. You've been an inspiration to many... including me.
Account Director - National Channel Manager | Customer Relationship Management
3 年Inspiring as always. Thank you so much for sharing your experience as well as the emotions. Having lost my husband and best friend this year it was comforting to read your very personal words. ????